Squill and Neena’s exertions had made quite an impression on the local authorities.
CHAPTER 10
They took their leave of sterile, whttewashed Hygria without regret. No pursuit was mounted once they were beyond the city walls, not by vengeful guards nor nauseous sorcerers. It was clear that none of them had, so .to speak, the stomach for it.
Well south of the metropolis, they stopped in a shady glade of nut trees to bathe in a clear, cool stream. Duncan relaxed in the shallows while brother and sister otter frolicked in deeper waters. Gragelouth used a cloth to daintily scrub and wash his fur, then set to combing himself out with a square brush as big as his hand.
When the otters had finally had enough of the water, they dried themselves and dressed, then helped themselves to a bushel or so of the ripe nuts; this in lieu of the supplies the town itself had been so unwilling to furnish. When they had enough, Gragelouth once again set a course northwestward.
A week passed before the grassy, scrub-flecked plains gave way to the foothills of a rugged range of unknown mountains. There were no trails leading within, and they had to pick their way carefully around boulders and over rough spots. The dray lizards hissed and jerked violently, but the merchant kept them under admirable control with well-chosen tugs on the reins and sharply barked phrases of command.
“Easier for a mercenary fox on foot than for a vehicle to get through this way,” Buncan commented as they bounced and rattled through the notch Gragelouth had chosen to explore.
“I do not know for certain that he came this way,” the merchant replied unencouragingly. “Only that this seems to me the only possible avenue through these mountains.”
Buncan pursed his lips thoughtfully. “It’s your wagon, Gragelouth. So we go your way. What’s this range called, anyway?”
“I have no idea.” The sloth wrestled with the reins.
“Interestin’ name,” Neena quipped, but her heart wasn’t in it. The path was too rough to inspire ready humor.
As the travelers progressed, the crags overhead clawed more determinedly at the underbellies of the scudding clouds. Their flanks steepened. Unless they chanced upon a formal road or track of some kind, Buncan couldn’t see how they were going to wrestle the clumsy wagon through the increasingly rough terrain.
In all mis time they encountered no other travelers. If any commerce passed through these mountains, it was by a route different from the one they were traversing. Gragelouth surmised that any such travel probably passed to the east and north. In their case they sought not commerce anyway, but revelation, and the path to that is always more difficult.
Days later the hitherto peaceful atmosphere was interrupted by a steady sussuration. Initially a loud whisper, it intensified with their advance until it had become a roaring in the ears, like a steady gale. It carried with it a becoming freshness to the air which invigorated tired spirits. Even the dray lizards picked up their pace.
The otters recognized it from the first. “Nothin’ mysterious or sorceral about that noise, friends.” Neena stood behind Buncan, her paws on his shoulders, trying to see into the distance. “ ‘Tis a river, and a big, fast-flowin’ one.”
“Not as big as the Tailaroam,” Squill ventured, “nor maybe even the Shortstub, but steeper o’ drop than either. White water!” Clearly the otter relished the prospect.
The narrowing pass they had been following ended at the river, which funneled swiftly but not impassably to the west through a steep gorge. Gragelouth inspected the terrain with a practiced eye.
“It cuts through these mountains more or less in the direction we must take.” He pointed downstream. “See, there is a contiguous beach. If it is sufficiently compacted, we can parallel.” He chucked the reins, urging his team onward.
As they swung out onto the sand, Buncan uneasily eyed the torrent on their right. “What happens if it rains upstream and the river rises? We’ll be trapped in this canyon.”
“Better work on your stroke, mate,” Squill said cheerily. Buncan was not amused.
The wagon rattled and rocked but did not sink into the firm mixture of sand and gravel. Gragelouth kept a steady eye on the surface ahead, watching for any soft spots. As the canyon closed in around them, Buncan found himself glancing worriedly back the way they’d come. If the river came up the wagon would float . . . until it struck the first submerged boulder.
They hadn’t traveled far before the beach spread out to form a shallow plain complete with trees and grass. Just ahead a tributary, slow-moving but too deep and wide to cross, entered the main current from their side. There was no way around it. The beach down which they were traveling, which had looked so promising at first, was a dead end.
Someone, or something, had found the little valley at the junction of the rivers conducive to permanent habitation. Neena pointed out the house and bam, both of which had been fashioned out of river rock and driftwood. The home had a single sharply raked roof facing the main stream.
Behind the bam a corral had been staked out. Its reptilian occupants looked healthy and well-fed. Buncan identified them as a species bred for consumption rather than work. There was also an extensive garden and small orchard, irrigated with water from the tributary by means of two small canals.
Gragelouth indicated the network of stakes in the shallows. “Shellfish farming. Whoever has taken residence here has done well. This is not the abode of traders or transients.”
“Not just shellfish.” Neena pointed to the double rack of skinned and filleted fish drying in the sun behind the house.
As they drew nearer, several cubs came tumbling out to greet them. They were followed by two adults. No one exhibited any fear or apprehension at the wagon’s approach, which suggested that visitors to this place, while probably infrequent, were not unknown.
Buncan had never seen their like before, but Gragelouth recognized them readily enough.
“They are of a tribe called platypi,” he informed his companions, “who are noted for their love of privacy.”
“Bloody weird-looking, they are.” Squill stared at the youngsters, with their grinning, duck-billed faces and slick fur peeping out from beneath their clothing.
“You should have much in common with them. They are as at home in the water as yourselves, though not, I mink, quite as quick.”
The otter hopped down off the wagon. “If they’ll sell or trade us some fresh fish and maybe a cray or two, I’ll concede ‘em any race.”
“They look friendly enough.” Buncan climbed down to join his friends. “Think it’s a ploy?”
“No,” replied the normally suspicious sloth. “There would not be enough traffic through here to make banditry a paying proposition.”
Cubs and adults alike jabbered incessantly at the travelers as they escorted mem toward the house. As Gragelouth surmised, they didn’t get many visitors and were delighted at the prospect of company. Their remarkable bills made mem difficult but not impossible to understand.
“Tho you go to the northwetht?” The male of the household addressed them as they all sat on the beach, resting on boulders which had been carved into chairs. His spouse kept the chattering cubs away from the meeting.
The platy put his thumbs through suspenders, nodding downstream. “Your vehicle will never make it through theth mountains. Even if we could raft it across, the beach endth not far downstream.”
“We are open to suggestions,” Gragelouth told him.