The Ways Between Worlds: Peter Cooper

by Larry E. Clarke

  We stepped along smartly. As we neared the docks a cheer went up from the crowd in the small plaza near the starting line. We were forced to break formation and make our way through the crowd in single file. It wasn't until we were actually at dockside that I caught sight of the Rikki II.

  Aboard her were a dozen or so familiar faces, including some who had worked with me in the boathouse yesterday evening on a last minute installation. Some slept with her last night at the boathouse, and then brought her round to dockside a short while ago. Once there, their main responsibility had been to discourage the curious from sneaking a peek at what lay concealed under the large tarp on her tiny fore deck. That was my secret weapon, and I wouldn't be much of a weapon if it weren't secret...now would it?

  Barg had all hands check equipment immediately on boarding. Everything looked shipshape. Like horses in the starting gate each of us was ready to throw ourselves totally into the contest. The excitement in the crowd was building to electric levels. Here and there groups of fans sporting team colors pressed closer to the restraining barriers. Just offshore a large and elegantly appointed vessel strained at its anchor chain. It sat near mid channel and carried the party representing the Governor.

  From what Urs had told me the Governor himself came frequently when the races were held in Seestra or even Olmos. It was less common for him to travel all the way to Monton which most in the capital dwellers considered to be the hind end of the provinces. He opined that the representative, one "Dhars Flonstrad", was likely some half witted cousin sent here just to get him out of the Governor's hair.

  I understood that he had brought practically his whole family with him. The vessel probably should have been securely tied to a pier but there was no doubt it afforded a better view from where it rode at anchor. Crowds sometimes occupied the far shore as well as the town side, but the ferry had stopped running once the current became too swift. Only those few spectators already in place before the river rose watched from the far shore.

  One of the crew, probably Grof, cracked some kind of a joke about how if we lost. . . the current would help us escape down river to where we could hide out among the other criminals in the marshes below Seestea.

  My command of the language still wasn't good enough to appreciate the full humor of their jokes, but I knew he was referring to the local equivalent of joining the Foreign Legion. The rest of the crew gave a low chuckle at his gallows humor and the tension of the moment was broken.

  There were four officials, one from each of the home ports. The host city provided the head judge who would start and end the race but his decision could be overridden by a vote of the other three. All in all, the system seemed well thought out and well run. The officials conferred for a moment and then one of them struck a heavy cylinder of metal (brass?) that hung at dockside for the occasion. The crowd grew quiet and in a fine ringmaster's voice he called the crews to the “Make Ready”.

  Larc, our deck hand, drew back the canvas which covering our “secret weapon”, rolled it up and threw it ashore. The head judge struck the gong three more times. At the third stroke the crews sprang to action.

  CHAPTER 16

  Barg swung the boom of the sturdy wooden crane fixed on the foredeck of the Rikki toward the dock where the rest of the crew were stacking building stones in a heavy cargo net. In moments hooks from the crane were passed through rings set at each corner of the net. Two crewmen jumped aboard to help winch in the load. As the slack in the cable was taken up the Rikki listed toward the dock but by that time the rest of the crew had taken their positions on the starboard side to help offset the weight.

  Along the quay other crews were working rapidly but but still pacing themselves for the race ahead. I estimated that they were loading about 10% faster would likely leave the dock a slightly ahead of us.

  Four more cargo nets were filled and lifted aboard, sagging from the weight of their contents. Once the first loads were stowed, the crew no longer had to counterbalance the crane and could continue working on the dock as each load was brought aboard. This helped a bit. We loaded the last net perhaps a minute after the "Spirit" and seconds after the "Spear-bearer" pulled into the current and began the row up river. We were away at last. A weak cheer went up from our supporters.

  More rain must have fallen upstream over night. The current was noticeably stronger than yesterday. After the first hundred strokes or so we all settled down to the cadence Barg ordered called from his post at the tiller. I put a good effort into each stroke but remembered to pace myself. Although the least experienced of the crew I knew enough not to spend myself in the first half and have nothing for the finish.

  We pulled steadily for perhaps ten minutes. Under normal conditions we would have cleared the city wall to the north and been half way to the judges’ boat lying at the turn around point more than a kilometer above the town. Today we were still five minutes away.

  The wind off the river was cold and raw though I doubt any of the crew noticed. Each knew only the job at hand. Each pulled an oar. Each listened to the coxswain's cadence. There was no need for spoken communication. Subtle moves signaled: "quicken a stroke" here, or "lengthen a stroke" there. We were a well tuned engine that ran on muscle, sweat and breath. There was none to waste.

  The sliding seats worked as well as I'd hoped. With each synchronized stroke I could feel the Rikki shoot ahead against the current. The other crews were giving it their all but by the time we neared the judges barge drew we were closing on the lead boat, the “Spirit”, and beginning to nose ahead of the "Spear-Bearer".

  "Pull. . .pull. . .pull. . ." their captain called in Neslan, quickening the cadence on seeing us so near.

  The "Spirit" made the turn and pulled madly for the finish. The "Spear-Bearer" had taken a slightly longer line near the shore to avoid the brunt of the current, but now they too pulled to midstream and steered for the inside track to make the required (counter-clockwise) turn about the judge’s boat. I thought Barg might pick up the pace to cut inside but he held steady. The "Spear-bearer" cut the corner missing the barge by inches. Her helmsman either knew what he was doing or had been extremely lucky.

  Barg held to the cadence. . . brought the craft slightly up-stream. . . barked the order to "ship port side oars" and put the tiller hard over. We cleared the judges barge by a meter or so.

  With the current behind her the Spear-bearer had re-opened a small lead though we were once more closing on her.

  Further down we could see the "Spirit" pulling strongly toward the finish line. The downstream trip might take a mere 4 or 5 minutes.

  Blood pounded at my temples as Barg quickened the cadence. Stroke, slide, stroke, slide, stroke. The Rikki fairly flew now aided by the powerful current.

  Some care would have to be taken not to overshoot the quay, and to save enough of the crew's strength for the killing task of unloading. The race ended when the last stone of the cargo sat on the quay.

  Here's where I hoped our simple but effective hoist would make up the time we'd lost by rowing a slower boat. Seated with my back to the bow I focused on the cadence. As we neared the finish it could scarce be heard above the shouts from the crowd of 15,000 or more spectators. Flying along with the current we damn near capsized as Barg pushed the tiller hard over.

  Had the man broken under the strain? No fool would throw a race in a manner so obvious as to get himself lynched. "The Governor’s boat" he shouted resuming the cadence.

  "Pull" he bellowed "they'll drown".

  Craning my neck I could now see at least three people in the water. They were struggling toward the opposite shore in a current too strong for swimming.

  Tangled in the cables at the prow of the vessel was an enormous tree trunk carried down by the flood. The vessel seemed intact but the impact must have dashed severl of the spectators over her rails and into the river.

  Pulling across the current the Rikki canted as if likely to roll. Barg paid no heed and held steady on course to interce
pt the victims. We soon backed oars and drew along side the first. It would take several moments to draw them into the boat. In that time the other two would be swept out of sight behind the larger vessel. Without thinking I tossed out my oar, shouted "Go on" (probably in English) to Barg and jumped over the side.

  CHAPTER 17

  Covered in perspiration I hit the icy water still gripping my oar. For a few seconds the shock took my breath. Rubbing the water from my eyes with my free hand I spotted a second victim a few meters ahead struggling weakly toward shore. His heavy winter clothing was now totally waterlogged. He was doing well to keep himself above water and making no headway to shore.

  "Take the oar" I shouted pushing the blade end in his direction. If he heard he did not respond. Instead I saw him start to slip beneath the murky water. Once below the surface there would be no chance of locating him. Again I shouted, mouth half full of water, "The oar, take the oar damn it" as I shoved it again toward him. Perhaps he felt the blade on his neck. Perhaps it actually caught in his hood or a fold of clothing, but this time as he began to sink he hooked his arm across the oar.

  Numbly, I made my way down the length of the oar and got my free hand around the bunch of fabric near the back of his neck. The oar was not buoyant enough to give much support. We sank. I released the oar and struggled back to the surface.

  We were still 20 meters from the bank and would never make it at this rate. He couldn't swim in all those clothes and though lightly dressed I was too exhausted to help.

  My hand found the haft of the boat knife strapped to my calf. It was there to cut lose any fouled cargo net. Now it had another use. From behind the victim I twisted the knife beneath the cords fastening his heavy cloak and began to saw at them. At last they parted and the waterlogged garment sank.

  Exhausted I could do no more. I worked my way back to the other end of the oar and held on. Occasionally one of us would manage a few feeble kicks toward shore but we were mainly carried by the current. There was no feeling in my legs or fingers. Cold and exhaustion were winning. I wondered who it was on the other end of the oar for whom I was about to die?

  At some point. . . there was a splash. . . others in the water, then strong hands pulling me up, pulling me into a boat where I lay shaking uncontrollably.

  ------

  Sunlight, weak, low, and most welcome was streaming in as I awoke in what appeared to be the main guest room at the Cornered Vanu. Leeta and Lady Camille looked up from where there had been keeping watch and moved toward the bed. "We knew you would not leave us Pe-tar. Your grip on life is strong." We, did however, worry about you. . . a. . . a little." Leeta whispered.

  "She has not left your side since you were carried here from the docks" Lady Camilia lowed. "With her own body she warmed you as you slept."

  At this last comment I thought I detected a slight blush from Leeta (if in fact her people blush this certainly was one). Every muscle ached. It hurt even to close my eyelids. I don’t know if it was from the exertion of the race or from the uncontrollable shivering I'd done as my body tried to produce enough heat to stay alive. Either way, I hurt.

  Between the spoons full of hot broth Leeta shoveled in I managed to get a more or less complete story of what had happened since the race. At first few on shore had been aware of the problem with the Governor’s yacht. Crews of the "Spear Bearer" and "Spirit" had actually reached the docks before some of those on shore recognized what was happening. Fresh hands had jumped to the oars in each boat and pulled into the current to help.

  The crew of the Rikki had rescued representative Flonstrad himself. Men aboard the Spirit had pulled me and Flonstrand's young heir from the current. All were recovering nicely.

  Leeta's eyes grew moist and her voice low as she told me of one who had not been so fortunate. Grof, a gentle man, liked by all who knew him, had drown. He too had jumped overboard to help as the Rikki swept on to rescue Flonstrad. Perhaps it was a cramp caused by the cold water. Perhaps he was too exhausted by the row. He just didn't make it. Ironically the governor's aide did manage to cling to the oar Grof brought and was picked up by the Spear Bearer.

  By the next morning I was feeling fit and rested (restive?). Despite protestations from Leeta and Lady Camille I insisted on rising. (I later discovered Lady had been admitted only after Leeta insisted that in my land hero's always had their animals with them when they were about to die!)

  At that moment Urs and Modran announced that the lieutenant governor and his heir were below and wished to see me if my health permitted.

  Moments later a tall human wearing what must have been some sort of military uniform strode into the room. His posture bespoke discipline but there was softer look in his eyes.

  "Sir--Pe-tar" he spoke "I trust I address you correctly?"

  I nodded and he continued.

  "I am Dhars Flonstrad-Mercour. Words fail me in expressing my gratitude to you and the other brave men who affected our rescue. Diktor Smelx! is still recovering but sends his deepest thanks and his regrets at the death of your crewmate Grof Derftlanghaff."

  "Allow me to present my heir/daughter Sontiera Flonstrand-Atholataces."

  From slightly behind him stepped a young woman of about 20 years. She was a vision of . . . perfect features, creamy white skin, delicate nose and mouth, lips like rose petals. Deja Thoris had nothing on her. Only in the eyes was there a clue to her non-earthly origins. The eyes were light brown with a hint of amber. What a perfect compliment to the auburn locks trailing from beneath the hood to frame her face. I couldn't take my eyes from her. For the next half hour or so we all spoke cordially and casually. The lieutenant governor told me of his wife Roueena and of how Sontiera was their only child. I told him of the wife I'd lost in an accident (but didn't try to explain how it had been caused by a drunk driver).

  We found we had many interests in common. Far from being the petty bureaucrat I had imagined I found Dhars to be totally likeable. Though I listened to his every word my eyes seldom left his daughter. I was genuinely disappointed when Dhars rose and announced that he and Sontiera must leave. They wished to reach Omos by nightfall. Government business called him there and then on to Llhaven, the capitol.

  "Dear friend" he said taking my hand in almost an earth style handshake, "Sontiera is my world. You risked your own life to save her. Ask whatever you will and if it is in my power it shall be yours".

  I responded with the twist of the head which signaled "No...nothing".

  "You are certain?"

  "What I have done I would do again. Your thanks are enough."

  Sontiera swept to the bedside, and bent low over me, pressing her cheeks softly to each of mine as a French general might have done before presenting a medal.

  "You must come to see us in Llahaven. There will always be a place for you in our home and at our table."

  With that they were gone.

  Urs later told me that the governor had arranged that from his personal treasury a substantial sum be provided annually for the support of Grof's family. Likewise, he had pressed on Urs and Modran some funds for me far in excess of the few days wages I'd lost.

  CHAPTER 18

  The boat races were rerun two days after the accident. The original finish had certainly been close enough to leave open the issue of who would have won had the race been completed. To minimize disputes, the judges ruled that there was no winner for the first race. All bets were ruled "cancelled" and those wishing to wager required to place new ones.

  Urs did bet again, but very modestly this time. The Rikki, however, ---her "secret weapon" on longer a secret" was nudged out by the Spear-Bearer.

  The judges had ammended the rules to allow for replacements for Grof and for me. The replacements gave it their all but lacked the precise coordination of crew who had trained together. It didn’t help that the out of town judges put their heads together and ruled that all cargo must be loaded and unloaded by hand. . . In the end she lost.

  Disappointment over
the loss was sharp but short lived.

  Grof's friends and boat mates gathered for a sort of memorial bender at the Vanu on the sixth day as prescribed in the book of Rsat tal VAR!. In the end life went on much as it had before.

  The three of us still spent long evenings in the kitchen with Modran. As we cleaned up or prepared mounds of strangely shaped vegetables for the following day she continued to do her homespun best to push back the boundaries of our ignorance about the planet, and its history. She was a treasure, a wealth of local color and lore.

  Throughout the remaining long weeks of winter we refined our plans. Our modest wages, the money Dhars left, and the coins we made selling the elaborately crafted children’s toys Camille made, would cover bare necessities for an extended trek further west.

  Urs assured us that as soon as the snow melted in the mountain passes Casxitian traders would arrive from the dry lands beyond. They never failed to arrive in time for the festival of Ythirp, the founding of the city. They would obtain ironware, arrow heads, pots, mirrors, etc in exchange for the spices, salt, and incredible gemstones they carried.

  Wealthier inhabitants of town missed no occasion to display their Casxitian stones. A rich blend of fire opal and amber these gems were incredibly hard. Yet, they gleamed brightly in the faintest light and sometimes seemed to radiate light of their own.

  "If you are set on leaving you can go when the traders do" Urs admonished us. "They know every inch of the trail, and you will be safer traveling with a larger party."