by Alan Lawton
George, now recovered from his bout of berserk-madness, took over the tiller from Myra, and the young wisewoman set about the task of treating the ‘Bonny Barbara’s’ wounded.
Darryl’s first act was to give the clothes and weapons of the fallen pirates to the narrsmen, as a reward of their loyal service, and the two unwounded clansmen immediately began stripping the dead and dying pirates naked, before rolling them unceremoniously over the side. But one of the wounded pirates, a relatively young man, groaned piteously and hauled himself up into a sitting position against one of the hatch covers. The boatmaster, seated on the edge of the cockpit whilst having his wounded arm dressed, witnessed the man’s plight ordering him to be spared and carried down into the cockpit for questioning.
Darryl recognized the young man as the one whose hand he struck off during the fight and he ordered his sister to staunch the stream of blood flowing endlessly from the man’s severed stump. He also requested Myra to give him a draught of medicine to ease the pain.
At Myra’s suggestion, the robber was given a little time to recover his strength before the interrogation began and the boatmaster also assisted the process by pouring a draught of strong wine down the man’s throat.
Darryl waited awhile and then addressed the pirate.
“Tell us all we wish to know and you may be surprised at our mercy…”
He began. But the wounded robber immediately interrupted him.
“Ask away.” The man said, in a dialect that Darryl had difficulty in understanding.
“For I be one-handed now…I be finished up anyhap.”
“Where do you and your comrades come from?” The boatmaster enquired. “Why did you take the risk of attacking a craft so far up the river from Calar?”
The pirate strove to answer, in a voice that was still thick with pain.
“From banks of…Great Life River…south of Calar City… we come.”
He paused to draw breath.
“Turning finger at family meet-house…say me…and many of us…must go!”
He paused and raised his one remaining good hand.
“We come here to… where old people say… robbing once good!”
The pirate turned his head and looked past the boatmaster to where Clem was propped up against the far side of the cockpit, gingerly nursing his wounded thigh.
“Not good choice…I think…old man who breeds running animals.”
The young robber then closed his eyes and fell silent, apparently exhausted by the questions.
“Can you manage to make any sense of what the man was trying to tell us, Clem?”
Darryl asked, “For I confess that I don’t understand a word of it!”
The elder narrsman smiled. “Yes, yes. I understand the man’s speech well enough.
Although it must sound like some kind of mad gibberish to a newcomer like yourself.
I think the man told us about all that he’s capable of telling us. To begin with, the man’s shaven head and his tattooed arms tell me with certainty that he belongs to one of the great robber families who have infested the banks of the ‘Great Life River’ since time began. Now that young devil told us that he and the gang that attacked us were selected by ‘The Turning Finger.” I’ve heard of this ritual from the old sailors who drink in the taverns of Calar. The sailors used to say the pirate families divided their loot into separate lots and then stood in a large circle around the chief of the clan. The chief would then call out the number of a particular lot and then spin a wooden finger that was balanced upon the top of a metal spike driven into the ground. The number of the lot called, then became the share of the pirate to whom the finger pointed when it came to a halt!”
The old narrsman paused for breath and then continued.
“The sailors also said that pirate families sometimes grew too large and it became needful for some of their members to depart and try their luck elsewhere, once again the ‘Turning Finger’ was used to select those unfortunate individuals who must leave the shelter of the clan-house.”
Clem smiled. “It seems that the band we wiped out was trying to establish itself in a new territory alongside the Exit River. They must have heard of the ‘Pirates Leap’and decided that it was still a good ruse to try!”
“Are we still in danger?” The boatmaster asked.
“Aye, in all probability,” the wounded narrsman answered, “for it has been rumoured that many newcomers are taking to the trade of piracy upon the ‘Great Life River, and that many of the old robber families have been displaced; forced to seek their livelihood in distant pastures. It seems that our adversaries were one of those groups and where there’s one band of desperate pirates, there can also be others!”
Clem moved slightly in order to relieve the discomfort from his injured thigh.
“So we had best be on our guard until we reach the territory patrolled by soldiers from Calar.”
Darryl turned and faced the wounded pirate.
“I promised to be merciful if you answered our questions. You will therefore be put ashore at our first opportunity.”
The young robber managed a single harsh laugh and pointed with his sound hand towards the sea of crimson moss. “Mercy…you call…that mercy! Freedom for man with one hand to starve slowly on plain…or maybe get took by Hix. You tell animal keeper…here…to kill me like he kill narr!”
“The pirate staggered across the cockpit and knelt before the old narrsman, with his neck bent and fully exposed. “Cut.” He muttered. “Cut quick!”
Clem drew his knife and looked questioningly towards the boatmaster, who nodded reluctantly. With a casual flick of his blade, the narrsman opened up the crippled robber’s main artery, and, a few moments later, his lifeless body joined those of his comrades in the waters of the Exit River.
The narrowboat continued its descent of the river and once again, the nature of the waterway and its surroundings began to change. Small rushing streams no longer joined the main river to quicken its current, and the ruined river works of the ‘Ancient Dead’ceased to threaten the travellers with shipwreck and death. Indeed, hardly a single slab of masonry could be seen reaching out into the water or rearing itself alarmingly above the level of the endless crimson plain.
Three days after their encounter with the pirates, the travellers anchored their craft for the night within a stone’s throw of a small riverside village, the first of the many they were destined to encounter as the group began navigating the lower reaches of the Exit River.The village was situated on top of a small mound on the right bank of the river and comprising a mere six small huts. Each dwelling was rudely constructed from balls of river-mud and roofed with clumps of the ubiquitous crimson moss. The hamlet was protected on the landward side by a high wall, built from the same readily available materials.
A handful of poorly clad villagers stared at the narrowboat as it come to anchor and a number of prematurely aged women watched over a small group of emaciated children playing in the dust. A coracle, made from narrskin and animal bones, put out from the wretched settlement and its sole occupant, a skinny near naked individual, engaged Clem in a bout of sharp haggling and eventually succeeded in exchanging two braces of freshly killed do-fowl for a measure of salt and a small bag of Thoa flour taken from the narrowboat’s stores.
“This village wasn’t here the last time that I passed this way.” The elderly narrsman said, as he and the boatmaster plucked the birds and dropped the feathers over the side.
“I doubt if they will survive here for very long. Those people are wild-fowlers who make a precarious living through bartering part of their kill to passing river craft and hopefully gain some of the necessities of life such as flour and oil.They also manage to trap the occasional wild narr and the women are able to grow a few vegetables on small patches of river silt. But these people are always living on the edge of starvation, always!”
The narrsman laughed. “Don’t worry newcomer,” he said, after noting the look of dismay
upon the boatmaster’s face. “These people are not typical of most of the folk who dwell in the Water-Realm. Once we travel a little farther down river you will see many settlements that are infinitely more prosperous!”
His words proved to be quite correct, for two days later, the narrowboat drifted past a village where the huts were built to a far better standard and where the men and women could be seen working together in the small fields, whose fertility, Clem explained, was renewed each year by the rich silt carried down-river during the annual flood. The ‘Bonny Barbara’frequently passed by similar villages and the trading coracles that put out from the shore enabled them to supplement their diet with crisp fresh vegetables and eggs from the flocks of domesticated dof-owl, tended by the children whilst their parents laboured in their little riverside fields. On one occasion, they were invited to tie up alongside one of these villages and spend the night ashore, but the memory of their clash with the river-pirates was still fresh in their minds. So they allowed the craft to continue drifting down-river, until a safe and secluded anchorage could be found.
One morning Clem pointed ashore towards a line of blue uniformed warriors who were marching along the left bank of the river. “Soldiers from Calar, he said, and explained that the narrowboat had now entered territory that was under the direct rule of the great trading city. The ‘Bonny Barbara’now began encountering other trading craft with greater frequency and Clem was often found hanging over the side of the narrowboat and shouting either greetings or insults towards familiar vessels passing them on their way upriver.
The travellers also encountered the first of the great undershot waterwheels, that turned slowly and sedately, providing the power for a number of substantial riverside mills. These mills, the old narrsman explained, were the personal property of the rulers of Calar. Within the factory walls, the nuts of the Holy Thoa trees were crushed and then ground into the nutritious flour that was the staple food of most of the humans who dwelt in the Water-Realm.
“There is a saying.” Clem had said to the boatmaster, as the narrowboat passed one of the slowly turning wheels. “The mills, that grind out flour also grind out money!”
And he went on to explain that it was the boundless wealth produced by these mills, together with the taxes paid by visiting merchants at the wharves of Calar, funding the formidable army of mercenaries holding the terrible Saxmen barbarians at bay.
One evening, just as the five suns disappeared from the sky plunging the Water-Realm into pitch darkness; the old narrsman appeared on deck and slapped Darryl boisterously on the back. “Well, friend from another world,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, exactly twenty-nine darkening after the day we sailed from the ‘Valley of the Fruitful stream’, you will be able to stand in the bows of your craft and feast your eyes upon the City of Calar. Calar of the Mighty Walls.”
A light mist hung over the water as the crew of the ‘Bonny Barbara’ raised the anchor from the bed of the Exit River and began the final stage of their voyage to Calar.
The mist was slow to lift and the day was half done before the sunlight succeeded in breaking through the banks of rolling cloud to burn away the last of the cloying vapour so the travellers were able to catch their first glimpse of the great trading city’s colossal walls. Indeed, the narrowboat had been less than a mile from the city when the visibility cleared, and the newcomers were stunned by the enormous scale of the city’s defences. The main walls of Calar must have stood at least one hundred and fifty feet in height and each section of the wall was reinforced by projecting bastions jutting out from the main defences and threatening the flanks of any force foolish enough to attempt a direct assault upon the city. As the narrowboat drew closer the crew were also able to make out the line of the wide moat that protected the landward side of the city and they clearly viewed the long rows of catapults and other casting engines, standing sentinel upon the walls and bastions, dominating every possible approach to the city.
Anarrow strip of land lay between the great wall of the city and the river’s edge, and every available inch of this precious ground was occupied by the dockyards and warehouses that handled the valuable commodities shipped to Calar from almost every portion of the Water-Realm.
A number of trading craft were in the process of entering and leaving the harbour complex, their strenuous manoeuvres assisted by a number of small galley’s that towed their charges in and out of the narrow dockyard basins. Twice, a towing galley drew alongside the ‘Bonny Barbara’ and its captain attempted to strike a bargain with the elderly narrsman, but Clem simply refused to pay the fee demanded, and the vessels sheered away with their captain’s uttering loud strings of curses. However, the owner of a third galley grudgingly accepted the three meagre discs of copper held by the narrsman in the palm of his hand. Soon, a stout hawser made from Thoa fibre, was hauling the narrowboat into the wharf of Agar-Marduk, a merchant and factor who had won the trust of the Narrs-folk by years of honest trading on their behalf.
The mercantile establishment of Agar-Marduk was large, even by the opulent standards of Calar, for the ‘Bonny Barbara’ was towed into a spacious basin containing six other craft already comfortably berthed. The basin was flanked by a number of tall warehouses and gangs of sweating labourers could be seen moving bales of goods between the stationary vessels and the extensive onshore storage facilities. Like an army of ants, the dock labourers worked hard, never pausing for a single moment to catch their breaths and view their surroundings.
An old grey bearded man, wearing the conical hat of the merchant class, stepped aboard the ‘Bonny Barbara’ as she drew alongside a vacant stretch of wharf and offered the crew the traditional welcoming gift of bread and wine. Clem immediately introduced him to the boatmaster as Agar-Marduk, the owner of the establishment and suggested that the merchant was best fitted to handle their affairs in Calar.
Darryl took to the old man immediately, for the merchant’s rounded features and jovial appearance seemed to suggest infinite reliability. Furthermore, an almost imperceptible nod from Myra informed him that Agar-Marduk had also satisfied the close scrutiny of the witch’s inner-eye.
The boatmaster replied graciously to the merchant’s act of welcome and then quietly informed him that the ‘Bonny Barbara’ was carrying goods of an extremely unusual nature.
Agar-Marduk then gave orders for the narrowboat to be drawn into a secluded covered wharf, where her cargo could be examined well away from prying eyes.
The move was swiftly accomplished and a number of trusted labourers quickly removed the hatch covers and unloaded the bales of narrs-wool, thus exposing the sections of worn railway line that lay beneath.
The old merchant descended into the hold and he ran his hands over the dark metal.
“Good iron!” He exclaimed. “As good as or even better than the top quality metal that is occasionally shipped here from the forges of the distant North-folk.”
“He turned and looked enquiringly at the boatmaster.” I can get you a good price for the iron, if you wish to dispose of it here in Calar?”
But the boatmaster shook his head.
“You may sell some of the iron.” He replied. “But we shall need most of the metal to exchange for supplies during our intended voyage south, along the line of the ‘Great Life River’.”
He pointed towards a few fragments of scrap lead that had been hidden along with the copper. “That you may sell, and give the proceeds to the three narrsmen who have served us so well.”
“A generous sentiment.” the old man replied. “I shall do as you say, but I must point out to you that I think it would be very unsafe for you to venture along the Life River, with such a wealth of iron aboard your craft. Pirates abound, as you have already discovered, and the head of one of the robber families would undoubtedly risk his entire clan to capture only a fraction of that wealth.” He paused. “But the decision is yours, good master. However, you can be sure that your vessel, and its cargo, will be quite safe whist they l
ie under guard alongnside this wharf. On that I give you my word”
The trader chuckled, his grey beard shaking with merriment. “Now rest my friends. Tonight, you will be the guests of Agar-Marduk the merchant, and I believe that you will find the hospitality provided by my wife to be very much to your liking. Rest my friends.” He repeated. “I will return for you a little after dusk, when the working day is finished, and I will personally conduct you to my house that lies only a little way from the docks.”
Finally, his voice took on a more serious note, and he warned them that carrying personal weapons of war was strictly forbidden within the gates of Calar and only a small dagger, worn openly in the belt, was allowed by the city authorities.
The travellers rested aboard the narrowboat for the remainder of the afternoon, then rose and bathed themselves in a tub of fresh water that had been lifted aboard the craft by two of the merchant’s slaves.
The three newcomers took considerable care with their appearance, as the evening approached, wishing to make the best possible impression when they met the family and the close friends of their host. Darryl wore a pair of trousers tailored from the best Yorkshire broadcloth and a jet black caftan made from the softest narrs-wool, whilst George donned a matching shirt and trousers made from multicoloured strands of the same material. Myra, however, easily eclipsed the appearance of her two companions and drew gasps of admiration from all who set eyes upon her. She had chosen to wear a long red velvet dress that had once belonged to her maternal grandmother. The garment fitted her like a glove and it displayed her sensuous young body to perfection.