now, he thought, I could do little to save myself, for the waves were rearing high and crashing down on the deck, draining away through the gaps in the bottles and planks.
The storm lasted all night. A howling draught accompanied it, which blew as if it had come from the pursed lips of gargantuan demons, almost stripping the raft of its sail. Alex managed to reef in the bed sheet before it was ripped to shreds in the terrible draught which whipped up the waters. The raft held up well under such a battering. The reason was it was very flexible, having been built in a loose fashion, the pliable ropes tied with firm knots. Had it been of a more rigid construction, the vessel would surely have perished in the blast, for it was a night of white blinding spray, of deep, seemingly bottomless, watery hollows, and terrible sudden squalls which spun the raft like a top while Alex clung on to the decks with all four limbs.
In the morning he was drenched, fatigued, but whole. Lightning had zig-zagged about his head, lighting up the attic sky for brief brilliant moments, but had not burned him to a crisp. Mountainous seas had all but engulfed him but had fortunately passed over, leaving him battered and breathless. Screaming draughts from the mouths of heaven and hell had nearly wrenched him from his handholds and flung him into the maw of monstrous waves, but had not managed to prise him from his grip.
There had been the thought that the Loving Flounder – such a pretty name for such an ugly monster – might enfold him, but it hadn’t. Here he was still, now sailing gently on a freshwater ocean which looked for all the world as if it were dressed in its Sunday best and off to church. It was calm. It was peaceful. It was a day for drying out in the pillars of the sun, among the warm motes of dust, while contemplating the vagaries of nature.
A white-painted sign with black lettering floated past the raft at about noon. Written on it were the words:
NOTICE
No Dreaming.
No Wishing.
No Swimming.
‘Weird,’ muttered Alex. ‘Totally weird.’
Next he saw two other craft, sailing together, passing him within hailing distance. One was an upturned table, the legs used as masts, the other was a bookcase on its back, the mariners aboard using shovels as oars. They waved to him and smiled. They were obviously sea-Atticans, small brown people with quick, light, graceful movements, not at all like land-Atticans. The latter were lumpy awkward creatures, used to manual labour in a heavy environment. These people were like the fresh draughts, nimble creatures with bright eyes and ready grins which flashed greetings even to strangers. Alex waved back and cried, ‘What are you doing out here?’
One of the sailors held up a battered fishing rod and a child’s seaside crabbing net as if they understood.
‘Fishing?’ questioned Alex.
That was plain enough. But on board the sea-Atticans also had goods, presumably to trade with. There were feather boas and other such items on the decks. Alex hove alongside one of the vessels and indicated he would like to trade one or two of his exotic paperweights. He had onyx pyramids, glass hemispheres with rainbows locked inside, mythical brass animals. The sea-going Atticans seemed delighted. They gave him a thick quilt coat in exchange for two of his treasures, happy with the bounty.
Alex had not really wanted the coat, but he had enjoyed meeting with other beings. He realised at this point that he actually needed company sometimes. That was all right, he thought, because there was company to be had. He didn’t have to deteriorate into a complete hermit in his quest to become a bortrekker.
After waving goodbye to the Attican water tank farers he set sail again on a day when the sky was reasonably clear of dust clouds and the many skylights lit up his seapath like searchlights. The mariners had given him a fishing line, which he now proceeded to employ, using bits of weed as bait. However, either the bait was no good, or the fisherman was no good, for he caught nothing. Fishing in the deep sea, Alex decided, was a difficult occupation.
He suddenly remembered he did have a companion and spent an hour or two chatting with Makishi, who was willing enough to talk, but because of his limited experience of life did not have a great deal to say. He knew about