by Ian Whates
A bright red frog, its back marked with regular black spots, watched them dispassionately, refusing to move even when the boat's wake caused the pad it was sitting on to undulate alarmingly. Tom wondered how such a brashly coloured creature survived out here, where it must surely make an easy target for predatory birds. Perhaps that was the point; perhaps its hide was a form of challenge and the creature had hidden defences which the birds knew about and so made sure to avoid.
Tom looked to the front of the boat again and realised that they were not heading for the land after all, but rather towards a narrow channel, the mouth of which had been hidden until now. A willow grew precipitously close to the edge of the bank, leaning outward to weep yellow-green fronds into the water, effectively masking the narrow waterway behind it.
Tom found himself fending off deceptively substantial branches and twigs as the boat sailed beneath them. Mildra simply ducked down, hands covering her head, while, glancing back, he saw Ullel squat and raise a hand to protect his eyes. The fisherman stood up again immediately they were free of the tree's foliage. The nonchalance with which he accomplished the pole, duck, stand, pole again sequence suggested to Tom he'd been this way a few times before.
As they emerged from beneath the concealing willow, the first thing Tom saw was a large wooden shed or barn. Beyond the barn stood a stone-built cottage, reduced almost to the point of insignificance by the wooden building in front of it. It was as if the cottage had been deliberately hidden away behind the larger building, peeking out from its shadow. Tom remembered Dewar's comment as they approached Gayla's village about stone being hard to come by here, and guessed that whoever built the cottage must be either rich or know of a ready means of transporting things into the Jeeraiy.
"Don't take any notice if Leon seems unwelcoming when you meet him," Ullel warned. "He likes to act tough, but underneath his sour words the man has a heart of gold."
If Ullel intended this to settle their nerves, it failed as far as Tom was concerned.
The fisherman brought them to a stop before the shed, which began perhaps half the height of a man above the water and proved to be larger than Tom first realised, while the ground in front of it was smooth and compact, forming a runway down to the channel they were in, any grasses that had once grown there worn away. Close to the shed a trench had been dug, with several lines of dark, near-black mud slabs lain out beside it.
"Peat," Ullel said, seeing the direction of Tom's gaze. "Makes very good fuel once it's been properly dried." He then stepped from the boat and called out, "Leon, visitors!"
There was no immediate response from the house, but a face peered at them from around the corner of the shed. Tom's first impression was that this was a boy, younger than him – no more than seven or eight years old – but with overlarge saucer-like eyes.
Ullel smiled on seeing the boy. "Hey, Squib, is Leon here?"
Evidently reassured by a familiar voice, Squib stepped out from his hiding place. He still looked like a boy, but one who hadn't eaten properly in a while, or perhaps a child's poor drawing of what a boy should look like that had somehow come to life. Tom had never seen anyone so thin. His limbs seemed little more than gangly spindles, which a stiff breeze might snap in two if it caught them at the wrong angle.
"Who are these two?" The boy's suspicious gaze darted to Tom and Mildra. His voice was almost comically high-pitched.
"Friends, Squib, just friends in need of a ride across the Jeeraiy." Ullel's relaxed voice and ready smile were a marked contrast to the hostility evident in the boy's expression. "Is Leon inside?"
"He was, but he's out here now," said a voice far deeper than Squib's. Tom turned to see an elderly man approaching from the direction of the house. Two things struck Tom immediately: the man's pronounced limp – he walked quickly enough but relied on a gnarled redwood cane to do so – and the colour of his hair and whiskers. To call these grey would have been an injustice; they were white, reminding Tom of clouded steam which had somehow been captured and given substance.
"Leon, good to see you!"
"And you, Ullel. How are Gayla and the rest of the village?"
There was an awkward pause, ending when Ullel's began to describe the raid and their current circumstances. Tom watched the grim set of Leon's face as he listened to Ullel speak. "Sorry news, sorry news indeed," the old man said with a shake of his head once the fisherman had concluded. "And you say these two want to be taken across the Jeeraiy?"
"Yes."
"And you're hoping I'll oblige."
"Well…"
Leon scratched his chin, looking at each of his three visitors in turn. "Ullel, I'm not sure I can help this time. You know I think the world of you, of Gayla, of your whole damned village, but times are hard. Running the Mud Skipper costs, and I can't really afford to be taking her out unless there's profit in the trip somewhere. Don't see any here."
"Perhaps you'll find cargo at the far end of your journey," the fisherman suggested.
"Maybe, but maybe and perhaps aren't anywhere near good enough. Sorry, Ullel, really I am, to you and your friends here; I'd love to help, but…"
"Perhaps I could suggest something," Mildra said.
Leon stared at her quizzically. "I'm all ears, young lady."
"I noticed you walk with a stick, so there's a problem with your leg. May I ask exactly what?"
"Too much dampness coupled with too much use over too much time. The knee's worn out, simple as that."
Mildra nodded. "And if I were able to cure that, to restore your knee to the point where you could throw away the walking stick, would that be worth passage across the Jeeraiy?"
"Hah! Lady, if you could do that, I'd give you a guided tour around the whole breckin' continent!"
She smiled. "Across the Jeeraiy would be fine. Now, may I see?"
Leon eased himself down onto the grassy bank, rolled up his trouser and presented the offending leg.
"You're a healer, then, are you?" he said as Mildra knelt beside him.
"When I need to be, yes."
She reached to place her hand on his knee and he flinched, as if perhaps preparing to draw his leg away. She looked at him with arched eyebrow. He gave a sigh and submitted to her touch. "Sorry, long time since any woman's touched my leg."
"Don't think of me as a woman then, just think of me as a healer."
He gave a tight-lipped smile. "That's easy for you to say."
Ignoring him, Mildra bowed her head in concentration, long hair falling to cover her face. Tom couldn't see whether or not she closed her eyes, but Leon certainly did.
The old man's head lolled back, and a few breaths later he admitted, "Actually, that feels real good."
After several moments the Thaistess removed her hands and lifted her face. She looked tired. "Try that."
Gingerly, the old man got to his feet, putting the weight on his suspect leg and hobbling a few steps. "It feels… different," he said, "itchy inside, but…" and he broke into a broad grin. "Yeah!"
Mildra smiled in response. "Good. Your knee was worn away. You had bone rubbing against bone. I've rebuilt the lining of cartilage that would normally prevent that from happening and at the same time smoothed out a couple of bone spurs caused by the rubbing, which would have been painful in themselves. I can't promise the knee will be as good as new, but you should find this a big improvement on what you've been living with, once you get used to it."
"Lady, I barely understand a word of that, but I can tell you that my knee feels better already. You and your friend have got yourselves a ride!"
Ullel seized the opportunity to take his leave.
"We can't thank you enough," Mildra said, "either you or your people. May the goddess watch over you and help you to rebuild."
"Yes," Tom added from beside her, "thanks – for everything." Inadequate, perhaps, but he didn't have the Thaistess's silken tongue, or a goddess to call on.
As the fisherman departed, Mildra turned her attention
back to Leon, advising him to take things carefully with the rebuilt joint. She suggested they not head off until the next day to allow it some rest.
"Sounds reasonable," the old man agreed. "That'll also give the opportunity for your missing friend to show up. If he's not here by tomorrow, chances are he never will be."
That comment brought home an uncomfortable truth. As Leon and Squib made preparations for the following day's departure, Tom had a chance to raise the matter with Mildra. "What do we do if Dewar doesn't show up?" he asked quietly.
"We go on."
"Can we, though? First Kohn and now Dewar; they were the strongest of us. What chance do you and I stand without them?"
"The goddess will watch over us and keep us safe."
She'd done a pretty lousy job so far by Tom's reckoning, but he kept quiet, suspecting that her faith might be all that Mildra had left to cling to, that her beliefs were what enabled her to remain so calm. He didn't see much point in undermining that.
Morning came and there was still no sign of Dewar. In his heart of hearts Tom hadn't expected there to be, but he still felt tempted to suggest they wait a little longer, just in case. Dewar was sullen company at the best of times and Tom found his overbearing manner a constant irritation, but, despite that, there was no denying how reassuring it was to have someone of his competence and confidence in charge. The prospect of continuing into the unknown without him was daunting, if not downright terrifying, though Tom chose not to say as much to Mildra, suspecting she already felt the same.
They'd decided on morning as their start time and morning it was going to be; nobody else seemed inclined to delay. While Squib and Leon made preparations for the coming journey, Tom went for a stroll, to collect his thoughts and to settle his nerves, walking away from the house to a position where he had a good view across the Jeeraiy to the mountains beyond. He felt humbled by the vastness of the world, and still wondered at one level what a street-nick from the rundown basement of a mighty city was doing here. Funny, but he didn't mourn Dewar in the same way he had Kohn, regretting the loss of the man's knowledge and skills far more than the absence of the man himself. As Tom stood there, he thought back over the journey so far and the part he'd played to date, feeling a little ashamed of some of his actions and taking little pride in his contribution. He'd been content to sit back and let others do most of the work, relying on Dewar to make decisions and Kohn for his strength. Well, they were both gone. It was down to Mildra and him now, and high time he shouldered his share of the responsibility. He gazed again at the wilderness and at the distant peaks that waited, and felt a new resolve hardening within him. They would do this; they had to, for the sake of the prime master and those waiting back in Thaiburley but, more importantly, for Kohn and Dewar who had sacrificed their lives to give them the opportunity.
Feeling calmer in himself than at any time since they left Thaiburley, he turned and walked back to join Mildra where she stood close to the house.
The Thaistess greeted him with a troubled smile. "We are sure about this, aren't we?"
He nodded. "Certain."
"Good." Her smile widened into one of genuine warmth, as she perhaps saw the new determination in his eyes. "That's good!"
"Where's Leon?" He was anxious to get going while the first flush of his renewed determination remained fresh.
"He and Squib disappeared into the boathouse." Mildra nodded towards the tall, black-boarded shed.
"Ah, so we're finally going to catch a glimpse of this Mud Skipper, are we?"
"Looks like it."
As if on cue, the great doors at the front of the shed swung a little way open. Squib emerged to pull them wide, scurrying from one to the other. This was followed by a great clanking sound, as if a vast chain were being dragged across something, and then a loud coughing. Smoke billowed from a chimney at the top of the boathouse, and the coughing steadied into the pounding huff and growl of an engine. Seconds later, the prow of a boat began to emerge. But it didn't come out of the shed on its own. Two metal joists extended horizontally from the boathouse, appearing from near the roof and slowly lengthening as they stretched towards the water. A series of thick chains hung from the beams, criss-crossing between them. They were attached to a metal cage, a cradle, in which sat what could only be the Mud Skipper. Tom stared in fascination as the two beams and boat emerged in steady unison. From the little he could make out the vessel looked bizarre, though it was difficult to see where cage ended and boat began, so he tried to reserve judgement until he could see the ship properly. Boat and cradle slid slowly down the short slipway amidst a cacophony of clanking and hissing and the groaning of stressed steel. Leon appeared in the doorway to the boathouse, yelling and gesturing at Squib, who raced up to join him. The pair disappeared inside.
Tom glanced at Mildra, who met his gaze with eyebrows raised and a look of pure disbelief. They both grinned, and moved forward for a closer look.
Dark smoke billowed from the boathouse chimney, and the sound of the engine from within intensified, growing simultaneously louder, faster, and higher in pitch, as the caged boat reached the water, where it stopped its outward progress and began to be lowered. Then it stopped, though the sound of the engine didn't relent. For brief seconds the boat hung suspended a fraction above the ground and the channel by which Tom and Mildra had arrived. Then it began to turn, ponderously rotating through ninety degrees with only a little bumping on muddy banks as the boat rocked in its cradle, until the hull paralleled the course of the water.
Squib was back, shouting and giving a thumbs-up in the direction of the shed. With a dramatic hissing sound and renewed screeching as if metal was being ripped apart, clamps released and the cage split, parting in the middle with the two sides lifting high. The burden which the cage had carried from the boathouse dropped the short distance into the waiting water, where it bobbed and settled.
Tom and Mildra had their first unobstructed view of the Mud Skipper.
"Isn't she a beauty?" Leon said, striding down from the boathouse, his cheeks ruddy and sweat on his brow. As he walked he wiped his hands on a large oily cloth, which he tossed casually to Squib as he arrived at the boat.
"She's… certainly impressive," Mildra replied. The response summed up Tom's reaction perfectly. There was no question that the Mud Skipper was striking to look at, but beyond that he had yet to decide quite what to make of her.
The hull was painted white, though none too recently by the look of things, with a blue cabin and bright red funnel. She was far larger than any of the boats operated by the fishermen they'd seen on the Jeeraiy, completely filling the channel which had brought them here. However, it wasn't her size that caught Tom's attention, but rather her paddles. A great towering wheel protruded from her stern, composed of a whole series of paddle blades within twin circular hoops, while smaller versions were mounted on either side.
"What exactly is she?" Tom asked.
"Paddle steamer," Leon said, patting his boat's hull. "A stern-wheeler essentially, leastways she is when she's in the water."
Squib had already clambered aboard, and was now lowering the short gangplank. Leon used this to follow the lad and looked back at his two guests.
"Well, are you coming or not?"
Tom glanced at Mildra, who shrugged. The pair of them went up the gangplank. The boat settled with their added weight, so that the two smaller wheels sank down to rest on the muddy bank to either side – it really was that tight a fit. Squib already had the engine fired up, venting puffs of smoke from the boat's red-painted chimney. Tom and Mildra found seats in the cabin, on Leon's advice: "At least until we're in the open water."
As soon as they started moving, Tom understood why. The great stern wheel began to turn slowly, its broad blades dipping in and out the water. At the same time, the two side wheels began to rotate, their paddles digging into the mud and grass of the bank. The Mud Skipper jolted forward, her motion growing increasingly smooth as they gathered speed. Soo
n the two side wheels were flying round, gouging into the ground and throwing up a cloud of mud and grass in all directions, which included great clumps at times.
Leon grinned and called in to them from his position at the wheel, behind the cabin, "That's why I named her the Mud Skipper." He continued, proudly, battling against the noise of the engines and the churning blades, "She's equally at home in wet mud or muddy water, and we've plenty of both around here. The stern wheel can be lifted, the side wheels lowered and raised, depending on conditions."
In no time at all the Mud Skipper had exited the curtain of willow branches and scythed a path through the lily pads to reach open water.
"You can come out on deck now," Leon called down.
They found seats near the prow, and Tom was fascinated to see the side wheels lifted and brought in to rest against the cabin walls.
Squib took the wheel and Leon came over to join them.