having come all this way, I would like to see what is in my one trap.’
The Old Man’s dry sarcasm was lost on his son. Hort’s mind was racing as he
reflexively manoeuvred the boat into position by the float.
One trap! The Old Man normally worked fifteen to twenty traps; the exact number
always varied from day to day according to his instincts, but never had Hort
known him to set less than ten traps. Of course the Nya were an unpredictable
fish whose movements confounded everyone save Panit. That is – they came readily
to the trap if the trap happened to be near them in their random
wanderings.
One trap! Perhaps the schools were feeding elsewhere; that sometimes happened
with any fish. But then the fishermen would simply switch to a different catch
until their mainstay returned. If the Old Man were less proud of his ability and
reputation he could do the same…
‘Old Man!’ The exclamation burst from Hort’s lips involuntarily as he scanned
the horizon.
‘What is it?’ Panit asked, pausing as he hauled his trap from the depths.
‘Where are the other boats?’
The Old Man returned his attention to the trap. ‘On the dock,’ he said
brusquely. ‘You walked past them this morning.’
Open-mouthed, Hort let his memory roam back over the docks. He had been
preoccupied with his own problems, but… yes! there-had been a lot of boats
lying on the dock.
‘All of them?’ he asked, bewildered. ‘You mean we’re the only boat out today?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But why?’
‘Just a minute … here!’ Panit secured a handhold on the trap and heaved it on