The Wanderers of the Water-Realm

by Alan Lawton

  Ali pulled the bundle completely apart and drew out two black hooded garments and a pair of brightly coloured cloaks.

  “Put on this black creep-suit,” the assassin ordered, handing him one of the long black garments. “You will be almost invisible in the darkness and then put one of the coloured cloaks over the top. Folks will take us for a pair of evening revellers and that will be our disguise until we reach the base of the ramparts. The coloured cloaks will then be discarded having served their purpose, now hurry, for the precious hours of darkness are quickly ebbing away!”

  The two men moved swiftly through a maze of side-alleys and back lanes, until they reached a portion of the city walls where a circular stairway led upwards to the top of the darkened ramparts. Darryl expected a soldier to emerge from the guard post standing at the base of the stair, but nothing moved and the two men began their ascent without being challenged. The walkway at the top of the ramparts was likewise deserted, although burning torches illuminated the guard posts that stood at regular intervals.

  Ali, the son of Grom, took the lead and the two men moved along the walkway as silently as possible, cautiously flitting from one patch of dark shadow to another.

  Finally, they came abreast of a tall tower whose roof was almost level with the walkway. A gap of about fifteen hand-spans separated the edge of the parapet from the flat roof of the tower and the void between the two buildings was terrifying to the imagination.

  The assassin pulled the younger man back into the safety of a deep pool of shadow, then drew out his deadly perm and began to carefully scan the roof of the ‘Blood-spill’ headquarters.

  Five minutes passed, then ten, and the boatmaster witnessed nothing. Then he noticed a slight movement behind the head of a rooftop ventilator, in the same instant he heard a faint ‘Phut’ from the assassin’s weapon and all movement on the roof ceased immediately.

  Ali did not waste time admiring his marksmanship; instead he dived into a nearby guard post and emerged carrying a long ladder, which the two men pushed out across the void until it rested upon the very edge of the pirate’s tower. Ali crawled out along the ladder with the boatmaster holding it firmly. The old assassin soon reached the roof of the tower and then it was the boatmaster’s turn to cross the ghastly void. Inch by inch, Darryl forced himself to crawl forward until he too was standing upon the top of the flat roof.

  The pair stepped over the corpse of the guard, whom Ali had slain with the poison tipped perm dart and searched until they found an open skylight with a ladder leading down into a deserted attic room.

  The son of Grom took the lead and quietly climbed down the ladder until he reached the floor of the room. He crept over to a single door and listened intently for a few moments, before gently easing it open just sufficiently to take a quick look outside.

  The door, it transpired, opened out into a dimly lit corridor and the assassin was just able to make out the indistinct silhouette of a guard who was stationed at the far end of the passageway. Ali eased the muzzle of the perm through the crack in the door and shot a single dart into the man’s leg. The ‘Blood-spill’ guard uttered only a single strangled gasp as the deadly nerve toxin took effect and a second later his lifeless body slipped noiselessly to the floor. With the killing accomplished, the assassin safely entered the room with Darryl at his heels, holding his razor sharp ‘Gill’ at the ready.

  It quickly became clear that the two intruders had successfully found the pirate’s prison complex, for a number of cells, each equipped with a heavy wooden door, lined the sides of the passageway, which they had just entered. Darryl whispered his friends name outside several of the doors before George replied in a gruff voice and the boatmaster was relieved to know that his young comrade was still alive.

  Darryl threw aside the bolts and the rather dishevelled boat hand stepped out into the passageway. However, George’s whispered greeting quickly turned into a shouted warning, for the cell-door opposite crashed open and a second ‘Bloodspill’-guard, who had been apparently disturbed whist taking an illicit nap, appeared with his heavy war-axe raised and ready to strike. Fortunately, Darryl reacted with the lightening speed of a trained fighter, spinning upon his heel, he instantly laid the man’s midriff open with a single stroke from his ‘Gill’then decapitated him with a second blow.

  Unfortunately, the man’s brief cry for help brought a shouted response from the floor below and the thunder of feet could soon be heard upon the lower stairs.

  “Quickly, back onto the roof.” The assassin ordered, but his instructions were interrupted by a shout from one of the cells.

  “In the name of all the Gods, don’t leave me here to die. Take me with you and I swear that I will be your man forever!”

  The plea for help came from a cell lying close by and Ali cursed furiously as George disobeyed his orders and darted to the man’s assistance. He grasped the battle-axe from the dead guards hand and smashed open the door of the cell with a single blow. He pushed the occupant of the cell into the attic-room and towards the base of the ladder leading to the roof and he ordered the man to climb for his life.

  Combat with the ‘Blood-spill’ clansmen, who were streaming up from the floor below was now inevitable and Darryl immediately ran to the head of the stairs and cutting down the first of the pirates to emerge. Ali joined him and quickly launched three poisoned darts down the stairwell in rapid succession, whilst George turned from his mission of rescue and lifted the body of the boatmaster’s first victim above his head, and hurling it downwards amidst the attackers attempting to ascend the stairs.

  “Come now,” the old assassin cried, as the press momentarily slackened. “Back onto the roof whilst we still have a chance of escaping.”

  Ali then ran back into the attic room, with his companions in close attendance and jammed the door shut with a chair.

  “Back onto the roof and across the ladder to the battlements,” he yelled, diving for the skylight. “And hurry if you value your lives, for that door won’t hold for more than a few seconds.”

  The men obeyed and quickly reached the sanctuary of the battlements, although the man whom George had rescued from the cell fainted at the very moment he reached the roof of the tower and had to be dragged bodily across the groaning ladder.

  “Push the ladder into the void!” The assassin cried, as the last man reached the ramparts, but a darter projectile struck the edge of the walkway as George attempted to obey the order, but he was forced to join his companions in the shelter of one of the deserted guard-posts as a veritable hail of darts followed the first.

  The situation was now becoming critical, for some of the pirates were attempting to cross the ladder, heedless of Ali’s poisoned darts that picked of two of their number; when help suddenly arrived from an unexpected quarter.

  A wind that was no product of nature howled across the battlements and shook the guard-post were the party were hiding from the darter projectiles. It grew in strength and picked up the ladder and flung it, together with its burden of doomed pirates, downwards into the terrifying void. The wind grew in strength until it screamed across the old quarter of the city and plucked the remaining darter marksmen from the roof of the tower, as though they were ripe fruit hurling them to their deaths in the streets below.

  At the same instant - an irresistible mental command exploded inside the boatmaster’s brain…

  “Run… Escape now… Whilst you have a chance!”

  The other members of the party had presumably heard the same command, for they all bolted from the guard-post withAli sprinting in the lead. On they ran, along the walkway and down the spiral stairway, until they reached the safety of the street.

  Yet even as Darryl fled in near panic he spared a single second to glance over his shoulder. Standing upon the battlements and silhouetted by the light of a single torch, he spotted the solitary figure of a man who was wearing the dark robe of a priest. And the man’s right hand was still pointing towards the roof of the tower wh
ere his magical powers had wreaked such havoc. The boatmaster did not venture a second look, he simply ran like a man possessed.

  The boatmaster lay upon his bunk in the cabin of the ‘Bonny Barbara’ and listened to the comforting sound of the water lapping against the hull.

  Almost three days had gone by since the terrible events that accompanied George’s rescue. Days of constant activity as the narrowboat completed her fitting out for the long voyage down the ‘Great Life River.’ Darryl however, had found time to reflect upon his recent experiences in the city of Calar and upon his young boat hands abduction.

  He recalled his meeting with Ali the grim assassin and above all, his vivid recollection of the dark priest pointing the finger of death towards the luckless ‘Blood-spill’ pirates.

  He remembered the headlong flight and the hasty scramble to board the fast litters that Ali had caused to have waiting for them in the darkness below the city walls.

  The boatmasteralso pondered upon their bumping, swaying journey through the mass of revellers in the ‘Quarter of all the Pleasures’ and their exit through a little used gate in the city walls. Indeed, Darryl had almost wept with relief when the party had reached the docks and the sanctuary of Agar-Marduk’s wharf buildings.

  Ali, son of Grom, had refused to enter the dockyard area and taken leave of the travellers by the city gate. He had grasped the boatmaster by the arm, in the now familiar Water-Realm gesture of farewell.

  “I wish you only the best of fortune,” he had said. “But I thank the Gods that I am not accompanying you, wherever you are bound. I also looked to the rear, as we fled along those accursed ramparts and I viewed the figure of the Dark Priest as we ran for our lives.” He had laughed grimly. “Life has taught me that fortune seldom smiles upon those whom the Dark Priests favour. For that reason ‘Black Darryl.’I pray that I never set eyes upon you again.”

  The assassin had drawn his cloak tightly around his body and disappeared into the depths of the city.

  Agar-Marduk had welcomed the returning navigators like a pair of long lost brothers and roasted a whole narr on the quayside in celebration. At the height of the festivities, a man whom Darryl knew to be an assistant wharf-master was led before him in chains. The old merchant had informed him that he was the man responsible for betraying them to the ‘Blood-spill’ pirates. He would now face a lifetime of slavery aboard one of the Prince of Calar’s war-galleys. The man’s wife and two weeping children were also led forward in chains. The sad trio, the old merchant had explained, would also be sold into bondage. In addition, their offspring for perhaps a thousand generations would be fated to toil under the pitiless lash. Such was the price of betrayal in Calar of the Mighty Walls.

  Darryl had not been tempted to plead for clemency on behalf of the criminal’s wife and two children and he began to wonder if the harsh usages of the Water-Realm were beginning to affect his own sense of humanity.

  Preparations for the narrowboat’s departure had continued apace, but one of the boats pontoons had developed a slight leak and needed to be repaired and re-caulked, this had taken two full days to complete.

  The merchant again suggested the disposal of the remainder of the boats cargo of iron rails, here in Calar, for the metal was an obvious magnet for pirates. This time, Darryl had agreed willingly and had received, in return, a number of sealed merchant’s bonds that could be exchanged for good copper coinage in any of the many trading establishments lying along the banks of the ‘Great Life River.’

  A cargo of good Northland timber, a commodity much sought after in ‘Holy Ptah’ had also been taken on board in place of the iron and this would help to reinforce their cover as being ordinary river traders. Extra protection would also be provided, during the first leg of their voyage, by the presence on board the ‘Bonny Barbara’ of six of Agar-Marduks best security guards; men who were taking leave in their home village that lay some twenty days sailing to the south.

  Another sound began assailing Darryl’s eardrums as he continued to rest in his bunk, the sound of heavy rain beating down upon the roof of the narrowboat’s tiny cabin; and he knew that cooler weather had now arrived in this portion of the Water-Realm.

  The boatmaster was also comforted to know that Myra was again occupying her cabin aboard the narrowboat, having returned from the Temple of Dumteck on the previous evening.He had been eager to converse with her and to give her a full account of his recent experiences in the old quarter of Calar. But his twin-sister was extremely tired and he reasoned that a mutual exchange of knowledge would be best undertaken at leisure, once they were sailing upon the waters of the Life River.

  Meanwhile, his sister was comfortably bedded down and fast asleep.

  The ‘Bonny Barbara’ had also acquired a new pilot for the coming voyage down the great river. The prisoner, whom George had rescued from the ‘Blood-spill’ prison was still deeply unconscious when the party had reached the shelter of Agar-Marduks wharves. Indeed, it was little wonder, for the man’s body was covered with the livid marks of numerous branding and the deep cuts upon his back showed that he had been mercilessly scourged with heavy whips.

  Agar-Marduk had recognized the man as soon as he set eyes upon him.

  “By all the Gods!” He had said. “That’s ‘Wilakin of the River,’ one of the best young pilots who ever sailed upon the Life River. You are indeed fortunate to have him swear allegiance to you, for you need a person with his navigational abilities, if you are to reach ‘Holy Ptah’ unscathed!”

  The pilot had been tended by the merchant’s own physician and had quickly recovered consciousness, although it was quite certain that he would need some time to recover his full strength after such a terrible ordeal. Even so, he had insisted upon repeating his oath of allegiance to the boatmaster and had willingly agreed to serve as the ‘Bonny Barbara’s’ sailing master for the coming voyage.

  Wilakin, it transpired, had been abducted by the ‘Bloodspill’-clansmen in order to force him to betray a valuable cargo. It said much for the young man’s bravery through successfully resisting every torture inflicted upon him.

  The light of the Water-Realm dawn began penetrating the windows of the tiny cabin and Darryl knew that he must rise at once, for the narrowboat was due to depart within the hour. He quickly dressed and stepped out into the cockpit of his vessel and looked out over the waters of the dock to where a towing galley was already manoeuvring to pass them a line. Darryl would have climbed up into the bows to lend George a hand with the towing line, but his attention was distracted by a call from the wharf, were Agar-Marduk and his entire family were waiting to wish them a safe journey.

  “May all of the Gods be with you!” Cried the old merchant, casting handfuls of flour and salt upon the water to propitiate the water spirits, “and may the rivers upon which you sail always stay calm and friendly!”

  Darryl acknowledged the merchant’s well-wish with a wave of his hand. His eyes swept out over the docks to the city of Calar. ‘Calar of the Might Walls.’

  “Aplace where much evil dwells!” He concluded.Yet he also surmised that good people such as Agar-Marduk and his hospitable family also dwelt there and thankfully prevented evil from having full reign. But how did that dark priest who had stood upon the battlements, fit into the picture? And what vital knowledge had Myra managed to gain in theTemple of Dumteck?

  The boatmaster shrugged his shoulders. “Only the future will provide the answer to those questions!” He decided as he concentrated upon casting off the stern mooring.

  “For we begin our voyage to the ‘Great Life River,’ then onwards to Holy Ptah, ‘the fabled city with walls of shinning copper.”

  Chapter 5

  Hetty relaxed luxuriously in the steaming hot bath and rested after her lover of the night had departed. The young man had been good, a real stallion and the wisewoman had enjoyed herself immensely. Hetty liked sex for her occult beliefs venerated both nature and procreation and she was quite uninhibited by the narrow-m
inded restrictions of the Christian Church.

  Over the years, Hetty had entertained many lovers in her cottage by the canal. Usually her beau for the night had been a passing boatman or a waggoner, and even the occasional herdsman driving his charges to the Manchester slaughterhouses, all pausing to spend the hours of darkness in the wisewoman’s embrace. Hetty, however, was no slave to the demands of her loins and seldom welcomed the attentions of local men who could prove troublesome if she wished to abruptly end an affair.

  Instead she preferred to allow her sexuality to lapse for weeks or even months at a time and had occupied herself with the ills of her often desperately sick patents.

  She stretched out and let the hot water caress her body. The youth had been her first client for over a week and she knew that she was unlikely to lie in the embrace of another man for several more days. Mildred Pasco, despite her fearsome appearance, took great care over the day to day welfare of her girls and she made sure that none of them became overtaxed through entertaining too many lovers in too short a space of time; for she knew well enough that her wealthy clientele could not be fobbed of with listless and jaded merchandise. Even the hours spent waiting upon table in the Cleopatra Music Hall were carefully limited and Mildred also kept a close eye upon the way the girls dressed and frequently examined their personal hygiene. Heaven help the hapless waitress cum whore who betraying the slightest trace of body odour.