by Rick Johnson
“And if I still say, ‘No?’” Helga asked, grinning.
“Then we both go with you,” Bem chuckled.
“But you’re needed here, and then you’ve got to get back to your ship at Hadst,” Helga protested.
“I know,” Bem said, “but I’m serious, it’s either him, or both of us.
“All right,” Helga said.
“Now that that’s settled,” Klemés said, “if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d like to get undressed and dry my clothes. In other words, I’ve inviting you all to leave.”
“Oh, sorry,” Helga said, stepping out of the way with Bem and Christer.
“Really good to see you again,” Helga said to Klemés, “sorry if I was rude to everyone.”
“I understand,” Klemés replied. “I’d be doing the same thing if it was me. I’d also be saying the same thing that Bem’s saying. So you see what a contradiction I am!”
Everyone laughed, then Klemés briefly told why he had returned. “So my one request of you, Helga and Christer, is that you stay here long enough to hear the escape plan I’ve brought. Unless you intend to aimlessly wander the wilderness after you find Tē’d’Tē, you’ll need to know what our plans are so you can meet up with us later.”
“Makes sense,” Helga said. “We’ll head out after we know what’s going on. We’ll head on up to the parade ground, and you come after you’ve dried your clothes and rested.”
Some time later, when Klemés joined the others at the Tilk Duraow parade ground, his arrival caused excited commotion. A crowd instantly gathered around him, cheering and whistling.
“Hurra!” the crowd cried, rapidly growing into a swarming mob of happy well-wishers.
“Friends!” Klemés called out loudly. “Please give me room! I have much to tell you!”
“One cheer more!” a beast cried out. “It’s only fittin’ that we welcome our deliverer proper!” Far from one more cheer, the crowd screamed and hollered for several minutes, as if their lungs were bugles.
“Klemés forever!” roared one beast.
That really got the old Wood Cow’s spirit up. He leapt onto a table and stamped his foot. His normally calm and friendly face was flushed and angry. “Not in my lifetime!” he yelled. “Forget any idea of Klemés as your deliverer! I am one of you—have you forgotten all the years I ate the same moldy mush as you all did? All I have done is work with others to bring you the opportunity to help each other get out of here. That’s all it is. That’s all I’ve done. Now it’s up to all of us to make it work. Stop this foolishness and let me explain what we’re going to do.”
During the coming hour, Klemés explained the plan for escape and answered questions. Once this was done, work groups were formed to put the plan into operation. Before the discussion ended, without speaking to anyone, Helga and Christer slipped away, leaving Tilk Duraow by way of the escape tunnel.
By evening, the work was well organized, and on the following morning, precisely at eight o’clock, a crew under Bem’s direction began sending the beasts down the storm drain. Klemés was the first to descend, wishing to assist the small group at the landing with the immense job of attending to, and ferrying, the arriving beasts.
As the beasts slid into the cistern, they were received and taken to the landing. Before boarding a ferry, their gear was checked, or was assigned for them to carry. Then they loaded on a ferry boat and headed for the Plummet.
On the first trip across the lake, Skiggins, who was piloting one of the sharking boats, noticed a number of sharks circling the vessel. They were large and coming close enough to the boat that their rough hides scraped the sides. Their large fins showed above the low gunwhale. The passengers positively shrieked in panic, running here and there, trying to get away. Of course, there was no place to run, so the panic succeeded only in rocking the boat dangerously. Which in turn, increased the panic. The move the boat rocked, the more interesting it became to the sharks, who were now gathering in large numbers, waiting for what they imagined would soon be a meal.
“HELP! HALLO! SAVE US!” The cries echoed through the cavern. Skiggins, for his part, did not help matters. Fearful himself, he left his post at the helm and began beating at the sharks with a pole. As if a pole were of any concern to a beast of several hundred pounds. When one of the huge creatures leaped with lightning-like speed, swallowing several feet of the pole before snapping it in two—Crunch!—Skiggins was nearly pulled overboard.
It might well have been a tragedy of huge proportions, except for the appearance of the gusher-canoe going flat out, rooster tail flying behind it. SHWOOSH! WHAZZOOSH! Cutting past Skiggins’s boat closely enough to douse the passengers with spray from the rooster tail, Plug piloted the craft in tight circles around the other boat. SHWOOSH! Despite the gusher-canoe’s wake causing seasickness among some passengers on the ferry, the sharks swam away, and the ferry completed the journey safely. From that time on, the gusher-canoe accompanied the ferry runs across the lake.
By early afternoon, a steady stream of Tilk Duraow escapees was finding its way down the Plummet and following the river downstream toward Distemper’s Knobs. Each one was carrying a bedroll and some kind of pack or bundle needed for the journey. Some carried the group’s food; others carried tools that would be needed to build rafts; still others carried bundles of shark hides to be traded. There being no road or trail, the going was slow as heavy packs caught on brush and high grass hindered movement. Jo’nee moved back and forth up and down the line encouraging and helping however he could.
Despite the hardship and exhaustion, the escapees struggled forward with high spirits. All were aware that they were now part of what the former Club Wolves had taken to calling the Free Muster. Boodtelliers, wearing their striped tattoos on their arms. Fusts, singing the raucous, off-key songs of their homeland. Roundies, yearing to return to their beloved Rounds. Even Cocksurtts, surly for the most part, sure the sky was made blue purely because their eyes were also blue. And scowling, long-fanged Turrovers, gazing with dull-eyed suspicion on everything. All carrying the deep scars of years on the Granite Hulks, but all also excited to be Free Musterteers. All were eager to reach camp and begin building rafts.
When Jo’nee had gone exploring for a place to camp downstream from the Plummet, as good luck would have it—Jo’nee always believed in good luck, even if he rarely saw any—he found the perfect place for his purpose. A fine green meadow, level and without rocks, offered a comfortable campsite. The campsite was sheltered by one of Distemper’s Knobs, covered with large, straight pine trees, perfect for raft-making. And, to top it off, the rugged beauty of Mt. Distemper and its Knobs was breath-taking. Apparently not more than two miles distant, but actually more than ten, old Mt. Distemper loomed—the undisputed queen of the surrounding mountains. Its broad, snow-covered dome rose among the clouds. Lower down, the snow fields fell off into finger-like glaciers, running down chasms and into the upper valleys of the Knobs. Like the queen’s gown, the Knobs ringed the central mountain, green with pines on the lower slopes, and bluish-white with glacial lace at the tops. The lowest reaches of the glaciers seemed not more that three miles from the encampment, although the climb was steep.
A waterfall dropped from about fifty feet into a deep pool, widening the river and creating a swimming hole. Had Jo’nee not stopped there for any other reason, the waterfall and swimming hole might have done it. Flowing down from melting snow and glaciers in the Knobs, the waterfall was freezing cold. But the water in the swimming hole was warm! Taking off his clothes, Jo’nee dived into the pool. The conflict of cold and hot was delicious! “No doubt where the hot water comes from,” he thought, paddling along on his back, watching steam drift lazily into the sky from Mt. Distemper in the distance.
It took three days for all the Free Musterteers to reach the camp. The morning after the first group arrived, however, raft-making began. At this season, light came early, and the beasts were out of their bedrolls at five o’clock in the morni
ng. Half an hour later, Thick, who rose at three o’clock with his helpers, called out breakfast. One secret of good workers is feeding them well. And Thick saw that even in the rustic conditions of the camp, meals were worth the eating.
Below the Plummet, the river was filled with trout. Fed by warm, brackish water from the lake, some of the trout grew to the size of a bedroll. The slightly salty fish were delicious beyond compare, and as long as they were camped below the Plummet, trout appeared on plates daily. A hearty piece of trout and a scoop of fresh berry pudding was never boring when Thick was cooking.
Seems had planned the raft-making carefully. Because they were not able to carry enough tools for everyone, to keep busy, teams were created to handle different tasks. The axe teams went tree to tree, cutting the first notches in trees to be felled. Then the saw teams came and finished bringing the notched trees down and cut them in uniform lengths. Splitting teams came next, cutting the logs in half and smoothing them. When the logs were prepared, lashing teams bound two logs together, flat side up, and attached a long sturdy fin beneath the raft to stabilize it in the current. With multiple teams for each part of the process, everyone worked and rested part of the day. With fresh workers always available, as long as there was enough light, work continued.
From day to day, the work continued. Because of Seem’s efficient work plan, everyone was astounded when twenty rafts were completed on the first day of construction.
“Twenty rafts today!” Klemés howled in delight. “And we’re not even warmed up yet!”
“I think my calculations were wrong,” Seems replied.
“How so?” the Wood Cow asked.
“I’d thought that our maximum production might be twenty rafts a day, but it’s going to be higher! Once everyone gets comfortable with the tools and procedures, I think we can probably do twenty-five a day,” Seems laughed.
Even that underestimated the capacity of the Free Musterteers’ determination and teamwork. By the end of the first week of raft-building, they were turning out thirty rafts a day. The work went so well that no one wanted to leave before the entire fleet was ready.
“If we are a Free Muster,” one beast had declared, “we should stick together to the end of this.”
“Aye! Aye!” others yelled. “With all hands at work, everyone can leave here faster than we thought in the beginning.” And so it was decided that everyone would continue raft-building until all the rafts were finished. In the end, a bit more than four hundred rafts were constructed.
A day of thanksgiving and feasting had been declared to follow the completion of the final raft. One day was to be spent celebrating and resting; on the following morning, the rafts would be loaded, and the next leg of the journey begin.
As the work came to its conclusion, workers who were no longer needed for raft-building came into Thick’s service. One group he sent down the river, gathering watercress. Another he set to collecting wild clams that inhabited parts of the river. Others went off collecting nuts and berries. And, finally, on the afternoon of the feast, Thick sent a party up into the heights of Distemper’s Knobs to cut chunks of ice from the glaciers there. “Shaved Ice with Berries—that’s just the thing,” Thick chuckled to himself. “He-He-He—a fitting finish for Flame-Flickered Clams and Trout Biscuits tonight. I’ll give ’em a great meal to finish a great labor.”
With the raft-building entering its final hours, most of the Free Musterteers were now deployed to packing up the camp, preparing the rafts for launch, and helping Thick with the upcoming feast.
Klemés and Bem stood along the river, amidst the turmoil and noise of provisions, personal packs, and other necessities being loaded on the rafts. They were not yelling like some of the beasts arguing how best to load a particular raft, but they were having their own spirited disagreement.
“Well, I can’t believe you’re serious,” Bem was saying. “Take all those tools with us? They’re really heavy, and we’ve got a long way to go. The rafts aren’t very big. In terms of space, it’s either tools or more food…”
“Tools!” Klemés replied, “It’s because we’ve got a long way to go that we need them. We can get more food easier than we can replace the tools. We’ll have repairs to make on the rafts, and we may have to build new ones if the rapids get too rough. There’s plenty of fish in the river. We’re not going to starve. We’ll have to make do with what we can find along the way.”
“I still think it’s risky to depend on living off the land for two thousand beasts,” Bem argued, “but I get your point. Well, at least we get one more solid meal from Thick before leaving this place. Now, let’s get back to loading the rafts—captain’s order!” she smiled. Returning to the work of making ready for departure at dawn’s first light, Klemés and Bem realized that their small disagreement reflected uncertainty about what dangers and troubles lay ahead. Except for items needed for their last night in camp, the rafts were loaded and ready for the journey when dinner was called. As would be expected on the eve of what all knew would be a long and perilous journey, the night’s festivities were roaring good fun. Not quite lawless, but with a bit of the free-spirited, devil-may-care attitude that was the celebratory face of courage and resolve.
When dawn came the next day; despite the late night of feasting and celebrating, everyone was ready to launch when the time came. The rafts carried a maximum of six beasts or an equivalent mixture of beasts and baggage. As the rafts departed, Klemés managed an orderly launch and offered encouragement.
“All right,” he said, “Bem’s on the first raft. She’ll lead the thing until we can all gather together again somewhere downriver. When she finds a decent place to camp, she’ll pull ashore. That’s where we’ll stop for the night.”
“I’ll see to launching the other rafts and leave on the last one,” Klemés said. “With you in front and me in the rear, I think we can keep everyone together.”
Over the next hour, one by one the rafts edged out into the current and moved down the river in a long line. Paddling downstream throughout the day brought the Musterteers to a sweeping bend in the river, where a wide floodplain offered a prime landing place. Nosing her raft to shore, Bem signaled that a campsite had been found. Pulling her craft ashore, Bem and the other beasts with her slumped to the ground, taking a well-earned rest. Other rafts did the same, as one by one they pulled up on the riverbank.
“Come on, beasts!” Thick hollered, as the rafts came ashore. “I need fish—as many as you can catch! Soon as you catch ’em, we’ll tie ’em up over the fires and roast ’em!”
A number of rafts headed back out on the river, and within minutes a flow of fish was coming ashore to Thick. Others captured dozens of crawfish, each as large a soup bowl. Still other beasts foraged on land and came back laden with sacks full of small lizards.
“Isn’t it glorious?” Thick howled with glee, as he basted the roasting fish with the juice of wild raspberries that had been gathered. The mood of travel weary beasts improved, as they stretched their tired limbs and settled into camp. In addition to the roasting fish, crawfish and lizards were buried in hot coals to bake with wild onions and sage. Later, as the food rapidly disappeared, not a beast could be found who did not look toward the days to come with optimism.
For the next four days, they descended the river with little excitement or relief from the seemingly endless miles, sitting or sprawling on semi-damp rafts. Thick, however, having planned for light provisions due to the limited space on the rafts, was growing worried. Although there were plenty of fish in the river, nuts and berries, which had been abundant earlier, were growing scarce as the river wandered into drier lands. With carried food running low, and his capacity to forage for extras growing thin, it would soon be fish, fish, and fish again at every meal. “Not a hopeful outlook for my reputation,” he sighed.
Around mid-day on the fourth day, they arrived at a tiny hamlet, entirely deserted except for an ancient Boar sitting in a rocking chair on the porch of a tumb
ledown house overlooking the river.
“Wallooo, there!” Bem called out, as the first raft neared the settlement.
“Trout’s bitin’ and no fools about!” the Boar called back. Signalling for the rafts to pull to the bank and rest a bit, Bem floated over to the Boar. Seeing the raft approach, the Boar threw back the cowl that had partially covered his head, and stood up to greet his visitors. The harsh and haggard face of the Boar, yellowed with age, and deeply engraved with innumerable lines, gave the impression of a long and hard life. But the beast vibrated with nervous energy, and the stern ferocity of expression suggested a wild and untamed spirit. Beneath thick, shaggy eyebrows, white with age, gleamed eyes so fiery that Bem easily read their meaning—“I answer to no master but myself.” She couldn’t tell if the look was one of unbiased suspicion or unbridled hatred. The Boar’s hair, generally white, but with streaks of ancient, age-bleached brown, tumbled in all directions. Standing now, as erect as the pole in Bem’s hand, the tall Boar seemed to loom above her. The robe of blue cloth worn by the beast, was circled by a belt of coral and ebony.
“And what might you be wanting?” the Boar said, as Bem’s raft touched the posts supporting the porch where he stood.
“Wanting only to ask how far it is to Viper’s Hive,” Bem answered.
“Are you fools, cheats, or unfortunates?” the Boar asked.
“What do you mean, calling me and my mates such names?” Bem demanded.
“Callin’ ’em as I see ’em,” the Boar shot back. “The only ones’ goes to Viper’s Hive is one of those. Any beast that’s not a fool, cheat, or unfortunate just sails right past there, not stoppin’.”