Sepwise was the first to stir. He tried to sit up, but was hit by a tremendous pain in his head, followed immediately by waves of nausea and disorientation. He was also more hungry and thirsty than he could bear and this sent complicated, confusing and contradictory thoughts scrambling around his brain. He really did not feel good.
Focusing his thoughts using an Eckian mind technique he had mastered whilst studying the ancient art of fire-taming, he cut through the hindrance of his cognitive turmoil and recalled what had happened the previous day.
Andrew, despite protests from some quarters, had been rescued from the sea for a second time. There had then followed a very short and entirely one-sided inquest, as a result of which the adventurers had been tied up, slapped around a bit, and set adrift on a tiny raft that could hardly support their weight. There the memories stopped. Somehow, judging by the available evidence, they must have made it to landfall.
He opened his eyes and looked around.
‘Oh,’ he said to himself. He couldn’t really think straight thanks to the hunger and the thirst, but even so he was impressed. Really impressed. Really, really, really impressed.
Trussuk began to stir. He lifted his head up a couple of inches, but the effort was too much and it flopped back face down into the sand.
‘Wmmm Aaaamm Wmmm?’ he said.
Sepwise looked towards him. ‘Take your face out of the sand,’ he said. ‘I can’t hear you.’
‘Where are we?’ said the seasoned adventurer, deciding not to try and lift his head again, but to turn it on its side.
‘On a beach,’ said Sepwise.
‘Ah,’ Trussuk said. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Don’t suppose there are any drum kits lying about are there?’
‘I believe not,’ said Sepwise.
‘Oh, bugger. That’s most disagreeable.’
‘Is it?’ said Sepwise. ‘Why? What is disagreeable about it?’
‘Well, now I no longer have my most dangerous and feared weapon.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sepwise, ‘I don’t quite follow.’
Trussuk heaved himself up and sat brushing sand off his tunic. His medallions and trinkets would need a really good clean before they started adventuring, he decided. He turned back to Sepwise.
‘Remember I told you about my magical enchanted musical instrument?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Well there you go. It must still be on board the boat.’
Understanding began to develop in Sepwise’s mind, although he didn’t particularly like it.
‘Are we talking about magical drum kits here, or are we talking about something else?’
‘Uh-huh.’ said Trussuk. ‘Magical drum kit, yeah. Not any more though.’
‘So,’ said Sepwise, determined to ask the question even though it wasn’t relevant any more, ‘how do you, er, introduce a drum kit into, say, I don’t know, a highly dangerous, rapidly escalating battle, for instance?’
‘Ah,’ said Trussuk, ‘now this is the clever part. What I do is, I leave the drum kit behind, and I use a great big axe instead. Fools the enemy, see.’
‘And when do you use the drum kit then?’
‘Oh, well, you know, um,...’ Trussuk trailed off and then frowned to himself.
‘I see,’ said Sepwise. ‘You’ve never used it. Fantastic. What a tragedy we possess it no longer.’
A large, squawking bird interrupted the conversation when it landed on the beach just a few metres away and started pecking determinedly at something.
‘Ow,’ said Andrew. ‘Get off!’
The bird scrabbled around a bit, jabbed experimentally at him a couple more times and then flew off in a flurry of feathers and flapping.
Jeudd, now also fully awake and surveying the golden scene around him, became a vague focus of attention for some of the others, who were mildly interested in what poetic outbursts he would offer them.
‘What a beautiful place,’ he said eventually. Wodehouse couldn’t have described it better himself, although he probably would have been funnier and a lot more wordy.
And so the sea kept gently lapping at Sepwise’s feet and he sat staring out into the distance. The sand was wonderfully soft and gorgeously warm. Exotic, colourful fish flitted through the sky. A prismbird flew past, its glass-like feathers splintering the surroundings into fractured slivers of images, breaking up its outline and making it all but invisible. Tall, lush bluefern trees rippled slightly in the gentle breeze, their shadows helping to combat the heat from the exposed sun overhead. Sepwise felt he didn’t ever want to move from this paradise, this place to which fate had brought him.
Meanwhile, his companions muttered to themselves and wondered what they were to do next.
Finally, Sepwise tired of the sights and turned to his charges and spoke. ‘Listen, everybody,’ he said. ‘We would appear to have arrived at a destination. Let us assume it is the correct destination. We have conquered the teething hiccups that afflicted our journey,’ he glared at Andrew, who was wondering if there was such a thing as a teething hiccup, ‘but we must not grow complacent. We must start preparations immediately. Our first priority is fresh water and food. Please, commence searching.’
<=> <=> <=>
They had, Sepwise had to admit, actually done quite well. The pile of succulent fruit and the roasting rabbit on the fire added up to quite a feast, and the water that Andrew had found was cooler, crisper and fresher than any he had ever tasted.
Staring out at the almost translucent tropical sea he began to think that maybe things would work out all right after all. Maybe he’d actually managed to pick the right people. He had been more than a little concerned of late that he hadn’t.
But it wasn’t just them that he’d been worrying about. He’d been worrying about himself, and his own suitability for the expedition. Could he really hack it as leader? If he was truly honest with himself, he had a worrying tendency towards overcomplication and overcompensation, and he knew he had a terrible inferiority complex. At every challenge, with every problem, he would be on the defensive, determined to prove himself right. And it had always been that way.
He remembered a time, back when he was young, before he went to Mage School.
There had been a race.
The entire town had been involved. The only rule was that you had to start at the upper end of town and run to the lower end. You could take any route you wanted as long as you passed through the town centre.
Now, Sepwise knew the quickest way to the other side of the town was not through the town centre, but along the cobbled road that ran past the docks. A dastardly plan formed in his mind: knowing that the entire population of the town was participating in the race, he realised that there would be nobody around to spot him if he were to cheat and take the quicker, but prohibited, dockside route.
He could see himself winning the race and living the life of a celebrity.
On the day itself, he lined up at the start along with everybody else. He was dimly aware that behind him somewhere was a very nice girl he had met a handful of times at town dances and had grown to like, but his cunning plan grew to dominate his thinking. Concentrating on the race, he started off alongside everyone else. As expected they all started peeling off down the various roads that led to the town centre. Nobody noticed him dropping onto the docks road that curved around the side of the city. He was home and dry.
Or so he thought.
When he was nearing half way along the road, he heard someone behind him. Turning round, he saw the aforementioned girl he liked. She did not look very happy. It turned out that she had been planning to run with him, because she happened to like him too. She had followed him around the side of the town, trying to catch up. When she realised he was cheating, she swore she would never even look at him again. She turned off the road and disappeared from sight without saying a word. Sepwise knew he couldn’t carry on around the docks road now, so he too turned off the road and headed towards the town centre.
He finished last.
The very last person in the whole town.
He never lived the humiliation down, and was painfully reminded of it every time he saw the girl, who had on numerous times threatened to tell everybody that not only had he come last, but he had been cheating as well.
He was interrupted by the unwelcome form of Andrew hovering beside him.
‘Well, what is it?’ he said.
‘It’s just... it’s just I want to compare pebble sizes at this end of the beach to those at the other end,’ said Andrew. ‘I thought you might want to help me. It’s very interesting.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Well, look, you see this stone,’ said Andrew, shoving a stone practically up Sepwise’s nose, ‘it’s from over there.’ He pointed behind him. ‘Now, this stone here, it’s from... it’s from just here. See how they’re different sizes? That makes me think that longshore drift is...’
‘Look, Andrew,’ interrupted Sepwise, ‘I am not interested in your pebbles. Not really my thing, see? In fact, I think it would be much more helpful if you offered some sort of advice, or suggested what we might do next, instead of playing about with bloody rocks. Go on, give us your thoughts. Let’s see what you really think.’
‘My thoughts?’ repeated Andrew.
‘Yes, your thoughts.’
‘Wellllll,’ said the geographer, managing to roll the ‘l’s around his mouth while he thought. ‘I think, although I’m not entirely sure, but it does look like it, that we are on a volcanic island, possibly atop a mid-ocean ridge. Also, this beach is showing signs of longshore drift. See the way it’s accumulated at this end? This would indicate that longshore drift acts towards the right, although without an in-depth statistical study, I can’t be entirely sure. That’s why I want you to help me with the pebbles.’
‘Andrew,’ said Sepwise, ‘if I ever again look like I’m going to ask you something, please stop me.’
<=> <=> <=>
‘Hey, hey! Guys! I found my magical drumkit! It’s over here!!!!! Guys! Hey!!! Sepwise! Armoro! ... Guys! ... Guys? Are you all ignoring me?’