“My friend is constantly overrating my abilities. It is a conceit of his.”
“There must be a way out!” Simna was, however mildly and gracefully, feeling the gnawing edge of panic. “You speak to dolphins; I’ve seen you do it. Call them up and make a bargain with them! Have them pull and push us back to the surface above.”
“I can speak to the sleek people of the sea, yes,” Ehomba admitted, “but I cannot call them up, Simna. And believe me, I have been looking for them. But from where we are now I see neither spout nor fin.”
“Then talk to the fishes! I know there are many here, and of diverse kinds. Strike a compact with them.”
The herdsman flashed a look of regretful sadness. “Would that I could, my friend. But fish are of a lower order than dolphins, and can speak but few words.” Peering out across the sea, he tried to see hope where there was only seaweed and water.
“The sky-metal sword! Call forth a wind strong enough to fill every sail and blow us out of here.”
“Now Simna, remember what I have told you. Care must be taken in the use of that blade. If it is used too often and too many times in the same period, the consequences of its employment become dangerously unpredictable. Perhaps in a few weeks it might be safe to try again.”
“A few weeks!” Whirling, the swordsman stalked off in search of a sympathetic ear to bend with his complaints. Knowing that the cat would not tolerate his ranting, he settled instead on poor Hunkapa Aub, who would sit and smile patiently through any tirade, no matter how lengthy or pointless.