A Triumph of Souls (9 page)

The capstan whirred as more and more of the valuable cordage was taken up by the crabs, until at last only the terminal coils
securing it to the capstan itself remained. Stretched out beneath the bowsprit, the rest of the line was completely obscured
by swarming crabs. As those who managed to crowd into the bow observed, the thick cable was being drawn taut, and tauter still,
until the visible portion that was suspended in the air between water and bowsprit twanged from the tension that was being
applied to it.

Very slowly but perceptibly, the
Grömsketter
began to move.

“All hands to stations!” Stanager bellowed. Behind her, men and women swarmed into the rigging or to posts on deck. Priget
stood like a barrel behind the helm, her eyes aloft as she searched for the first hint of a good stiff breeze.

When the ship reached the base of the oceanic slope there was a collective intake of breath among her crew. Exhaling in concert
and producing a noise like a billion tiny bubbles all bursting at once, the line of crabs continued to pull the ship forward.
That and the scrape of millions of carapaces rubbing against one another were the only sounds they made.

The elegant sailing vessel’s prow rose slowly, slowly. Sailors reached for something to keep themselves from falling backward
as the ship began to slide
up
the slope toward
the smooth ridge above. At the halfway point someone erupted in an involuntary cheer, only to be quickly hushed by his superstitious
fellow seamen. Who knew what might disturb the crabs at their arduous work? If the line broke, if a few hundred thousand claws
and legs lost their grasp, then the ship would surely slide right back down into the peaceful but terminal watery valley—perhaps
forever.

The rim drew near, nearer—and then it was beneath the
Grömsketter’
s bowsprit. Very gradually the ship ceased ascending and she leveled out. When the stern was once more on an even keel with
the bow, several of the most senior mariners could no longer restrain themselves. They began to dance and twirl around one
another out of sheer joy. Priget turned the great wheel, adjusting the ship’s heading slightly. Wind began to billow her sails.
Not strongly, but it was enough. And it was behind them. Picking up speed, the ship began to move away from the valley under
her own power.

In front of it, the crabs were scattering, abandoning the line and sinking back down into the depths from which they had been
commanded. Seeing this, Stanager ordered the heavy line winched in swiftly lest it back up and wrap around the bow, fouling
their advance. She would have thanked the hardworking crustaceans who had joined together to drag them clear of the valley,
but how did one thank a crab? She put the question to the most unfathomable of her unique quartet of passengers.

“Do not thank them yet.” While, with the exception of the dozing cat, his companions celebrated along with the crew, the herdsman
did not. He remained where he had been standing, hard by the bowsprit and staring at the
water forward of the ship. “The crabs helped us because their king commanded them to do so. But I do not think they were alone.
I do not see how they could have done such a thing by themselves.”

“Why not?” Free of the valley and with a fair wind astern, Stanager was in too good a mood to let the solemn-faced traveler
mute her high spirits.

“Certainly they were by themselves in their millions strong enough to drag the ship clear, but any line, however mighty, needs
an anchor against which to pull.” He waved diffidently at the gentle swells through which they were cutting. “What was theirs?”

“Who knows?” She shrugged, much too relieved to be really interested. “The top of an undersea mountain, perhaps, or a shelf
of corals.”

“Corals would not hold up under the strain. They would break off.”

“Well, the submerged mountaintop, then.” He really was a man to discourage good cheer, she decided. Not naturally grave, but
given to an inherent reluctance to let himself go and have a good time. Simna ibn Sind was incorrigible, but at least he knew
how to celebrate a success. Deciding to put the proposition to a small test, she reached down and pinched the stoic herdsman
on his stolid behind. Startled, he finally took his eyes off the sea.

“So you are alive after all.” She grinned cheerfully. “I was beginning to wonder.”

His expression was one of utter confusion, which pleased her perversely. “I—I did not mean to dampen anyone’s spirits. I am
as gladdened as everyone else that we are safely out of the valley. You have to excuse me. It is simply that as long as I
am afflicted with an unanswered
question, it is impossible for me to completely relax. I can manage it a little, yes, but not completely.”

“I’m surprised that you are able to sleep,” she retorted.

Now it was his turn to grin. “Sometimes, so am I.”

“Come and have a grog with me.” She gestured over the bow. “Doroune lies that way, to the southwest. We’ll have you and your
friends there soon enough, and from then forward I’ll be denied the pleasure of your company. Prove to me that there is some
truth in that statement.”

His uncertainty returned. “What, that we’ll reach the coast soon?”

“No, you great elongated booby.” She punched him hard in the thick part of his right arm. “That there’s pleasure to be had
in your company.”

For an instant, inherent hesitation held him back. Then he relaxed into a wide smile. To her surprise, not to mention his
own, he put his arm around her. “I do not especially like the taste of seamen’s grog, but under the circumstances, it is the
taste I think I should seek.”

Even those members of the crew assigned to duty high up in the rigging joined in the festivities. Internal lubrication caused
a number to sway dangerously at their positions, but by some miracle the deck remained unsplattered. The
Grömsketter
continued to make headway, albeit more slowly than the efficient Stanager Rose would have liked.

The celebration continued unchecked until one lookout, his vision blurred but his mind still vigilant, sang out with an utterly
unexpected and shocking declamation.

“Kraken!
Kraken off the port bow!”

On the main deck, conversing intimately with one of the female members of the crew, Simna ibn Sind heard the cry
and sat up like a man stabbed. He had never seen such a thing as the lookout proclaimed, but he knew full well what it was
supposed
to look like. Stumbling only slightly, he abandoned his nascent paramour and staggered forward. Ehomba was already there,
staring like a second figurehead out to sea.

“What…?” The swordsman steadied himself as he slammed up against the railing. “What’s happening, bruther? I heard the lookout.…”

“Hoy,” the herdsman murmured, mimicking a favorite exclamation of his friend. “We had our rescue.” Turning back to the water,
he nodded to the southwest. “Now comes the reckoning.”

It arrived with ten immense arms each weighing a ton or more. Pale pink in color, the benthic colossus had surfaced less than
a mile from the ship. Now it moved effortlessly closer, making a mockery of the desperate Priget’s attempt to steer clear
of its cylindrical bulk. A few crabs and barnacles clung to its smooth flanks, while scars revealed the history of titanic
battles with sperm whales that had taken place in the depths of the ocean.

In an instant Stanager was beside Ehomba, even as she was beside herself. She could only stare in alarm and astonishment at
the abyssal apparition that was making a leisurely approach to her ship. What else could one do when confronted by the sight
and reality of the Kraken?

“That is what was at the other end of the hundred million crabs,” the herdsman informed her quietly. “That is the only creature
strong enough to both grip and anchor them.”

“But—what does it want? The crabs have gone, scattered back to their homes.”

“They were commanded. This is no crab, and would have to have been asked. I do not know what it wants, but whatever that may
be, we had better hope we can supply it. The elders of my village have spoken many times of the Kraken, and I do not recall
them commending it for its placid nature.” He tried to inject an optimistic note into the litany. “They are a diverse family.
Hopefully this one will be amenable to reason.”

“Reason?
That?”
She gaped at him.

“The Kraken and their smaller cousins are among the most intelligent creatures in the sea. I thought an experienced mariner
like yourself would know that.”

“I am a Captain of people,” she protested. “I do not converse with squid!”

He turned from her, back to the many-armed monster that was approaching the ship. “Perhaps you should learn.”

It swam right up to the bow. There was a sharp bump as the
Grömsketter
, jarred by the contact, shuddered slightly. The Kraken did not try to halt the ship’s progress, though it was clearly more
than massive enough to do so if it wished. Instead, it swam lazily alongside, paralleling the vessel’s advance. One of the
two major tentacles rose high out of the water, reaching up to probe curiously at the lookout nest that topped the mainmast.
The sailor stationed there crouched down, painfully aware of the inadequacy of his pitiful shelter.

Sidling to the side, Ehomba leaned as far over the railing as he dared and found himself gazing into a luminous, very alert
eye. It was quite similar to his own, except that the Kraken’s was nearly three feet in diameter. If he was not careful, a
man could lose his mind in that eye, he warned himself.

The glistening orb twitched slightly and stared right back at him. Its pupil alone was far larger than Ehomba’s eyeball. Behind
Ehomba, Stanager and Simna waited breathlessly, knowing that the monster could pluck the herdsman from the deck as effortlessly
as they would pinch a bud from a long-stemmed flower.

Ehomba smiled, for all the good that might do, and as he had done with the king of all the crabs, commenced to twist and wriggle
his fingers.

The Kraken floated alongside, its tentacles weaving lazy patterns through the air and water, and studied the herdsman’s limber
gyrations. If so inclined, it was easily large enough to drag the entire ship down into the depths, locked in an unbreakable
cephalopodian embrace. Iridescent waves of color, of electric blue and intense yellow, rippled through its skin as it flashed
chromatophores at the apprehensive and uncomprehending crew.

Lowering his hands, Ehomba made a single final, sharp gesture with one pair of fingers—and waited. Eyes that were full of
unfathomable intelligence regarded him silently. Then the Kraken lifted half a dozen enormous tentacles from the water. Responding,
men and women bolted for cover or tried to make certain of their hold on lines and posts. But the monster was not attacking;
it was replying.

When those six gigantic limbs had risen from beneath the surface, a powerful urge to flee had surged through Simna ibn Sind.
Mindful of Stanager’s presence, he had held his position. Besides, there was nowhere to run to. Watching his lanky companion
converse with the apparition by means of simple finger movements was akin to observing an infant engaging in casual chat with
a mastodon
via a confabulation of giggles. Only the possibility that the exchange might turn unpleasant, resulting in the sinking of
the ship and the loss of all on board, kept him from smiling at the sight.

When he could stand it no longer, he let loose with the question that was on the verge of driving him and everyone else on
board mad. “For Gojokku’s sake, bruther—what’s it saying? What are you two
talking
about?” He hesitated only briefly. “You
are
talking, aren’t you?”

“What?” As if suddenly remembering that he was not alone aboard the
Grömsketter
, Ehomba turned to gaze reassuringly at his companions. “Yes, we are talking. In fact, we are having a most pleasant conversation.”
Even as he replied to Simna, the herdsman continued to twitch and contort his fingers into patterns that meant nothing to
his fellow humans.

“Hoy, then how about letting us in on a bit of it?”

“Yes,” agreed an anxious Stanager. “What does it want?”

“Want? Why, it wants what I told Simna any creature in its position would probably want. Payment. For anchoring the hard-shelled
multitude that pulled us out of the valley.”

Stanager was uneasy. “By all the sea gods and their siblings, what form of ‘payment’ could such a creature require?” Peering
over the side, she observed the powerful, parrot-like beak protruding from the center of the mantle—a beak large and sharp
enough to bite through the hull of a ship. “If it’s hungry, I’m not sacrificing any of my crew. We have preserved meat aboard,
and fresh as well as dry fish. Might it be satisfied with that?”

Turning back to the eye of the Kraken, Ehomba worked his fingers. Once again, immense tentacles semaphored a
reply. Wishing to make certain that there was no miscommunication, the herdsman repeated the query and for a second time made
scrupulous note of the response.

“Coffee.”

“What?” Simna and Stanager blurted simultaneously.

“It says it wants coffee. Not too hot, if you please. Tepid will do fine. With sugar. Lots of sugar.”

It was the Captain who replied. “You’re joking, landsman. I know it must be you because nothing that looks like that is capable
of making jokes.”

“On the contrary, though this is the first Kraken to come to my personal acquaintance, I know from experience in the shallow
waters below my village that squid have a very highly developed sense of humor. But it is not joking. It wants coffee. I admit
that it is a request that puzzles me as well.”

“Well, that’s something, anyway, if you’re as bemused as I am.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “What exactly is ‘coffee’? I gather from the description that it is some kind of food.”

While Simna slowly and carefully elucidated to his tall friend the nature of coffee, explaining that it was a warm beverage
not unlike tea, Stanager conferred with the ship’s cook. They had tea and coffee both. Not being an addict, the Captain had
no difficulty with agreeing to sacrifice their store of the darker beverage. Parting with an entire sack of sugar, more than
half the ship’s supply, was another matter. The alternative, however, was surely more dispiriting still.