The girls obediently went to find their brothers, who were leaning on the balcony railings.
“Where’s the learned gentleman?” asked Anthea.
“There he is—below,” said the priest, who had come with them. “Your High Ji-jimmy is with the Kings.”
The ten Kings were no longer alone. The learned gentleman—no one had noticed how he got there—stood with them on the steps of an altar, on which lay the dead body of the black bull. All the rest of the courtyard was thick with people, seemingly of all classes, and all were shouting, “The sea—the sea!”
“Be calm,” said the most kingly of the Kings, he who had lassoed the bull. “Our town is strong against the thunders of the sea and of the sky!”
“I want to go home,” whined the Psammead.
“We can’t go without him,” said Anthea firmly.
“Jimmy,” she called, “Jimmy!” and waved to him. He heard her, and began to come towards her through the crowd.
They could see from the balcony the sea-captain edging his way out from among the people. And his face was dead white, like paper.
“To the hills!” he cried in a loud and terrible voice. And above his voice came another voice, louder, more terrible—the voice of the sea.