Voyage to the City of the Dead

by Alan Dean Foster

  "Or oarsmen," Homat added.

  "No, there aren't. We move by taking water in at the front of our craft and pushing it out the back much faster than we take it in."

  "What pushes the water?" Irquit asked, slowly releasing her grasp on the railing; it was undignified. Homat continued to hang on tightly.

  "Our engine. It would take a long time to explain. Maybe once we're on our way I'll try." She left Irquit with a reassuring smile and descended the ladder to the upper cabin.

  "De‑Lyra, I am fearful!" Irquit gave Homat a disapprov­ing look, but Lyra paused and eyed him pityingly.

  "All right then, come on inside. But you won't like it."

  Homat followed her, Irquit tagging along because she didn't want to miss anything. Once below, the truth of Lyra's words became immediately apparent. At a cabin temperature of eighty degrees, both Mai found themselves shivering.

  Etienne greeted them in the transparent bubble of the cockpit, left explanations to Lyra. Though she used simple terms and kept her science as basic as possible, it soon became clear that such concepts as electricity and light‑emit­ting diodes were beyond the comprehension of their guests.

  Before long Homat confessed, "I think I would rather be fearful than frozen," and he led the retreat back toward the stern.

  Once outside he hopped around for a few minutes until his system warmed, then busied himself arranging personal effects on the deck. The Mai would sleep where they cooked, away from the terrible arctic climate their hosts appeared to favor.

  Reassurances and explanations notwithstanding, it took Lyra another hour of quiet coaxing to convince them that the boat wasn't going to devour them if they let loose of the rail when Etienne raced the engine and sent the hydrofoil leaping forward. She showed them how the boat lifted clear of the surface on its twin metal blades, explained how that enabled them to move Upriver at seventy kilometers an hour.

  As time passed and the smoothness and exhilaration of the ride overcame initial fears, both Mai not only relaxed but began to enjoy the journey, though from time to time Homat made signs designed to keep them from striking a submerged log or drifting helplessly toward the clouds.

  Villages crowded the shores of tiny tree‑covered islets. Astonished children barely had time to shout before the hydrofoil had raced past their disbelieving elders. The boat's scanner picked out fishing craft ahead, enabling Etienne to steer safely around them long before they came into view.

  Larger islands appeared as they moved farther Upriver. There the water had receded from the floods sufficient to permit planting of grains and other foodstuffs. Some villagers were engaged in crude but effective aquaculture, from the raising of crustaceans to the gathering of waterfowl. All looked askance at the spirit boat that roared past their homes and scattered birds and amphibians in its wake.

  There seemed no end to the villages. According to the initial satellite surveys, the Skatandah Delta was the most densely populated section of Tslamaina, which was why it had been chosen as the site of the first Commonwealth out­post.

  As they traveled toward the equator the temperature in­tensified, if that was possible, and no occasional sea breeze battled the humidity. Despite months of acclimatization, the Redowls spent the majority of their time sequestered in the air‑conditioned interior of their craft. Merely to step out on deck risked a shock to the system. Homat and Irquit were right at home on the stern deck, however, and readily ex­changed muted comments about the fragility of the human system.

  Homat made a game of trying to outguess the scanner, sitting on the bow and staring at the water in search of submerged rocks or other obstacles. He always lost, but the acuity of his eyesight impressed both Etienne and Lyra.

  By analyzing the current and the debris the water carried, the hydrofoil's computer could make a decision on which branch to take, but it was still nice to have Irquit confirm the choice. Without the computer or their guides they could have spent years wandering through the Skatandah in a futile attempt to locate the main course of the Skar.

  As the days slid past in superheated study, the Redowls found themselves more and more grateful for the presence of their two passengers. Having completely overcome their fear of the boat, the Mai had revealed themselves as efficient, helpful, and good company. Lyra derived an added benefit from being able to study their reactions to new discoveries, additional information on Mai society which she regularly entered into her scientific log.

  They also turned out to be excellent cooks as well as sharp bargainers at the villages where they stopped to pur­chase supplies, and except for periodic raids on the salt tablet and vitamin stores, the humans' stock of packaged food remained nearly untouched.

  Irquit and Homat didn't try to hide their delight. Not only were they enjoying themselves, but Lyra knew they must be anticipating the honors that would come their way after they returned home. Their careers were made. She was pleased for both of them.

  It was clear that those Mai fortunate enough to make their homes in the delta were more content than their urbanized relations. Government control so far from Po Rabi was lax, food was abundant, and there was little to inspire conflict. The social setup would change, Lyra suspected, once they left the lush Skatandah region behind and emerged into the main channel of the Skar. Farming above the delta would require more effort and extensive irrigation. Competition would be tough, as it was within the city‑state boundaries.

  The heat, the friendliness of the villagers, the lazy days passed in discussion and study produced in the Redowls a feeling of inner security. It was left to Homat to remind them that they were traveling on an alien world and not Earth's relatively benign waters.

  Etienne had gone over the side and was leaning back against one of the curving support struts that ran from hy­drofoil to hull, trailing one leg in the cool water and letting the spray from the foil wash over him. They were traveling fast enough to alleviate concern about glass leeches and he was completely relaxed beneath the refreshing spray.

  He gave Homat a curious glance as the Mai started to descend alongside him, carrying a metal prod. Now that he'd overcome his initial fear of the strange vessel, the shy native clambered nimbly over it while displaying an agility Etienne could only envy.

  It was the prod that caught his eye. "What's that for?"

  Homat gestured with the metal. Etienne wiped spray from his face and looked behind him.

  Attached to the foil just beneath the glassy surface of the water and slowly creeping toward Etienne's feet was a thin dark shape, three meters long and as. thick as his arm.

  "Sandrush," Homat said curtly as he worked his way around the strut until he was holding on behind Etienne.

  "Poisonous? Parasite?"

  "No. Inhaler."

  "What does it inhale? Blood?"

  "Inhale you." Etienne watched with interest as the Mai used the prod to pry open the creature's wide round mouth. The teeth were small and curved inward. The jaw dislocated itself and Homat spread the gape wide‑ still. As they watched the sandrush began to fill helplessly with river water until it had swollen to four times its normal size. The dull green membrane was evidently capable of expanding to hold prey larger than itself, and the meaning of Homat's words became ghoulishly clear.

  Eventually the pressure of the water proved too much for the powerful suckers that lined the sandrush's ventral side. It relinquished its grip and fell away astern. Etienne was suitably impressed.

  "If it gets a hold of you, very bad," Homat explained unnecessarily. "It won't let go unless it dies and sandrush is very hard to kill. Swallow you whole." He turned to climb back up toward the lower deck.

  Etienne wondered at the flexibility that would allow an animal to expand so far beyond its normal size even as he thoughtfully removed his legs from the water. He wondered what other charming native fauna lurked just beneath the surface of the river, following the boat hungrily.

  Since there was little here for him to study he did most of the
piloting, leaving Lyra free to record her impressions of village life and culture within the Skatandah. While the communities there differed little from those clustered around Steamer Station she continued to take her usual copious notes. Even the tiniest change in social structure or clothing or fishing methods was occasion for excitement.

  Gradually the marshlands and islands of the delta began to fade behind them. Fewer platform trees and pseudopalms

  were seen, more open water and less land. An unknowing observer might have concluded that the Redowls had taken a wrong turn and were heading once more out into the open ocean.

  But the water they skimmed over was now almost entirely fresh. They had entered the main body of the Skar, a river large enough to make the Amazon or Nile or any of the other known rivers of the Commonwealth look like a meandering creek. From the center of the river it was impossible to tell you weren't traveling on a freshwater sea, because there was no sign of land to starboard or port. Beyond invisible banks the cliffs that marked the edge of the Guntali rose unseen toward a cloud‑flecked sky.

  Etienne eased the hydrofoil to starboard until the shore­line hove into view. Thereafter they were able to cruise on autopilot, allowing Lyra to concentrate on her note‑taking and leaving Etienne free to stare through the telescope mounted atop the observation mast. Numerous villages dot­ted the bank. Farther inland he saw farming communities and small commercial centers. At the extreme range of the scope's resolving power he could discern the first gentle slopes, evidence that they really were traveling up a river canyon.

  While the temperature crept toward the hundred thirty mark in early afternoon, the humidity fell slightly. It required an effort to remain outside the boat's air‑conditioned interior for longer than half an hour. Lyra spent much of her time outside chatting with the owners of the small trading boats that pulled alongside whenever they stopped. While she dictated notes, Homat and Irquit bargained for provisions. Ir­quit did most of the trading while Homat attended to the cooking, having mastered the electric oven the Redowls in­sisted he use instead of the wood‑burning stove he had brought on board.

  They were then a thousand kilometers north of Steamer Station and the mouth of the delta, cruising the smooth back of the river Skar at a steady ninety kph. They had barely begun their journey.

  Everywhere the Mai citizenry was friendly and open, though more primitive than those of the advanced societies of the city‑states that ringed the great world ocean. All was not peaceful and pastoral along the river, however. The pres­ence of village stockades and other fortifications hinted at sporadic conflict, and there were those who were less than overawed by the peculiar visitors' advanced technology.

  "Hon, I think you'd better have a look at this." Etienne kept his gaze on the scanner as he took the boat off autopilot.

  "What is it?" Lyra's voice sounded over the intercom in the cockpit.

  "Ships ahead, lots of 'em. Fishing boats by the computer image."

  ".What's notable about that? I'm busy, Etienne."

  "Lyra, there are at least a hundred boats. That's not usual, is it?"

  "No, it's not." The intercom went quiet for a moment and when she spoke again her tone was thoughtful instead of impatient. "Are you sure?"

  "I'm quite capable of following the readouts," he said sarcastically. "It isn't normal, is it, for a fishing fleet to attain that size?"

  "Not from what we've seen thus far, no, but maybe it's normal up here."

  "Why don't you ask Irquit?"

  A sigh whispered at him from the grid as she put her beloved work aside. "I suppose I'd better."

  Irquit sat on the open rear deck of the hydrofoil, cleaning vegetables for the next meal. Purple and maroon predomi­nated, but that didn't detract from the tastiness, Lyra knew. Homat peeled tubers by hand.

  "Irquit, my husband says that there are at least a hundred fishing boats in the river ahead of us." Neither of the Mai expressed surprise at this calm revelation, having already become familiar with much of the hydrofoil's instrumenta­tion. They called the cockpit scanner the iron eye.

  Irquit looked uncertain. "That is more than I have ever heard of fishing the river. There are never so many grouped together down by Po Rabi. Is de‑Etienne certain they are just fishermen?"

  "We can't tell that through the iron eye. What could they be doing except fishing?"

  "It could be a war fleet," Homat suggested tentatively.

  "Out to attack one of the villages? This doesn't seem to be a poor area."

  "it is sometimes simpler," said Homat with innocent wis­dom, "to take rather than to work, no matter how easy the work may be."

  She could have argued the point but it was not the time to engage in idle sociological speculation. "Tell that to my husband, Homat."

  He made a sign of acknowledgment and worked his way around the boat until he was standing outside the transparent dome of the cockpit. He could see Etienne clearly. Con­densation was banished from the clear acrylic by the silent efforts of special air circulators. He leaned toward the speak­ing membrane.

  "De‑Etienne, I fear the many vessels you say lie ahead of us."

  "Is there any way you can tell what they're up to by looking at them?"

  "Yes. If they have their gill nets out I think they're just fishing and not ready for war. Gill nets cost too much to risk in a fight."

  Etienne considered. "Better tell Lyra to come forward, then. The iron eye can't distinguish something as wispy as nets. We'll need somebody to make visual confirmation."

  "I'm already here, Etienne." The membrane picked up his wife's voice before she stepped into view. Irquit was with her. "You don't have to tell me my job."

  "I wasn't telling you your job," he snapped, "I just­- never mind. We'll be on top of them in a minute." He ex­amined the crowded screen. "I'll have to slow down or we're liable to run over somebody."

  "We've never run into more than four or five boats fishing together before. Too much competition," Lyra murmured. "It doesn't fit the established pattern." Masted wooden shapes were appearing on the horizon ahead.

  The roar of the electric jet dropped to a rumble and the hydrofoil's speed dropped radically until the hull once more broke water. As they began to pass among the component vessels, the fishing fleet was even more impressive up close than it had appeared on the scanner.

  The craft that plied the warm waters of the Skatandah Delta rarely required the muscles of more than three or four fishermen. these great bargelike vessels each boasted two dozen crew or more. They lay across the Skar in three rows, blocking a decent part of the river's considerable breadth, and were roped together.

  To Etienne's relief they clearly saw the huge gill nets strung between the ships. Since they didn't drift with the current they must utilize heavy anchors to hold them in place. Women and children manned the nets and lines along­side the men.

  Every tenth barge was a vast floating platform nearly as big as some of the ocean‑going trimarans they'd encountered out in the Groalamasan. The reason for their extraordinary size, as well as for the number of fishing craft, soon became apparent. It had to do with the size of the catch.

  Some twenty vessels were swinging close together, bump­ing sides and full of organized confusion as their crews strained at nets and lines. The water between began to froth and bubble, was finally broken by the emergence of an immense rainbow‑hued head. More glowing color breached the sur­face and the fisherfolk redoubled their efforts to haul in their whale‑sized catch.

  "Arwawl!" Homat exclaimed excitedly. "I've tasted its dried flesh but never seen one before. They run only in the main river and come nowhere near Po Rabi's shallows."

  The chanting of the fishermen was a steady, triumphant chorus now as they hauled in the huge interlocked nets. As they did so ten ships passed to port of the immense barge, ten to starboard. The barge crew lent its muscle to the task and long gaffs, attached to winches, were brought into use. Slowly the arwawl was hauled onto the deck, bendi
ng the stern beneath the surface of the river for long moments be­fore the silvery tonnage could be better distributed.

  The single catch was enough to feed many villages, Etienne mused, but the fleet apparently wasn't satisfied. Still other nets were out, trailing from the less fortunate boats. He admired the fisherfolk's persistence.

  It was left to Irquit, less mesmerized by the efficiency of the fleet, to sound a warning. She moved closer to Lyra, who was intent on recording the fishing with her instruments.

  Irquit performed a diminutive half bow. "Forgive me for troubling you, de‑Lyra, but I think we are in danger."

  "What?" Lyra strained to refocus her attention. "What's that, Irquit?"

  The Mai stepped to the railing and pointed over the bow. "I have been watching those four ships." Lyra raised her gaze, saw nothing unusual about the quartet of fishing craft dead ahead.

  "What about them? They are fishing, like their compan­ions."

  "Not like their companions," Irquit argued. "They are moving toward us. They should be anchored in place, hold­ing their nets against the flow of the Skar. They are drifting downstream."

  "Maybe they're trying to reposition themselves in a better spot. Fishermen move all the time."

  "I'm sure they are moving to a better spot, but not to catch fish, I think."

  Lyra frowned. "What makes you think so?"

  "Two drift to our left, two to the right. Their nets lie between. If we continue on this course they will soon ensnare us."

  "I'm sure it's not intentional," Lyra replied, but inwardly she wasn't so sure. The boats were very close now and the big gill nets lay concealed by the rolling water. "We'll warn them clear."

  "The nets of the Upriver fisherfolk are wondrous strong, de‑Lyra," Irquit said anxiously. "I don't know that even your spirit boat could escape from them. There is something more. See how busy the crews are?"

  Lyra squinted, peered through her recorder's telephoto for a closer look. "I see. Isn't that normal?"

  "I am no fisherwoman, but I have visited this part of the Skar before. To travel downstream is simple. One simply raises the anchors and drifts with the current. Never have I seen so much activity surrounding so easy a task. When one works that hard at something that simple, one usually has something to hide."