Proteus sat quietly, only the tips of his tentacles wriggling. "He enjoys thoroughly power. He likes, of course, a round of golf. And to talk. Little else."
"Ah, let us wend our way to Poseidon. There is much to be done."
Indeed there was. Day after day they worked with Poseidon, taught him skills foreign to his domain. With Proteus he visited the Golden Isles, the throne intended for Oceanus, and learned much along the way.
"Proteus, when comes Oceanus?"
"That I know not. But this I know, the waves shall not be still, nor the ocean calm, with his coming."
Demo woke with the leaping and bounding of the three-master. The ship moaned in the throes of an angry sea. The planks bent and gave, and sea water sloshed in the hold. Above, the wind tore at the furled sails. The hawsers, stretched taut, groaned under the torment. Seabirds landed on the deck, sought shelter from the storm.
"Is it now? Has he come?"
Proteus, now in human form, nodded. "It is surely Oceanus. I will address him. He will listen to me." Proteus spoke with little assurance, his eyes watching the ever wilder sea.
"Oceanus, 'tis I, your old friend, Proteus. We would meet with
you, on the Golden Isles. Poseidon is amenable to concessions.
He would negotiate with you. This day we sail for the Golden
Isles."
The words seemed to have little effect. Then, gradually, the winds died, and the waves grew ever smaller. A light breeze rose, steady, blowing toward the Golden Isles.