Then it hissed. That would have got anybody’s attention. The lookout screamed again. Can’t say I blame him. Not many live people have ever heard that noise. The ones who did hear it mostly didn’t stay alive long, anyhow. Take a bronze statue-a heroic bronze statue, twice as tall as a man. Heat it red-hot. Use some special-and very stupid-sorcery to fly it out over the ocean. Drop it in. The sea serpent sounded a lot like that, only more so.

It was, in its own way, a beautiful creature. Its belly was pale yellow, its back a darker greenish gold. Those back scales were softly iridescent, and the sun also sparkled off the seawater that dripped from it. Like most of its kind, it had a crest of long scales-almost feathers, really, as if serpents were somehow related to birds-along the top of its head. That crest was raised, which meant the sea serpent was interested in something. Probably us, worse luck.

How old was a sea serpent that size? When it was young, had it watched Lakedaimonian and Palladian galleys ram one another in the unpronounceable war that ruined both Lokrian city-states and set up the rise of Fyrom? Had it feasted on philosophers, dined on dramatists, snacked on scholars? I had no way of knowing, and neither does anyone else. What I did know was that those eyes, as big as dinner plates or maybe shields, were more knowing than a serpent’s eyes had any business being.

Out shot its tongue, long as a pennant. It was tasting the air, wondering what sort of dainties it might find. Unfortunately, I had a pretty good notion where the closest available sea-serpent dainties were.

Even more unfortunately, I was one of them.

That enormous head, graceful as a spearpoint and ever so much more deadly, swung towards us. Tasos said something else to Stagiros. No, let me put that down exactly as it happened: Tasos shrieked at the weatherworker. Stagiros said something in return. Tasos shrieked again, even louder. I don’t speak Lokrian, but I didn’t need to be philosopher, dramatist, or scholar to translate this dialogue.

Make us go faster!

I’m already doing everything I can.

Make us go faster anyway! Lots faster!

If I were Tasos, that’s what I would have said to Stagiros, and you can take it to the bank. The weatherworker went right on raising his wind. The Gamemeno skimmed along faster than anything I’ve ever seen on sails. But were sails faster than scales? I had the feeling we were going to find out. I also had the feeling I might not like the answer. And if I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t like any that came afterwards, either.

The sea serpent’s tongue shot out again, long and pink and questing. When it did, I got a glimpse-just a glimpse, mind you-of the serpent’s fangs. I could have done without that, really, thank you very much. Max must have got a glimpse, too, for he said, “Nice to know we’re not in a little bit of trouble, isn’t it?” Max is always so reassuring.

Then the great beast lowered its head so that about half the upthrust neck, maybe more, went back down into the sea. It started swimming after the Gamemeno. It started gaining on the Gamemeno, too.

As soon as we were sure about that-which didn’t take long, curse it-Tasos wasn’t the only one shrieking at poor Stagiros. He was one of the best in the world. So what? If he wasn’t good enough to keep us ahead of this mother of all sea serpents (which, given its size and likely age, it might have been), he wasn’t good enough. Period. Exclamation point, even.

And he wasn’t. He did everything he knew how to do, and he knew how to do more than any other weatherworker I’ve ever seen. The serpent kept on sliding closer anyhow. The effort Stagiros was putting out, he looked on the point of falling over dead. If he did, we’d all die in short order. And if he didn’t…we’d all die in short order anyway. That was sure how it looked.

The sea serpent’s head came up again. Its tongue flicked in and out, in and out. It was tasting dinner before it even got a bite. The two Klephts started to take out their crossbows and load them with bolts from their bandoliers. The sailors persuaded them not to by sitting on their heads. I would have done more than that-I would have cleft them in twain if I had to. The most they could do, I thought, was annoy the sea serpent, which was just what we needed then.

I wondered if it would come up astern of us and snatch Stagiros off the poop deck. That would have left the Gamemeno with nothing but the world’s wind, of which there wasn’t much just then. The serpent could have snacked on the rest of us at its leisure.

But, however many ancient philosophers the sea serpent had digested, it hadn’t digested their wisdom. Or maybe its tongue told it that what it wanted most wasn’t back at the poop. So it swam alongside us instead of taking us from behind. Perhaps it wasn’t a Lokrian sea serpent after all.

Out went that tongue. In. Out. In. They say small serpents can charm birds so they’ll just sit still and be swallowed. Watching that tongue almost charmed me. If I’d had any sense, I would have run below. Then the serpent would have had to smash the ship to get me. Not that it couldn’t, mind you. Not that it wouldn’t. But it would have taken longer.

Those enormous eyes lit with a cold reptilian satisfaction. Fast as a striking serpent-well, yes, exactly that fast-the great head darted forward. That terrible mouth gaped wide, wider, widest. I can testify that sea serpents have never heard of mouthwash.

And the serpent seized…the vampire’s coffin. Down that maw it went: wooden box, chains, roses, garlic, and all. Garlic! Maybe that was what the titanic tongue tasted on the air. If it was, I owed the sea serpent an apology for thinking it wasn’t Lokrian.

I also spent a moment wondering what would happen to the vampire when the serpent’s stomach juices ate through the coffin. How much did being undead matter if you were being dissolved? I didn’t have the faintest idea, and I’d bet nobody else does, either. Not even the maddest, most intrepid natural philosopher could arrange an experiment like that.

The vampire would know pretty soon. How long it would know was another question-the other question.

How long I would be able to go on worrying about it was another question, too. One vampire, even with coffin, chains, and condiments, was only a bonbon to a sea serpent like that. Its tongue did some more flicking. Then its horrible head descended-toward Max.

Maybe he was just the biggest man on the Gamemeno’s deck. Or maybe the sea serpent scented the garlic from our mutton sausage. Never having been a sea serpent, I can’t say. But that tongue flicked out right in front of Max’s face.

He wasn’t charmed, and you can take the word in any of its senses. I must have seen him draw his sword half a dozen times since we set out for the Land of the Eagle. He hadn’t done anything but draw it, not up till now. But a sea serpent is even less inclined to see reason than Dooger and Cark, which is saying something.

When the serpent’s tongue shot out again, Max swung the sword. The sailors didn’t have time to sit on his head. The blade sliced right through one of those forked tonguetips. Blood spurted. The sea serpent let out a gigantic-sea-serpent-sized hiss of astonishment and pain. What could be worse than an uppity breakfast? Imagine you’ve bitten down on your roll, all nicely spread with honey-and discovered the hard way that a bee was as interested in the honey as you were.

No, I’ve never done that, either. I said imagine. If you have trouble with that, use some transcendental floss to clean some of the grime from your mind, then try again.

I wondered whether the sea serpent would smash the Gamemeno to pieces with its thrashing. It was annoyed-yes, just a bit. But, Eliphalet and Zibeon be praised, it didn’t. It swam off instead, looking for food less inclined to stand up for its rights.