“Why should there not be a boat, Dennis?” the robot replied coolly.
Dennis ran his hand over the sun-cracked wood of the gunwale. It was ordinary enough, a net-tending skiff like the one in which his father had made his lonely journeys; but it was properly drawn onto the shore, not cast up by a storm surge, and this was—
“But Chester, no boats can land on the Banned Island. Anyone who tries founders in a storm or, or—”
“Or is drawn down by the sea hag, that may be,” Chester said, completing the thought. “But the choice is the choice of the sea hag; and the sea hag may choose to allow a landing.”
“Well, it doesn’t concern us,” Dennis said; but it concerned him very much to know who might be on the island, with him and with the sea hag.
He couldn’t see the stairs because of the foliage overhanging the narrow beach. A faint path—bruised leaves and twigs broken here and there—led into the vegetation.
To himself and to Chester, he said, “We’ll find the sea hag’s life. And we’ll trade it to her for Aria. And then we’ll leave.”
“The crocodile is merciless, Dennis. There is no truce with it.”
Dennis shrugged his shoulders.
The sea hag had bargained and had kept her bargains. However dangerous it might be to let the creature live, Dennis knew in his heart that he would keep any bargain he made with her.
He could look at his father and see what came of trying to cheat.
Careful not to let the baton in his left hand brush him when he swung his arms, Dennis strode forward.
CHAPTER 61
The undergrowth caught at them in its familiar way. Dennis could have cut his path broadly with a few swipes of his sword: his thick, practiced wrists driving the star-metal edge would lop down anything smaller than a full-grown tree. But… once past the jungle’s sunlit fringe, Dennis could walk without a real struggle.
The jungle and its denizens had been friends to him. The birds that hooted away in explosions of brilliant color were a reminder of the life and beauty in the world. The lizards counselled patience with their rigid bodies and bright, darting eyes.
And even the bark and leaves had a delicate architecture which Dennis realized was beyond the ability of men—or the sea hag—to duplicate.
So instead of slashing his way through the jungle, he stepped with care; twisting free of thorns if he hadn’t dodged them in time; accepting that his clothes would be torn by the time he reached his destination—but that torn clothes wouldn’t matter, whether he survived the day or did not survive.
Dennis had proved he could kill. If he chose to prove that he spared life wherever possible, that that was nobody’s business but his own.
“A wise man avoids harming others so that he not be harmed himself,” Chester quoted from behind him.
Dennis laughed. “No, it’s not because of that, Chester,” he said. “What I do to this bush or that lizard doesn’t affect how the sea hag treats me—or whether a limb falls down and knocks my brains out. But it makes me feel good, so that’s reason enough.”
And in the back of his mind, Dennis prayed (despite his words) that someone was keeping a tally; that someone was saying, Well, this is a good boy. We’ll free his wife and make sure that he isn’t killed or horribly maimed…
Something crashed through the woods toward them.
The canopy was very dense, choking the ferns and bushes of the undergrowth with lack of sunlight. Nothing to hinder a swordstroke.
Dennis’ eyes were wide and his mouth was half open. His left arm held the baton to the side where it wouldn’t interfere if he slashed; and his sword, with an edge like whispering death, was poised to let the life out of any opponent at all.
Dennis’ mother burst from behind a screen of ferns.
Selda’s face still wore the remnants of cosmetics, streaked by hard use and the tears of fright she was still shedding. She stumbled over a root and fell, ten feet from Dennis; but she didn’t see her son until she tried to get up—and from her scream, she didn’t recognize Dennis even then.