by Max Anthony
“I never did like them new fellers,” said Scram to the other bargemen, his words causing Skulks to perk up.
“Me neither,” responded his brother. “I’ve never seen that Rhultian feller before four months ago, so how come he’s suddenly a big cheese in Bargemen Together? And everyone knows Scot Mullet’s as bent as a Three-Sliver bit!”
“I assume from this that you gentlemen have done some of this covert wood-shuttling then,” asked Skulks of the crew. “Don’t worry, I shan’t tell.”
“We have, once. When the Prancing Beauty was being re-caulked.”
“And what were you asked to do?”
“We stopped at a little jetty we passed a couple of hours back and a load of woodmen dumped a dozen shaped trunks in the hold. We punted them upriver a few miles and some swarthy fellers picked them up. Didn’t understand their jibber-jabber though and they didn’t sound like they was Domesians.”
Now Farance spoke, “Yeah, funny thing was, while we was there, a ten-man barge came in from Domes. Full of metal pullies and stuff it was. Big ones.”
Bert chortled. “I bet they was glad they didn’t have to punt that lot upriver. Hardly two feet showing above the water, they was.”
Skulks had heard enough, which was fortunate as the subject was suddenly moved on by Scram.
“So what’s that thing on yer lip, then?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
Skulks stroked his Cow’s Skirt defensively.
“This?” he asked. “Why this fine growth is all the rage in the circles of Jingus high society!”
“It’s just, yer know, I hope you don’t take offence or anything, but it makes yer look like a bit of a tit.”
Skulks was mortified, thinking that he looked the epitome of taste and class.
“No offence taken,” he responded, “but I think you will find that Jingus sets the fashions and other cities follow. Mark my words, in mere weeks you’ll surely find every gentleman, and indeed some of the ladies, will be sporting an item of this nature upon their lip. I suggest you spend some of your payment for this trip on a Cow’s Skirt of your own.”
There was a bit of chuckling at Skulks’ expense. “I’d rather pin a tramp’s underpants to my lip than wear one of them things,” said Chunky.
The following morning, they rose early. Skulks astounded the men with his calorific intake and they also had a competition to see who could piss the furthest out into the river, which Bert won. Farance untethered the barge and they proceeded as they had the day before. The foothills of God’s Spine were higher now, though they didn’t crowd the river. In the distance, Skulks could make out some of the higher peaks, their snowy tops shrouded by the low-lying cloud. Although the climate here was generally warm for most of the year, the snow never melted that high up on the mountains.
By mid-morning they had made good progress.
“Juffin?” called Farance from the tiller. “We’re coming to that place we were talking about last night. You know? The hush-hush one.”
Skulks recalled the bargemen saying they hadn’t had to travel far and this wasn’t much more than a long stroll from the woodman camp. Still half a mile away from the area on the riverbank indicated by Farance, Skulks squinted ahead and saw that a barge had been hauled up at the landing. Seeing his interest, Farance advised that it looked like a passenger barge; a small one.
“Used for punting small stuff, along with a few passengers,” he said. “That one’s heading towards Domes.”
From this distance Skulks couldn’t tell which way the blunt-nosed craft was pointing, so he deferred to the wisdom of the more experienced bargeman.
“Do yer think it could be yer great granny?” asked Bert.
“My great grandmother is destined for High Domes, so I fail to see why she would need to stop in the middle of the day. Nevertheless, I feel it incumbent upon me to go ashore and investigate the barge up ahead.” He turned around and winked at them. “All hush-hush, like.”
The bargemen didn’t give him an argument when he asked them to pull over to the bank, tethering up in the same manner as they had done last night. In fact, the hard pace they’d been set was already wearing them out, with pride, bravado and the promise of decent pay driving them on. Thus, all four bargemen were secretly hoping that Juffin was about to find his great granny.
Once on the bank, Skulks vanished into the trees. While the term ‘vanished into the trees’ is used frequently, it’s generally not entirely accurate. Trees require a certain amount of space in which to grow, so usually (copious undergrowth notwithstanding) one must journey a reasonable distance into their leafy embrace before those who may be positioned at the outskirts can no longer see the would-be vanisher. Thusly, the poor hunted prisoner, having escaped years of unjust incarceration, and, pursued by a posse of gentleman tasked with his return, should bear in mind that simply stepping over the boundary of a forest does not convey instant invisibility and that one must make provision for the time required to get sufficiently far amongst the trees that their trunks offer the required level of concealment. On the other hand, were one to be called Tan Skulks, one would most definitely find oneself capable of vanishing into the trees.
With Juffin gone, the quartet settled down to wait.
“I hope he doesn’t get that Cow’s Thingumajig caught on a tree branch,” said Bert.
“Nah, he’s a good tasher, that one. He’ll be ok.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
With the four bargemen out of sight, Skulks made haste over the uneven ground, keeping a few trees between himself and the riverbank. It only took three or four minutes until he reached the docked passenger barge, which he peered at through the trees. The jetty here was artfully constructed; made to appear dilapidated, Skulks saw that it was built using thick planks of seasoned timber, with broad, solid piles driven down into the riverbank and the river to support it. This wasn’t the mooring spot for a casual jaunt into the forest – it was built for heavy cargo barges and strong enough for their loads to be taken ashore. It must have been what the tree trunks from the woodmen camp were for, Skulks thought, before realising that the jetty’s construction would have only needed a fraction of the wood he suspected had been brought from the forest. There was a small clearing here - not enough to draw the eye if one were looking from the river, but up close Skulks could see the indentations of many feet. A narrow path led off into the woods, looking for all the world like a happy little trail, to lead the open-mouthed nature-lover to sights of butterflies, song birds and blissful tranquillity.
Skulks listened carefully, trying to pick up any sounds of activity on the passenger barge. It appeared to be deserted. Cautiously, he darted across to it and jumped aboard in a single smooth motion, hoping that the minor rocking he caused wouldn’t alert any passengers. His ears hadn’t failed him; there was no one here. The passenger barge had a few more comforts than the cargo barge upon which he’d travelled. The cabin stretched the length of the vessel, providing shelter and a degree of privacy for paying customers to serve the dictates of their bodily functions.
Skulks scooted the length of the craft in double-quick time, swiping a disappointing nineteen Slivers without breaking stride. Spout had been here, he was certain. Crumpled sheets on one of the narrow beds retained hints of her perfume, a musky little number called Primp by the famous High Domes perfumer Elegancia Twaddle. Its throat-tightening bouquet was unmistakable. Skulks was aware that before she became famous in the creation of perfumes, Twaddle had been an alchemist in Treads who found wealth by stumbling upon a concoction so foul-smelling that for a time it was used as a siege weapon to be hurled over walls by catapult in order to drive the besieged population into despair. Now, with a fine range of quality products such as Primp, Swish, Oh Madam! and Fountain of Wonder, she was able to extract up to one hundred Slivers for a small bottle of her product, which a queue of eager customers was ever-willing to pay.
Feeling that he was now hot on the heels of the cr
iminal wizard Tiopan Lunder and his unwilling guest Heathen Spout, Skulks left the barge and crossed to the path leading into the trees. This path made a single turn, before heading as straight as was possible given the trees through which it wended. After about a hundred yards, Skulks observed a group of five men, dressed in the manner of the woodmen, lolling around casually as if it were perfectly normal to spend one’s day doing nothing in the forest. He watched them for ten minutes, seeing that they had no intention of leaving. They seemed unusually alert. It was almost as if they’d been told to remain here with the task of advising members of the local hiking association that they really didn’t want to go any further along this particular trail. And if any such hiker were determined to argue about their right to walk unmolested in the forest, these men were also here to let them know that they stood an excellent chance of being stabbed to death, carried fifty yards into the trees and dumped without so much as a by-your-leave.
Not wishing to been seen, nor to engage the men in combat, Skulks made his way silently back to the barge, wherein he’d seen a chest stuffed with clothing of the type the men on the trail had been wearing. It took him less than five minutes to enact a change of outfit, leaving his own clothes shoved unceremoniously behind a tree trunk, into which two fat spiders and four wood beetles promptly ran.
Minutes later, five men watched as he came into view along the trail they’d been told to guard, their hands drifting towards hidden sword hilts, even though this was but one man. Skulks addressed them, speaking in his best Received Rhultian. Counter to Chunky’s assertion that the men spoke jibber jabber, Rhult shared a common language with Ko-Chak, though as with any area of vast population, there would always be regional variations. Received Rhultian was meant to be neutral of regional flair or dialect, though if one spoke it, one would often and pejoratively be referred to as ‘posh’. In rougher circles it might procure one an unexpected punch in the mouth.
“Morning, lads. Where’s Lunder got to?” he asked, the use of Received Rhultian clashing horribly with his choice of words. He sounded like the educated son of a rich man trying to make friends with the roustabouts in a dockside tavern. As it happens, Skulks was fluent in the use of several dozen pidgins, creoles, cants and regional dialects from across the three continents. He just didn’t want to betray himself by picking the wrong accent and dialect combination before he knew which area of Rhult these men came from. A couple of the men snickered, whilst a third stepped forward, giving himself away as the man in charge.
“That’s Lord Lunder to you,” this man said, immediately providing Skulks with an interesting snippet of information. To keep him on the back foot, Skulks spoke before the man could continue.
“Don’t think to correct me. Ufflot Rumple asked me to join them as soon as I’d finished scouting.”
The man’s jaw stiffened at the mention of Rumple’s name. He was evidently well-known and feared if Skulks was reading his expression correctly. Nevertheless, the man was determined to do his duty.
“He’s up there at the camp,” he said, flicking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the direction. “How comes we didn’t see you get off the barge?”
Skulks peered at him, as if he were looking at something on the bottom of his shoe. Something which was biological in origin but in its squashed state difficult to classify as either an insect or something more benign like a folded wet leaf.
“You don’t see me when I don’t want to be seen. And I wasn’t on the barge. I’ve just got back from speaking to Y’Prout. Got some news for Lunder. Important news. Important news that he won’t want me telling him was delayed in reaching his ears because I was standing on a path arguing with you.”
Not bold enough to question Skulks further, but wanting to save at least a tiny bit of face from the meeting, the man said, “Bugger off then, get yourself away,” as if to suggest that the decision was his to make. “He’s in his usual place.”
Skulks didn’t know where this ‘usual place’ was and he definitely had no intention of asking. He went past the man, brushing his shoulder just enough to convey the message that it was he, the unintroduced colleague of Ufflot Rumple who was in charge.
With the group behind him, Skulks’ mind was now racing; the meeting with the five men had answered quite a few questions and raised quite a few more. He had identified them by their accents as coming from Casks in the south-east of Rhult, or at least the area around the city. Rhult was ruled by many kingdoms, often in conflict - far more conflict than Ko-Chak had seen over the last few hundred years. Casks had once been little more than a smuggler’s outpost, getting its name from the barrels of illicit brews landed and exported from there, with the express aim of evading local duties. Over many years it had grown, eventually able to support its own small army and conquer a few of the towns and villages which were on the outskirts of the bordering kingdoms. These being towns and villages which were too small and distant to spend much time or effort recapturing, until eventually they became a de facto part of the newly-declared Kingdom of Casks. Now, a couple of centuries later Skulks knew, the Kingdom of Casks had become the Kingdom of Meugh, currently ruled by the Petulant King Meugh XII, although were one to refer to him as the Petulant King Meugh XII either within his hearing or within the hearing of his many spies, one would rapidly find oneself deprived of one’s testicles or breasts, having had them snipped off by the King’s Master of Shears.
Rhult contrasted greatly with Ko-Chak, the latter of which had a long history of fiercely independent city-states, a few of them dabbling in democracy, with most of them at least ruled by meritocracy. Hardened was one such city. As far as Skulks was aware, none of the Chamber Council had ever been elected. They just sort of came into their position through hard work and talent and if they didn’t cock things up too badly no one bothered to lift a finger to depose them. There might be a bit of grumbling, the occasional Rat God or Scretal of the Ninety-Nine Buttocks looking to cause a minor hullaballoo, but in general the Chamber Council replaced itself almost seamlessly. In the past there had been as many as eight Chamber Councillors, dropping briefly to two. The current number of three members was slightly lower than Hardened required for peak efficiency. Perhaps one of the clerks would show themselves to have sufficient mettle to advance to the Council itself and if they did, no one in the existing Council would try to stop them.
Many centuries past, Everseen had even been ruled by a Porcicracy, albeit for less than three months. The existing meritocracy had proven itself so unmeritorious that one of the oft-repeated sayings of the demagogue Neffu had been “A pig could rule better than those twats.” And so it was that a pig had been installed in place of the previously ruling council, though it took only a short time before the absurdity of the situation was revealed. As the pig was unable to communicate its wishes directly, a series of people had come forth, claiming to be pig translators capable of speaking for the animal. There was almost an all-out civil war in Everseen as these rival translators laid claim to be the voice of authority from the ruling pig. After the pig was deposed, cooked and eaten with fried onions, the unfortunate Neffu was also killed for crimes against the state though he rightly pointed out that he’d not actually asked for a pig to be sworn in as the city’s Chief Administrator.
Realising that he was mentally digressing, Skulks brought himself back to the present with his stomach informing him that bacon and onions would make a fine breakfast. He was just in time, for he had come to that which was his goal. There was a sizeable outpost here, with a few dozen tents of all shapes and sizes. It was taking advantage of a natural clearing in the woods, which had been expanded by means of axe, with two semi-permanent structures present. One of these was a stable and another housed a blacksmith, the ringing of hammer upon steel clear across the camp.
With his bright blond hair and his blond Cow’s Skirt, Skulks was unrecognizable from the man whom Tiopan Lunder and his coterie had met as Trius Gong in the house of Lisan Flamuscrax, in that he no
w looked much more like a pillock. His intention to travel in disguise had been meant to give him greater freedom when tracking his foes down in High Domes, but he was now sure they were somewhere in this camp. Still, the disguise would be just as useful here, Skulks thought, as it would allow him to mix more easily with the camp’s denizens while he sniffed out information.
Skulks estimated there to be three hundred or so people here, in various states of activity. There was a number who looked like they were filling time, but there was quite a crowd around the blacksmith’s shack, where a fully-fledged forge had been built. Sacks of chopped wood were stacked next to the forge and the bellows, which were being worked by two hefty men. Nearby, there were other men working lathes, stripping and shaping lengths of wood into square beams. Some of the already completed beams had been bound with metal and a few had been made into basic outlines of a structure. All of this Skulks saw as he strode with confidence through the camp.
While he had the ability to walk unseen through many places, Skulks had long ago learned that a person in plain sight, who looked like they knew what they were doing, was very rarely visible to those around them. Such a person also needed to possess The Gaze, which was a stare into the middle-distance, with a slightly furrowed brow as if the Gazer were slightly annoyed about something and not in the mood to brook any interruption in their journey towards that upon which they were Gazing.
This didn’t always work of course. One could not simply rely on the power of The Gaze to gain access to the vault of a money-house and nor would The Gaze generally allow one to pass through a farmer’s front door and down into his cellar without questions being asked, but if one knew how to use it correctly, The Gaze permitted one to get away with much.