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Magic s gone out of it, eh, mate?
The gasoline has. Same thing.
Then we ll just have to raise sail and hope we don t fall too far behind
em.
As they struggled to set the jury-rigged mast in place, the bottlenose swam
over and plopped his head on the side of the zodiac. It didn t frighten us,
man. When does it get loud?
I m afraid it s dead, Jon-Tom told the porpoise. The spell s run out.
Too bad. He hesitated, bobbing lightly in the water, and then dropped clear.
Jon-Tom could hear him whistling to his companions. The call was taken up by
others. Soon squeaks and querulous squirps and squeals filled the air around
the boat. The bottlenose reappeared.
Landwillers often carry interesting toys they call rope with them. Do you
have any ropes?
Jon-Tom looked puzzled, then began hunting through their overstock of
supplies. There were several strong coils of hemp in addition to the rigging
Mudge was unpacking. As it turned out, they found a much better use for the
rigging. The sail became superfluous.
The bottlenose shouted to the two landwillers when all preparations had been
completed.
Ready?
Ready, said Jon-Tom, bracing himself.
Sometimes a good joke was the best magic.
As morning dawned the fleeing ketch still had not put in an appearance. The
porpoises pulled tirelessly, laughing and giggling among themselves, competing
to see who could pull the hardest or make the grossest joke. Once Jon-Tom was
nearly thrown overboard as the porpoises on the right gave an especially hard
surge. Mudge caught him just in time, and a good thing, too. So self-centered
were their voluntary steeds they might have continued swimming eastward,
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arguing about punch lines and forgetting their lost passenger until it was too
late.
Morning gave way to midday and still no sign of their quarry. The shore of the
eastern continent dominated the horizon, a fringe of bright sand backed by
tall greenery. The zodiac slowed to a stop and the porpoises began slipping
out of their harness. A familiar bottlenosed face peered apologetically over
the gunwale.
We have to leave you here. The water is growing shallow and there is a lot of
fresh mixing with the salt. Fresh water makes us itch. If not for that we
would take you onto the beach.
That s all right. Jon-Tom was helping Mudge raise the sail. You ve done
more than enough already. I just wish we could ve located the ketch.
We followed its course true. It must be somewhere close. Perhaps those you
track made a last minute change of course to enter a hidden anchorage. Seek
carefully and we re sure you ll find what you re looking for.
We d better, Jon-Tom reflected as he surveyed the inhospitable shoreline. The
last thing he wanted was to spend endless days cruising aimlessly up and down
the coast. By that time the pirates might be long gone via some overland
route, and Weegee with them.
There has to be a channel or an inlet somewhere.
That s for damn sure, lad. No way could the best sailor in the world slip a
big boat like that ketch into this mess. Which way, then?
South, I guess.
Any special reason?
Just a hunch. Besides, home lies northward and sailing in that direction
feels too much like retreating.
The otter nodded and swung the sail around to catch as much of the hot breeze
as possible.
Obediently the zodiac turned southward.
We can t be too far off. Jon-Tom made this appraisal as evening neared. The
porpoises were sure they followed the right course.
I wouldn t bet a tin coin on anything that lot o seagoin sardine strainers
said. The otter was lying on his back on the starboard hull, legs crossed and
staring lazily at the sky.
- Pleasant enough country, though a smidgen on the damp side.
We ll find a place to anchor tonight, Jon-Tom said grimly, and continue on
south tomorrow. If we don t find them by then we ll turn about and try farther
north. I can t believe the porpoises were deliberately leading us on.
Why not? Ow can you take seriously anyone wot don t ave no ands?
Jon-Tom followed the coast as it curved slightly to the east. They were
preparing to tie up to the buttress roots of a huge morgel when Mudge suddenly
dropped the line he was holding.
You ear that, mate?
Jon-Tom straightened, stared into the swamp. Small insects were beginning to
emerge from the trees. The hisses and hoots of flying lizards reverberated in
the evening air.
I don t hear a thing, Mudge.
an steal sweet Weege away.
I still don t hear any music.
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