Saga of the Old City (12 page)

Gord smiled but drained his cup instead of replying. The guildmaster returned, and within moments thereafter Sir Margus graciously took his leave.

Teline found the note first and read it aloud to Sunray: “My dear friends, I am so sorry I must leave without proper farewell, but a messenger from my family has brought me news that I am urgently required in Veluna. Do visit if you ever should come there! Your most loving servant, Margus.”

“What is this shit?” demanded Sunray.

Teline looked up from the note, her face contorted in anger. “The bastard has skipped with everything!” she shrieked.

That was a lie. Gord had left a pair of luckies next to the note.

Chapter 10

“Furl that sodomized sail, you mudsucking shitfoot!” The captain was not one to mince words, especially in the middle of a vicious storm.

“Aye, aye, cap’n!” Gord replied, tearing at the flapping canvas. He was near to being blown off the barge by the combined force of wind and sail, nearly blinded by the sheets of driven rain, and exhausted, but he obeyed as well as he could.

“Well, move your blasted buns then! How in hell can I save us all from visitin’ the bottom with the likes of you crewin’ this tub?!”

Gord had the sail in hand now, and several others of the Rhennee crew were helping him to secure it with stout lines so that it wouldn’t break loose again.

“Avast there, you blasters!” Gord heard the captain shouting in a bellow that managed to defeat the howl of the storm. “We need that gaff sail to keep her headed-” and then a shrieking blast of wind tore away the rest of the sentence.

Finished with the securing of the lug sail, he and the others hurried to the hatchway and ducked below deck. Gord didn’t envy the man on the tiller, the watch, or the captain during times like these. Conditions in the cramped, pitching below-deck area weren’t wonderful, but at least it was warm and dry.

After he left his farewell note at the Villa Noblesse, Gord had headed for the River Quarter. Without conscious effort, he took precautions so that his journey would go unnoticed and he would not be trailed by some agent of Arentol. After entering the district of sailors, longshoremen, and teamsters, he made doubly certain by taking specific measures designed to lose any follower, then he backtracked a bit just for extra insurance. He had left all of his fancy garments behind, and his current apparel was unremarkable. No sense in taking chances, he thought, and went one step further. A bit later, Gord strode through the Wharfgate clad as a riverman, sea-bag on his shoulder, soft cap pulled low on his forehead to help hide his features, ring nowhere to be seen.

It had been easy to locate a Rhennee “lord” willing to take on a working passenger. Gord simply approached a likely candidate, standing on the dock beside his barge, and made his request while gesturing in a signal from the secret language of the Rhennee folk. The bargemaster was surprised, but had not asked any questions, and overcharged Gord by only a few coppers. He introduced himself as Miklos.

The barge had sailed that same day, beating slowly up the Selintan River, headed for the ports of call of the Nyr Dyv and beyond. Going upriver on such a craft was easy, if somewhat tedious. The barge was some six paces or so wide and not quite four times as long. Although it had a shallow draft, less than a fathom unless heavily loaded, so as to enable it to navigate shallow waters and be easily beached, it was equipped with a pair of side keels that were lowered to stabilize the craft when it sailed in deeper waters. The freeboard was quite high, and the rails planked stoutly for protection. The roundish bottom was planked over, as was the beck, to provide a secure space for cargo and crew, the latter being the “family” of the captain. The master, being “lord” of the barge, dwelt in an abovedeck cabin abaft.

Smaller versions of this sort of barge had but a single mast. This Gord had observed during his stay with the Rhennee years ago. Being one of the larger sort, however, the barge of Miklos had a small mizzenmast as well as the stout foremast. There were nearly two dozen souls aboard, only about half of whom were adults-but all but babes in arms had duties to perform, as Gord learned immediately. Everyone, it seemed, was expected to take a turn at the sweeps when the air was calm or the wind foul.

Eventually they had left the banks of the Selintan behind and sailed out onto the deep blue of the Lake of Unknown Depths. When they left the green shores of the river astern, Gord had seen the crew getting out their armament. From below came scorpions, heavy crossbows, and jugs of lamp oil. The scorpions, huge crossbowlike engines designed to propel heavy missiles as large as lances nearly two furlongs, were set into their sockets at bow and stern. The normal crossbows were stowed near swivels mounted on the scantlings, or planked side rails. Missiles for both were likewise kept in side lockers against the time of their need. Finally, the oil pots were secured in netting along both starboard and port beams. One of the crewmen had informed Gord that the oil would be used in emergencies only-such as when some sea monster attacked and could not be driven off by any other means. The oil would be dumped upon the attacking creature, and in the surrounding water, and a torch set to all. The fire risk to the barge was obvious to even so green a lakefarer as Gord.

At first the Nyr Dyv’s azure waters had been as calm as a tranquil pool. Gord had not known how fortunate he had been then. Cursing the lack of wind, he had taken his turn rowing, unaware of the possible alternatives. When the wind began gusting next day, he had first thought himself blessed, but by that evening the heavy pitching and rolling of the barge had made him awfully, terribly sick. The night had been sheer torture, but next morning was worse. The wind howled around him at near gale force. The cold was acute, which caused him to shiver and made him feel even worse.

As bad as Gord felt, it occurred to him that the vessel seemed to be even sicker then he was. Its rigging shrieked as sails and lanyards were stressed to their limits. The barge tossed, and seemed likely to founder at any moment. Then Gord stopped thinking about his own misery as the storm struck in full force and the wind got even stronger. He had to do so many things that he forgot his seasickness.

Now that things were well secured above, he was able to rest for a bit here below deck. He dropped into his hammock and fell asleep quickly, despite the motion, smell, and noises from the children and adults also in the place. It seemed that he had just closed his eyes when a hand was shaking him awake again-time to take his turn bailing. The scow seemed to be full of leaks, but of course it was simply the strain of the rough weather upon her boards.

The Rhennee were clever folk, Gord observed. A system of pulleys and ropes was set up so as to make bailing the barge more efficient. One or two of the crew worked at emptying the bilge with leather buckets. The contents of these they poured into a trough that slanted to where the pulley system was. Another crewman-a child, actually-stationed there opened and closed a gate to fill buckets circling the cogs. Each canvas vessel tipped its contents out into another trough that ran from barge to lake through the cabin window. Collapsed, the bucket returned and was soon beneath the trough ready for another outpouring. While a lot of the water spilled to the planks and returned to the bilge, most of it was emptied thus. Two women operated the lifting rig, and Gord was one of three men now plying buckets to empty the bilge. It was back-breaking work.

The spring tempest died suddenly around noon. It had driven the barge well out into the Nyr Dyv and caused a fair amount of damage to hull and rigging. The small boat that had been towed astern was gone, lost who knew where. The Rhennee set to work immediately repairing the damage, running new cords and lines, and setting up the artillery with new strings and ropes. The captain was everywhere, ordering this, commanding that, and taking a personal hand whenever things didn’t look right to him. The craft was under full sail now, running southeast toward the shore some ten leagues distant according to Yanoh, a fellow of about Gord’s own age. How he knew this, Gord had no idea.

“Why are dry strings being put on the crossbows? Why are the quarrels being set out?” Gord asked.

Yanoh grinned. “The monsters like to check the surface after a big storm-lots of good stuff for them to eat then!” he said.

Gord suddenly felt sick again. No wonder “lord” Miklos was in so much of a hurry to make the coast. The deep waters were certainly no place to be now! He redoubled his efforts at readying the weaponry, simultaneously regretting his decision to travel by water. All to no avail-the worst happened almost immediately.

“Ahoy! Cap’n Miklos, critter off the stern and coming fast!” The warning came from the boy posted by the tiller watching for… critters?

It was some critter, Gord thought, as he got his first look at the looping coils and huge head of the monster chasing the vessel. Critter, indeed!

The spear-casting machine at the rear of the barge was already being loaded and wound back even as Gord stood and stared at the creature. So this was one of the dreaded sea serpents he had heard about. It was now about two hundred yards distant, coming closer with each heaving motion of its snaky body, with toothy maw agape. To Gord, its mouth seemed large enough to bite the stern clean off the barge.

Miklos shoved the gawking young man aside so that he could get to the scorpion and aim it himself. Gord came out of his shock and followed. Somebody handed him one of the wood-varied missiles for the great crossbow. Gord took it with him to a place near the captain. The monster had closed to about one hundred fifty yards now. Miklos peered intently along the shaft of the missile, a lanyard in his left hand, his right moving the scorpion so that the barbed iron spearhead pointed directly at the oncoming creature.

Miklos suddenly twitched his left hand, the steel arms of the scorpion sprung forward, and the pointed lance flashed out with a deep twanging sound.
To
Gord’s untrained eye, the missile seemed to appear magically protruding from the monster’s neck, a couple of feet below its head.

“Got the snaky sonofabitch!” shouted the helmsman.

The thing let forth a bellowing hiss that would have deafened anyone close to it. At just over one hundred yards distant, it was awesome. A crewman snatched the missile Gord was stupidly holding onto as he gawked, transfixed by the sight of the creature. The crewman hastily loaded the great lance into the scorpion while cursing Gord for being a fool, and worse. Gord, shame overcoming his terror for a moment, could not disagree. Within seconds the big machine was again loaded and winched taut, and the captain was aiming the second missile.

“This time you eat my toothpick, stinking shit-mouth!” Miklos shouted as he shot the huge bolt at the serpent. The missile struck the head, but the thing was covered with thick scales as large as Gord’s hand. These scales turned the point, and the shaft caromed off into the air. A swarm of buzzing quarrels from the heavy crossbows followed the larger bolt, and most of these likewise inflicted no apparent harm upon the creature, although a few struck home.

Gord was appalled to note that the thing was now close enough for him to clearly see the shafts protruding from its head and neck. It was a blackish-green in color, with large, fishy eyes. Its snakelike body was propelled by lashing tail and huge fins. The monster’s neck was at least twenty feet long, and its head was like a cross between a snake’s and a crocodile’s. How could so many teeth fit into one mouth, Gord wondered, and how could they be so large? The monster was at least a hundred feet long! Instinctively, he drew his long dagger and hefted it. If he was going to be dinner for the thing, at least he’d give the bastard something to remember him by.

Another missile from the scorpion struck the great serpent full in its open mouth. It roared again, snapped its jaws shut, and spat out bits of splintered shaft. Yellowish blood oozed from its mouth, too-this missile had done some damage! More quarrels struck it, and several javelins too, but the serpent’s advance was not slowed. The captain was doing his best to manage one more shot from the scorpion before the monster fell upon the barge and destroyed it. Women were screaming somewhere behind Gord, and children were wailing at the top of their lungs. What was going to happen next was obvious to all.

The monster was no more than twenty yards distant when Miklos got his last missile ready and aimed. He released it without hesitation, almost as if he wasn’t bothering to aim. The bolt struck the creature’s eye directly in the center of the huge, green pupil. The resulting bellow of pain from the monster drowned out all other sounds, and its rush for the barge took on new energy.

As it came so close that its reeking breath and slimy stench nearly overwhelmed Gord, he hurled his dagger with every ounce of strength he had, aiming for the serpent’s remaining eye. A virtual cloud of quarrels, javelins, and other missiles accompanied the dagger, for this was the last moment before doomsday. As if in slow motion Gord saw his weapon turning lazily in the air, pommel under, blade over, slowly revolving to present the slender point to the onrushing eye. Shafts of quarrels and javelins protruded as pins from a cushion, for at this range it was difficult to miss, and the scales were less effective protection.

Then the dagger met its target. At the same moment the monster’s neck lashed forward and its great jaws snapped. A hapless Rhennee was cut in half by the saw-edged teeth, and blood spattered everywhere.

What happened next, Gord wasn’t sure of. The serpent collided with the barge, and the force of the impact hurled him from his feet. Gord’s head struck something, and the next thing he knew he was being ministered to by a fat woman whose breath reeked of garlic. When he asked what was happening, she said only that they were in a safe harbor, and he should rest. Gord had no choice in the matter, for he abruptly passed back into unconsciousness.

A few days later Gord was up and around, feeling fine. Yanoh told him all about the conclusion of the matter. Blinded, the sea serpent could do little but thrash about erratically in its efforts to destroy its victims. The initial impact had badly damaged the stern of the barge, but it had also sent the vessel shooting away, even as the shock of its wounds had caused the monster to recoil. Two of the Rhennee had been killed by the collision-one crushed to death by the serpent’s massive body, the other overboard and drowned, probably-in addition to the unfortunate who was caught in the monster’s jaws.