THE SEA HAG by David Drake

Dennis looked down into the water—black as shadows except where it reflected the orange ball of the sun. Insects skimmed the surface, tracing their figures with mechanical repetition.

One circle broke suddenly in a splash and a silver glitter too unexpected to be visualized after the event.

“There are fish indeed, Dennis,” said Chester approvingly.

“How did you know this pond was here, Chester?” the youth asked.

“I know what I know,” said the robot. “And the pond was here.”

Dennis attached his hook and cork float to the line. They’d been in the shopping bag when he flung it away, furious at the wet bread and missing sausages. If Chester hadn’t retrieved the bag…

“The wise man is praised because he remains calm, Dennis,” said the robot—as if he were reading his master’s thoughts.

Dennis would have to hold the line by the small stick on which it was spooled unless he cut himself a pole, and to do that—

“I should have brought a little knife, Chester,” Dennis said doubtfully. “Or maybe a hatchet. I could use the sword, but it’d be pretty clumsy…?”

He let his voice trail into a question. Chester ignored it.

Well, that was what Dennis deserved. He was unsure of himself and hoping to be told that everything would work out fine. What he needed to do—what he knew he needed to do—was to act.

He unbelted the sword and laid it beside him. He’d use the butt to club his catch when he’d landed it. Then he started to drop the line into the water—and froze. The large fish that rose and slapped the water only a few yards out did so in mockery.

“Chester,” Dennis said, “I forgot bait. We don’t have any bait.”

“There is the ring on your finger, Dennis,” replied his companion. “It may be that the ring will lure fish.”

The ring was a diamond in a thin band, placed on Dennis’ thumb for luck in his infancy and now worn on the little finger of his left hand. Its facets sent the sunlight across the surface of the pond in fiery sparkles even as Dennis turned his hand to look at it.

“Sure, that’s a good idea,” he said as he worried the ring over his knuckle. “Thank you, Chester.”

“Many are the small things that are worthy of respect,” quoted the robot smugly.

The line, with the ring attached to the tag end of the leader, plopped into the water at last. The pond was so rich in dyes leached from the surrounding jungle that the hook disappeared though it was only a hand’s length beneath the bobber. The diamond remained a wink of brightness twisting in the dark.

The strike was immediate. Dennis almost lost his grip—and the pull was so strong that he nearly pitched into the water when reflex clamped his hands against the spool.

He staggered backward on the bridge crying, “We’ve got one, Chester!” as the line spun out.

In the back of his mind Dennis was bitterly calling himself a fool for not cutting a pole after all, even if it would have been a hard job with the sword his only tool. A pole’s springiness would have given the fish something to fight besides the tension fingers put on the spool… but Dennis’ hands were strong and calloused from swordsmanship drills, and the thrill of the struggle quickly replaced desire for a meal as the force driving his actions.

It was a big fish. It would have been big if it came from the hold of one of the Emath trawlers whose catches had all the salt ocean in which to grow.

At first Dennis saw nothing but the cavorting line and the insects drawn by the bubbles in the line’s swift wake. A spiny fin flicked the air, long and six feet back from where the line cut the water.

The fish broke surface in a leap, tossing its head in a vain attempt to clear the hook fast in its jaw. It was huge, its head and back iridescent and its belly the white of fresh cream.

Its eyes were black. They sparkled like the diamond flopping at the side of its mouth.

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