Dragon In Gallis: The Lump Adventures Book Two

by Bruce Leslie

  The Lump heaved again, adding to the ferry’s violent movements. Above him, the ferry’s hoop ground against the rope.

  A sudden, loud snap, not unlike the crack of a whip, resonated overhead in the damp, river air.

  The Lump jerked his head up and saw the guide rope break against the pressure of the ferry. In a panic, his hand shot out and snatched the far side of the rope before it fell to the water. He gripped it in both hands and held tight, his shoulders throbbed at the effort.

  The old man swung his pole and struck the Lump across his back. “Let go!”

  The Lump looked over his shoulder with a twisted expression. “Why’d you do that?”

  “I said let it go, you oversized oaf!” The ferry-man swung his pole a second time. This time, the old man’s swat struck the Lump across his face.

  The Lump bared his teeth. “You’re crazy, you chip-flipping old fool!” He took one hand off the rope and snatched the ferry-man’s pole. With a quick toss, he threw it into the river.

  The ferry jerked hard in the Lump’s direction. The old man stumbled against the low wall and tumbled into the water. He slapped his hands against the river while the current swept him under the vessel.

  Flynn shouted, “He’s going to drown!” Without hesitation, he stepped onto the edge of the ferry and dove into the water. His bow stayed tight against his body, but arrows sprayed out of his quiver when he leaped.

  The Lump grasped the rope in both hands and leaned his weight back. He lowered his rear to the deck and wedged his feet against the short wall of the boat. He braced himself and refused to let go.

  The ferry spun in the current and rushed toward the river’s far bank. The rope burned the Lump’s hands while he clutched it with his powerful grip. Fear swelled so large in his chest he thought it might explode.

  Flynn wrapped an arm around the angry ferry-man and supported his head above the water’s surface. He swam toward the north bank, drifting down river as he did so.

  The Lump clenched his jaws tight. He saw a rocky patch of river bank speeding toward his twisting and bouncing vessel. He closed his eyes.

  The jarring impact tossed the Lump’s body when the ferry smashed into the rocks. Wood splintered and the deck rose up. The ferry capsized and washed away in pieces.

  The Lump held the rope in one hand and splashed the other against the water in a desperate panic. He saw Flynn pull the ferry-man onto dry land and shouted, “Flynn! Help! I’m drowning!”

  Flynn swept wet strands of hair from his face, straightened the bow across his torso, and shouted something.

  The Lump’s head bobbed up and down in the river. His ears were filled with water and he couldn’t make out Flynn’s words. He screamed, “Please! I don’t want to die this way!”

  Flynn ran up the river bank at full speed. He came to the edge of the water, near the Lump, and cupped his hands at the sides of his mouth. He shouted, “Lump! Stand up!” He waved his hands in an upward motion. “You’re at the bank!”

  The Lump pulled his feet beneath him and thrust them down. He felt the soft mud beneath his boots and rose. When he stood, the water was just above his belt. As he trudged up onto the bank he felt more than a little embarrassment.

  Flynn put his hands on his hips, leaned his head back and laughed.

  The Lump shook the cold, river water off his arms and climbed farther up the bank.

  “You find it funny, do you?” The Ferry-man climbed to his feet and shuffled toward the two men. “Look at what you’ve done!” He pointed a crooked finger at the Lump. “You’ve smashed my boat!”

  “Your lousy rope broke!” the Lump shouted back. “That river coffin nearly killed us!”

  The old man snarled and showed the few teeth in his mouth. “It was all on account of you, you ill tempered bear!” He balled his hand into a gnarled fist.

  Flynn held his hands out. “Men, let’s remain calm.”

  The Lump raised his eyebrows. “How was it on account of me? It was your Sol-forsaken death trap!”

  “You held on to the rope!” The ferry-man hissed and spat. “Then you tossed my hook in the drink!”

  The Lump pointed a thick finger. “You were whackin’ me!” He held his hands wide. “Was I supposed to just let that wooden heap wash down the river?”

  “Yes!” The ferry-man drew back his shaking fist. “I’d a used my hook to catch the next string down!” A fine mist of spittle sprayed from his mouth as he shouted. “I could’ve pulled us on across!” He ran his good eye up and down the Lump’s large form. His fist dropped to his side and the old man took two shuffling steps back.

  “Oh.” The Lump’s eyes drooped, and he looked at the ground. “I didn’t know. I’m not river folk.”

  “That’s right you’re not river folk,” said the ferry-man.

  “We apologize, sincerely.” Flynn bowed his head then raised it. “Is there any service we may render as a means of restitution?”

  The ferry-man frowned and his eyes grew narrow. “You’ve mucked up my life plenty already!” He snorted and blew river water from his narrow nose. “I’ll have no more of you!”

  “Would silver help?” asked the Lump.

  The old man gave the Lump a long, sideways stare. “You offerin’ to steal some silver for me? Are you two bandits?”

  “No!” The Lump shook his soggy head and water droplets flew. “I have a little silver in my purse.” He tugged at the pouch tied to his belt. “I feel bad about what happened to your crate, I’ll give you some coin.”

  “Alright, then.” The ferry-man gave his head a quick nod. “Just drop it on the ground, I don’t want to get no closer. I’ll collect it once you’re off.”

  The Lump plunged his hand into the purse and pulled out a palmful of shiny coins. “It’s not likely enough for a whole new river coffin, but the one what crashed must’ve seen better days.” He opened his hand and the coins fell to the ground.

  The ferry-man swatted a gnarled hand through the air. “Be gone, now! I don’t want to lay my eye on you no longer than I have to.”

  Flynn and the Lump turned and walked north. They followed a narrow footpath away from the river.

  “Did you give him all the coin?” asked Flynn.

  “No, I kept a couple of pieces for our travels.” The Lump pointed his thumb at Flynn’s empty quiver. “Looks like you lost your arrows.”

  “Yes, it looks that way.” Flynn shrugged. “I will make more when I have the opportunity.” He looked over at the Lump. “So, what do we do now?”

  “We need to eat, rest, and get dry.” The Lump pulled off his wet leather cap and shook it. “Tomorrow, we need to figure out the quickest way to the Needles.”

  Flynn shook his head and his wet clumps of fair hair danced about. “I fear there will be nothing quick about walking to the Needles.”

  “Who said anything about walking?” The Lump grinned. “The reason I saved a little coin is to buy us some fancy… what did you call that stag?”

  Flynn furrowed his brow. “Bo-bo?”

  The Lump grimaced. “No, not its name. What did you tell Marty it was?”

  “A means of conveyance,” answered Flynn.

  “That’s right!” The Lump nodded. “Tomorrow, we’ll visit the market in Pog’s Landing, and I’ll trade for a fancy means of conveyance!”

  6: Pog’s Landing

  The rising sun roused the two men from the hedge in which they slept. Having dried from the previous day’s ordeal, they collected their meager items and set off for the market without taking time to eat. Pog’s Landing was not far, and the market was certain to have inexpensive options for a morning meal. After walking less than an hour, their destination came into view.

  The market at Pog’s Landing was sufficient, but unimpressive. Quite simply, the market in nearby Steeplecross was too large for the north side of the river to offer significant competition. Be that as it may, there were enough people looking for goods without crossing the Oxhorn to support a modest amo
unt of trade. The market had an appropriate selection of cloth, leather goods and foodstuffs, but livestock was in short supply.

  A square of hastily constructed wooden structures with canvas roofs serving as shops formed the heart of the market. Other traders hocked their wares without shelter at the fore and rear of the square. Merchants here did not employ acrobats or jugglers to bring in business. Fortunately, there were also no barkers, the dirty-faced scoundrels that harassed people into shopping at larger markets like the one in Molgadon. The lack of spectacle resulted in a very quiet and matter-of-fact place for commerce.

  Flynn drew in a deep breath and grimaced. “The offerings here seem limited.” He used the tips of his fingers to sweep his braid behind his ear. “I don’t know that we’ll find suitable transportation.”

  The Lump grunted. “Perhaps not.” He looked over at Flynn as the two men walked. “Do you want to buy a few arrows? They should have those here.”

  Flynn gave his head a quick shake. “No need. I’d rather make my own, when I have the chance.”

  “Sounds fine enough to me.” The Lump looked around at the merchants as he meandered through the sparse crowd. “I don’t see a lot of conveyances to trade for.”

  “We may have to set out on foot, until we find a better market to the north.” Flynn eyed a merchant selling dried fruit. “A bite to eat will serve us well, regardless.”

  “Yes,” the Lump agreed, “but we should wait until our way out to buy food, I want to look around a bit first.”

  Flynn wrinkled his forehead. “It would not take long to grab some fruit, we could ask the merchant about livestock.”

  “Fine, then. Let’s be quick about it.” The Lump walked toward the fruit stand with Flynn beside him.

  The dark-haired lady minding the stand asked, “What do you fellows need?”

  “A few dried plums, please,” said Flynn.

  The Lump asked, “Do you have any currants?”

  “No, just plums and sloes,” answered the lady.

  The Lump frowned. “Plums, then.”

  The lady scooped up two handfuls of dried plums and passed them to the men. “That’ll be two coppers.”

  The Lump handed over the coins. He asked, “Is there any livestock at the market?”

  The lady nodded. “At the back side, down past the shops.” She pointed to show the way.

  The Lump and Flynn ate their plums as they made their way past the collection of stands and shops. When they emerged at the far side, the men entered a field with various merchants peddling items that were either too large or too unpleasant to be sold in the square.

  An older gentlemen dressed in red held the leads of two horses and nodded at the passersby. The horses appeared clean and well fed. One had a black coat with a blaze of white above its head, the other was chestnut-brown.

  The Lump stopped in front of the man in red. “I take it you’re looking to sell those horses?”

  “Absolutely!” The man smiled wide. “These are a fine pair, a stallion and a mare.” He turned to face the horses. “Old enough to be well broken, young enough to give you eight good years. Good, healthy stock.” He ran his hand along the mare’s neck. “A fine coat on them, and strong teeth.” The man gestured at his potential customers. “Go ahead, look them over. Look at how well muscled they are!”

  “I can see they’re good ones,” said the Lump. “How much you need for them?”

  The man in red clasped his hands together. “Ten silver each.” He tilted his head and added, “And you’re stealing them from me at that price!”

  The Lump looked in his purse. There were only five silver pieces, and a few coppers. He looked up and asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have any nags, would you?”

  The man narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth. “I wouldn’t besmirch my reputation with nags!” He waved a dismissive hand at the Lump. “Be off, now! I should thrash you for wasting my time!”

  The Lump growled at the man. “You don’t have to throw around threats, we was only asking!” His face twisted in annoyance. “No harm in asking, is there?”

  The man in red took a nervous step back. “No, big fellow. No harm to ask.” He put an uncomfortable smile on his face. “I’m sorry we can’t trade. Now, would you be so kind as to move along.” The man looked to the ground for a moment, then back to the Lump. “You might scare off buyers.”

  He squinted at the man. “Our time is valuable too.” He shook his head and walked away with Flynn beside him.

  “Those horses were nice, it’s a shame you gave the ferry-man most of the silver,” said Flynn.

  The Lump grunted. “I couldn’t ride on the back of those, anyway. I never liked horses.”

  Flynn asked, “Were you hoping to find another mule?”

  The Lump shook his head. “No, I don’t want no more mules.”

  “And you don’t like horses.” Flynn raised his eyebrows. “What were you hoping to find?”

  “Marty’s ox does a fine job,” answered the Lump, “I wanted to find one of those big fellows.”

  Flynn dropped his head. “There seem to be no oxen at this market.”

  “No, there don’t.” The Lump stopped walking and smiled a wide, toothy smile. “Hey, look at that! Maybe that’s what we need!” He pointed at a cart.

  The cart held a heaping pile of brown dung. Steam rose from it, and a multitude of flies buzzed in circles above it. A breeze wafted across the steaming pile and spread its pungent odor. A thin man sat on the side of the cart and stared at the ground. His product did not seem very popular.

  Flynn furrowed his brow and looked at the Lump. “You think we need dung?”

  “No,” answered the Lump. “That’s not what I mean.”

  Flynn shifted his gaze from the Lump back to the cart. “Why is that man selling dung?”

  The Lump chuckled. “There’s only one reason to sell something, and that’s because someone buys it.”

  “I have never bought dung,” said Flynn.

  “Too bad you don’t have any coin.” The Lump held his hands next to his shoulders. “This could have been your chance.”

  Flynn asked, “What would I do with dung if I bought it?”

  “Once you buy it, it’s yours.” The Lump smirked. “You could do whatever you want with it.”

  Flynn frowned. “I don’t want to do anything with it.”

  The Lump arched an eyebrow. “That must be why you’ve never bought it.”

  Flynn crossed his arms. “Do you think it’s ox dung or horse dung?”

  “How should I know?” The Lump shrugged. “Do I look like a dung expert to you?”

  Flynn considered the question, then answered, “Yes, kind of.”

  “Hey, Now!” The Lump swatted the air to shoo away an approaching fly. “I wasn’t pointing at the dung, anyway. Look what’s pulling the cart.”

  “The goats?” Flynn looked at the Lump. “You think we can travel by goat?”

  “Absolutely, those are big fellows!” The Lump resumed walking toward the dung-pile. “They’re bound to be a good sight less costly than those horses.”

  Flynn walked beside the Lump. “Do you think that’s goat dung?”

  “No,” answered the Lump, “goats make little pellets.”

  “See!” Flynn’s face lit up with a smile. “You are a dung expert!”

  “Forget about the dung!” The Lump rubbed his forehead. “Let’s talk to the man about those goats.”

  They stepped up to the man with the cartload of dung. The odor was strong, and the flies buzzed loudly

  The man raised his eyes from the ground and asked, “You be needing some dung?”

  The Lump opened his mouth to speak, but Flynn cut him off with a question.

  “Is that ox dung or horse dung?” asked Flynn.

  “It’s ox dung, kept dry and aged right.” The man pointed at his malodorous pile. “If it came from a horse, it’d be darker.” He asked, “How much you be needing?”

  The
Lump tried to speak, again.

  Again, Flynn cut him off. “What would I do with dung once I’ve traded for it?”

  The man drew his eyebrows together in a confused expression. “Why, it’d be yours. I reckon you can do just about anything you want with it.”

  “See, it’s like I told you.” The Lump shoved Flynn aside with an elbow. “Good day, fellow.” He gave his head a slight bow, then asked, “What about the goats?”

  “They’re goats,” answered the man. “What you want to know about them?”

  The Lump smiled and rubbed his big hands together. “Could we trade for them?”

  The man put a finger on his chin and looked at the goats. “I’ve got more goats. I suppose we can discuss trading.” His hand dropped from his face and he looked at the Lump. “What you got for trade?”

  “I’ve got coin.” The Lump held up his cloth purse. “How much you want for them?”

  The man scratched his head. “They’re wethers, no good for breeding.” He pointed at the goats. “One of ‘em has a sour temper.” He crossed his arms and thought for a moment. “I could let them go for four silver.”

  The Lump walked to the front of the cart to inspect the goats. He put his hand under the beard of one of the animals and lifted its face.

  The goat bleated loudly at the Lump.

  Flynn reached out a hand to stroke the head of the second goat. It snapped its teeth and Flynn jumped back. The goat lowered its head to display its straight, black horns.

  The Lump laughed. “I like that one, I think I’ll name it Willie.” He looked at the man and held up a finger. “I’ll give you five silver if you throw in the cart.”

  The man nodded. “Sounds fine enough, but you can’t have the dung. I can sell that for two or three hundred coppers.”

  “You have a deal!” The Lump retrieved the five silver pieces and handed them over.

  The man took the silver and tucked it away. “I’ll toss you two a spade each, you can help me empty the cart.” He pulled two spades from below the cart and handed them to the goats’ new owners.