The Vyšehrad Drowned

7. Be Patient

"Who, huh? We're waiting for more of your kind? Wonderful. Really. I can hardly wait to see what royal servants show up next.  A knight on a seahorse, perhaps? A jester? No, let me guess, an entire troupe of mages and jugglers."  

Perun thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers and conjured a sour, up-to-here-and-no-further expression meant to show the monster he still wasn't buying the show. It was the same one that, when he applied it on his own men, made them fidget and scout the shortest way to an exit. 

The monster paid no attention to him.

If it hadn't come to blows in the narrow tunnel, it wasn't going to now. His preternatural sense for violence, for the delicate balance of power in any given situation, told him the river monster wouldn't do him any more harm than he needed to. Why that was, Perun didn't know, but the shadow of a notion had already begun to show itself at the edge of his thoughts. 

If he, Perun reasoned as he surveyed the playing fish, had ordered an experience like this for someone else, there could only be one, maybe two, reasons for it. 

Best guess, he was attempting to scare and confuse the idiot into submission before forcing him into a deal entirely to his disadvantage, and Perun's advantage. That could be what this was all about. The monster had only showed him things, however. He hadn't been presented with an offer or a deal of any kind. 

Not yet.

The notion that someone was getting the upper hand on him caused Perun to unconsciously thrust his jaw forward, etching the sour expression even further into soft folds around his eyes and stretching the skin of his cheeks taunt. 

He had to get out of this river, get back to his rooms and get some sleep. Business didn't wait for anyone, and the day would start up again in a few hours. He didn't want to think what would happen if he wasn't seen by one of his bodyguards by lunchtime.  

"If what happens next is up to me," he said, in as light of tone as he could, "then I'm going back up there." He lifted his chin indicating the surface of the river. 

"You won't get far." 

"Oh, no? The surface is right there. What's to stop me just swimming for it? Two minutes and I'll be back up on dry land and out of this nightmare memory lane, or whatever this is. And if you're going to come after me for another wrestle, then remember the patrol boat. Let me tell you, I'd prefer a jail cell for the night to sticking around down here making conversation."

"Then go. Nothing is stopping you. You've already found out everything you were meant to here." 

Everything you were meant to. The words echoed around in Perun's mind.

Somebody was behind this. Stings were being pulled that he couldn't see the ends of, and that made him nervous. His hand rose to where his gun should have been. 

Perun looked from the monster to the surface and back again. There was only one way to find out exactly how anybody's plan worked: throw it into disarray and observe the scramble that ensued. 

He didn't know how to swim, not exactly, but he had seen it demonstrated enough. He'd be able to make the surface though a combination of floating and swimming movements. Looking around for something harder than mud to push off from, he found a small, flat rock and stepped up on it. 

With one eye still on the monster, Perun raised an arm over his head and then down in a swoop as he simultaneously thrust himself upwards, kicking his legs.  

He rose about a metre off of the river bottom before descending again and landing with a heavy thump. A cloud of sludge swirled up and around him, getting into his eyes and mouth. Waving it away in irritated swipes, he tried again, but managed nothing more than another awkward hop.