being tossed about, so he settles in to listen. It seems the fishermen are annoyed. They haven’t yet laid eyes on these sea monsters supposedly in the act of gobbling up their boats. Where’s all the excitement they were promised? Some are calling the brothers liars. Others had clearly reached N’Doch’s first conclusion, that the whole thing was a vid shoot, so they’d rushed off to the beach to take part and are sullen about missing their chance to be on camera.
The brothers—all five of them now (one has his foot heavily bandaged and keeps checking it worriedly)—are busy tapdancing, tossing out this tale and that excuse to keep the mob from turning on them. They have to shout to be heard over the game, and must have been doing this for a while, ’cause they’re all going hoarse. N’Doch would enjoy this drunken spectacle, were it not that their most successful tactic seems to be exaggerating the heinousness of his own crime and hyping him into a threat big enough to throw the mob’s rage back in his direction. So now, inthe short brother’s mouth, N’Doch the tomato thief becomes N’Doch the vandalizer, the armed looter and hostage-taker, N’Doch the violator of innocent young women.
Violator? N’Doch swells up with outrage. He grips the ragged sides of the porthole and almost yells out in his own defense. He’d
never
take a woman against her will! Most of the pleasure is wooing them and winning them over.
But the fishermen are buying it, hook, line, and sinker. They are shaking their fists and roaring because, N’Doch thinks, it’s probably what they’d like to do to at least one woman of their acquaintance, and they’re pissed that he got there first. He tells himself he’ll get even, in the way he always has: when this nonsense is over, there’ll be a whole new repertoire of nasty songs about drunken fishermen going around town.
When it’s
over
. . . .
He realizes he’s thinking about the blue dragon, holed up forward in the gym. He has been all along, with a part of his brain that won’t set her aside. It keeps asking, will she be safe in the ship? Will this stupid mob get bored and go home, or will they keep at their drinking and roaring until they’ve worked up enough courage of numbers to invade his sanctuary? What will the dragons do then? Eat them?
For a moment, he thinks how much he’d like to be there to see that. Then he reminds himself forcibly that he doesn’t care what happens to the blue dragon, or the brown one with the girl. But he doesn’t need to check his pocket for the jewel he’s stolen. It lies warm and heavy against his thigh, weighing inexplicably more than a thing its size reasonably should. Small as it is, for a jewel, it’s big enough. Finding a fence for it will be tricky. N’Doch has never dealt with the Big Guys before.
Meanwhile, it’s time to be out of range of the mob before its outrage whips up from passive to active. N’Doch crosses back to starboard and skins through the thin gap between two in-bent metal plates. Between the inner hull and the outer, he has stashed a tarred length of rope for just such an emergency, looped around a cross-tie. He drops the loose ends through the outer hole and lowers himself hand over hand to the sand. He jerks the rope free, coils it quicklyand tosses it deftly up into the hole. He’s racing away before he’s sure if it’s landed correctly.
He speeds along the beach without really knowing where he’s heading. His brain is full, too full to think. He puts himself on autopilot, his eyes squinting to scan for debris. The moon has set, and a predawn glow is creeping across the sky. N’Doch feels vulnerable, too visible, dark against the lightening sand. The damp night air is thick with fish stink. He wonders about it until he feels the first few dead ones under his feet. Another kill, washed in with the tide. Getting to be commonplace. He shifts his trajectory, avoiding the water’s edge, and slows. He
The brothers—all five of them now (one has his foot heavily bandaged and keeps checking it worriedly)—are busy tapdancing, tossing out this tale and that excuse to keep the mob from turning on them. They have to shout to be heard over the game, and must have been doing this for a while, ’cause they’re all going hoarse. N’Doch would enjoy this drunken spectacle, were it not that their most successful tactic seems to be exaggerating the heinousness of his own crime and hyping him into a threat big enough to throw the mob’s rage back in his direction. So now, inthe short brother’s mouth, N’Doch the tomato thief becomes N’Doch the vandalizer, the armed looter and hostage-taker, N’Doch the violator of innocent young women.
Violator? N’Doch swells up with outrage. He grips the ragged sides of the porthole and almost yells out in his own defense. He’d
never
take a woman against her will! Most of the pleasure is wooing them and winning them over.
But the fishermen are buying it, hook, line, and sinker. They are shaking their fists and roaring because, N’Doch thinks, it’s probably what they’d like to do to at least one woman of their acquaintance, and they’re pissed that he got there first. He tells himself he’ll get even, in the way he always has: when this nonsense is over, there’ll be a whole new repertoire of nasty songs about drunken fishermen going around town.
When it’s
over
. . . .
He realizes he’s thinking about the blue dragon, holed up forward in the gym. He has been all along, with a part of his brain that won’t set her aside. It keeps asking, will she be safe in the ship? Will this stupid mob get bored and go home, or will they keep at their drinking and roaring until they’ve worked up enough courage of numbers to invade his sanctuary? What will the dragons do then? Eat them?
For a moment, he thinks how much he’d like to be there to see that. Then he reminds himself forcibly that he doesn’t care what happens to the blue dragon, or the brown one with the girl. But he doesn’t need to check his pocket for the jewel he’s stolen. It lies warm and heavy against his thigh, weighing inexplicably more than a thing its size reasonably should. Small as it is, for a jewel, it’s big enough. Finding a fence for it will be tricky. N’Doch has never dealt with the Big Guys before.
Meanwhile, it’s time to be out of range of the mob before its outrage whips up from passive to active. N’Doch crosses back to starboard and skins through the thin gap between two in-bent metal plates. Between the inner hull and the outer, he has stashed a tarred length of rope for just such an emergency, looped around a cross-tie. He drops the loose ends through the outer hole and lowers himself hand over hand to the sand. He jerks the rope free, coils it quicklyand tosses it deftly up into the hole. He’s racing away before he’s sure if it’s landed correctly.
He speeds along the beach without really knowing where he’s heading. His brain is full, too full to think. He puts himself on autopilot, his eyes squinting to scan for debris. The moon has set, and a predawn glow is creeping across the sky. N’Doch feels vulnerable, too visible, dark against the lightening sand. The damp night air is thick with fish stink. He wonders about it until he feels the first few dead ones under his feet. Another kill, washed in with the tide. Getting to be commonplace. He shifts his trajectory, avoiding the water’s edge, and slows. He
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