Helga- Out of Hedgelands

by Rick Johnson

  As these last words were spoken, Bem suddenly pulled her sword and once again sent the blade whistling past BorMane’s head. A long swatch of hair again dropped to the deck, this time on the other side of his head.

  “There, Old Salt—having tidied up your haircut and reminded all that I will forever hate Sabre Tusk and hope to destroy him—I have nothing more to say.” The red Wolf picked up the swatch of BorMane’s hair from the deck and, just as BorMane had done earlier, laid it across her open paw as she held it out to the Coyote. “As you have offered, I also offer an oath-token. No more will I trouble you about Sabre Tusk. We are one crew now and Daring Dream and our good Captain will need us to be united.”

  Smiling broadly, BorMane placed his paw over the oath-token offered by Bem. “Yah, mate, it’s not bein’ an easy voyage any ways it comin’. It’ll be all o’ us as sails through it all, or none o’ us will bein’ back.”

  So saying, BorMane and Bem Madsoor joined the rest of the crew as work began to repair the Daring Dream. Fourteen days later, Captain Gumberpott steered the fully repaired ship out of Narrows End Bay, set his bearings for southwest of the setting sun, and sailed off into the Voi-Nil.

  Having fresh provisions, clean water to drink, and favoring winds made good spirits abundant on the ship. Heading south to join the Whale freighters, each day, Daring Dream plowed deeper and deeper into the Voi-Nil. Each night, the ship’s council gathered around Red Whale’s table and discussed the coming prospects for the voyage. Except for BorMane and Bem Madsoor, no one in the ship’s council had ever before sailed the seas they were now crossing, and each night BorMane and Bem were called upon to tell more of what they knew. Images of an entirely new world emerged from the accounts they gave.

  “So, as I take it from what you say...,” Red Whale observed one night during a council, “...the Voi-Nil is far from empty. Our charts may be blank but there’s beasts and more beasts sailin’ and frettin’ and blusterin’ in every direction.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Bem replied as she stood leaning on the table and gazing over the chart rolled out before the council. “You need to think of the Voi-Nil as being different clans of beasts scattered across the seas—so isolated that they’re almost worlds unto themselves. Isolated, but not alone. Apart, but connected by the sea.”

  Crossports Slizzer

  Five days later, the weather was flawless when Crossports Slizzer, the Whale freighter port, came into view. A feeling of almost childish excitement raced among the crew—the first landfall well beyond the reach of Captain Gumberpott’s charts! Crossports Slizzer had a snug harbor holding perhaps twenty ships, some lying at anchor off shore, and others tied up along the wharf. Boldy-painted houses of the better sort faced the harbor—their sharply-pointed, red tile roofs reaching skyward, surrounded by wide verandas with lush gardens. A squalid labyrinth of back lanes, overflowing with jumbled shacks and grimy shops, spilled up the hillsides beyond the harbor. Palm trees waved their feathery fronds gently in the breeze.

  A strong stone fortress perched on the rocky prominence that towered over the entrance to the harbor. Vultures circled lazily high overhead, their wide wings catching the brilliant sun and sending dark shadows sliding across the deck, as Daring Dream tied up at the wharf.

  Eyeing the vultures circling above, BorMane commented, “Corsairs cruising, Capt’n—that fort up there is their base. They knows what’s what with every ship in these parts—seein’ everything, tellin’ what they want, plunderin’ the ones they choose.”

  “And no one tries to stop ’em?” Red Whale asked.

  “Oh, sure,” BorMane chuckled, “there’s plenty as could stop ’em if they wanted—but, ya see, ships come to Crossports Slizzer because they want to. It’s a bit of—well, I guess you’d call it—a ‘twilight place.’ Ya see all those ships in the harbor? Why, everyone of them’s either a pirate or pays protection money to pirates—but since this is the only port in hundreds of miles, and the best eatin’ in the Seven Seas, why, let’s just say good and bad slosh together here—a sort of ‘convenient peace,’ ya might say.”

  A sickly-sweet, but sharp and fiery, odor hung in the air. The scene was strangely quiet, with only a few wagons, pulled by teams of enormous tortoises, creaking and rumbling across the cobblestone streets. Here and there, the wagons stopped and a couple of burly Watch-Cougars hopped off and picked up bodies from the street, tossing them on the wagons. The process continued as the wagons worked their way down the street. The strange sight put a damper on the enthusiasm of the crew.

  “Not a soul breathin’!” one sea-beast howled. “Why’s t’s the plague! We’ll catch t’death o’ it! Let’s get out’a here!”

  “Yi! You’s got that right! Looks like body-pickers gatherin’ the dead—poor souls!” another moaned.

  “Now don’t you go makin’ up stories you’ll be fools for later!” BorMane chuckled. “You’re just seein’ a bit of what draws these ships here!”

  BorMane, having stopped at Crossports Slizzer several times during his voyages crisscrossing the Voi-Nil, was the only member of Daring Dream’s crew who knew the place. “You’ll see now how it is with the Voi-Nil,” he chuckled. “Soon’s we hit the wharf and the gangway goes down, you’ll see wonders!” the old Coyote chuckled. “Why the ships’ are peaceful ’cause their crews have abandoned them ’n gone ashore. And the town’s quiet ’cause now just about everybody’s sleepin’—it’s the daily Snooze.

  “The daily Snooze?” Red Whale asked.

  “Crossports Slizzer is known for its eatin’,” BorMane answered. “Why there’s shark chop houses, muck n’ crots rooms, Slizzer Eel barbeque joints, seaweed cafés, and lizard roasters by the dozen—but those ain’t places for a decent beast. There’s better places for the money you’ll spend. Check out Flimbard Street, the area around Stand n’Step, or head up the road to Lugmate Hill—the grub’ll cost you dear—a hundred pieces of gold for a spot o’ tea, but any other meal, in any other place, seems the vilest slop imaginable in comparison. Fat paunches make for lean wallets in Slizzer.”

  “I don’t want to see any more wonders than I have to,” Red Whale replied. “We’re bound for the Outer Rings and I don’t want to waste more time in port than necessary.”

  “It won’t take long to see the wonders, Capt’n,” BorMane said mysteriously. “Why, the place itself is a wonder—a regular crossroads of the world, where before it was just a bit of rock piled high with tortoise dung and overrun with flies and mosquitoes—but once the first Whale freighters discovered the place, and the pirates followed them like flies after honey, things began to happen. Now it’s eatin’ and fightin’, eatin’ and fightin’, nothin’ but eatin’ and fightin’. Slizzer’s a wild and reckless place, full of careless livin’ and terrible bad singin’. Aye, you’ll soon see how it is.”

  A loud staccato, almost like the sound of someone beating a drum, interrupted BorMane and Red Whale’s conversation. A red-faced old Seagull was nearly running up the gangway, stumping toward them on a wooden leg. The old seabird appeared to have a rugged history. Long white feathers poked out wildly around the edges of a dark blue tricorn hat, calling attention to a ghastly, purple-white scar running diagonally across the bird’s face. As the old Gull approached, Red Whale noticed that the old seabird’s beak was cut off at an odd angle—an angle exactly matching the run of the scar.

  “Crinoo!” Red Whale exclaimed softly, “that old sea-beater’s got stories to tell—looks he took a cutlass slash full in the face sometime.” The wooden peg, fitted snugly to where the Gull’s right leg ended just above the knee, suggested other stories the old Gull could tell.

  “You’d be Cap’t Gummerpobb of the Darin’ Dram, I’ll wager you a barrel of Blazin’ Muck!” the Seagull roared loudly, greeting Red Whale in a deep, gruff voice.

  “And who might you be, blowin’ in like a typhoon?” Red Whale asked.

  “I’m Jick Maloon, mayor of this paradise—but beasts ’round here’bouts call me JM Death,�
�� the Seagull replied roughly. “Or, mostly just Death—that seems what folks remember most about me—seein’s how I’ve been killed or marooned and left to die thirteen times and I’m still here, as ya see.”

  “In that case, seems as how they’d call you, JM Living,” Red Whale replied with a chuckle.

  “Not considerin’ the fate of those as tried to kill me,” Death replied. “Those as messed me and failed aren’t around to mess me again—I see to my business, you understand.”

  “Sure,” Red Whale replied slowly, “it’s all right whatever they call you—anyone’s nearly cashed in as many times as you have doesn’t need folks arguin’ with ’em about their name!”

  “Blest if I know what you want here,” Death said roughly. “My Corsairs scouted you and this ship don’t ride low enough in the water to be loaded with cargo. So what are you and where’s your home?”

  “We are adventurers,” Red Whale replied, “bound into the Voi-Nil on behalf of the great Lord Farseeker, charged to explore and discover new lands. We’re from nowhere you know, going somewhere we don’t know.”

  “Cut out the fancy talk—the last fancy talker I met didn’t have the sense of a crab,” Death snapped. “Look, I ain’t holdin’ a reception here,” he continued, surveying Red Whale, ship, and crew with eager and greedy eyes. The long red scar across his face seemed to swell with blood as his excitement grew.

  A mass of grayish-white feathers fell in a disheveled bush across the collar of the Gull’s seacoat. The wild feathers vibrated as Death’s head shook with excited glee. “Only two kinds of ships tie up here—those as take liberties with other ships and those dull ships o’ sea-beasts, such as yourselves, just wantin’ to come ashore and feast on Slizzer’s delights.”

  The old seabird drew a long slim knife from its sheath at his belt and ran the sharp point across his own neck, causing a slight flow of blood to flow. “Now you see, Capt’n,” the Gull continued, “Slizzer is a lawful and orderly town. The law here is simple—we’re organized to the discipline of plunder and booty. Our fundamental rule—which I, as mayor, am sworn to uphold with this knife—is that every ship as stops at Crossports Slizzer contributes to the common purse. No pay, no stay—it’s as simple as that.”

  The Gull, with a look full of meaning, again ran the sharp knife gently across his neck, leaving another faint line of blood. “Most of the fine ships you see here are owned by Slizzer’s best citizens—Fancy Grace; Black Fats, the Mad; and Captain Bull. These fine, civic-minded citizens do as they will with the ships they find at sea—and pay ten shares of their booty into the common fund. For those as trade in the dull commerce of normal business, or are just passin’ through Sizzer, it’s two thousand pounds of gold—payable now, if you please.” The Seagull looked at Red Whale expectantly.

  “What do you mean, two thousand pounds of gold, payable now?” Red Whale demanded. “I don’t owe you a thing, you old swindler! Now get off of all this nonsense—you’re not dealing with a fool.”

  “Weell,” the Seagull replied slyly, “you don’t seem to have shown any extry smarts in landing here, thinkin’ use of the docks was free! You tie up and—weell, then—you pay for the privilege of dockin’ here. If you don’t have gold, I’d take three thousand pounds of pearls instead.”

  “But we’re here to do business!” Red Whale exploded. “All we want is to contract with the Whale freighters to carry us across the Stills.”

  “That’s fine for you and the whales, but not for the shopkeepers and cafés—nor for the mayor. That’s why I, as mayor, am charged to maintain proper respect for law and order! Now, Cap’t Gummerpobb, I think you’re best advised to pay up—then step right this way and bring your crew with you. You’ll see that Slizzer is an absolute emporium of…”

  “Bah! You greedy-grub! Why, I’ll not pay you a chip ‘o sand nor tossin’ anything in your grubby little wing until I’m ready.”

  “Oh, my,” Death replied, “if you don’t have enough money, don’t worry—we specialize in loans! You can borrow against your ship and crew if you prefer—our bankers are just over there.” Pointing to a hulking, wildly-painted ship anchored a couple of hundred yards away, Death continued, “It won’t take but a moment to get them here.”

  “Your ship’s not much to look at, Cap’t Gummerpobb, but takin’ the crew into the equation—looks like I could sell ’em right easy—why, I think that would be plenty to secure a fine loan for you. You’ll have plenty to give you a good time ashore!”

  “my name’s not, Gummerpobb!” Red Whale roared, “The name is Captain norayn gumberpott—And i’ll have none o’ your stinking-bilge-sucking loans!”

  “Suit yourself, Cap’t Gummerpobb,” Death replied, “but unfortunately, you’ve already been docked here nearly an hour and that tab must be paid.” Pulling a red cloth from the inside pocket of his seacoat, Death waved it high over his head, toward the strange-looking schooner anchored near the harbor entrance.

  A few moments later, loud cursing and hooting laughter erupted on the schooner. Red Whale lifted his glass and, squinting, swept it across the mysterious ship. He could see the decks were crowded with rough beasts, weather-beaten, ugly, and fierce, armed with every manner of weapon imaginable. Although the ship offered no immediate threat, it was clear that the Seagull’s “bankers” were an unpleasant lot. The nature of the possible unpleasantness, however, remained a mystery as Red Whale watched the raucous activity on the ship. Amazingly, the schooner seemed to be sinking in the water at the stern!

  The look of surprised curiosity on Red Whales face was not lost on Death. “Yash, Cap’t Gummerpobb! I see you’ve never seen a shark-deck ship before!”

  With a sneering laugh, Death explained what was happening. “That would be Fancy Grace coming to offer you a loan! You see, Fancy Grace opens a valve and lets some water into tanks in the stern o’ her ship. The weight tilts the ship backward and the stern slides lower in the water.”

  Death paused and gave a hard eye to the Daring Dream crew gathered round. “HAR-HAR-HAR!” he laughed, “Then the real fun begins! Put your glass on the stern o’ the ship, Captain Norayn Gumberpott, and see what happens now!”

  Red Whale peered through his glass with an increasing sense of that things were about to become very unpleasant, indeed. Red Whale’s pulse quickened as feelings of fear and astonishment see-sawed within him. Nearly transfixed by what was happening, Red Whale watched a large gate swing open on the schooner’s stern, allowing seawater to flood into the ship.

  “Don’t worry, Captain Norayn Gumberpott,” Death said with an evil smile, “Fancy Grace’s ship won’t sink—water only pours into the shark-deck. Now, I imagine you wonder what a ship needs a shark-deck for—well, just keep watching…”

  In a few more moments, hideous sea-beasts, each armed to the teeth, came swarming out through the open gate, riding huge sharks! Red Whale stifled a gasp—judging each shark to weigh at least a thousand pounds, sea-beasts riding astride, holding the tall vertical fins! The powerful sharks carried their riders rapidly across the harbor toward Daring Dream, with only their top fin and half-submerged riders visible.

  A female Wolverine led the approaching horde. Red Whale studied her carefully through his glass. Small in stature but not in ferocity, the pirate leader cut slashing circles above her head with a cutlass, kicking her shark for maximum speed. Swearing at the top of her lungs like a Banshee from hell, the rascal’s wild orange eyes flashed like fire. Large earrings dangled beneath a broad jet-black hat. Dressed in bright, gaudy clothes made of the finest cloth, the little pirate leader had wealth, but not good style, Red Whale decided. Several front teeth were prominently missing, but numerous diamonds sewn into her seacoat flashed in the sun, off-seting that defect. A long, lavishly woven scarf fluttered around her neck. The overall effect was elegant mayhem. Guessing that over a hundred pirates were closing in on Daring Dream, Red Whale did not need convincing that they could easily take his ship as “payment” for any supposed de
bts he might have.

  Death, smiling broadly, said, “I have the honor of introducing you to the meanest, and most colorful, of my business associates—Fancy Grace. Now, shall I invite them to come on aboard and take control of your ship, or would you prefer to pay the two thousand pounds of gold, and go ashore and have some fun?”

  “I don’t owe you a cup of spit, you dung-brained robber!” Red Whale replied. “The only gold we have we need to pay passage with the Whale freighters, but if you will call off your business associates, I will give it to you.” Looking Death straight in the eye, Red Whale added, “Then if you’ll just let us cast off, we’ll go our way in a few minutes and be out of your way forever.”

  “Well spoken, Cap’t Gummerpobb! Hear! Hear! I sense we have reached a deal. Your crew will praise you for your wisdom…but, now that you’re paying up, why not let the crew go ashore and enjoy Slizzer? They won’t want to miss the fun!” Stamping his peg loudly on the deck, the old seabird shouted, “Muck n’ Crots! Muck n’ Crots! Muck n’ Crots for the crew!” The noisy Seagull bounded from one end of the deck to the other, long ragged feathers flying and sharp keen eyes darting quickly. Stamping his peg, he called out, “No’se Spill Muck and Steamed Crots for the crew! Come on ashore and drank ’er up, and chuck ’er down, mates. Welcome to Crossports Slizzer! Hurry ashore—it’s the greatest emporium of eatin’ and fightin’ in the world! Just hand over the gold and everyone goes ashore for all the Muck ’n Crots or Screamin’ Slammers they can eat!