by Derek Smith
He was glad the boatman did not speak or laugh. Even when Toby splashed him, as he did often enough. And the only other watching was the dead man on the jetty, who did not bother Toby. The dead don’t care, he had learnt.
He had trouble pulling the boat into the jetty, taking several tries and bumping badly. But at last he tied up.
‘We have arrived,’ he said with relief.
At which the boatman jumped up, and stepped out on to the jetty. He ran down to the end of the jetty, onto the beach, and continued his run along the sand.
Toby watched him scamper off. He wondered where he was going. There was nothing up the beach but more beach. Did the boatman even know? But the boatman did not look back and continued running along the black sand.
There will be one less boatman, thought Toby, as he went to step on to the jetty. But he found he could not. It was as if there was some wall there – and he could not get through it. He was unable to put a foot onto the jetty. He pushed, he exerted, until at last streaming with sweat, he sat down on the seat.
And the dead man, who was waiting on the jetty, stepped into the boat.
Chapter 44
Toby rowed the man across the river, thinking that perhaps he could get off there. And then go up the beach to the next boatman for his ride back.
Except he couldn’t get off.
The same wall held him. Try as he might, Toby could not get through it. His passenger left him, and Toby rowed back, hoping that whatever force held him would now let him go.
An old woman was waiting. And, once more, Toby could not get out of the boat.
He rowed her across. And tried again to get out, with the same result.
By the time Toby had rowed six passengers across, back and forth six times, he had given up hope of getting out of the boat. His rowing had considerably improved, but he was stuck. He realised the only way out was to get someone else to take the oars.
And who on earth would do that?
As he rowed from jetty to jetty, he began telling his story to the passengers he ferried, hoping one of them would be touched. And then would agree to take over the oars. But the dead did not say a word; they stared at him with their glassy eyes. Had any of them even heard a word of his tale? He did not know.
On he rowed, back and forth, picking up the dead and taking them across. Toby had become the ferryman. But Toby was alive. The last boatman had been here so long that he could not remember how long.
Was that to be his own fate?
Chapter 45
With the coming of Spring, the weather warmed on the mountain. Far and Orly had fully recovered. They awaited Toby. Without him they were on their own, simply surviving. With him they would have purpose.
Erdy had begun to teach them healing. Whatever happened, he said, it would be useful. He had always found it a good way of earning a living. And with the kingdom in its present state, the wounded and sick abounded.
Far took to it at once. He had a keen eye for plants, and for the slight difference that was so important in the healing arts. Orly was rather lazy, reluctant to accept that she would ever need to earn a living. But she did take it on, otherwise what on earth was there to do on the mountain? And she began to enjoy the walks to collect the plants they needed. Up the mountain to find alpine plants in the high meadow, and down into the forests and along riverbanks to find the varieties that grew in those environments. At the lower levels they had to be more cautious, keeping to the curfew, and doing as everyone else did: avoiding the military and keeping their counsel.
Orly learned to talk like Far with the accent of a peasant. Her story was that she was his sister; the two of them had left their homestead when their parents died. An increasingly likely story in a land full of orphans.
One day when they had come back from the high meadow, Far said to Orly, ‘Will you teach me to read?’
‘Why all of a sudden?’ she said.
‘Because I can be only half a healer if I can’t read or write,’ he said. ‘I need to know what’s in those books.’
‘I may not be a good teacher,’ she said.
‘It’s you or Erdy,’ said Far. ‘And he’s too busy. So I’ll take who I can get. Will you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and was actually pleased he had asked. She had grown increasingly fond of Far. He was good with animals and she liked his sense of humour. She knew he loved the books and would flick through them looking for pictures of the increasing number of plants that he knew.
She began with the alphabet, the capital letters. And then in a few days the little ones. Then first words: ‘Far’ of course. And he was so happy to write his name. Very spidery but readable. And then Orly and Erdy and Toby.
Where was Toby? He had been months.
Erdy said, ‘Time is different in the Underworld.’
‘Will he be any older?’ said Orly.
‘I don’t know. I have never met anyone who has come back.’
Far said then what they’d all been thinking.
‘Suppose he doesn’t come back?’
They were round the fire having eaten their supper, cooked by Far and Orly. A chore begun at first reluctantly by Orly. Peeling vegetables and washing up were not done by girls of her class. And the more she did such things, the more she feared losing what she considered her real place. A thought she knew was a dream from a lost time, a lost place – but she could not help having it.
Until one day she burst the barrier.
She said, ‘I don’t know what I may need. I may yet go back and be a lady, I may have to be someone else. In the meantime, I will cook and clean and learn to be a healer with good grace. I can’t just wait and hope for something that may never happen.’
And Far made her a celebration cake.
She became a much better healer and a good cook. She enjoyed getting her hands dirty when they planted herbs. And now she poked the fire, delighted they had enjoyed her apple cake and custard.
‘Suppose he doesn’t come back?’ repeated Far.
Erdy sighed and his hand ran absently round his bald crown. ‘Then we go on as we are. You earn your living, I earn mine. And we stay alive, and hope for better times.’
‘And live under the Queen?’ hissed Orly.
‘I hate her,’ declared Far.
‘Would you kill her?’ said Erdy.
‘Yes,’ they said together.
‘And Zeke?’
‘Him too,’ said Far.
‘And then who rules?’
Both were silenced. Who? The big question, because if there were no one – then there would be civil war. A fight for the crown, and heaven help those caught between.
‘Come back, Toby,’ exclaimed Orly. ‘And you shall be King.’
Chapter 46
Toby continued to tell his tale. Old men, old women, young people, children – to everyone he ferried, he told his story. He had perhaps ten minutes from when the passenger stepped into the boat until they left at the far side. And he could tell a lot in that time. But all he received in return was an empty stare. And a penny. For each and everyone gave him one. Where they got them from he could not fathom. But each knew the price and each paid him without question.
He collected them in tens on the small shelf at the prow of the boat. And by the time he had ten piles, he prided himself on not disturbing the coins. His rowing was as smooth as the last boatman’s. He could turn the boat easily with one oar, and could row into the far jetty without looking back at all.
When he had a hundred piles, the space was full. And he wondered what to do with them? The last boatman didn’t seem to have any coins, when he should by rights have a boatful. And if he couldn’t leave the boat like Toby, then there was only one thing he could have been doing with them.
At the centre of the river, on his way back, Toby threw them all in the water. The river bottom must be full of them, but the water was so black he could not see any at all. Each coin he threw in quickly disappeared in the dark depths. From then
on, every time he was given a coin, he dropped it into the water on the way back. He no longer wanted to keep count of his endless trips.
He lost any sense of time. There was no day or night here, simply the endless pale green light. And a passenger always waiting for him on his way back from the land of the dead. And a tale he had to tell, told now so automatically, that he barely knew he was saying the words as he rowed his silent passengers across the river.
One day a young man got on the boat. He was as dead as the rest, as blank-eyed and as pale. Toby had lost any curiosity about their former lives. There were so many and none would speak to him. But out of the most hopeless of hopes, he continued telling his tale. Knowing that once he stopped, he would have admitted to himself that he could be here forever, rowing the dead across this black river.
Toby could not remember what he had just said when the young man leaned forward and touched his wrist. It was a gesture so unusual that he ceased rowing and the boat came to a halt in the middle of the lake.
‘Did you say Orly?’ said the young man.
‘Yes,’ said Toby, not actually remembering but he had done often enough.
‘Is she alive?’
‘I rescued her,’ said Toby.
‘How?’
And Toby told him of the day he had gone to the big house, and gone out to the front and found the heap of bodies, amongst them Orly. He told how he had rescued her and taken her by wheelbarrow and horse to Erdy’s cave where she had recovered.
The young man winced with pain in the telling. When Toby has finished, he was silent for a short while.
At last he said, ‘I am her brother, Martin.’
‘Why have you taken so long to get here?’ asked Toby.
‘I stayed awhile, haunting our house, waiting for Orly to return as her body was not with ours. But as she never did, I thought she must have died elsewhere. And now the Queen has our estate.’
‘But Orly is alive.’
‘I am so grateful to you for saving her,’ said the young man.
And Toby saw this was his chance. Perhaps his only one, ever.
‘I have a mission to defeat the Queen,’ he said. ‘Will you take the oars?’
‘Gladly,’ said Martin.
‘You may be here for a very long time, as you cannot leave until someone takes the oars from you.’
‘You rescued my sister,’ said Martin. ‘I am so grateful. I don’t care if I am here for a thousand years. And should you take revenge on the woman who murdered my family and stole my estate – then I will gladly stay here forever.’
‘It is possible,’ said Toby carefully.
‘Then so be it,’ said Martin, rising from his seat.
Toby rose from his and they exchanged places. Martin took the oars without hesitation, and at once Toby felt a heaviness fly off him. Martin turned the boat with one oar, much better than he had first done. A little lower in rank, it seemed, allowed him to do a little more.
Martin rowed back to the jetty, and tied up.
Toby took his hand. ‘Thank you.’
Martin shook his head. ‘My thousand thanks to you, Toby. Tell my sister I am happy she is alive. And throw the Queen into a pit of scorpions.’
Toby rose, somewhat unsure. He had tried this many times, and each time failed. This could be a dreadful disappointment. But there was not to be one. He stepped on to the jetty. Solid ground at last. An old man waited there, but Toby walked past him.
He was free.
When next he turned, halfway up the beach, the old man was in the boat, and Martin had already begun to row him across the river.
Chapter 47
Far and Orly were preparing for the market at Errlop. This was to be their test. Erdy was sending them on their own.
‘It’s a big market,’ he said, ‘lasting three days. I always do well there. It’s time for you to show you have learnt your lessons.’
And Far and Orly knew he was not simply thinking of the lessons in healing, but also the lessons in staying alive in a dangerous countryside. They must travel slowly, they must know who they are – and take every precaution to avoid trouble.
They loaded three wheelbarrows. Not that the wheelbarrow was their means of transport, but the wagon and horse were at a farm at the foot of the mountain. It wasn’t possible to drive up the narrow, rocky track to the cavern. So they must wheelbarrow everything down and transfer it. In the days before, they made up preparations of herbs in small bags, bottles of lotion and liniment. And they put into the barrows larger bags and bottles of herbs and various ingredients, so they could make up preparations on the spot. They took two sets of scales, two mortar and pestles, dishes and bowls, spoons and stirrers, charcoal for a fire – everything they would need for a busy healers’ stall.
One wheelbarrow had things for daily living, like pots and pans, plates, knives and forks, blankets, soap, clothing and a little food to start them off. The aim was to earn enough to keep themselves going.
‘If you starve,’ laughed Erdy, ‘it’ll be your own fault.’
It was all rather exciting, and fearful. They had done small trips with Erdy to neighbouring villages. But he was always the master and they did what they were told. From time to time, he let them serve a customer. Then, he would listen in with half an ear, and put them right if needs be.
But this trip they would be on their own.
Far kept a book, very precious to him now, in which he wrote down the recipes for preparations and any difficulties in making them. He wrote notes about plants, their leaves, their berries, their roots, stems and bark. The first writing was very childlike and badly spelled, but over the months he had improved considerably. He would spend hours copying out of big books in the cavern, asking Erdy or Orly what this word was, and that one. Until it got to the point when he rarely had to anymore.
Orly too kept a book, but there was far less in it. She, after all, wasn’t using it to teach herself to read and write. Though when it came to preparing for this expedition she wished she had written more. The book wouldn’t simply be a primer but an important tool of the trade.
She must work tonight by lamplight. Get down in her book as much as she could. This would be her last chance as tomorrow they would be on the road, treated as healers and expected to be healers. And there was so much to know. And so much to get wrong.
The thought terrified her.
A few berries, just the right number for the body size and the patient recovered. A few more and they died in agony. The human body could be so delicate, so different, and so the same.
After their supper, and after their period of study, Far and Erdy went to bed. Orly sat at the big table on a high stool, almost hidden in books and scrolls. Hers was the sole lantern, close to her notebook, throwing flickering shadows on the walls and ceiling of the cavern, barely reaching the entrance which was almost in darkness. She was in a state of panic, made worse by her tiredness. She could hardly keep her eyes open but there was so much she didn’t know. Some preparations and illnesses she had never heard of. And yet she would be expected to treat them. The fire was almost out with just a few glowing embers. Sly lay flat out before it like a rug. Erdy was snoring and Far was buried under his blanket. Dare she wake them? She had read a fact in one book about a root extract and its efficacy for whooping cough, and the complete opposite in another. Or was she just confused in her sleepiness? She couldn’t find one of the books. This was madness. She couldn’t learn healing overnight. She must sleep. But knew she couldn’t. Her head was a muddle of preparations, potions, restrictions and warnings of the direst consequences of mixing this and that, while giving it in certain doses, but on the other hand…
‘Orly!’
And then she didn’t want to sleep. Or even need to. And she could wake Far and Erdy and they would not say a word against it.
Toby was back.
Part Three
The Secret Of Life
Chapter 48
There was no sleep at
all that night. The three were eager for his news, but Toby was eager for food. And he was filthy and bloody. Ravens, he said, referring to the cuts, scratches and dried blood in the muck on his forehead and arms. Erdy forbade him to talk. They had waited long enough, they could wait a little longer. Far made him a bath, while Erdy concocted a preparation for his cuts and scratches and Orly prepared food over the fire.
His clothes were rags and Erdy said they should be thrown away. While he bathed, clean clothing was gathered up. And, before he put them on, Erdy rubbed ointment into his wounds and dosed him with a foul-tasting tonic. How they pampered him! Waited on him, hand and foot – like the special guest he most surely was. Food, drink, another cushion, a footstool – they couldn’t be more willing to welcome him home.
And Toby could eat. And eat.
They refilled his bowls and his plates and he consumed them like ten men.
‘I haven’t eaten since I have been away,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘How long has that been?’
‘Sixteen months,’ said Erdy
He gasped at the time. Yet shouldn’t have been surprised, looking around at the three of them, his feet on a stool, cushioned in an easy chair. Erdy was much the same, but the other two had changed considerably.
‘You have a beard, Far.’
Far shrugged, a little embarrassed as he scratched the fuzz on his chin. ‘I shall shave in the morning.’
‘And you, Orly. You were such a disagreeable invalid when I left.’
She smiled at him, allowing the tease. ‘I hope I have changed for the better.’
‘You’re…’ he hesitated before going on, ‘a woman now.’
That had been obvious to him when he first saw her behind the pile of books. For a second or two he had not recognised her. True her hair was shorter, true she wore a shapeless tunic – but she had filled out, rounded. Jumped instantly in his picture of her from girl to woman.