The Wanderers of the Water-Realm (23 page)

The boatmaster lay upon his bunk in the cabin of the ‘Bonny Barbara’ and listened to the comforting sound of the water lapping against the hull.

Almost three days had gone by since the terrible events that accompanied George’s rescue. Days of constant activity as the narrowboat completed her fitting out for the long voyage down the ‘Great Life River.’ Darryl however, had found time to reflect upon his recent experiences in the city of Calar and upon his young boat hands abduction.

He recalled his meeting with Ali the grim assassin and above all, his vivid recollection of the dark priest pointing the finger of death towards the luckless ‘Blood-spill’ pirates.

He remembered the headlong flight and the hasty scramble to board the fast litters that Ali had caused to have waiting for them in the darkness below the city walls.

The boatmasteralso pondered upon their bumping, swaying journey through the mass of revellers in the ‘Quarter of all the Pleasures’ and their exit through a little used gate in the city walls. Indeed, Darryl had almost wept with relief when the party had reached the docks and the sanctuary of Agar-Marduk’s wharf buildings.

Ali, son of Grom, had refused to enter the dockyard area and taken leave of the travellers by the city gate. He had grasped the boatmaster by the arm, in the now familiar Water-Realm gesture of farewell.

“I wish you only the best of fortune,” he had said. “But I thank the Gods that I am not accompanying you, wherever you are bound. I also looked to the rear, as we fled along those accursed ramparts and I viewed the figure of the Dark Priest as we ran for our lives.” He had laughed grimly. “Life has taught me that fortune seldom smiles upon those whom the Dark Priests favour. For that reason ‘Black Darryl.’I pray that I never set eyes upon you again.”

The assassin had drawn his cloak tightly around his body and disappeared into the depths of the city.

Agar-Marduk had welcomed the returning navigators like a pair of long lost brothers and roasted a whole narr on the quayside in celebration. At the height of the festivities, a man whom Darryl knew to be an assistant wharf-master was led before him in chains. The old merchant had informed him that he was the man responsible for betraying them to the ‘Blood-spill’ pirates. He would now face a lifetime of slavery aboard one of the Prince of Calar’s war-galleys. The man’s wife and two weeping children were also led forward in chains. The sad trio, the old merchant had explained, would also be sold into bondage. In addition, their offspring for perhaps a thousand generations would be fated to toil under the pitiless lash. Such was the price of betrayal in Calar of the Mighty Walls.

Darryl had not been tempted to plead for clemency on behalf of the criminal’s wife and two children and he began to wonder if the harsh usages of the Water-Realm were beginning to affect his own sense of humanity.

Preparations for the narrowboat’s departure had continued apace, but one of the boats pontoons had developed a slight leak and needed to be repaired and re-caulked, this had taken two full days to complete.

The merchant again suggested the disposal of the remainder of the boats cargo of iron rails, here in Calar, for the metal was an obvious magnet for pirates. This time, Darryl had agreed willingly and had received, in return, a number of sealed merchant’s bonds that could be exchanged for good copper coinage in any of the many trading establishments lying along the banks of the ‘Great Life River.’

A cargo of good Northland timber, a commodity much sought after in ‘Holy Ptah’ had also been taken on board in place of the iron and this would help to reinforce their cover as being ordinary river traders. Extra protection would also be provided, during the first leg of their voyage, by the presence on board the ‘Bonny Barbara’ of six of Agar-Marduks best security guards; men who were taking leave in their home village that lay some twenty days sailing to the south.

Another sound began assailing Darryl’s eardrums as he continued to rest in his bunk, the sound of heavy rain beating down upon the roof of the narrowboat’s tiny cabin; and he knew that cooler weather had now arrived in this portion of the Water-Realm.

The boatmaster was also comforted to know that Myra was again occupying her cabin aboard the narrowboat, having returned from the Temple of Dumteck on the previous evening.He had been eager to converse with her and to give her a full account of his recent experiences in the old quarter of Calar. But his twin-sister was extremely tired and he reasoned that a mutual exchange of knowledge would be best undertaken at leisure, once they were sailing upon the waters of the Life River.

Meanwhile, his sister was comfortably bedded down and fast asleep.

The ‘Bonny Barbara’ had also acquired a new pilot for the coming voyage down the great river. The prisoner, whom George had rescued from the ‘Blood-spill’ prison was still deeply unconscious when the party had reached the shelter of Agar-Marduks wharves. Indeed, it was little wonder, for the man’s body was covered with the livid marks of numerous branding and the deep cuts upon his back showed that he had been mercilessly scourged with heavy whips.

Agar-Marduk had recognized the man as soon as he set eyes upon him.

“By all the Gods!” He had said. “That’s ‘Wilakin of the River,’ one of the best young pilots who ever sailed upon the Life River. You are indeed fortunate to have him swear allegiance to you, for you need a person with his navigational abilities, if you are to reach ‘Holy Ptah’ unscathed!”

The pilot had been tended by the merchant’s own physician and had quickly recovered consciousness, although it was quite certain that he would need some time to recover his full strength after such a terrible ordeal. Even so, he had insisted upon repeating his oath of allegiance to the boatmaster and had willingly agreed to serve as the ‘Bonny Barbara’s’ sailing master for the coming voyage.

Wilakin, it transpired, had been abducted by the ‘Bloodspill’-clansmen in order to force him to betray a valuable cargo. It said much for the young man’s bravery through successfully resisting every torture inflicted upon him.

The light of the Water-Realm dawn began penetrating the windows of the tiny cabin and Darryl knew that he must rise at once, for the narrowboat was due to depart within the hour. He quickly dressed and stepped out into the cockpit of his vessel and looked out over the waters of the dock to where a towing galley was already manoeuvring to pass them a line. Darryl would have climbed up into the bows to lend George a hand with the towing line, but his attention was distracted by a call from the wharf, were Agar-Marduk and his entire family were waiting to wish them a safe journey.

“May all of the Gods be with you!” Cried the old merchant, casting handfuls of flour and salt upon the water to propitiate the water spirits, “and may the rivers upon which you sail always stay calm and friendly!”

Darryl acknowledged the merchant’s well-wish with a wave of his hand. His eyes swept out over the docks to the city of Calar. ‘Calar of the Might Walls.’

“Aplace where much evil dwells!” He concluded.Yet he also surmised that good people such as Agar-Marduk and his hospitable family also dwelt there and thankfully prevented evil from having full reign. But how did that dark priest who had stood upon the battlements, fit into the picture? And what vital knowledge had Myra managed to gain in theTemple of Dumteck?

The boatmaster shrugged his shoulders. “Only the future will provide the answer to those questions!” He decided as he concentrated upon casting off the stern mooring.

“For we begin our voyage to the ‘Great Life River,’ then onwards to Holy Ptah, ‘the fabled city with walls of shinning copper.”

H
etty relaxed luxuriously in the steaming hot bath and rested after her lover of the night had departed. The young man had been good, a real stallion and the wisewoman had enjoyed herself immensely. Hetty liked sex for her occult beliefs venerated both nature and procreation and she was quite uninhibited by the narrow-minded restrictions of the Christian Church.

Over the years, Hetty had entertained many lovers in her cottage by the canal. Usually her beau for the night had been a passing boatman or a waggoner, and even the occasional herdsman driving his charges to the Manchester slaughterhouses, all pausing to spend the hours of darkness in the wisewoman’s embrace. Hetty, however, was no slave to the demands of her loins and seldom welcomed the attentions of local men who could prove troublesome if she wished to abruptly end an affair.

Instead she preferred to allow her sexuality to lapse for weeks or even months at a time and had occupied herself with the ills of her often desperately sick patents.

She stretched out and let the hot water caress her body. The youth had been her first client for over a week and she knew that she was unlikely to lie in the embrace of another man for several more days. Mildred Pasco, despite her fearsome appearance, took great care over the day to day welfare of her girls and she made sure that none of them became overtaxed through entertaining too many lovers in too short a space of time; for she knew well enough that her wealthy clientele could not be fobbed of with listless and jaded merchandise. Even the hours spent waiting upon table in the Cleopatra Music Hall were carefully limited and Mildred also kept a close eye upon the way the girls dressed and frequently examined their personal hygiene. Heaven help the hapless waitress cum whore who betraying the slightest trace of body odour.

Almost six weeks had elapsed since Marsie’ and the wisewoman had begun working at the Cleopatra and both women had now become quite used to the routine of the establishment. The women were roused at about nine o’clock in the morning by one of the maids and were usually free to do as they pleased until midday, unless they were required to take an occasional early turn behind the public bar. Afternoon duties occurred about twice a week, but every woman who was not entertaining a client in one of the private rooms, was expected to be on duty in the public house or the music hall, from seven o’clock in the evening until about midnight when the last client had departed. Waiting upon the tables in the body of the music hall could be hectic in the extreme. For the clientele were mostly drawn from the same social class as those who frequented the pudding and pie establishment, and they often filled the music hall to the doors when ‘out on the town,’ for their Saturday nights entertainment. Even so, there were many nights of the week when the artists on the stage were performing to thin houses and Mrs Pasco would give half of her staff the evening off. Sunday, of course, was a day of rest.

Mildred placed no restrictions upon the movement of her female employees and Marsie’ and the wisewoman often spent some of their free time wandering around the city. They admired the expensive wares within the shops and the newly constructed shopping malls and viewing the houses of the well-to-do merchant’s where copies of classical sculptures stood amidst colourful beds of flowers, giving visual evidence of their owner’s prosperity. However, Hetty always planed a route that never took them close to the canals, where there was always a slight possibility that she might be recognized by some passing boatman.

She picked up a tablet of scented soap and reflected upon the men who had been her clients for the past six weeks as she rubbed the fragrant oils into her skin. A mixed bunch of men, she concluded. The majority had been middle aged businessmen, possibly bankers and leading merchant’s, a fact the wisewoman had been easily able to define from their general lack of physical fitness, their slack muscles and smooth un-calloused hands.

Some had been quite explicit and openly stated the nature of their businesses without divulging their names. “Had a good day in the Cotton Exchange,” one had said, as he leaned over the supper table and freed Hetty’s ample breasts from her bodice, “made a thousand pounds in the first hour of trading, lass, so I deserve a good tumble here in the Cleopatra.” The cotton factor had been a competent lover, she recalled, despite his rather prominent beer belly, but some of her clients, strange as it might seem, had no wish to indulge in sex and contented themselves with an evening of quiet conversation; sadly recounting their fears and frustrations to a prostitute rather than burdening the deaf ears of their unloving wives. Once, a thoroughly distraught man had spent the hours of darkness, weeping in her arms as he grieved for a dead friend, and the wisewoman had quickly realised all the ills of the world were not confined to the poor of Manchester.

A great deal of unhappiness was to be found beneath the thin veneer of middle class respectability.

One of the waitresses cum prostitutes was occasionally expected to visit a client at his own residence and was given an extra remuneration for providing this service. Only once had Hetty been required to undertake this duty. On that occasion a private coach had taken her to a large house near Didsbury, where she graced the bed of a grey haired old gentleman who had once been a magnate in the coal trade. The man had wined and dined her on champagne, beefsteak and oysters, and had sent her home in his coach with two golden guineas in her purse.

Hetty stepped from her bath and towelled herself vigorously. She was far from satisfied with her enquiries within the Cleopatra, for despite keeping her eyes and ears open, she had been quite unable to discover anything of Albert Pike’s affairs, or indeed gain any information that might help to clear her son’s name. However, by discreetly questioning some of the girls, she had learned that Pike occasionally indulged his carnal nature by spending a night with one of the women. The fight-promoter’s habit was to sit in the body of the Cleopatra, with a group of his drinking friends and select the woman whom he would visit the following evening. Pike, it seemed, frequented the establishment for sex about once a month and a visit was now well overdue; these few facts, however meagre, had been sufficient to stimulate the wisewoman’s curiosity, and she had devised a plan to uncover the fight-promoter’s secret’s. Hetty covered her nakedness with a nightshift and a heavy bathrobe and followed the stairs and passageways that led to the bedroom she shared with Marsie’ her companion.

“Beware Albert Pike,” she muttered sleepily to herself, as she slipped between the warm bed sheets. “You are a man with well-kept secrets, but fate has now decreed that you will share your knowledge with Hetty. The wisewoman of Elfencot”.

The day was overcast and rain was falling upon the city of Manchester in sheets, as Hetty entered the side door of the Cleopatra. She removed her soaking wet cape in the hallway and hurried up to her bedroom and began stripping off her drenched undergarments. It had been no fit day for a person to be abroad on the streets. Yet the bad weather had suited the wisewoman’s purpose, for it had concealed her movements when she visited the boat-chandler, to collect the small package that Jenny had dispatched by post from Elfencot, in accordance with her written instructions.

She dried herself and donned fresh clothing before opening the package that had been wrapped in sailcloth to protect it from the rain. The package contained a small wooden box, no more than three inches long and with a sliding lid. Inside, cushioned in lamb’s-wool, lay a tiny glass vial and a small bundle of needle-sharp blackthorns tied together with a strand of cotton thread.

Hetty carefully picked up the vial and pondered momentarily upon the green liquid. “Aye, this will loosen your tongue, Albert Pike” she thought. For the liquid contained within the vial was a potion known only to a handful of the most adept herbalists, as ‘Truth.’The potion was prepared from a tiny blue flower that was only found upon a few of the highest crags of the Pennine hills.

‘Truth,’ had once been a common flower growing in the primeval uplands, but only a few roots of the plant now remained and the species must soon disappear into extinction. Indeed, the potion Hetty now held in her hand, had been prepared by her Grandmother half a Century ago. Along dead Shaman had named both the plant and the drug ‘Truth,’ because a person who was pierced by a thorn, dipped in the potion, would become semiconscious, and in that condition would truthfully answer any question put to them. In addition, the subject would have no recollection of the unwitting indiscretion.

Hetty smiled grimly as she replaced the vial in its container, for the time had now arrived for putting into action the plan that had slowly been maturing in her mind ever since her arrival some eight weeks ago. She intended to meet Albert Pike during one of his visits to the Cleopatra and then play upon the man’s sexual appetite until he was in the grip of uncontrollable desires. She would then administer the drug whilst the fight-promoter lay locked in her arms. In this manner she hoped to discover the hidden details of the man’s relationship with her son, Darryl. The strategy, however, was not without risk to herself, for the potion had dangerous side effects and could mentally impair the subject or even kill him. Indeed, it was not beyond the realms of possibility for the wisewoman to hang for murder.

The drug had arrived at the boat-chandlers store just in time to serve Hetty’s purpose, for only yesterday evening she learned thatAlbert Pike would be at the Cleopatra this very night.

Mildred had called together the five waitresses, including Hetty, who were required to be on duty the next evening. “Now see here girls.” She had said, in her usual authoritative voice. “My brother Albert is comin’ to the music hall tomorrow night so as to celebrate his birthday. He and his friends are to be given anything they desire and I want to hear no complaints afterwards.”

“No bloody complaints,” a blonde girl called “Rose” had muttered in a low voice. “I waited on yon bugger’s party, last year, and me arse got pinched so bad that I couldn’t sit down for near a week.”

“It will be you who needs to watch your arse Albert Pike.” The wisewoman thought, as she hid the container away in her dressing table. “Time you got punished for pinchin’ ladies bum’s you bastard.”

The second act of the night, a troupe of Italian tumblers, were performing on the stage of the Cleopatra when Rose nudged the wisewoman gently in the side and told her that Albert Pike and his party were entering the main body of the music hall. Hetty turned and noticed the group in question were seating themselves at a number of tables being the responsibility of the two women. Rose, who was free at that moment, hurried over to the visitors and took an order for some fifteen pints of strong ale and a varied assortment of wines and spirits. “Best get yer’ present order done with,” she said to the wisewoman as she loaded her tray with brimming tankards, “for that bugger Pike and his crew seem well drunk already, and might turn nasty upon us if we keep them waiting over-long.” Hetty nodded and delivered her current order of drinks, then hurried over to the bar to collect some of the wines and spirits required by the birthday revellers. She paused, momentarily, at a long mirror by the bar and quickly checked over her appearance. She smoothed her long red hair falling around her shoulders and viewed the reflected image of her breasts swelling out from the plunging neckline of her low-cut black velvet dress, an outfit that she had chosen especially for Pike’s benefit. Hetty smiled. “Not bad for an old lass.” She concluded with satisfaction.