'But why?'

'Just a minute ... here!' Panit secured a handhold on the trap and heaved it on to the boat. 'Here's why.'

The trap was ruined. Most of the wooden slats which formed its sides were caved in and those that weren't dangled loose. If Hort hadn't been expecting to see a Nya trap he wouldn't have recognized this as something other than a tangle of scrap-wood.

'It's been like this for over a week!' the Old Man snarled with sudden ferocity. 'Traps smashed, nets torn. That's why those who call themselves fishermen cower on the land instead of manning their boats!' He spat noisily over the side of the boat.

Was it also why his mother had insisted Hort give the Old Man a hand?

'Row for the docks, boy. Fishermen! They should fish in buckets where it's safe! Bah!'

Awed by the Old Man's anger, Hort turned the boat towards the shore. 'What's doing it?' he asked.

There was silence as Panit stared off to the sea. For a moment Hort thought his question had gone unheard and was about to repeat it. Then he saw how deep the wrinkles on his father's face had become.

'I don't know,' the Old Man murmured finally. 'Two weeks ago I would have said I knew every creature that swam or crawled in these waters. Today ... I just don't know.'

'Have you reported this to the soldiers?'

'Soldiers? Is that what you've learned from your fancy friends? Run to the soldiers?' Panit fairly trembled with rage. 'What do soldiers know of the sea? Eh? What do you want them to do? Stand on the shore and wave their swords at the water? Order the monster to go away? Collect a tax from it? Yes! That's it! If the soldiers declare a monster tax maybe it'll swim away to keep from being bled dry like the rest of us! Soldiers!'

The Old Man spat again and lapsed into a silence that Hort was loath to break. Instead he spent the balance of the return journey mentally speculating about the trap-crushing monster. In a way he knew it was futile; sharper minds than his, the Old Man's for example, had tried and failed to come up with an explanation. There wasn't much chance he'd stumble upon it. Still, it occupied his mind until they reached the dock. Only when the boat had been turned over in the late morning sun did Hort venture to reopen the conversation.

'Are we through for the day?' he asked. 'Can I go now?'

'You can,' the Old Man replied, turning a blank expression to his son. 'Of course, if you do it might cause problems. The way it is now, if your mother asks me: "Did you take the boat out today?" I can say yes. If you stay with me and she asks: "Did you spend the day with the Old Man?" you can say yes. If, on the other hand, you wander off on your own, you'll have to say "no" when she asks and we'll both have to explain ourselves to her.'

This startled Hort almost more than the discovery of an unknown monster loose in the. fishing grounds. He had never suspected the Old Man was capable of hiding his activities from his wife with such a calculated web of half-truths. Close on the heels of his shock came a wave of intense curiosity regarding his father's plans for a large block of time about which he did not want to tell his wife.

'I'll stay,' Hort said with forced casualness. 'What do we do now?' •

'First,' the Old Man announced as he headed off down the dock, 'we visit the Wine Barrel.'

The Wine Barrel was a rickety wharf-side tavern favoured by the fishermen and therefore shunned by everyone else. Knowing his father to be a nondrinker, Hort doubted the Old Man had ever before been inside the place, yet he led the way into the shadowed interior with a firm and confident step.

They were all there: Terci, Omat, Varies; all the fishermen Hort had known since childhood plus many he did not recognize. Even Haron, the only woman ever accepted by the fishermen, was there, though her round, fleshy and weathered face was scarcely different from the men's.

'Hey, Old Man? You finally given up?'

'There's an extra seat here.'

'Some wine for the Old Man!'

'One more trap-wrecked fisherman!'

Panit ignored the cries which erupted from various spots in the shadowed room at his entrance. He held his stride until he reached the large table custom reserved for the eldest fisherfolk.

'I told you, you'd be here eventually,' Omat greeted him, pushing the extra bench out with his long, thin leg. 'Now, who's a coward?'

The Old Man acknowledged neither the jibe nor the bench, leaning on the table with both hands to address the veterans. 'I only came to ask one question,' he hissed. 'Are all of you, or any of you, planning to do anything about whatever it is that's driven you from the sea?'

To a man, the fishermen moved their gazes elsewhere.

'What can we do?' Terci scowled. 'We don't even know what's out there. Maybe it will move on...'

'... And maybe it won't,' the Old Man concluded angrily. 'I should have known. Scared men don't think; they hide. Well, I've never been one to sit around waiting for my problems to go away on their own. Not planning to change now.'

He kicked the empty bench away and turned towards the door only to find Hort blocking his way.

'What are you going to do?' Terci called after him.

'I'm going to find an answer!' the Old Man announced, drilling the room with his scorn. 'And I'll find it where I've always found answers - in the sea; not at the bottom of a wine-cup.'

With that he strode out of the door. Hort started to follow when someone called his name and he turned back.

'I thought that was you under those city-clothes,' Omat said without rancour. 'Watch over him, boy. He's a little crazy and crazy people sometimes get killed before they get sane.'

There was a low murmur of assent from those around the table. Hort nodded and hurried after his father. The Old Man was waiting for him outside the door.

'Fools!' he raged. 'No money for a week and they sit drinking what little they have left. Pah!'

'What do we do now. Old Man?'

Panit looked around then snatched up a Nya trap from a stack on the dock. 'We'll need this,' he said, almost to himself.

'Isn't that one ofTerci's traps?' Hort asked cautiously.

'He isn't using it, is he?' the Old Man shot back. 'And besides we're only borrowing it. Now, you're supposed to know this town - where's the nearest blacksmith?'

'The nearest? Well, there's a mender in the Bazaar, but the best ones are...'

The Old Man was off, striding purposefully down (he street, leaving Hort to hurry after him.

It wasn't a market-day; the Bazaar was still sleepy with many stalls unopened. It was not necessary for Hort to lead the way as the sharp, ringing notes of hammer striking anvil were easily heard over the slow-moving shoppers. The dark giant plying the hammer glanced at them as they approached, but continued his work.

'Are you the smith?' Panit asked.

This earned them another, longer, look but no words. Hort realized the question had been ridiculous. A few more strikes and the giant set his hammer aside, turning his full attention to his new customers.

'I need a Nya trap. One of these.' The Old Man thrust thetrap at the smith.

The smith glanced at the trap, then shook his head. 'Smith; not carpenter,' he proclaimed, already reaching for his hammer.

'I know that!' the Old Man barked. 'I want this trap made out of metal.'

The giant stopped and stared at his customers again, then he picked up the trap and examined it.

'And I'll need it today - by sundown.'

The smith set the trap down carefully. 'Two silvers,' he said firmly.

'Two!' the Old Man snorted. 'Do you think you're dealing with the Kitty-Kat himself? One.'