“I do not know,” the herdsman replied frankly.
“What?” Stanager’s expression hardly shifted.
Simna’s grin widened. “Hoy, he’s just toying and teasing with you.” He smiled at his companion. “The stiffer they are, the harder it is for them to loosen up and have a laugh. Right, long bruther?”
Ehomba turned to him. “I am telling the truth, Simna. I do not know how we are going to get free of this place and back out onto the upper ocean proper.”
“Right, sure!” The swordsman smiled at their hostess. “Would you believe that there was a time when I thought he had no sense of humor? Tell her, Etjole. Tell her now.”
“I just did,” the herdsman responded quietly. He considered the watery late-afternoon panorama. “I have no idea how one is supposed to sail uphill.”
His expression falling, Simna straightened away from the railing. “This isn’t funny, bruther.”
Ehomba glanced over at him. “Why should it be? As you have said yourself, I have no sense of humor.”
Stanager moved nearer. “If you had no notion of how to leave a place like this, why did you guide us into it?”
“Because you insisted you needed a place to rest and repair, and this was the only such shelter I could detect. Attend to the ship first, I thought, and deal with the leaving later.”
“Well, the later has arrived, bruther.” Simna was no longer smiling. “Time to deal with it.”
“I am trying, my friend.” He looked hopefully at their Captain. “Have you any ideas?”
Placing her hands on the rail, she regarded the valley in the sea. Soon it would start to grow dark again. “Terious and his people are stout of arm and strong of back, but I don’t think even they could kedge uphill.” She spared a quick glance for the sails. “We have some wind, but not enough to gain sufficient momentum to push us up one of these enclosing slopes. We might sail partway before sliding back. This is a magical place. Your friend claims you are a magician.” Her gaze was steely. “Make some magic, Etjole, or we will surely all grow old together in this place.”