Riverworld Anthology - Tales of Riverworld Part 24

"My friends, good countrymen," his voice rang out, silencing the cries of the crowd, "today the bravest sons of New Athens set sail on a great adventure. We go in search of the G.o.ds, those magical beings whom many of you foolishly insist resurrected us on the banks of this mighty river. Personally, I cannot imagine we will find them, for as you well know, I strongly doubt that they exist."

Most of the crowd nodded politely, not listening in the least to what the philosopher said. A few even applauded politely. However, Bowie noticed a number of unhappy faces. "Make ready to cast off," he muttered to Thorberg as the boos started.304."Once before, I stood before such a n.o.ble a.s.sembly," Socrates continued. "On that particular afternoon, you graciously condemned me to death for corrupting the youth of Athens." The boos were growing louder, but the philosopher ignored them. "A model citizen, I obeyed your command. In my heart, though, I knew that if hemlock was given to all those in Athens guilty of a similar crime, the city would stand empty of life!"

By now, the crowd had turned ugly. En ma.s.se, the citizens surged forward, seeking to pull the boat back to sh.o.r.e and rip Socrates to pieces. Pieces of debris tossed by the angry Greeks pelted the s.h.i.+p. "Up anchor," commanded Bowie hurriedly, as a stone whizzed by his head. "Fast."

The longs.h.i.+p darted into the current like an arrow taking flight. In seconds, it sped out into the centre of the River. "If I encounter the G.o.ds," shouted Socrates in derision, "I will surely warn them of your hospitality."

"Nice and diplomatic," said Bowie with a heavy sigh, as the banks of New Athens slipped far behind. "From now on, do me one favour. Clear any speeches with me first."

"I could not bear to leave them without a few words of wisdom," said Socrates, sounding not the least bit contrite. "At least our departure will be remembered for years to come."

"You can say that again, frogface," declared Davy Crockett, joining them. He had been at the front of the boat during the speech. In a drink match with the frontiersman a month before, Socrates had let slip his nickname on Earth. Ever since, Crockett insisted on using it all the time.

"Reminds me of the time when the good people of Tennessee voted me out of office," Davy continued.305."For my concession speech, I told the ungrateful sc.u.m to go to h.e.l.l. Then I gathered up some friends and rode off for Texas."

"Another diplomat," said Bowie, smiling. "No wonder you got killed so often since Resurrection Day. Telling the truth ain't the way to win many friends."

"I won't argue with that," said Crockett. "But that's one of the joys of living on this river. You can be as honest as you like and not worry about the consequences." He paused for an instant, then continued. "Though you make a good point about wakin' up naked and hairless more often than not. Maybe a course of moderation is best."

"Nothing to excess," added Socrates.

"Amen to that," said Bowie, and then addressed his attention to the River. The great voyage had begun.

The first few weeks pa.s.sed swiftly. They made good time, stopping at several villages each day. Bronze Age civilisations dominated this section of the River, and the travellers found courteous welcomes from the numerous Chinese settlements encountered on their journey.

Whenever possible, Bowie and his men made use of the woodland grailstones for their meals. It cut down on their dependence on supplies and provided a meeting ground with the inhabitants of the region. For safety, they slept on the boat beneath dragonfish leather tents.

Socrates spent his time ash.o.r.e debating philosophy with anyone willing to argue. That rarely proved to be a prob-306.lem. He usually attracted a crowd. One of the mainstays of the human condition anywhere on the River seemed to be a willingness to speculate on the meaning of life and the whys and wherefores of the great Resurrection.

Always he asked, "What is justice?" Nowhere did he find an answer that satisfied him.

Davy Crockett roamed through each new town looking for his nemesis, Santa Anna. Isaac accompanied the frontiersman, his sad eyes searching the throngs of people they met for a man only he could identify. Neither of them reported any success.

Bowie enforced only one rule: No pa.s.sengers without good reason. He knew otherwise the boat would quickly fill with prost.i.tutes and camp followers. The Texan made it quite clear to all involved that he had no objections to s.e.x, but that it belonged on sh.o.r.e, not on their s.h.i.+p. Anyone who found the rules too restrictive could leave. No one did.

Actually, the Spartans thrived on tight discipline. Raised in a communistic state that placed duty above all else, the crew prided themselves in their mental as well as physical toughness. Lysander lost no opportunity in reminding his men of their heritage. "Remember," he lectured them whenever someone complained about short rations or the nightly downpour. "We are not rabble. We are Spartans."

As often as he was able, Bowie conferred with the town elders on what lay ahead on their journey. Oftentimes, the leaders of the community knew conditions five or ten villages farther on. While their voyage so far had been peaceful, Bowie knew that sooner or later they would encounter trouble. He wanted to be prepared for danger before it occurred.

Unfortunately, not everyone knew what loomed past307.the beach's end. On the twentieth day of their voyage, they left a friendly Chinese village with no knowledge of what lay beyond the next bend in the River. Content in their own lives, the townspeople had never attempted to explore any farther than the natural boundaries of their village. Other expeditions that had pa.s.sed through then-valley from locations up-River never returned.

Nervously, Bowie watched as the huge mountain walls narrowed as they came to the end of the Chinese enclave. Thorberg, aware of the uncertainty of their situation, kept the longboat at the centre of the river. He hoped their position would give them a few extra seconds to prepare for any attack from either sh.o.r.e. The Norseman kept both hands tight on the rudder. The narrower the River became, the faster the current. Even without sails or oars, they were moving at better than fifteen knots.

"Keep alert," Lysander warned his men, walking up and down the boat. "Remember. We are Spartans."

They sped into the next valley, their boat riding high on the whitecapped waves. "Watch for rapids," said Thorberg, wrestling with the steering paddle. "Shout if you see any rocks."

Mountains crowded in on them from both sides. The cliflfs towered up so high that they seemed to meet many thousands of feet above their heads. Only a thin line of sunlight trickled down into the ravine, casting a twilight glow across the land.

The entire valley was little more than thin strips of beach, with the inevitable grailstones s.p.a.ced a mile apart. There were no signs of people, or of human habitation.

"Empty," declared Bowie, beads of sweat trickling down his back. The Unfinished Business skipped along the water, heading for the next break in the mountains.308."n.o.body's here," said Crockett. "But what's ahead?"

They found out in less than an hour. Though powerful currents and strong waves buffeted their s.h.i.+p, the longboat had been built to withstand major storms at sea. They made it through the narrow gorge at the end of the uninhabited valley with nothing more than a light soaking to mark their pa.s.sage. And discovered themselves in a huge, placid lake, some ten miles long and four miles wide.

"Out oars," commanded Lysander immediately. His Spartans, ever ready, were rowing in seconds.

"Not much of a current here," said Thorberg, relaxing his grip on the rudder. "The worst is past."

"Maybe, maybe not," said Bill Mason, his gaze fixed on the nearer sh.o.r.e. A ma.s.sive wooden palisade ran along much of the beach, cutting if off completely from the water. Patrolling the walls were leather-clad men, armed with spears and swords. The soldiers watched their pa.s.sing silently, making no move in response. From somewhere behind the fortifications, a horn sounded. A hundred feet farther down-River, a second responded. And then another a hundred feet beyond that.

"Signalling our approach," said Bowie. "Lysander, pick up the tempo."

"I'm headin' for the crow's nest," said Crockett, and scrambled up handholds in the short mast to the lookout perch at its top. The frontiersman had the keenest vision on board.

"Walls across the lake as well," he called down a few seconds later. "Pretty much the same construction as here. Looks like the same people rule both sides of the River."

The waterway curved to the right a half-mile ahead. "Keep to the middle of the stream," Bowie said to Thorberg, the sound of many horns echoing on the beach.309."s.h.i.+ps up ahead," cried Crockett. "Two of them, 'bout the same size as ours. Heading out from sh.o.r.e pretty fast."

"They look friendly?" asked Bowie, already knowing the answer.

"Not likely. They're loaded with armed men. Lots of them. Plenty of folks on the beach cheering them on. Looks like they know what they're doin'. We ain't the first ones pa.s.sed this way, Jim."

"Pirates," said Bowie, disgusted.

"Or worse," said Socrates, pulling on a dragonleather buckler and helmet. He slashed the air a few times with a hornfish sword, accustoming himself to the weight of the blade. "They could be grail-slavers."

Bowie cursed. Born in the American South during the late eighteenth century, he considered slavery perfectly acceptable when applied to others. Faced with the same prospect for himself, he exploded with rage.

"Load the ballista," he bellowed. "Ready the grenades. If these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds want a fight, we'll teach them a thing or two about warfare!"

"Spartans, prepare for battle," ordered Lysander, pulling on his armour and unsheathing his sword. Half the crew stopped rowing and donned their gear while the others kept up the pace. As soon as the first group finished, they took over the oars as their fellows made ready. The entire process took only a few minutes, and without any noticeable reduction in the boat's speed.

The Unfinished Business rounded the River bend into war. Huge stones, thrown by catapults on the beach, splashed in the water nearby. Giant arrows roared overhead. Propelled by three banks of oarsmen, the two310.enemy vessels bore down on them from both sides. On sh.o.r.e, thousands screamed in excitement.

"Roman triremes," said Isaac, anger clouding his usually despondent features. Clad in dragonfish leather and armed with two short swords, he no longer looked the man of peace. "Their s.h.i.+ps are much heavier than ours. And legionnaires are no sailors. If we can steer free, they won't catch us. Beware, though," he said ominously, "if they get close enough to send on boarding parties. On land or sea, the soldiers of Rome fight like cornered tigers."

"Sounds like you admire them," said Bowie, his gaze fixed on the approaching wars.h.i.+ps.

"I spent most of my life with the legions," answered Isaac, pride ringing in his words. Then his voice grew harsh. "But then, one day, I recognised the error of my ways."

The big man turned away before Bowie could follow with another question. After that, it was time for action.

"Surrender!" bellowed the captain of one of the triremes, now less than a hundred yards away. "Surrender and you won't be harmed."

"The h.e.l.l we won't," said Bowie with a snort. He looked over at Bill Mason, waiting for orders by the ballista. The history teacher, to everyone's surprise, was an excellent shot with the giant crossbow. He attributed his skill to a cryptic organisation named the SCA. Bowie a.s.sumed the group was related in some way to TV, the AM A, and IRS, all mentioned in pa.s.sing by the often unintelligible man from the future.

"You ready, Bill?" he asked, a terrible calmness descending upon him. Bowie recognised the feeling. It was the same icy madness that possessed him back on Earth during his many duels. Rezin, his brother, called it a killing rage. "Let's burn those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds out of the water. Fire!"311.Mason fired. With a shriek, a fiery crossbow bolt hurtled across the water at the nearest boat. The historian had added several unique touches to the giant arrow. Hollow chambers made it scream, while a mixture of grease, mulch, and gunpowder set it ablaze with an explosive fire. Mason called his special arrows "Molotov c.o.c.ktails," and he promised deadly results.

The first arrow missed. It flew over the nearer trireme's sail and landed harmlessly in the water. Still, it alerted the s.h.i.+p's captain of the potential deadly danger to his s.h.i.+p. On the deck of the Unfinished Business, they could see the Roman sailors scrambling to the mast. But not in time.

With a roar, the second ballista bolt slammed into the pirate's sail. Instantly, a dozen tongues of fire licked at the wood frame and dragonfish membrane. Black smoke billowed as the s.h.i.+p's deck ignited.

Screaming in fear, the Roman sailors dove off the burning boat and into the River. Valiantly, a few men remained and tried to fight the fire, but with little success. The trireme drifted helplessly out of control, no longer a threat.

" 'Ware the second s.h.i.+p!" yelled Crockett, clambering down from the mast. "It's moving up fast."

Masked by the black smoke from the first trireme, the other s.h.i.+p hurtled forward over the water like a shark sensing blood. It was less than a hundred feet from the Unfinished Business and closing fast, its bow headed directly at theirs. They were on a collision course that would destroy both boats.

"Pull in your oars!" Lysander shouted to the Spartans. "Before they are snapped to kindling!"

Grunting with effort, Thorberg wrenched at the rudder with all of his strength. Shuddering, the longboat swerved312.to the right. At the same time, the captain of the trireme angled his boat to the left.

With a crunch of colliding wood, the bows of the two s.h.i.+ps met, sending the crews of both tumbling to the deck. But the force of the blow had been muted by the sudden s.h.i.+fts in direction. Neither boat was badly damaged. Instead, they floated only yards away from each other, as the sailors on board scrambled for their weapons.

The Romans recovered first. With a roar of triumph, they slammed a portable bridge onto the deck of the Unfinished Business. A metal spike embedded in the far end of the gangplank held the s.h.i.+ps together. In seconds, troops poured over the plank and onto the longboat.

The first two soldiers died as their feet touched the deck. Socrates, his face devoid of emotion, thrust his sword into one man's eye, killing him instantly. Without pausing, the Greek whirled about and caught the second boarder with a backhand blow to the head. The man staggered off balance, letting down his guard. Socrates' blade caught him in the throat, ripping it to shreds. For all of his reputation as a philosopher, the Athenian had served in three campaigns and was known throughout Greece as a ruthless, deadly fighter.

Other attackers fared little better. By now, Lysander had rallied his warriors with the cry of "Spartans, forward!" The Greeks responded with a flurry of action that cleared the deck of invaders. But there were hundreds more Romans, ready to take their place. They crowded onto the portable gangplank linking the two s.h.i.+ps. Unless that bridge was destroyed, the Unfinished Business was doomed.

Two swords flas.h.i.+ng, Isaac leapt onto the narrow platform. Eyes wild, features contorted with anger, he made no effort to protect himself from his enemy's313.attacks. Instead he fought with an insane rage to match that of a Norse Berserker. Slas.h.i.+ng left and right, he killed a man with each blow. The narrow width of the gangplank made it impossible for more than one to confront him at one time. And no one man could stop him.

Soldiers tried, and soldiers died. Others, seeing their death in his eyes, scrambled back to the safety of their own s.h.i.+p. Single-handed, Isaac cleared the boarding ramp and held it. Blood spurting from a dozen wounds, he glared at the crew of the trireme, as if daring them to do their worst. Then, before any could respond, he leaped back onto the deck of the Unfinished Business.

"Pull us free," yelled Bowie unnecessarily. Already, a dozen Spartans struggled with the grappling hook that held the boarding ramp in place. Oak panels shrieked in protest as the metal claws tore free. Cheering wildly, the Greeks shoved the platform off the longboat and into the River.

"Spartans, to your oars," commanded Lysander. It was time for a quick getaway.

Casually, Davy Crockett lifted a small bag made of leaves and dried clay from a storage box on the p.o.o.p deck. A short vine fuse dangled from its side. Balancing the object in one hand, he lit the fuse with the firestarter he held in the other. Shrugging his shoulders, he tossed it over the gap separating the two boats. It exploded a second later. Surprised Romans screamed in pain as hundreds of small fragments of quartz and flint filled the air.

"Darned things work pretty good," commented Crockett, lighting a second grenade. Unconcerned, he watched the fuse sputter. "Short fuses, though."

With a flick of the wrist, he lobbed it at the trireme. Bowie sighed in relief as the bomb exploded among their314.enemies. Crockett was a bit too casual about death and destruction.

"Let's get out of here," said Bowie as the Spartans started rowing, "before Crockett blows us to h.e.l.l and gone."#CH6?#.Two weeks and a thousand miles later, they learned more than they wanted to know about revenge. Anxious for several days of sh.o.r.e leave, they anch.o.r.ed the Unfinished Business at a peaceful Egyptian village. While the crew relaxed in town, Bowie questioned the town elders on the route ahead. Nearby, Socrates coached Davy Crockett on the finer points of swordplay.

Bowie had just concluded his meeting when Bill Mason appeared in the doorway of the council chambers. The historian's face was white as a sheet, and there was a haunted look in his eyes that Bowie found disturbing.

"You free for a little while?" Mason asked, his voice trembling.

"Sure," answered Bowie. "What's up?"

"There's two women I want you to meet," replied Mason mysteriously. He beckoned to Socrates and Crockett. "Can you two come with me? It's important."

Mason refused to say anything more. The four of them walked swiftly through the small town and entered the ever-present forest that stretched from the end of the beach to the mountains approximately a mile from the water. It took them about twenty minutes to reach their destination.

"The villagers told me about these women and their captive," said Mason as they closed in on a rough cabin315.sheltered among the huge trees. "Not willing to believe what I heard, I came here this morning. And soon wished I hadn't."

"Care to explain what you mean by that, Bill?" asked Davy Crockett, his gaze jumping from place to place. The veteran Indian fighter always stayed alert in the woods.

"Just listen to the women's story," said Mason. "You'll understand my meaning quick enough."

The shelter appeared deserted. A crude shack constructed out of untrimmed logs, its most prominent feature was a large wooden cage a few feet from the door. There was no sign of anyone about.

Something moved inside the cage. "Never heard of no animals on the River," said Crockett, his eyes narrowing. He peered between the bars. "d.a.m.n it," he said, shock and horror mixing equally in his voice, "there's a man inside. Blinded, with his fingers and toes hacked off!"

"That's so the b.u.g.g.e.r can't escape." The speaker was a well-built woman, with curly long brunette hair that fell past her shoulders. She stood in the doorway of the cabin, holding a loaded crossbow in her hands. She appeared quite capable of using it.

"I don't mean you gents no harm," she continued, speaking Esperanto with a thick c.o.c.kney accent, "but too many men come round planning to set our friend here go free. Can't allow that either. So I stay ready for trouble."

"If we want to free that poor soul," said Bowie, anger welling up within him, "one crossbow will not stop us."

"That's why my friend in the woods got you covered with another, guv'nor," said the woman, with a smile. "Say h.e.l.lo to the nice gentlemen, Cathy," she called to her unseen ally behind them.

"No tricks, kind sirs," replied a second woman out of316.their line of sight. "I could take all four of you in less time than you could reach dear Mary."

"None of your heroics, please," said the woman named Mary. "I recognise our visitor from this morning. These, I take it, must be the friends of yours you wanted us to meet? Well, then, gentlemen, have a seat. Listen to my story, and afterward tell me if you want to set this b.a.s.t.a.r.d free."

"Please, do as she asks," said Bill Mason. "It's important that you hear their tale."

"All right," said Davy Crockett, settling down on the gra.s.s. "But I don't holds with keepin' a man caged like a wild animal. No matter what he's done."

"Depends on your point of view," said Mary. "Me, I was never much for violence either. Me and Cathy there, we made our living on our backs." She chuckled. "Plenty of times we did it standin' up, as well."

"As long as the gents paid us," added Cathy, "that's all that mattered."

"Wasn't a good life, but weren't as bad as some in those days," said Mary. "At least we never went 'ungry."

"England, 1888," added Mason softly.

"Anyhows, Cathy's life was cut short on September thirtieth. One of her gentlemen friends cut her throat. Same as happened to me in my flat on November sixth."

"Leather Ap.r.o.n they called him in the papers after the first murder," said Cathy, her voice shrill. "I 'card all about it from one of the girls who could read. Never gave the story much attention. Not my concern, I thought."

"He cooked and ate one of Cathy's kidneys," said Mary, her tone matter-of-fact mentioning the atrocity. "b.u.g.g.e.r wrote letters to the news agency all about it. Called himself Jack the Ripper."317.Bowie s.h.i.+vered in spite of himself. What madman ate parts of his victims and chose a t.i.tle like "the Ripper"?

"The crimes became famous in England," said Mason, ever the historian. "Jack the Ripper killed five women, Mary being the last of them, terribly mutilating the bodies, in the s.p.a.ce of a few months. Then he vanished, leaving no clues to his ident.i.ty. Many people speculated on who he was, but no one ever learned the truth."

"I never saws him," said Mary. "b.u.g.g.e.r cut my throat from behind. Don't remember a thing. Like the rest of you, I died then woke up naked on the beach, here.

"First day was strange. Wasn't many of us Brits around. Mostly these Egyptian gents and ladies. Weird, with everybody naked and all that. I wandered about a bit, trying to find somebody who understood English. That's when I stumbled upon Cathy. Even without hair, we recognised each other right away. Rememberin' how she died made me realise that Red Jack probably did me in as well. Seemed awfully strange, the two of us brought back to life in the same spot. Imagine our surprise when, with a little searching, we discovered that all five of the Ripper's victims had been resurrected in this location."

"I don't like the sounds of this nohow," said Crockett.

"Nothing happened the first month," continued Mary, "other than us trying to adjust to this new world. Egyptians turned out to be right nice to us. We got along fine. And then the killings started."

"The Ripper?" asked Bowie.