by Rick Johnson
“Well, then,” Bem replied, “we’re something different. The only reason we’d be stopping at Viper’s Hive is because we need boats and food.”
“Just’s I said,” the Boar answered, “that’d make you unfortunates.”
“Blast you, beast!” Ben scowled. “Why do you insist we have to fit in your categories? We’re none of them!”
“Because it helps me know what to think of you,” the Boar snapped. “I don’t help fools or cheats. I do help unfortunates, so I’d suppose you’d stop your complainin’ soon.”
Blazing inside, but wanting whatever help the Boar could supply, Bem cooled her anger. “All right, then, friend,” she said, “I’m Captain Bem Madsoor and I’ve got about two thousand unfortunates, as you call them, on rafts out there in the river. We’re heading downriver to the sea, and want to buy boats to replace our rafts. And we also need to refresh our food supplies.”
“Two thousand beasts!” the Boar whistled. “Now what should I make of that, I wonder?”
“Answer me a question, and I’ll tell you,” Bem said.
“All right,” the Boar said, “ask away.”
“Are you a fool, a cheat, or an unfortunate?” Bem replied, with a smile.
“Rarr-Rarr-Rarr!” the Boar roared, laughing. “That was a good one! And, since you’re so pleasant, I’ll answer you true. I’m my own beast—nobody goin’ to put a label to me.” Seeing Bem’s eyes begin to be fiery again, he said, “Now don’t take me wrong, there—I’m just statin’ the truth. Here, come on up on the porch and sit a spell. I’ll explain and figure out how I can help you.”
Tying her raft to the post, Bem turned to the other beasts on her raft and said, “Do as you wish for a few minutes. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
Climbing up on the porch, she took a seat on a table near where the Boar sat in his rocker. “You live here all alone?” Bem asked.
“Yep,” the Boar replied. “Been livin’ here by myself since all the fools left, neigh on eighty years ago.”
“Eighty years!” Bem exclaimed.
“What? You never seen a beast that’s over a hundred years old and still smarter and more capable than you?” the Boar asked.
Not accustomed to taking insults, Bem replied, “The last beast that spoke like that to me, ate his words off my sword!”
“My, this one’s got a temper, don’t you? Well, I’ve got one, too—so we’re even. Now that that’s settled, my mother called me Coottum, but I’ve always gone by Coot. You can call me that. When I was a wee beast, this place was a tiny but thriving river town. Then when I was about fifteen, word came that silver’d been discovered up across the mountains. My mother and father picked up and headed off prospectin’. My father died in a mine cave-in, but every mine my mother tried struck it rich! In a few years, she was the wealthiest beast in the silver country—they called her Madame Luck. Well, my younger brother and I helped Mother for a while, but the more silver that got dug, the crazier the beasts got to have more. It got to be so much about bossin’ and bickerin’, wantin’ and gettin’, that I got sick o’ it. I lit out for home—that’s this house right here, where I was born. My brother, Frunge—well, he was more cut out for bossin’ and wantin’ than I was. He stayed over there and he and Mother pretty much created the city of Silverpreen. Ever heard of it?”
“Only a little,” Bem replied. “So what happened to everyone else that used to live here?”
“Most of ’em were fools and took off after the silver,” Coot answered. “Some others became first-class cheats over in Viper’s Hive. The rest are unfortunates, scratching out a living in Viper’s Hive, wantin’ and getting’ on a small scale as best they can. Me, I’m my own beast, sittin’ here in my rocker, not a care in the world. Over a hundred and ain’t ever caught the gettin’ and wantin’ sickness.”
Scratching his chin and closing his eyes as if remembering for a moment, the Boar then turned to Bem, “So, I’m still wondering what I should make of two thousand unfortunates suddenly showin’ up at my place.”
“We’re our own beasts,” Bem said boldly. “A group of Free Musterteers escaping slavery and heading for a better life, on our own terms.
Light blazed in the Boar’s eyes, and he reached over and slapped Bem on the back. “Welcome, then, beast! Why didn’t you say so? By the wastes of foolishness! I swear, it’s hard to get beasts to say their minds!” The Boar’s roaring laughter caught Bem up in it, and they both laughed until tears came to their eyes.
When they’d calmed down and caught their breath, the Boar said, “Boats, eh? How many boats you reckon you need for two thousand beasts?”
“I was hoping to get those sturdy river dories[2] that can run rapids,” Bem replied. “If we get those, I think we’d need about two hundred.”
“Two hundred river dories!” the Boar cried.
“You said you’re smarter than I am,” Bem grinned, “so you do the math yourself for two thousand beasts.”
“I’m not doubtin’ your math,” Coot responded. “I’m thinkin’ of the cost. Why, two hunred dories’ll set you back a bundle. Do you have that kind of money?”
“We’ve got three hundred top grade shark hides to trade,” Bem smiled.
“Shark hides!” Coot said. “And you were thinkin’ you’d just trade ’em for dories in Viper’s Hive?”
“That was the plan,” Bem replied. “Got a better idea?”
“Personally, I wouldn’t do it,” the Boar said. “You’d end up throats slit and hides gone, worst case; and leaky boats, hides gone, best case.”
“We were told to stay out of the town, but that there’s honest dealers on the river,” Bem said.
“True enough,” Coot responded. “But, these days, honesty in Viper’s Hive amounts to not getting your throat slit before they take your money. The only truly honest dealers in the Hive are unfortunates who don’t have much to sell. The scale of purchase you need, takes special dealin’ with special beasts.”
“Sounds expensive,” Bem laughed tiredly.
“Very expensive,” Coot replied. “But that’s where I can help you.”
“How’s that?” Bem asked.
“I go to Silverpreen once a year, to remember my mother’s grave,” Coot said. “Special beasts like we need in your case, are on every street corner in Silverpreen. The hides will be worth a lot more if they’re sold there. Sell them in Viper’s Hive and you’ll get a tenth of their true value.”
“But we can’t wait for you to go to Silverpreen and sell them!” Bem cried.
“Calm down, Bem,” the Boar said. “Let me finish. I’ll give you Viper’s Hive currency so you can buy boats, and I’ll set you up with the best dealer there. Then I’ll take the hides to Silverpreen and sell them when I go.”
“Viper’s Hive currency?” Bem questioned.
“Silver,” Coot answered. “I’ll give you enough silver to buy boats and food and to help you down the river.”
“You’ve got silver here?” Bem said, surprised. Coot’s ramshackle house did not suggest he was wealthy.
“Come with me,” he said, inviting Bem into his cabin.
Following him inside, Bem followed Coot into the kitchen. Reaching into a cupboard, he took down two tins, labeled sugar and flour. Twisting the lid off of one tin, Coot motioned for Bem to look inside. The tin was filled to the brim with silver dust! Opening the other tin, the Boar showed that it had similar contents.
Her head spinning, Bem looked at the Boar. “Where did you get all this?” she said softely. “How did you do it?”
“There’s virtues in being a lonely old beast living in a run-down house along the river,” Coot shrugged. “No one would ever suspect old Coot of having such stuff in his kitchen,” he chuckled, his eyes twinkling merrily. “I did learn a bit about prospectin’ from Madame Luck. Bein’s how I wash my clothes once a month whether they need it or not, I might as well wash ’em in a creek that’s got a bit of silver. There’s a little stream close by t
hat no one pays a bother to. Everytime I wash my clothes, I put a few more flakes of silver in the can. Adds up over a century!” Laughing heartily, the Boar’s eyes watered again. “Rarr-Rarr-Rarr,” he roared.
“It’s a game for you, isn’t it?” Bem said.
“Not a game exactly,” Coot replied. “Always thought that one day I might need it.” Looking at Bem, he said, “That’s just about how much it will take to buy you boats.”
Viper’s Hive
“Now about those boats,” Coot said, “dories aren’t the thing for this.”
“What do you mean?” Bem asked. “I’ve run a lot of rough water in a good sturdy dory.”
“It’s not the water that’s the problem,” Coot replied. “It’s Wrackshees. Wrackshee slavers control the stretch of river below Viper’s Hive. If you try to run through their territory in dories, they’ll pick you off easier’n cherries on a tree. Wrackshee kayaks are fast. Dories are too slow to get past ’em.”
“So what do you suggest?” Bem said.
“Galeswabs,” Coot responded. “They’re specially built for traders running the river through Wrackshee country. High at the gunwales to protect against snugs, chain-swishers to smash the brains of Wrackshees trying to board. They’re the only way to make it through without the Wrackshees taking you.”
“Never heard of a galeswab,” Bem chuckled, giving Coot a bemused look. “Can’t judge a boat I haven’t seen. Can you show me one before I commit to buying a fleet of them?”
“Why sure,” Coot replied, “but I suggest you put your rafts ashore here, while you take a look.”
“What do you mean?” Bem asked.
“There’s room for all your beasts to land on the beach here, while you and I go down to Viper’s Hive,” Coot explained. “When the time comes for all your beasts to pass Viper’s Hive, I recommend you run past it in the dark—middle of the night.”
“Run past Viper’s Hive in the middle of the night!” Bem exclaimed. “Why?”
“Viper’s Hive just sits there watchin’ for things to happen—like flies waitin’ for someone to drop a sweet,” Coot replied. “You get two-thousand beasts stopping in Viper’s Hive, and it’s just askin’ for trouble. Why, you’ll have the fools, cheats, and unfortunates all over you—not to mention the cruel and hellish ones that hang around there, too. Don’t put ashore in Viper’s Hive. I’ll arrange for you to land at the last safe landing before you enter Wrackshee country. Pick up your boats there, dump the rafts, then make your run downstream.”
Bem considered the Boar’s offer for several moments and then said, “I’ll go with you to Viper’s Hive and look at the galeswabs you’re offering, but I want Klemés, my ship’s carpenter, to go with me. We can leave as soon as I send a message to him.”
Returning to her raft-mates, Bem sent them to fetch Klemés and to pass word for the Musterteers to land and settle into camp for the night. Soon Klemés joined Bem on Coot’s porch overlooking the river.
“It’s not more than eight miles walk into Viper’s Hive,” Coot said. “If we leave now, that will put us in town before dark, which is the best thing. Rink—he’s the boatsman—only does business before the sun goes down, and you’ll need daylight to inspect the galeswabs.”
“Why’s that?” Klemés asked.
“Rink does considerable trade in dangerous goods, and, well, he’s got plenty of enemies. Never leaves his place without a heavy guard. And it’s not healthy for beasts to visit his place after dark. Don’t know who might be lurking to pick off his customers.”
“So we’re going to do business with a beast who has enemies that might kill us just for visiting him?” Bem commented. “Why, I know pirates and Rummer Boars with more honor than that.”
“Risks of doing this kind of business in Viper’s Hive,” Coot replied with an almost bored look. “What do you expect, trying to buy expensive stuff there? You go to Rink’s place and any beast knows you’ve got lots of silver to spend. You’re safe with me. Rink and I go way back together, so anyone watching will think we’re just making a friendly visit. Everyone knows I don’t have any silver to spend. I promise you we’ll get in and out alive—been going there long enough to know how to stay alive.”
After a bit more talk, the three beasts set out. Coot walked along at a rapid pace, with Bem and Klemés close behind. Although the way along the road was hot and dusty at first, as they approached Viper’s Hive a couple of hours later, the land became increasingly swampy. Damp moss hung from enormous trees, and vast swamps resounded with the croaking of frogs. Crossing a bridge as they entered Viper’s Hive, Bem could see that the water flowed sluggishly from the swampy marshes toward the river.
The town itself was little drained. Although they were in a part of town far from the river, here and there the side streets had stinking mud so deep that they sunk to their ankles. Generally, the town seemed damp and wretched, yet somehow raucous and energetic. Stalls lined the streets, selling everything imaginable. Music blasted from taverns. Everyone seemed to be busy hawking and hustling. Yet the whole place had an odor of rotting fish. Flies and stench, then more flies and stench. In just a few blocks, Bem had already had enough of Viper’s Hive. Although Klemés was silent, she could see him inwardly snarling.
“Unfortunates swarm to Viper’s Hive, hoping for a better life,” Coot said, sensing the disgust of his guests.
“And end up in never-ending misery, thanks to the sucking greed that draws them into its maw!” Klemés exploded. “I’ve seen such stuff before in places that smelled better, but ran the same. The real flies and stench are hiding somewhere not far from here!”
Pausing in his rant, a far away look came into Klemés eyes. “Do you see that young Coyote over there?” he asked, pointing at a scrawny beast calling loudly for beasts to stop and buy the belts he was selling. “Reminds me of a young Cougar I once sailed with—name was Rideon. Just a young rip when he came aboard. Full of life and energy and hope. Sailing for Port Newolf with his sister, Bram; going to make a new life there. Ended up selling belts, just like that Coyote.” Anger rising in his face, Klemés spat on the ground, “Belts like that are made for wages so low a beast can’t live. So, after Rideon worked a ten-hour shift making belts in a workhouse, he used his meager wages to buy another two dozen unfinished belts. He took those home, and he and his sister finished them at home. Bram sold those to get enough bread to live on. That’s what that Coyote is doing there, or I miss my guess. Work, work, every day—and always still on the doorstep of starvation.”
Klemés spat again. “Rotten! Rotten! Rotten to the core! I can’t wait to meet the fine, upstandin’ citizen you’re taking us to see. If he’s as wealthy as seems likely, I’ll be listenin’ with that young Coyote in mind.”
Taking a turn, and then another, they walked a few more minutes. As they entered a residential street, the noise faded away, replaced by a pleasant quiet. Rows of stuccoed houses discouraged intruders with high walls, embedded with jagged chips of glass in the tops. Hulking beasts lounged at each gate, a warning stamped on their mean faces.
Walking down the street, they passed a number of ferocious-looking beasts ready to do murder and mayhem, as it appeared from the clubs and knives they carried.
Bem was fixing her paw firmly on the handle of the short sword she wore at her waist, when Coot stopped at one of the houses. Touching his chest, he lowered his head in a sign of respect to the brawny Hog standing at the gate.
“Nails are needed,” Coot said.
“Bring ’em in then,” came the reply.
Apparently this was some kind of password, for the guard let the gate swing open. Coot and the others walked inside the walls and approached the house. Reaching the door, Coot rapped softly several times, and in a few moments the door opened. A pair of wild eyes peering out from the house nearly took Bem’s breath away, so strangely red and crazed were they. They belonged to an old, badly stooped Sheep, whose tangle of bleached-blonde hair was disheveled, despite bei
ng oiled so much that his head glistened. The Sheep’s face was so pale that Bem wondered if he were truly living.
“Welcome, Coot,” the Sheep muttered, “come this way—I was just having tea.”
“Two beasts with you, I see,” the Sheep said, offering tea to his visitors. “And I see that Coot’s still breathin’ and kickin’—how old are you now, you old wheezer?”
“By the wheeze, Rink, you’re barely alive yourself!” Coot laughed. “We’re not here to talk about the years we have between us. My friends here need some galeswabs—probably all you’ve got in your boatyard.”
“There’s maybe forty galeswabs in the yard!” Rink exclaimed. “Your friends need ’em all?” Walking over to Bem and Klemés, the old Sheep looked them over closely. “Sea-beasts. You’re a bit far inland for sea-beasts. Yes, I can tell a sea-beast when I see one. Used to run the oceans myself, years ago. There’s a certain something years of saltwater do to the smell of a sea-beast, that they don’t ever shake off. So, tell me what you want with my galeswabs.”
“We’ll be making a run down the river to the sea,” Bem replied, “and we’ve got better’n two-thousand beasts.”
“WHEEEE,” the Sheep whistled, “two-thousand beasts.” Looking at Coot he added, “Don’t worry, I won’t be askin’ questions about what these dear varmits are runnin’ from, or to. What I’m interested in, is how much silver they’ve got. Constantly riskin’ gettin’ a knife in the back, tryin’ to earn a livin’—well, it makes things a bit more expensive. Forty galeswabs won’t come cheap—even with a bulk discount,” he chuckled. “But if that puts ’em on the track, I’ll wager they won’t mind payin’ for it, will you, honorable beasts?”
“They’re good for it," Coot replied. “I guarantee it.”
“Silver, my honorable beasts,” Rink continued, apparently reassured, “will bring you what you want, and only silver can do it. So, you see, I’m not simply squabblin’ about money here.”
“And what a beast wants,” Klemés replied, shooting Rink a dark look, “often turns out to be his undoin’. I prefer to look at what you’re sellin’ and see if it meets my needs.”