teach you about pride.’
‘Pride?’ Hort echoed blankly. ‘You risked your life to make me proud of you?
I’ve always been proud of you! You’re the best fisherman in Sanctuary!’
‘Fool!’ the Old Man exploded, rising to his feet. ‘Not what you think of me;
what you think of yourself!’
‘I don’t understand,’ his son blurted. ‘You want me to be a fisherman like you?’
‘No, no, no!’ the Old Man leaped to the sand and started to march away, then
returned to loom angrily over the youth. ‘Said it before – not everyone can be a
fisherman. You’re not – but be something, anything, and have pride in it. Don’t
be a scavenger, drifting from here to yon. Take a path and follow it. You’ve
always had a smooth tongue – be a minstrel, or even a storyteller like Hakiem.’
‘Hakiem?’ Hort bristled. ‘He’s a beggar.’
‘He lives here. He’s a good storyteller; his wealth’s his pride. Whatever you
do, wherever you go – take your pride. Be good with yourself and you’ll be at
home with the best of’em. Take my gift, son; it’s only advice, but you’ll be the
poorer without it.’ He tossed the gold coin to the sand at Hort’s feet and
stalked off.
Hort retrieved the coin and stared at the Old Man’s back as he marched away.
‘Excuse me, young sir?’ Old Hakiem was scuttling along the beach, waving his
arms frantically. ‘Was that the Old Man – the one who caught the monster?’
‘That’s him,’ Hort agreed, ‘but I don’t think this is a good time to be talking
to him.’
‘Do you know him?’ the storyteller asked, holding fast to Hort’s arm. ‘Do you
know what happened here? I’ll pay you five coppers for the story.’ He was a