Silversion

by Rick Johnson

  “And the place has got to be opened on this side, if we’re going to get all those escaped slaves down the river,” Seems responded. Seeing Klemés’s surprised look, he added, “Sure, you didn’t mention it last night when you were telling us your story, but one-plus-one always equals two. You’ve taken over Tilk Duraow. That means you’ve now got a couple thousand freed beasts you’ve got to do something with. So, in my math, that equals the fact that you need a way to move them out safely. From what you’ve said, there’s only one way left—they’ve got to come out through here.”

  “And what do you think about that?” Klemés asked.

  “I think trying the doors is a waste of time,” Seems answered. “You’re no engineer, but you’re an awfully good inventor. You sealed those doors to stick. It’s better to look for something else. My suggestion is the cistern.”

  “The cistern?” the Wood Cow said, puzzeled. “What do you mean?”

  “Come with me,” the Wolf replied, “I’ll show you.”

  Klemés and the others got up and followed Seems down a passageway and then up several flights of stairs. At the top of the stairs, the Wolf opened an iron door to an enormous chamber. The room was well-lit—almost cheery in comparison to the bleak half-light of most of the Club Wolf post. Several large lamps blazed, their smoke rising toward an opening the ceiling.

  The visitors were astounded to see that most of the chamber was filled by a huge pool of water. A stone wall rimmed the pool, with a narrow space for walking around it. A steady stream of water poured from a large tunnel in the wall into the pool.

  “This is were we get our drinking water,” Seems explained. “The lake water is horrid. This water comes from two sources: a spring and rainwater flowing down down from the Tilk Duraow storm drain. The cistern is higher than the landing, so water flows by gravity when we open any faucet at the post. And when there’s heavy rain—like there was yesterday—we can open a relief valve and drain excess water into the lake.”

  “So this is where the storm drain dumps,” Klemés observed. “I worked maintenance at Tilk Duraow, so I know the storm drain system well. The catchment basin for all the gutters is on the lowest level of the fortress, just a little ways from my old cell, in fact. But I never knew where the rain water went after it reached the catchment.”

  “The other interesting part of the cistern’s design,” Seems continued, “is that it takes advantage of an ancient lava tube. When Tilk Duraow was built, the builders noticed the continuously flowing spring that follows the course of the lava tube.”

  “What’s a lava tube?” Plug asked. “Sounds strange. I thought lava was melted rock.”

  “It is,” Seems explained, “but under special conditions, sometimes lava will flow so that its outer layers cool and harden into stone, while hot lava is still flowing inside—kind of like a straw. When the hot lava stops flowing, it can leave a smooth-walled tunnel in the rock. That’s what happened here in ancient times.”

  “That must be the ‘shower of boiling earth and flaming rock’ falling from the sky, that NeyMooz mentioned,” Klemés said.

  “Yes,” Seems agreed; that was the last time that Mt. Distemper erupted, several thousand years ago. “Anyway, the builders of Tilk Duraow located the storm drain catchment basin so that it could dump rain water directly into the lava tube.”

  “So the catchment basin in Tilk Duraow is directly connected with this cistern!” Klemés exclaimed excitedly.

  “Yes,” Seems replied. “I see that you’ve discovered the plan I want to suggest.”

  “Send the Tilk Duraow escapees down the lava tube!” the Wood Cow said with a smile.

  “Exactly,” Seems agreed. “And the beauty of it is that the lava tube walls were already smooth, and centuries of water running down it has made the bottom of the tunnel as slick as can be. Start beasts at the top, and—ZOOM—they’ll land in the cistern in under a minute.”

  “Wow, that’s an amazing thought,” Plug said. “Sure will make it easy to get folks out of the fortress.”

  “Is there a way up the lava tube?” Klemés asked.

  “There’s iron handles set in the sides of the tube,” Seems responded. “That’s for cleaning and maintenance, but they’ll also get you back inside the fortress from this side.”

  “Who would have guessed?” Klemés whistled.

  “Once beasts land in the cistern, we use the sharking boats to ferry them across the lake,” Seems added.

  “How many sharking boats are there?” the Wood Cow asked.

  “Eight sharking boats,” Seems replied, “plus two Club Wolf patrol boats.”

  “Total capacity?” Klemés asked.

  “Probably a hundred, leaving space for the packs and gear we’ll be carrying,” the Wolf replied.

  “So—how do we get two thousand beasts out of here a hundred at a time?” Jo’nee inquired.

  “That’s where we’ll need the rest of the brains we’ve got,” Klemés replied. “Roust the rest of those beasts out of their dreams and pour some Hot Mort into them. Thick won’t do a thing without eating. So after breakfast, we’ll talk it over and get everyone’s ideas.”

  As Klemés had predicted, Thick, now almost driven wild by a larder more suitable to his skills than he’d seen in years, insisted on preparing a hearty breakfast. “Won’t hear of it! Won’t listen to nonsense!” he growled, when Jo’nee suggested the usual Club Wolf breakfast of Red Bean Bread and Lizard Eggs.

  “I see how a beast that’s ruined his taste with such rot as Hot Mort, might not know Red Bean Bread from Cherry-Cheese Fritters,” he groused. “But that’s as close to a crime as I’ve seen since waking up. No—you beasts that have ideas for getting us out of here go on with that, and I’ll cook something to thank you for your work.”

  “I take an ill-fever when I hear Hot Mort called rot!” Skiggins, another of the Club Wolves, said. “It may be only third-rate Foreoof Tea, with a dash of Riot’s Spat to warm it up, but when you’re down in a place like this, it’s not bad to have the roof of your mouth ripping with so much fire that your eyes fill up with spit! That is, when it’s made properly,” he laughed.

  “A new pot of Hot Mort for Skiggins, coming right up!” Thick responded. “And how about a mug of thick Chocolate for the rest of us? And wash that down with Twice-Laid Eggs and Crackin’ Toast.”

  “But Thick,” Klemés began, “we really don’t have time to waste.”

  “Now listen to me, Klemés,” Thick replied, “I’ve been in enough meetings in my time to know they usually run twice as long as needed—mostly because beasts don’t know what they’re really talkin’ about, or tryin’ not to talk about it. Or—almost forgot—beasts don’t know how to run a meeting. Now, I don’t accuse you of any of that necessarily, but I figure the odds are still on my side. I calculate that by the time you’re actually done meeting, I’ll be done cooking, and everyone’s happy.”

  “Now that was a triumph of diplomacy—I think,” Klemés said, laughing heartily. With ‘Hurrahs’ all around, everyone agreed with Thick’s suggestion, except that Skiggins wanted to make his own pot of Hot Mort. “That stuff you made just now—worst slop I ever tasted. Riot’s Spat has to be a third of the mixture, or shouldn’t be called Hot Mort!”

  With a snort, Thick headed toward the larder, and the rest of the beasts gathered around the garrison’s mess table to discuss their plans. As the consultation began, many ideas were offered and argued. Throughout the early discussion, however, Klemés noticed that Seems was strangely quiet. For an engineer intensely interested in all things practical, his attention seemed to be somewhere else.

  “All right, Seems, what’s your idea?” Klemés said at last. “I can see those mighty gears of yours working overtime in your head—tell us what’s got you going.”

  “We don’t have enough boats,” Seems began. “Even if we did, the ones we have aren’t practical for running the river. The sharking and patrol boats are made for calm, flat water, like this la
ke. The river going downstream from here will have rapids, or I miss my guess. My suggestion is that we use the boats we have to ferry everyone across the lake to the Plummet. From there, everyone climbs down to where the river levels out again. It’ll take a bit more walking, but it’s not far from there to Distemper’s Knobs.”

  “Does that have any connection with Mt. Distemper?” Wittover asked.

  “Yes, but not directly,” Seems said. “Distemper’s Knobs are the foothills of Mt. Distemper. They’re covered with forest,” Seems said. “We’ll camp there and make simple rafts to ride down the river.”

  “Rafts for two thousand people?” Plug asked dubiously.

  “Simple rafts,” Seems repeated. “One log per raft, split in two. Several beasts per raft, depending on the size of the log. Look, we only need to get down to Viper’s Hive. Our maps show it about two days travel down the river. It’s a good-sized trading town. We should be able to get real boats there for the rest of the trip.”

  Klemés and the others sat, staring at Seems for a time. “By the Ancients, beast!” Klemés exclaimed. “Do you really think this can work?”

  “My wager is that nothing you’ve talked about has a better chance,” Seems replied. “You see, I have been listening,” he smiled. “Honestly, I think this is our best chance.”

  “Tell me about this Viper’s Hive place,” Klemés said, “never heard of it.”

  “When I was first in the Club Wolf service, I was posted there two years,” Seems answered. “It’s a considerable town. The streets are but little better than narrow, dirty alleys, teeming with screeching, hissing half-wild lizards and the garbage on which they feed. But the river! Ah—that’s the thing! Everything and everyone moves by boat at Viper’s Hive. From well-built quays to the most rickety docks imaginable, from yachts hiding in gated marinas to barely floating skimmers overloaded with goods or people. There’s every kind of beast from every place you’ve never heard of—and not one language, but a dozen! The entire river, for a mile at least, is nothing but a floating marketplace. Boats jostling everywhere—traders, farmers, hawkers of every kind. Get off the river, however, and not a place around can match it for sheer skullduggery. Pickpockets, thieves, murderers, gamblers, cheats on every corner, wild adventurers of scar and stripe. Terrifying in the dark. There’s also a ferry, and the road to the silver mining fields crosses the river there.”

  “Viper’s Hive isn’t a very promising name,” Klemés said.

  “This is about the best place to cross the river in a long distance. Now there’s a ferry, but in the early days it was just a river crossing. Often bandits held up travelers who crossed there. That’s were the name came from.”

  “Still sounds a little rough,” the Wood Cow observed.

  “Stick to the riverfront,” Seems advised. “After the silver strikes up in the mountains, the population at Viper’s Hive exploded. Came to be that the town’s kind of divided into two sections—honest trade on the river, and ‘adventurous trade’ as they call it, on the land. Stay on the water, and no one will bother you. The land-side of the town has its own ways.”

  “And you think we can get boats for two thousand beasts, who just happen to show up on rafts?” Plug asked.

  “If we pay for them,” Seems said. “And I guarantee you, beasts at Viper’s Hive will be falling all over themselves to sell us their boats.”

  “What?” Klemés exclaimed. “Why? We don’t have any money.”

  “Hides,” Seems replied. “Shark hides. There’s hundreds of them up in Tilk Duraow’s tannery. Fancy beasts crave shark hides for fashion. Go where rich beasts go—high class trallé clubs, lizard fashion shows, fine restaurants. Anywhere fancy beasts spend their money, you’ll see them in skinny shark hide pants or with shark hide braided in their hair. Any beast in Viper’s Hive would give you almost anything to get his paws on a top-grade shark hide. Do you have any idea what those things are worth?”

  “Can’t say I do,” Klemés replied.

  “When I was posted at Viper’s Hive,” Seems said, “I saw a single shark hide—not even close to the quality we have up in the tannery—a single hide went to a buyer from Silverpreen for ten gold whupts. Let me assure you, we’ll be able to buy any boat we want.”

  “Silverpreen—never heard of it,” Klemés said. “Is that near Viper’s Hive?”

  “A place not to speak of here,” Seems replied. “Saddest place you’ll see. A strange place where strange things are done, and many more that are never known. No one there can count their money twice and come out with the same amount. It’s always either growing or disappearing. I passed through after my posting at Viper’s Hive. Two days by running wagon from Viper’s Hive, four days walking. But a place not to speak of this morning. Just a distraction—a mighty distraction.”

  Despite more questions, Seems had nothing more to say, claiming he’d made his contribution and the rest was nonsense.

  Based on Seems’s strange comments, Klemés suspected that there was more to the story, but decided not to press. Looking around the table, he said, “What do you think of Seems’s suggestion?”

  “Very good!” Plug volunteered.

  “It’s two thousand beasts,” Wittover said, “does it seem possible that we can build rafts for such a horde? Even if we make it to Viper’s Hive, isn’t it likely some cutthroats will relieve us of our shark hides or have our livers on a platter?”

  “It’s more likely I’d lose my life to vile drink in Viper’s Hive, than to a cutthroat,” Thick said, walking up with a platter of Twice-Laid Eggs and Crackin’ Toast. “But I’d rather that, than sit here listening to any more of you passin’ time! Now make up your minds quick, or I’ll take this platter back again!” he threatened.

  Thick’s contribution to the meeting was persuasive, and in moments Seems’s plan was accepted. When they were finished eating, Seems said, “we’d best be getting you up the lava tube, Klemés; there’s a lot to be done. Get to the rest of your friends up there and tell them the plan. Let’s plan to begin bringing beasts down at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. When you’re ready, send the first beast down. We’ll be waiting.”

  With the plan generally discussed and agreed, Klemés disappeared up the lava tube. The others turned to the work of organizing those who remained at the landing into work parties. Boats were checked, gear and supplies gathered, and the details of descending the Plummet scouted.

  “As soon as the first beasts land in the cistern,” Seems said, “be ready to start moving them immediately across the lake and down the Plummet. We don’t have room to hold them at the landing. The ferry will have to run continuously. Someone should be sent ahead to find a likely campsite at Distemper’s Knobs. We’ll ferry everyone across the lake, then they’ll climb down the Plummet and walk on to the Knobs.”

  “Two thousand beasts!” Skiggins breathed. “It’ll be the biggest expedition I was ever part of.”

  “It’ll be the biggest expedition in the history of the Club Wolf service,” Jo’nee chuckled. “And the first expedition I’ll be proud to be part of.”

  “Say what you will,” Skiggins sighed. “You take your pride, and I’ll take a bit more Hot Mort, if you please.”

  Free Musterteers

  When Klemés climbed out of the catchment basin inside Tilk Duraow, he was breathing hard. “Welll-ee!” he gasped, “now that’s a climb!” Although he had climbed slowly, taking frequent breaks, the ascent up the lava tube had been difficult. The tube was steep, and the handles were slick with the black slime that grows in darkness with constant damp.

  At first, almost all forward progress was provided by his arms. Then he realized that the handles could also be used as footholds. Flipping himself on his back, he was able to push himself up with his legs. Although it was a relief to give his arms a rest, the water splashing down the tube sprayed over his head as he lay on his back. He emerged from the tube, soaked to the bone and shivering. Taking off the headlamp he had borrowed from the Club
Wolf post, he pulled himself out of the catchment.

  “Before I go find Bem and Helga, I need to warm up and dry my clothes,” he thought. “The door to my old cell should be unlocked. I’ll stop there and start a fire. Once I’m warm, dry, and rested, I’ll head up to the parade ground where everyone else will likely be.”

  Covering the short distance to his old cell, he was surprised to find Bem, Helga, and Christer inside the cell arguing.

  “Oh, so it’s a crime—deserting the cause—if I go with you to look for Tē’d’Tē,” Christer was complaining, “but you’re not a deserter when you do the same thing?”

  “What’s this I hear about deserting?” Klemés laughed, coming into the room.

  “It’s not exactly deserting,” Helga replied, “but I’m leaving Tilk Duraow.”

  “Leaving!” Klemés exclaimed. “By the Ancients! Where are you going?”

  “She says she’s going to look for Tē’d’Tē,” Bem replied.

  “That blessed Weasel saved my life,” Helga said. “I can’t just let her disappear by means of some wicked outrage, never to be heard from again. No. Not while I breathe.”

  “Helga’s like this,” Christer chuckled. “She has this habit of disappearing—heading off to help someone—without telling anyone. This time, I was watching her and could see all the signs. I just told her I was going with her this time, wherever it was she was thinking about going.”

  “Well, I still haven’t invited you,” Helga growled. “You’re needed here. I won’t draw any more beasts away from operations here. I’d stay if I could—it’s just that Tē’d’Tē means a lot…”

  “I don’t need an invitation,” Christer replied, “Tē’d’Tē means a lot to all of us. We all want to find her and get her back. Besides, Bem gave me all the permission I need.”

  “You know I’m a sea-captain, Helga,” Bem said. “If one of my crew wanted to go off to attack another ship in a rowboat by themselves, I’d have them thrown in the brig! That’s under the general Law of the Sea that allows captains to jail beasts when they’ve gone temporarily insane and are a threat to themselves and others! I won’t stand by and see you act insane. Christer’s going with you, and that’s that.”