“What do you find to eat in the weed?” The sun was still high, the languorous afternoon warm, and Ehomba was not above making casual conversation. Who knew when the chance to do so with another of these people might arise? Stuffed full of questions as always, he was reluctant to bring up the reason for his coming lest it cut the conversation short.
“The same sort of things a landsman would find in his garden. The weed itself is very tasty, and despite how uniform it appears to most landsmen, there are actually many different kinds of weed. Each has its own spice and flavor. Living in the weed are millions of little creatures; shrimp and small fish, and the larger fish that prey upon the smaller. There are comb jellies and moon jellies in many flavors, seahorses that crunch when you bite into them, and shellfish that have to be sucked out of their homes and down your throat. Oh, there is plenty to eat.” Pushing a leafy hand down through the dense mat of green stuff and into the water, he drew forth a juvenile octopus.
“No thank you,” Ehomba told him politely.
“What’s he doing?” The first mate tried to see around Ehomba. “What are you two talking about?”
The herdsman glanced back. “Food.”
“Oh.” Terious was not displeased. He quite liked octopus himself. “What does he say about getting us out of here?”
“I am coming to that.” With a reluctant sigh, Ehomba remembered that he was not here to discuss the delights of sargassum living, and that on the larger boat behind him waited anxious others silently watching who were depending on him to extricate them from what had become an inopportune situation.