The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

to sniff the wind. Bessel did, too. Woodsmoke drifted gently toward his nose. Woodsmoke permeated with salt and . . . and fish! Mopsie yipped happily and bounded forward.
    Bessel’s stomach growled, so he followed.
    Along the beach a short distance and deep in one of the numerous coves on the uneven coastline, a group of three fishermen huddled around a small driftwood fire. The men had hauled their small boat above the ebbing tide line and turned it over to keep the interior dry. Bessel sensed rain on the wind and shivered anew.
    Three sleek, long-legged dogs raised their heads from their paws, eyes and ears alert, but not menacing.
    “Have you enough fish to share with a stranger?” Bessel asked politely. He stopped well away from the fire. Mopsie hung behind him rather than challenge the larger dogs.
    “Looks like you’re as much flotsam as man,” one of the men laughed. Deep lines creased his face around the eyes from a lifetime of peering closely at the water in all weathers. A broken tooth showed when he grinned. Otherwise he looked healthy, reasonably well fed, and no more ragged than any other man of his profession.
    “I feel like a piece of waterlogged driftwood,” Bessel replied.
    “Then come, sit by the fire, and warm yourself a bit. There’s fish aplenty if you don’t mind picking out the bones,” the fisherman said. He gestured Bessel closer. The dogs lowered their heads but kept their eyes and ears on Bessel and Mopsie.
    “Well, hello, pup!” a second fisherman greeted Mopsie. He held out a hand for the dog to sniff. “Where you been hiding these last few days?”
    “Mopsie adopted me two days ago,” Bessel said. He plunked down next to the second man. “Do you know where my fam . . . dog came from?”
    “Them Guild of Bay Pilots turned out all their dogs when they got that fancy machine. Said they didn’t need dogs to sense the currents anymore.” The first fisherman spat into the mud in disgust. “Name’s Leauman, and this here’s Aguiir and Waaterrsoon.” He gestured right and left to indicate his companions.
    “I’m Bessel, and I’m very interested in learning more about your dogs.” As if on cue, the three large dogs rocked and stretched onto their feet, then ambled over to sniff Mopsie.
    Nose to nose, nose to tail, they introduced themselves. When Mopsie had been approved, they all wrestled a few moments, tugging on ears and nipping tails. But then they settled around the fire, each dog at the feet of his master.
    “I don’t understand. Can dogs smell underwater?” Bessel mused. He rested his elbow on one knee and propped up his suddenly heavy head with his hand.
    Mopsie stretched and shifted, edging marginally closer to the fire and the fish cooking on a spit above it. Leauman smiled at the dog and then at Bessel. One of the dogs growled low in his throat at Mopsie. The little dog gazed back with wide innocent eyes and dropped his head onto his paws. A moment later he repeated the maneuver. This time the warning growls were louder. Mopsie had the grace to look guilty, but he didn’t back away from his intended prize.
    “What’s to understand about Mopplewoggers? The dogs stand in the bow of the boat and yip once for starboard, twice for port. We follow the dogs and never run aground. Ignore the dogs and you run afoul of a sandbar or flotsam, just like that stupid pilot, Raanald, two days ago. If he’d kept his dog and not bothered with the machine, he wouldn’t have lost his passenger and brought this country to the brink of war.” Aguiir hawked and spat again.
    Bessel cringed a little, not knowing if he should mention that he had ridden on the barge with Raanald two days ago.
    “Mopsie doesn’t look like a Mopplewogger,” Bessel said, caressing his familiar’s silky ears in an attempt to keep him from creeping closer to the fire and their dinner.
    “Yeah, he was a surprise all right,” Leauman laughed. “One of the pilot’s dogs was in heat when she got turned loose. She must have mated with half a dozen strays around the port. Every pup came out different.”
    “Is one of your dogs Mopsie’s dam?” Bessel inspected each of the lounging animals for any trace of resemblance to his dog.
    “Naw,” Waaterrsoon spoke for the first time. “My Swabby brought the bitch home with him. She’s heavy with pups again. This time I made sure she only mated with Swabby.” He petted his dog vigorously, possessively.
    “What about Mopsie?” Bessel asked.