The Wanderers of the Water-Realm (8 page)

“Aye, that does appear to be our best course of action, brother.” The young witch replied. “And there will be no chance of passing him unawares, for my occult senses will tell me when we are near. Then we can anchor the boat in the safety of the river whilst you and I go ashore to meet him. George can stay aboard and watch for our return.”

Darryl swallowed the last dregs of his black tea and stood up. “Well, if we are all agreed, then we had best make a start, but first we’ll arm ourselves as best we can, for only fools confront danger empty handed.”

The boatmaster buckled the sword ‘kingslayer’ to his waist and made sure that the blade was free in the scabbard, whilst George opened a locker and selected a blunt and battered meat cleaver from the tangle of utensils stored within.

“Not much of a weapon,” he reflected as he tested the cleaver for balance. “But it will serve to split the skull of anyone who attempts to clamber aboard the ‘Bonny Barbara’whilst the pair of you are absent.”

Myra took charge of the only firearm which the crew possessed; this was an ancient flintlock fowling piece that had been the property of Robert Littlewood until he had sold the boat and its contents to his younger kinsman. The weapon had seen little recent use, due to the severity of the game laws, and indeed there was only enough powder and shot to load it with a single charge. The three crewmembers then quit the cabin without further delay and prepared to navigate their craft to the mouth of the Exit River.

Darryl and his young boat hand hauled up the makeshift anchors and returned to their labour at the long poles, whilst Myra took up her former station at the tiller. Slowly, the

‘Bonny Barbara’began making headway and their progress quickened appreciably as the current from the Exit River began taking hold of the craft. Soon, the toilers were able to ship their poles entirely and rest as the narrowboat passed beneath the remnants of the great bridge and began making headway down the mainstream of the river.

Darryl dispatched his young assistant to the bows of the craft, in order to give ample warning of swiftly running rapids or any other danger to navigation they might encounter, but the current bore them along at a steady walking pace and this portion of the waterway appeared to be free of obstructions as far as the eye could see.

The travellers were able to relax and view their surrounding at leisure. But Myra noticed another strange phenomenon, for the narrowboat was responding readily to every touch of the tiller although the craft was being carried forward by the power of the current alone. No helmsman would have this much control whilst navigating a river in her home reality, she thought before shrugging her shoulders, for this was not the river Mersey and she was no longer on the planet Earth.

As the craft advanced, it became clear that the Exit River was taking them through a district that had once been the city’s main docklands area, for abandoned wharves and ruined warehouses lined both banks of the waterway; numerous secondary canals, now largely obstructed by fallen debris, branched out in every direction and having obviously once carried a vast commercial trade to every portion of the city.

“Heaven preserve us!” Muttered the boatmaster, as he viewed row upon row of ruined structures, “yon place would have made the Manchester canal wharves look like some country parcel-stop by comparison. I doubt if the Liverpool docks could have competed for size with this place, at least, when it was occupied and at the height of its prosperity.”

The narrowboat proceeded steadily for almost an hour, until Myra suddenly winced and clasped a hand to her forehead.

“Our helper is very near,” she said. “It’s time to steer over to the right bank and find ourselves a safe and secure mooring.”

Darryl took over the tiller and with practiced skill he steered the craft alongside a long jetty that jutted out into the river for a considerable distance. He then ordered George to moor the craft by a single cable, which he secured to the vessel’s stern.

“Now lad,” he instructed as he prepared to accompany his sister ashore. “Keep a sharp lookout, whilst we are gone. If danger threatens, then don’t hesitate to cut yonder cable with your cleaver and save yourself. We will rejoin you further down river, if we are alive and able to do so.”

Darryl and the young wisewoman strode down the length of the jetty picking their way through the debris littering the riverside wharf before entering the city proper.

“He’s close, very close!” Myra said and pointed towards the remains of a large single storey structure that might once have been a warehouse. “My inner-eye tells me that our friend is to be found on the far side of that building!”

The pair advanced towards the structure, but Darryl had now taken the lead with his sword held at the ready, whilst Myra brought up the rear with the loaded fowling piece held in the crook of her arm. The twins had advanced only a short distance when the boatmaster halted and pointed towards a huge doorway that was set in the gable of a nearby building.

“Sister,” he said. “Yonder door space must be a good fifteen feet in height. Just look at the width, you could lead a pair of horses through it.” He pointed to a number of doorways leading into other nearby buildings and the air whistled through his teeth.

“Can you imagine the size of the people who built this city? Compared to us, they must have been veritable giants.”

“Then let us hope that they are as dead as the rest of their city.” The young witch replied. “Now let’s get a move on,” she added impatiently, “for I sense that our friend is extremely close now, but I also feel that he is afraid and I know that we must link up with him as quickly as possible.”

Myra pointed toward a door space that was set in the side of a nearby building.

“Come.” She said. “Through that door and keep your sword handy.”

The pair entered the building and began picking their way across the breadth of an enormous room, occupied by row upon row of stone work-benches; at least they appeared to have been made of stone, for they felt as cold as granite when touched by the hands of the travellers and yet the material had a grained appearance reminding them of English oak. Indeed, the entire building seemed to have been constructed from the same strange material.

“A factory,” the boatmaster thought as he threaded his way through the wreckage of the fallen roof. “This place could have been nothing else. But who or what toiled here?”

Myra suddenly halted, gave a sharp cry and clasped her hand to her forehead.

“Oh the terror,” she gasped. “Quickly, our friend is in the greatest danger.”

She leapt into the lead and ran towards a door-opening that was situated in the far wall of the room, clearing the aperture with a single bound, and Darryl in close pursuit. The pair were brought to a sudden halt by the sight that met their eyes.

The twins had entered a small annex to the main building, a room that had probably served as a factory office, for every wall was occupied, from floor to high ceiling, by rank upon rank of deep stone shelves that had undoubtedly been used for the storage of rolls of parchment and works ledgers.

Midway up the far wall, an old man could be seen precariously clinging to the edge of the shelving with his hands and feet, and he was desperately attempting to evade the clutches of two bizarre and terrifying creatures that were attempting to reach him from the floor below. It was the grotesque appearance of the old man’s attackers that brought the couple to a sudden halt.

The two creatures were definitely humanoid in appearance, each having a head and two arms. But there the resemblance ended. For the heads that turned to view the old man’s would-be rescuers were both triangular in shape. Huge jawbones occupied the horizontal base-lines and supported the sharply canting cheekbones reaching upwards to the peaks of their sharply pointed skulls. The beings had no necks and their triangular heads swivelled grotesquely above massive muscled shoulders. The creature’s torsos were almost human in appearance, and the whole of their bodies were supported upon powerful muscular legs that obviously enabled their owners to cover long distances without undue fatigue. However, the being’s arms were probably the strangest part of their anatomy, for they were long and supple and divided into three separate segments through the possession of two sets of elbow joints; their claw-like hands were also multi-jointed and doubtless endowed the creatures with great manual dexterity. The appalling vision that confronted the newcomers was compounded in horror by the two pairs of eyes that turned to gaze upon them, for they were set high up in the creature’s triangular foreheads and resembled dark glass orbs, being quite devoid of pupils and irises. Below each pair of eyes were two narrow slits, which presumably served as nostrils and their terrifying appearance was completed by gaping mouths, set with flat teeth, suggesting that the twin apparitions normally ground their pray rather than ripping it apart.

The two beings had obviously intended to remove the old man from his perch and then dispatch him without the use of weapons, for two long spears stood upright in a corner of the room and their immediate response to the unexpected arrival of the newcomers was to launch themselves forward in an attempt to rend them apart with their many jointed talons.

The first of the apparitions closed with the boatmaster and attempted to break his neck with a single blow from one of his multi-jointed arms, but Darryl used his boxers reflexes to sway out of the path of the slashing limb delivering an upward cut from ‘Kingslayer’ and opening up the creatures blue-skinned body from crotch to chest. As the apparition fell, the boatmaster saw that the torrent of blood pouring onto the floor, along with the creature’s intestines was as red as that flowing in his own veins.

Myra, meanwhile, had waited until her opponent was almost upon her and then discharged the fowling piece directly into its face. The creature halted with the left hand side of its head carried away by the impact of the charge of buckshot, but the apparition had not fallen and the young woman moved forward purposefully to club it down with the butt of her weapon. Fortunately, this form of coup-de-grass was not required, for the old man swung down from his refuge with surprising agility, retrieving a crossbow-like weapon from the dust and launching a needle sharp dart into the creature’s spine. The monstrosity fell forward with a hissing groan and was dead before hitting the floor.

The old man brushed away some of the dust that had clung to him during his frantic scramble for safety and greeted his rescuers.

“Arr.” He grunted. “All be well that end well … as you folk say … now we best get to your boat … pretty quick … in case these ones we kill got friends nearby.”

He pointed to the pair of long spears that had belonged to the dead creatures.

“Good weapons … bring!”

The three victorious combatants headed for the narrowboat’s mooring with all possible speed and the twins were able to take a good look at their new companion as they moved through the ruins. He was short, only about five feet in stature and clad in a brief loincloth that had been woven from some type of course material. His head and body were quite hairless and his deeply lined features were dominated by a hooked nose that would have done justice to a Bedouin Sheik. His only possessions appeared to be his crossbow-like weapon and a small skin pouch, both accoutrements being slung over his shoulder and suspended from stout leather thongs.Yet it was his red skin colour that riveted the attention of the travellers.

The man noticed their inquisitive looks and he burst out laughing.

“You ain’t seen any red-folk like me before.” He stated. “Arr … but you see plenty now … all folk in Water-Realm coloured like me … sept’folk from beyond Northern Sea who be mostly white like you and perhaps a few others in distant parts … you got plenty questions … you wait until safe on boat.”

Once the travellers had reached the safety of the ‘Bonny Barbara’ they cast off the single mooring and continued their gentle voyage down the Exit River, but now under the directions of their new helper.

“No … danger now,” shouted the old man as he stood quite naked in the bows of the boat and sluiced the filth of his journey from his body with a bucket of river water.

“Hix can’t swim … frightened of deep water so … can’t reach us out here.”

He replaced his loincloth and joined the other crewmembers, who were preparing to dine on bread and cheese in the cockpit of the boat. He refused to share their food and chewed with apparent relish upon a fragment of dried flesh from his pouch.