Anselm's Adventurers

Part 7: On the Beach

Victoria screamed as Haver and Madge hurtled toward the sea. Anselm stared as the Drakerune plunged into deep water. For a moment, there was only the sound of the surf and Victoria's tragic sobs--then Haver splashed to the surface, and Madge scrambled up on top of his head.

"Get off him!" Victoria shouted. "You're going to drown him!"

They say that a drowning man will drag his rescuer down with him. If Madge had been a human, that might have been the end for Haver. But twenty-three pounds of panicky gnome is not enough to drown a healthy adult male who is twenty yards from dry land, and before long, Haver and Madge lay gasping on the beach.

Victoria hovered over Haver, trying to make sure he was alright. Anselm absent-mindedly picked Madge up by one heel and thumped her on the back as she spluttered, all the while keeping his eyes glued to the spot where the Drakerune went down. 

"Are you okay, Haver? Tell me you're okay!" Victoria was over her hysterics and settled down to some serious solicitiude. "Speak to me!"

Haver coughed up another half-pint of seawater and one small fish. "I'll be fine. Just... need... to... rest." He gurged again and spit out a jellyfish.

Anselm kicked off his sandals and started stripping off his cloak.

"What are you doing?" Victoria asked.

"Gotta grab that rock before it's sucked out to sea," Anselm answered grimly. He pulled off his robe and undertunic. Madge and Victoria averted their eyes.

Stripped to his loincloth, Anselm untied his pack and began rummaging deep in the inner pockets. "It's in here somewhere," he muttered, tossing out a salt shaker and a small bottle of something green and nasty. "Oh, there you are." He plucked a forked stick out of the depths, and immediately began to chant. "Eeny meeny miney moe, show me where I ought to go..."

The twig twitched in his hands and veered a little to the left. Anselm ran towards the water's edge and plunged in. "Oof!" he shouted when he surfaced. "Cold!"

He didn't have time for commentary after that. Kicking as hard as he could, he kept the his dowsing rod clutched in outstretched arms as he swam into deeper water. He passed the line of breakers and bobbed up and down in the swells beyond. The party on the beach could no longer see the forked stick, but he paddled left and right until he finally settled on one patch of seawater. Then he slipped below the surface.

Long seconds passed, then more, until a minute had gone by. Anselm broke the surface. He didn't have the rock, but he wiped the water from his eyes and flashed a "thumbs-up" sign towards the watchers on the beach. After five or six deep breaths, he dove again.

This time he came back up more quickly, without his twig but with a rock in one fist. "Got it!" he shouted, and then choked on a cold splash of seawater. He started swimming for the beach.

"Oh, good," Haver murmured, and let his head fall back on the sand.

"He's a good swimmer," Victoria commented after a while.

"Well, then, why isn't he getting any closer?" Madge asked.

"He isn't getting closer?" Haver lifted his head back off the sand.

"Not that I can tell," Victoria admitted. "It seems like he's been swimming hard. For a long time."

"Rip tide!" Haver choked, and staggered to his feet. "Anselm!" he shouted, and then coughed uncontrollably. "Rip tide! Swim this way!" He pointed left, along the beach.

Anselm signaled understanding, and started swimming west. 

"Don't go that way! You're going out to sea!" Victoria cried.