“Well? What do you want?” Haplo snapped.
“We . . . we’ve wakened you,” said Alake, her gaze shifting nervously from him to the rumpled bed.
Devon stammered. “W-we’re sorry. We didn’t mean—”
“The ship’s picking up speed,” stated Grundle. Her own gaze rested suspiciously on Haplo’s skin. “And you’re glowing again.”
Haplo said nothing, glared at her, trusting she’d take the hint and go away. Alake and Devon were already sidling backward.
But Grundle was not to be intimidated. She rested the battle-ax on her shoulder, planted her feet firmly on the swaying deck, and looked Haplo in the face. “We’re getting close to the dragon-snakes, aren’t we?”
“Probably,” he said, and started to close the door.
Grundle’s stocky body blocked it.
“We want you to tell us what to do.”
How the hell should I know? Haplo felt like shouting back at her in exasperation. I’ve come near a magical power like this in the Labyrinth, but nothing this strong. And all these dragon-snakes have to do is toss a bucket of seawater on me and I’m finished!
The mensch stood quietly, looking at him, trusting him (well, two of them trusted him), all of them silently pleading, hoping.
Who had given them that hope? And did he have the right to destroy it?
Besides, he told himself coldly, they might be useful. In the back of his mind was a plan . . .
“Come in,” he said grudgingly, holding the door open wide.
The mensch trooped inside.
“Sit down,” Haplo told them.
There was only the bed. Alake looked at it—rumpled, still warm from Haplo’s body. Her lashes fluttered, brushed against her cheeks. She shook her head.
“No, thank you. I will stand. I do not mind. . . .”
“Sit!” Haplo ordered grimly.
She sat, perched on the very edge of the bed. Devon took his place beside her, long legs spraddled uncomfortably. (Dwar-ven beds are built low to the floor.) Grundle plopped herself down near the head of the bed, her short legs swinging back and forth, heels scuffing against the deck. All three looked up at him, faces serious, solemn.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t know any more about these dragon-snakes than you do. Less, maybe.”
“They spoke to you,” Grundle informed him.
Haplo ignored her.
“Shush, Grundle,” whispered Alake.
“What we do to protect ourselves is mostly common sense. You”—Haplo shifted his gaze to the elf—”better keep pretending to be a girl. Cover your face and head and don’t take the scarf off, no matter what. And keep your mouth shut. Keep quiet and let me do the talking. That goes for all of you,” Haplo added with a meaningful glare at the dwarf.
Grundle snorted and tossed her head. She had placed the battle-ax between her legs and was nervously rapping the haft on the deck. The ax reminded Haplo of something.
“Are there any more weapons aboard? Small ones. Like knives?”
Grundle sniffed in scorn. “Knives are for elves. Dwarves don’t use such puny weapons.”
“But there are knives on board,” offered Alake. “In the galley.”
“Cooking knives,” muttered Haplo. “Are they sharp, small? Could Devon hide one in his belt? Could you hide one . . . somewhere.” He gestured at Alake’s tight, form-fitting clothes.
“Of course they’re sharp!” stated Grundle indignantly. “I’d like to see the day a dwarf would craft a dull knife! But they could be sharp as this ax and still not penetrate the hide of those foul beasts.”
Haplo was silent, trying to think of the easiest, gentlest way to say what he had in mind. There was, he decided at last, no easy, gentle way. “I wasn’t thinking about using them on the dragon-snakes.” He said nothing more, hoping they’d get the idea.
They did . . . after a moment.
“You mean,” said Alake, her black eyes large and wide, “that we’re to use them … on … on …” She swallowed.
“Yourselves,” said Haplo, deciding to be brisk, matter-of-fact. “Death can sometimes come as a friend.”
“I know,” said Alake, shivering. “I saw how my people died.”
“And I saw the elf the dragon-snakes tortured,” Devon added.
Grundle said nothing, for a change. Even the feisty dwarf looked subdued.