by Robert Beers
Charity said. “If that's the way you want it. But, didn't you feel better after telling us about your adventure with the Grisham merchant?”
Flynn chimed in. “She's right on that one, Neely. You did feel better.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” He rubbed the back of his neck, in thought. A fish broke the surface of the water as it took in a skipper bug for supper.
“Ok, back when I was just a lad. Skinned knees an’ all. Me an’ my friends liked to hang around th’ docks an’ watch th’ boats an’ ships come in an’ out of port. I'll tell you. We saw some of th’ most outlandish folk. Saw one old salt with a for-real peg leg. Carved outta ivory or bone, had scrimshaw all over it.
“Well one day we saw one of th’ biggest ships ever to come into port. Had three decks, an’ two of ‘em for th’ oars. Up on top, th’ forecastle looked big enough to use for a barn, an’ it had dragon wings carved into its sides.”
“Why? Did you ever find out?” Charity loved stories, and this one already captivated her.
“Nope. Never did. Got my suspicions, though.” Neely shook his head, then nodded.
“Me an’ th’ boys, we was real curious about this here ship. When the soldiers come off it, well, it just made th’ wonderin’ worse.”
“What did they look like?”
“Well, I'll tell ya Charity. These fellers had skin th’ color of a chestnut, and hair like silver thread comin’ out from under their helmets. Those helmets had wings on ‘em, just like th’ wings carved into the forecastle, and you shoulda seen th’ jools.”
“Jewels?” Charity and Flynn spoke the word in unison.
“Oh, yeah. They was stuck into th’ ship, here an’ there, you know, random-like. Least ways, I couldn't see a pattern. Them fellers in th’ ship, they mighta said different, iffin we coulda understood ‘em.”
“Why couldn't you understand them? Everyone I've met, wherever I've gone, they all spoke the same language. Only the accents have been different. Are you sure it wasn't just a strange accent, and it made them difficult to understand?” Charity turned in the saddle to ask the question.
“Not with words like gundzptx or whatever it was, Sounded like they was sneezin’ instead of talkin'.”
“Anyway, we was sittin’ there, hidin’ behind these barrels, watchin th’ soldiers an’ lookin’ at all those jools stuck into that big boat, when one o’ me buds gets it into his head we should wait for dark an’ sneak on board. You know, go after some o’ them jools.”
“What's this got to do with you not likin’ fish?” Flynn queried.
“I'm gettin’ there. I'm gettin’ there. We decided to choose who got to go first by drawin’ lots. Guess who got th’ short one?”
“You?” Charity asked.
“Me. After we was through with th’ choosin, another feller come down outta th’ forecastle an’ onto th’ dock. He was as dark as th’ others, but where they was near as tall as Flynn here, but half as wide...”
Flynn chuckled good-naturedly at the rib.
“This guy was half as tall and near twice as wide. I swear, he looked wider than he was tall. Never seen such a fat man, haven't since. Well, he starts jabberin’ at th’ soldiers in that same sneezy talk, an’ then they all take up an’ follow him on down th’ dock to where th’ warehouses was. Leavin’ that lovely gangplank wide open for the explorin'.”
“I took me a good look around to see if any of those fellers off th’ ship was watchin. They wasn't, so I scampered real quick across to th’ gangplank an’ up into th’ ship. I figured I could wiggle out a couple of those jools outta their sockets, and get back to me buds before anyone was th’ wiser.”
His sigh was audible to both Charity and Flynn. “Boy, was I wrong. I was workin’ me blade into th’ socket of a ruby ‘bout th’ size of a hen's egg when I got picked up by th’ scruff o’ me neck. It was one of those big soldiers. He spun me around in his hand, an’ jabbered somethin’ at me. I didn't know what he was sayin', so I kept me mouth shut. I guess it was th’ wrong thing to do, ‘cause he shook me like a dog shakes a mouse, and said whatever it was all over again.”
“I think he might have gone on doin’ that ‘till he broke my neck, but before he could, another of those fat guys come outta th’ forecastle. He jabbered at th’ soldier a bit, an’ then he turned to look up at me, my feet was still a couple of feet offa th’ floor.”
“Is what Suldam Gessit says true? Were you attempting to purloin one of the Sacred Eyes of Tettwain? He talked to me usin’ real talk.”
“You coulda knocked me over with a feather. I sure wasn't expectin’ th’ little fat guy to be speakin’ in plain talk. I looked back at him, an’ all I could think of sayin was,
“Let me go. I wanna go home.”
“Th’ little fat guy just smiled at me. I noticed his hair was done up like that of some o’ th’ fancy women I'd see hanging’ around th’ show halls, an’ comin’ outta those big black carriages with matched horse teams. His mustache was done up with little gold beads, an’ it hung down below his chins.”
“He turned back to th’ guy holdin’ me, th’ guy must've been strong as a troll ‘cause his arm never even trembled, an’ jabbered some more at him. The guy jabbered back.”
“He turned back to me, an’ said,’ Suldam Gessit says you must be punished for your crime'. I agree. Even though you are young, what you attempted to do was against our law and the will of Tettuwain. If you were an adult, you would loose a hand and both your eyes for such an offense.”
“What? They were going to cut off a hand and blind you?” Charity couldn't believe her ears.
“They was strange folk, miss Charity, with strange ways. I never did learn where they was from. Not sure I want to find out. Some lessons you never unlearn.”
“Anyway, as you can see, they didn't cut me hand off or gouge out my eyes. No, what they did was stuff me into a barrel of fish.”
“What?”
“Ho ho. So that's where it comes from.” Flynn laughed out loud.
“You wouldn't've thought it so funny if it was you havin’ to breathe an’ taste raw fish goin’ bad for three days.”
“Three days!?”
“That's right, miss Charity. Three days. No water, little enough air and no food, lessen I wanted to eat raw fish.”
She rewarded that thought with a face.
“I could hear th’ soldiers outside th’ barrel jabberin’ at each other in that funny sounding’ tongue o’ theirs. I'm sure they heard me yellin’ an’ cry'n through th’ holes in the barrel, but none of it did no good. I fell asleep in there, twice. When I woke up th’ second time, I heard no jabberin’ so I started yellin’ an’ screamin’ for all I was worth. It took a while, but someone finally popped th’ lid offa that barrel. I can't remember much of what the guy looked like or who he was, but I'm damn sure he'll never forget me. I crawled outta that barrel, and slapped a hug fulla dead fish guts onto him. I've made it my business to keep as far as I could from a fish dinner ever since then.”
“Did you ever see that ship or those soldiers again?” Charity nudged her horse around a clump of sword grass.
Neely scratched the darkening stubble on his cheek. “No. Never did, but I did some askin’ around over th’ years. Most of what folk've told me smacks of legend at best. Th’ majority of ‘em say th’ land west of Angbar is where they come from. I remember askin’ an’ old codger on th’ dock ‘bout this Tettuwain. He made a warden’ sign an’ slammed th’ door on me. I never did learn much about those folk, but I can tell you this, there's gonna be trouble with ‘em. I can't say when, but it's gonna happen.”
* * * *
Flynn took his hands off the reins, and stretched, yawning hugely. “Eaaaaaa. It's gettin’ dim, and I'm ‘bout beat. How's about we start peelin’ our eyes for a place to set for th’ night?”
“You just want to get out that willow pole you put together.” Neely growled at him from his spot in the line.
Flynn eyed the wideni
ng river with contemplation. “It does look like a good spot...”
“Oh, give me a bleedin’ break!” Neely exclaimed. “If you like eatin’ th’ disgustin’ things so much, why don't you just build a bloody raft, and join them in their flickin’ world.”
Charity pulled back on her reins and halted her mare. “You know, that's a good idea.” She ran her free hand down the cat's back, who rewarded her with a loud purr.
“What?” Neely's stomach felt suddenly hollow.
“Building a raft. That's a very good idea, Neely. I'm glad you thought of it.”
“What?” Neely couldn't believe his ears. He began silently kicking himself in his mind.
“I'll say it is, Miss Charity.” Flynn pointed off to their right. “Them trees over there got's real straight trunks, and they's not too big around, neither.”
Charity looked where Flynn pointed. A thick stand of Alder grew on the backside of a rise in the bank about fifty yards from the river's edge.
She pulled her horse around and started toward the rise. “Looks good enough for me. Shall we make camp?”
Neely swung the axe with enough force to drive the deeply curved blade halfway through the Alder trunk.
“Me an’ my bloody big mouth.” He muttered to himself as he worked the blade back and forth, easing it out of the cut to swing again, opening a large notch. “Should learn to keep it shut is what I should do.”
Flynn grunted as he swung his own axe. “Ease over, Neely. Raftin's fun.”
Chunnkk! Neely's axe swung again. Like Flynn's, it was one of the weapons captured from the thief's band. “I know that. What's eatin’ me is havin’ to be eatin’ fish. Just th’ thought of it puts me right back in that barrel.” Chunnkk!
Flynn and Neely chopped, and Charity trimmed the logs. When they collected a good-sized pile, they tied them into a skid, with Neely's directions, which Flynn's draft horse easily dragged down to the river's edge.
The cat watched the proceedings from her chosen perch at the edge of the Alders. Work of this sort was strictly for humans.
“Think that's enough?” Flynn flipped the reins back over his horse's saddle as he walked back to the skid.
“We won't know till we put ‘em in th’ water. We'll be building some of th’ raft in th’ river, I think.” Neely wiped his nose on his sleeve.
“You've built rafts before? The way you feel about fishing?” Charity worked at untying the knots holding the Alder logs.
Neely's mouth twitched. “Raftin’ isn't fishin', Charity. Sometimes it's easier an’ faster to move freight down th’ river than humpin’ a bunch of oxen cross country. I've built my share of ‘em.”
Charity looked back at the pile of logs. “How do we start, then?”
“Like this, grab th’ other end of this one, here.” Neely walked around to the end of the pile and selected one of the thicker logs.
Flynn stepped and took Charity's end of the log. “This'un's a mite too big, Miss Charity. I'll take it for ya.”
Charity stood there while they positioned the log perpendicular to the rest of the pile. “Well, I'm not going to just watch you guys work while I do nothing. There's got to be something I can do.”
Neely looked at the pile, and then back where they did the cutting and trimming. “Tell you what. We're going to be needin’ a mess of dowels for this job. You, with your deft hands, should be good at that. Grab a batch of twigs ‘bout this thick,” He measured three quarters of an inch with his thumb and forefinger. “And trim ‘em clean, then cut ‘em so they're all ‘bout a foot long. When you've got that done, Flynn an’ me should be ready to start burnin’ th’ holes.”
Charity looked back at the campfire. It was a good fifty yards from where they were working. “Then I probably should get a work fire going here first, then start on making the dowels.”
Flynn nodded and smiled as he lifted his end of the next log. “There's a lass with a head on her shoulders, eh Neely?”
“Right you are, Flynn.” Neely grunted as he picked up his end. “Right you are.”
The two men laid the logs side by side until they had a foundation wide enough for the horses to stand on, with enough room for another horse on either side. This made for a platform approximately twenty feet square.
“Now we start layin’ th’ cross pieces, an’ this is where those dowels'll come in handy. I don't fancy a raft that starts comin’ apart on me in mid river.” Neely rummaged through the pile selecting logs that were about half the thickness of the previous layer.
He looked over at Charity. “How's that fire comin?”
“Almost got it.” Charity struck her flint with the back edge of her knife, sending a white-hot spark into the small pile of tinder she had built inside a ring of stones. A tendril of smoke rose snake-like from the tinder, and she blew on it gently until a tiny flame flared up from the pile. Quickly, she added a few small dry twigs, and then a few more after they caught. In short order, she had a respectable blaze going.
Flynn grunted in approval at the work fire burning merrily a few feet away from where they were building the raft. “She's gonna make someone a fine missus someday. You can mark me word on that one.”
Neely chuckled as he picked up his end of one of the thinner logs. “Well, it sure ain't gonna be you, Flynn.”
Flynn blushed furiously.
She cleared her throat, and stood up from the fire. “Ok, how do we use the dowels?”
Neely looked back at the fire, and then bent to pick up a small branch about as thick as his finger. “I'll show ya.”
He put the stick into the fire and held it there until the end began to glow red. Then he placed the burning end against one of the smaller logs approximately six inches from its end.
“This gives us a good-sized starting point,” he said, as the smoke began to curl up from the log.
Charity placed her hands on her hips. “A starting point for what?”
Flynn chuckled to himself. “I think I knows. He's settin’ himself up to do a bit o’ drill burnin'.”
“Drill burning?” Charity looked and sounded puzzled.
Flynn used his hands to demonstrate with gestures. “It's kinda like starting a fire by rubbin’ th’ end of a stick against another one by using a small bow, ‘cept instead of startin’ a fire, we wants to burn a hole through th’ log.”
Neely was nearly done making the bow. He wrapped the other end of the leather thong securely around the remaining end of the Alder branch, and then looped the thong once around the stick he used to burn the pilot hole.
Charity followed Neely's preparations closely. “Oh, I see ... Flynn and I could do this too, couldn't we?”
Neely had begun his drilling. “Sure could. Cut our time in half, it might. Should be doin’ this with an auger, but since we don't have one...”
Charity and Flynn bent to making their own bow drills with a will.
It took the three of them nearly two and a half days to burn holes through all the logs, and by the time the last one was finished, they all felt as though their arms would fall off.
Flynn dropped his stick and bow. “Crikey. Me arm's feel like Granny's pudddin', all lumpy an’ runny. I got no strength left at all.”
Charity sat where she stopped, and rubbed her own arms. “Mine feel like they're burning in their own fat. I say we buy an auger the next town we come to. I don't know about you, Neely, but I don't want to have to go through all that again just to build a raft.”
Neely pulled his arm across his brow, wiping away more sweat. “I'm with you there, lass. Problem is, we're only half way done. We still got's to put th’ thing together.”
“Oh ... yeah.” Charity looked at the framework of holed logs with a sinking feeling. She felt completely worn through, and didn't want to have to do more work. Then she steeled herself, and sat upright from her slump. “What's next, then?”
Neely groaned as he stood. “Uhhhh, my back's gonna be gripin’ at me for this.” He walked over to a pile
of trimmings, and pulled out from it several finger-thick branches.
He walked to where Charity and Flynn still sat. “We never did get them dowels done. Remember?”
Charity slapped her forehead. “Ohhh, drat! I got so caught up in the drilling I forgot all about making the dowels for the holes.”
She paused for a breath, and then said, “That's what the dowels are for, isn't it? They're going to be used to hold the logs together, aren't they?”
Neely dropped the branches in front of her and Flynn. “Aye, that's what they're for. Now we gotta make ‘em.”
Charity picked up one of the branches, and began trimming the small branches away from what would become the dowel. Flynn and Neely did the same. They worked steadily, cutting, trimming and smoothing for a couple of hours until a good-sized pile of trimmed lengths lay at their feet.
Neely picked up one of the dowels, and motioned for Flynn to join him. They lined up the hole burnt through the smaller log with that of the one underneath, and then Neely pushed the dowel into the hole. Flynn picked up a length of Alder that was thick enough for a good cudgel, and pounded the dowel the rest of the way through.
Charity followed the job with interest. “And that's why we had to burn all those holes in the smaller logs.”
Neely nodded. “That's why. Doesn't do any good iffn they float away in th’ water. That crisscross has to be tight, an’ we don't have no nails with us, nor no blacksmith close by to make ‘em. Them dowels'll swell when they gets wet. Be a tighter bond than nails, anyhow.”
Flynn nodded as he picked a couple more dowels. “That's a fact, that is. Good thinkin', Neely.”
Neely grunted. “Naw. Just experience.”
Another couple of hours was spent hammering dowels into place. By the time that task was done, it was time for supper, rest and a good night's sleep.
The three of them, exhausted by the exertion of the day's labors, were barely aware of their heads touching the rolled blankets that served as pillows. Charity was joined by a black shadow that burrowed its way into her bedroll, and vibrated her with quiet purrs until she dropped completely under.