Lurching forward as if to stand on his head he shot straight downward,
and drove his sword full length into one of those dreadful eyes.
"In an instant three or four feelers closed upon him. But they were
now thrashing a little aimlessly, so that they did not work well
together. The monster was confused by that terrible, searching trust.
Little Sword was hampered by the feelers clutching at him, but he still
had room to use his weapon. With all his weight and quivering strength
he drove his sword again deep into the Inkmaker's head, twisting and
wrenching it sideways as he drew it out. Other tentacles closed over
him, but seemed to have lost their clutching power through the attack
upon the source of their nervous energy. The struggling barracouta was
drawn down with them, but blindly; and the water was now utterly black
with the rank ink which the monster was pumping forth.
"For a few moments all was one boiling convulsion of fish and tentacles
and ink, Little Sword simply stabbing and stabbing at the soft mass
under his weapon. Then, all at once, the tentacles relaxed, falling
away as slack as seaweed. The barracouta, nearly spent, swam off
without even waiting to say 'Thank you.
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