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Grog looked at the woh her e the ratted heap

“I know you’re not froht? You do grasp the concept of a tail? It’s for swi and all? I may not like to dip yr Of course I could find it again But I have no ift that I escaped with full pockets, and I’ mouth to jump into Now fill up my cup, Eyvind, and keep your wo her drink”

Snow, unseen by all, as always, had crept closer to the wide tub of brine, and pulled a knife from the bar into her thin hands She leapt like a feral cat onto the lip of the tub, and seized Grog by a tuft of bottle-green hair

“Take us,” she hissed “Take us to the monster or I’ll cut your throat”

“Snow!” Sigrid gasped “What’s gotten into you? If anyone’s to threaten the sea-cow, it’ll be me”

“Sigrid,” Snow pleaded, “you knohat’s out there You’ve spent all this tirid, and you think I’ll let a chance to be in that story, to be part of it, slide by? Didn’t you give eight years to a Tower because a woman told you a story you loved? All I want is a few days at sea! You knoas you in the song—but couldn’t it have been me, too? An orphan will find her! I’m an orphan if you ever knew one You’ve waited all these years to find the Echeneis and you’re going to let this greasy old thing stop us? Let me come with you, letfish if she won’t help us!” Snow pressed the knife into the rolls of fat around Grog’s neck, and the Magyr squealed helplessly

“Fanatics!” she screeched “I tell you, there is nothing so dangerous in the world as fanatics! Sheapshank! Turkshead! Snap this one in half for mistress!”

The great hulks of men leapt forward to pulance

“Touch her and I’ll bash ave hirateful nod

“All right! All right! I’ll take you there, you stinking dogs You used to run a fair bar, Eyvind, but look at you now! Groveling before soyr’s head and clilared at her and spat out a hunk of green phlegrid smiled wanly and wiped it off

“Thank you,” Snow said stiffly

“Mistress,” cah voice Turkshead had crept forward and was kneeling at the side of the tub, pawing Grog like a pup “Not the sea again Not the boat Please My stomach…”

“Not the sea again,” agreed Sheapshank “We’ve had enough It’s out there, waiting We’ll wait here for you—we love you—but on’t face the ain”

Grog rolled her eyes “Well, ill carry

of rum!”