Olympus: It's Not Just a Game

Chapter 21

           

Twice before Nancy had seen this monster writhe back upon itself and plunge down from above upon its helpless prey.  This time was no different, except this prey was far from helpless.  As it doubled over for the attack, the horseman spurred his steed into a tight spiral around the serpent's neck and struck again.  The beast plunged beneath the surface, leaving acres of white foam tinged with blood.  Horse and rider patrolled over the battle zone.  All was silent.

            Then the  sea erupted.  Nancy shrieked as sixty feet of sea-serpent arced through the air.  The equestrian warrior, ignoring the danger, swept right into the path of the brute.  Somehow the knight held onto his blade, though sparks shot from it as it rent the iron-hard hide.  Maddened, the serpent writhed backwards across the surface of the water, snapping in frenzy at the enemy just out of reach.  Blood gushed from its wounded side, and the lashing tail whipped up pink froth as far as the eye could see.

            The fearless hero spurred his steed right toward the lethal jaws.  When it looked like he must plunge right into them, he pulled back on the reins, clearing the huge head by inches.  Then, with one great windmill stroke, he finished it off.  With one final convulsion, the serpent writhed over backwards and died—but in its death, it did more damage than in all its life.  The backward-arching neck hooked the horse out of the sky and flung it into the sea.  For a moment the knight hung helpless in midair, then plunged after his steed into the waves.

            "We've got to help him!" burbled Nancy, and started swimming.

            "Wait, Nancy!" her father cried, but she was always headstrong.  The rest of the party followed her carefully through the waves, finding bits and pieces of their little ship as they swam.  Nancy found the horse first, nostrils flaring and eyes as white as the foam his flailing hooves churned up.  His wings were more hindrance than help, at sea.

            "Hello," she called out.  "Sir Knight, where are you?"

            "Over here," a voice called back.  The knight was desperately trying to keep his head above the water and unbuckle his armor.  In some superhuman way he had managed to cling onto his sword.

            "Can I help you?" Nancy shouted, then choked as she swallowed half of an oncoming wave.

            "Take this," he cried, and heaved the sword at her.  It splashed down inches out of her reach, and plunged toward the bottom.  She gasped, and choked on cold seawater.  "You've lost my sword, you fool!" the knight shouted.  Nancy dove for it, although her face burned under the water at the rudeness of his words.  He would eat those words, she thought, even if she had to dive to the bottom of the sea for it.  For a minute, it looked like she might have to do just that—the sword was pointing straight down, and dropping like a rock.  But just when she thought she would lose sight of it in the deepening blue water, it wobbled over sideways, then fluttered back and forth like a falling leaf.  With one final burst of speed, she reached out and seized it.  Though her lungs were bursting, she stopped and stared in amazement.  The blade was not the heavy iron she had expected, but a single, razor-sharp diamond.  She gingerly took the hilt in her teeth, and began the endless, awkward swim toward the surface.  At last she emerged into sunshine.

            The knight was waiting for her.  With both hands free, he had been able to cast off his breastplate and his sandals.  Relieved of his armor, he seemed almost at home in the sea.  "I'll take that back, now," he said carelessly.  Gritting her teeth, Nancy tossed it back to him, hoping he would have to chase his own weapon, but he annoyed her further by catching it deftly in one hand.  With maddening ease, he even managed to slip the glittering jewel into its scabbard, underwater.

            "Nancy!" she heard her father calling.  "Nancy, where are you?"  He had pulled up to the general area of the battle while she was underwater, hadn't seen her, and was getting worried.

            "I'm here, Dad," she called.

            Mr. Avery puffed and splashed into view, tugging some broken bits of planking behind him.  "Take this," he cried.  Gratefully, Nancy slipped onto the end of a long curved board.  The knight accepted another board nonchalantly, as if it made no difference to him whether he got help or not.

            Nancy decided she didn't like this fellow, but honor required her to show some gratitude.  "You saved our lives," she said, courteously.

            "I didn't even know you were there," he said, coolly, "until I was halfway through the battle.  My lookout spotted that big fellow, and I jumped at the chance to have a go at him.  Haven't seen a sea serpent in Olympus before.  It's really rather rare to have a whole new type of creature pop up.  Besides, he would have been after my ship, no doubt, if I hadn't taken steps.  I had no intention of interfering with your own adventures.  But I must say," and here he coughed, self-consciously, "that I might have lost my blade if it hadn't been for you.  Which would have been a bother, really.  I've grown quite attached to it.  Thank you," he said, somewhat stiffly, as if the words rarely fell from his tongue.

            As they spoke, his ship came within hailing distance of the party.  Her name was picked out in gold letters on her bows—the "Gray Maiden."  "Lord Peter," called a voice.  "I trust all is well?"

            "Quite," the knight—or lord—shouted back.  "Lost a bit of armor, but I suppose it would have been rusty and useless soon anyway.  Saved some poor beggar a few hours of fruitless scouring."

            They lowered a lifeboat to pick up the remaining members of the Avery's party.  They were soon all hoisted above, and stood dripping on the deck.  They tried to haul the poor bedraggled stallion aboard as well, but couldn't get it over the rail.  The great beast had flown away into battle easily enough.  They finally dismantled part of the ship's rail in order to hoist it up with ropes and a canvas sail under its belly.  It was a humiliated-looking horse they finally led off to a shipboard stable to be mopped up and dried off.

            Lord Peter disappeared into a cabin at the stern of the ship, and reemerged shortly, clad in elegantly simple clothing.  His first mate stood conspicuously near the party, unsure whether to treat them as guests or prisoners.

            Lord Peter strode past the dripping circle toward the bows.  His mate coughed nervously.  The master stopped, swiveled round, and glanced at the sodden survivors.  "Here, mate," he said carelessly.  "Take these prisoners and lock them in the hold."