City of Hope and Despair (22 page)

  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. Soon 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.

  "Well," he said, "what do you think of her now?"

  "Beautiful," Tom conceded, "she's simply beautiful."

Tom and Mildra both agreed that this was definitely the way to experience the Jeeraiy. The Mud Skipper didn't hang around, and they were seeing several day's worth of this sprawling, diverse land all in one go. They passed fishermen in long narrow canoes with stabilisers to either side – something that seemed eminently sensible to Tom as he watched them stand and cast their nets – and villagers who waved and called out greetings. At one point they came close to a party of the same broad-faced animals they'd encountered before stumbling on Gayla's village. The beasts were again submerged, with just their eyes and nostrils visible above the water.

  "Best to stay clear of those," Leon advised, pointing. "They can be bad tempered so-and-sos."

  For a while their course paralleled that of a wooden causeway standing proud above the water on a forest of stilts. The causeway linked a series of islands together and seemed broad enough for two or three people abreast. Tom even saw a couple of the stocky marsh ponies being led across one section. He could only marvel at the ingenuity and sheer determination that must have gone into making such a raised pathway in this environment.

  For the most part on that journey, Tom found himself simply sitting back and relaxing, succumbing to the wonder of this place.

  A great shouting broke his tranquil mood. He looked around to see a bunch of gangly-limbed figures rushing towards them, apparently running across the very top of the water.

  "Skimmers," Leon muttered, "that's all we need."

  They looked humanoid, but at the same time were clearly not human. There was something unsettling about their movements, which were almost insect-like in the way they skated across the surface of the water. Their limbs and indeed their whole frames were improbably slender, while they wore on their feet the most bizarre boots Tom had ever seen. Great saucer-like fans of translucent webbing supported by a splay of skeletal struts spread out from the base of each leg, enabling the skimmers to glide over the water. They looked to be children, all boys, and all a good deal younger than him. Nor did they limit themselves to shouting. As they came close to the Mud Skipper, they began to pelt the craft with fruit, greeting each hit with a chorus of cheers. They reminded Tom of a group of boisterous street-nicks up to mischief, though these looked far too innocent to be up to anything serious, with their over-large brown eyes and guileless expressions. In fact, there was something vaguely familiar about these spindle-limbed, wide-eyed creatures. Tom glanced from the pack of harassing skimmers to Squib, and back again.

  "Yes," Leon said, presumably seeing the direction of his gaze, "Squib is a skimmer, which is why these lowlifes keep giving me such a hard time whenever we're out this way." Squib was at the far side of the boat, jumping up and down, shaking his fists and hurling high-pitched insults back at the chasing posse of youths. If he heard Leon talking about him, he gave no sign. "He was born without the webbing, you see. He couldn't live as a skimmer, couldn't survive. To them he's just a freak. If I hadn't taken him in when I did, he'd have died. So whenever we come this way, we run the risk of this happening – the kids coming out to harass us and taunt him"

  Tom stared at the nearest pair of youths, gliding across the surface on their great webbed discs. "You mean those things are their feet?"

  "Of course. What did you think they were?"

  "I don't know, shoes or something."

  "Huh! You really think anyone, human or skimmer, could have come up with footwear as weird as that?"

  Leon had a point.

  "Squib!" Leon yelled. "Calm down for Thaiss' sake, or you'll end up going overboard."

  The youngster's torrent of abuse and aggressive gesticulating had built to an alarming crescendo, with spittle flying from his mouth and body gyrating as if he were on the verge of a fit. At Leon's words he paused and looked round, favouring them with a broad grin. "Aye, aye, skipper."

  "Not that I can really blame him," Leon said quietly to Tom and Mildra. "Those skimmer kids are a real pain in the ass."

  At that moment, a bright green globe came flying towards them, narrowly missing Tom but splattering on Leon's shoulder. It burst to dribble a trail of viscous piprich pulp down Leon's chest.

  "Right, that does it!" the old man roared, shaking his fist at the skimmer responsible, who had peeled away and was beating a retreat, laughing triumphantly. "You pesky brecking water fleas! Squib!"

  The Mud Skipper's mate was beside him in a flash. "Is it time?"

  "Oh, it's time all right." Leon's words were almost growled. He unlatched a panel in the side of the ship's cabin, revealing a coiled-up hose. Squib started to cackle maniacally, hopping from foot to foot in excitement as he accepted the nozzle from his captain.

  A piece of rotting fish sailed between them to spatter against the cabin, signalling a fresh chorus of cheers from the circling skimmers. "You'll be laughing on the other side of your faces soon, you maggot-riddled water cabbages. Ready, Squib?"