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of former sockets. Never having known the senses that had been banished since birth, they had no idea
how to cope with them. Those islanders whose ears found the right heads were stunned by the loudness
a couple of convoluted slabs of flesh could convey. Others kept newly restored eyes shut tight lest they
be mentally blinded by the shock of sharply outlined images delivered direct to the brain. Noses brought
not satisfaction but nausea, and mouths a mindless, disconsolate wailing that began to spread all across
the island and to other islands, as freed features flocked to owners living there.
With the aid of nets and clubs, the aroused populace tediously began to bring the situation under control.
Eyes and ears were rounded up and bagged for return to the domed chamber. Stunned noses fluttered
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and hopped on the ground, to be recovered and placed in bags by busy, faceless children. A carnival of
the grotesque was on view as Tiloeans with one eye and a mouth, or two ears and nothing else, struggled
to clean up the mess engendered by the mass release of features.
Nor were the impatient, agitated organs always precise in their deployment. Stumbling along the paths
and past the village, the departing crew saw men and women with ears where their eyes ought to have
been, noses taking the places reserved for mouths, and individual eyes occupying the high points of faces
where nostrils ought to reside. All of which contributed to the general chaos and allowed the sailors to
escape unchallenged.
Commandeering several fishing boats, they rowed their way back to the waitingGrömsketter. Ignoring
the danger inherent in attempting to pass through close-set islands at night, the Captain ordered all sail put
on. Not one of the grateful crew challenged her decision. Had she so ordered it, they would have jumped
into the water in a body and pushed and kicked the heavy craft with their own hands, so frantic were
they to flee that gentle, kindhearted, accursed land.
It was only when they were safely clear of the Tilo Isles and their bizarre inhabitants that the mariners
took the time to note that not everything had been put back the way it had formerly been. There was
some question as to which eye belonged to whom, and what lips ought rightly to reside above certain
chins. This posttraumatic confusion was understandable and was soon sorted out. Personal
disappointments aside, it was understood that everyone had recovered his or her rightful features, and
that if anyone held any second thoughts on the matter, they were best kept to oneself, since nothing could
be done in any event to further alter the current state of affairs.
What lingering discontent existed was quickly swallowed in the wave of euphoria that followed the last
peak of the Tilos falling behind the horizon astern. Everyone realized they should be grateful for having
had the proper complement of features returned to them. After all, everyone knows it is better to have
the wrong nose than no nose at all.
There was one attempt made to honor and praise the black litah for effecting their freedom and the
restoration of their countenances, but the big cat forcefully demurred. Such frivolities were time-wasting
activities fit for humans, it avowed curtly, and not for nobler species like himself. Besides, it went on to
explain, it was by nature already lionized, and had no need of gyrating, genuflecting humans to remind it
of that fact.
But despite the cat s insistence, a few brave sailors did manage to slip in a stroke or two when it was not
looking, before dashing quickly back to their posts. After a while the litah gave up trying to frighten them
off, even going so far as to tolerate their accolades and attention. Once when it was being the recipient of
such attention, the lankier of its human companions caught it purring thunderously to itself. Confronted
with this embarrassing contradiction, the litah promptly retired below, and thereafter showed itself as little
as possible except at mealtimes and when taking the occasional feline constitutional around the deck.
VII
After the remarkable occurrences of the past week it was a relief to passengers and mariners alike to find
themselves navigating a calm sea devoid of preternatural spectacles. Except for the flock of web-footed
pink and white sea dragonets that glided gracefully past one morning, nothing out of the ordinary
presented itself for their perusal. Life aboard ship resumed a normalcy it had not known since the
Grömsketter had first cleared the mouth of the now distant Eynharrowk delta.
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They were still in waters foreign to Stanager Rose and her crew, but sailing on the right course to make
landfall somewhere north of the trading town of Doroune. The sometimes gruff Captain seemed pleased
with their progress, and voiced aloud the hope that they would encounter no more unaccountable
interruptions.
It was a false hope.
Contrary to what landsmen think, there are many kinds of fog. These are as familiar to mariners as the
many varieties of wind and rain are to a farmer. There is the fog that sneaks up on a ship, scudding along
the surface of the sea until it begins to cling in bits and pieces to its hull, gradually building up until it is
heavy enough to creep over the bow and obscure a skipper s vision. There is fog that arrives in thick
clumps like gray cotton pulled from some giant s mattress. Some fog drifts down from the sky, settling
over ship and crew like a moist towel, while another fog rolls over the ocean in the proverbial bank that is
more like a dark gray wall than a line of mist. There are almost as many species of fog as dog and, like
dogs, each has its own peculiarities and unique identifying characteristics and habits.
There was nothing striking about the fog that began to assemble itself around theGrömsketter. At first.
It announced itself as a single patch drifting out of the west, neither especially dense nor dark. Gray and
damp, it floated toward the bowsprit and sailed past on the starboard side. Few of the crew paid it any
heed. All of them had seen fog before, sailed through it, and come out safely on the other side.
When additional patches showed themselves later in the morning, it occasioned some comment among
those on duty. The lookout in particular was concerned, and announced that they appeared to be
entering a region of fairly contiguous mist. Stanager Rose directed Terious to make the usual preparations
for running through cloud. These consisted of placing additional lookouts in the rigging and reefing some
of the canvas. Better to go a little more slowly and be sure of what lay ahead than to charge blindly
onward at full speed.
Sensing the ship slowing, her passengers came out on deck, to find themselves greeted by the congealing
grayness.
Ehomba commented on the unhurried activity aloft. You are taking in sail.
Ayesh. They were standing on the helm deck. Stanager s attention was focused on her crew, not on
curious passengers. When general visibility s cut, a wise seaman doesn t take chances with what can t
be seen. Don t want to run into anything. She smiled tersely. Don t worry. Either this will lift or we ll
plow right through it. That s the nature of sea fog.
Run into what? Standing at the railing, Simna was peering into the thickening gloom, struggling to
penetrate the damp haze. Another ship?
Possible, but most unlikely, she told him. A floating log could do real damage, but I am more
concerned with drifting ice. She squinted skyward, sighting along the mast. As far north as the liberated
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