by Rick Johnson
The bright purple light was still visible inside the mountain and the fizzing-roar continued, although it was becoming a distant sound. The heaving of the mountain opened crevices inside the mountain, and the foam fell into channels leading deeper inside. For the Badger, the crisis was over.
Picking himself up, ThunderUp carefully moved across the debris field. He found that the only thing left from the old mine was the bucket that had been his shelter, now nearly completely buried in rubble. It was unmoved, however—its immense weight and location protecting it from destruction. Tossing rubble aside, the Badger opened the entrance. Peeking inside he found that his bedroll and pack intact, as well as the bundle of material given to him by Snart.
“Snart meant to kill me,” he muttered grimly. “There’s no forever-fire. It was a hoax to set me up. He meant that foam to melt me. That’s why the rebels never showed up. He knew they weren’t coming. I was set up.”
Grinning wickedly, the Badger picked up the bundle Snart had given him. “Well, Colonel Snart,” he said, with an evil gleam in his eyes. “Thank you for showing me how this works. I’m going to hunt you down. When I find you, wherever you are, you’ll see what a good student I have been.”
The Club Wolf Landing
Having secured a gusher-canoe from NeyMooz, Bem, Klemés, and the rest of the Tilk Duraow party discussed their next steps.
“We’ve got to get back to Tilk Duraow as fast as we can,” Klemés began. “We don’t know who’s out there against us, or how much time we have to get all the escapees out. We’ve got to move fast. We need to split up—there’s not enough room in the gusher canoe for all of us. And we don’t know if we’ll run into trouble at the Club Wolf landing.”
“I’ll go overland back to Tilk Duraow,” Bem said. “You take Thick, Plug, and Wittover and run the gusher-canoe down to the Club Wolf landing. Hold at the landing and check out the boats. As soon as I can, I’ll send Helga or Christer down to the landing to work out the escape plan with you.”
“What if there’s Club Wolves at the landing?” Wittover asked.
“Same thing as if there isn’t,” Klemés declared. “We’re running short on options, and long on problems,” he contined. “Unless we want to risk an overland escape like we planned at first—with our first group likely already captured—we don’t have another way out except the river.” He paused, giving Wittover a steel-eyed look. “Short of options, long on problems, means we will use the landing, no matter who tries to stop us. It will be up to you and I to secure the landing and gather boats. No matter who tries to stop us.”
“I’m with you,” Wittover growled. “If any Club Wolves are there, leave them to me.”
“Leave them to you?” Klemés said, puzzled.
“The one thing I know, that you don’t,” Wittover smiled, “is how to throw a boomerang. You remember I was a Buzz-Chinker at Tilk Duraow.”
“That’s right, you were!” Klemés howled with delight. Buzz-Chinkers were responsible for keeping Buzzers—large flying insects—away from beasts working the Granite Hulks. Buzzers were ten inches wingtip to wingtip and had mighty razored pincers. For a rock-cutting beast, Buzzers were not only pesky, but dangerous. Hanging precariously on the side of a cliff, working with explosives, the last thing a beast needed was a Buzzer biting him. It was the Buzz-Chinker’s job to keep Buzzers away from the rock-cutters, and the favored tool was a boomerang. A skilled Buzz-Chinker could knock a Buzzer out of the air at fifty yards and have the boomerang return. The trick was to aim the boomerang so it broke the Buzzer’s wing as it sailed by. Not enough of a hit to send the boomerang off course, but enough to drop a Buzzer from the sky.
“I’ve got my ’rangs in my pack,” Wittover chuckled. “If there aren’t too many Club Wolves, I’ll take care of them.”
“Well, I’m hoping there won’t be any,” Klemés said wearily, “but nice to know you’re ready if we meet some.”
Everyone soon agreed with Bem’s suggestion. “It’s settled then,” Bem said. “As soon as it’s dark tonight, I’ll return to Tilk Duraow. Klemés, Thick, Wittover, and Plug will get a crash course in piloting a gusher-canoe, then follow the river down to the Club Wolf landing.”
Bem’s words were hailed by cheers. Every beast hugged the others, swearing that nothing would keep them from successfully reuniting. Determined to honor their vow and put their plan into action, they linked their arms in solidarity, and marched off to find NeyMooz.
They found the Horse at the riverside, hunched over a gusher-canoe, making some adjustments. Seeing the Tilk Duraow comrades approaching, he rose to his feet, laughing. “What! You expect me to let my own particular gusher-canoe go on the river with the likes of you? Why, I’ll wager you’ll wreck it and drown before you have a chance to think a sensible thought!”
“T’ain’t true!” Klemés protested with a grin. “Many’s the beast that’s been stupider than I!”
“And he’s our leader!” Thick laughed. “So don’t go worryin’ yourself.”
Laughing hard, NeyMooz threw down the cloth he was using, and wiped his eyes. Leaning toward the gusher-canoe as if talking to it, the Horse said, “Shall we let such fools run with you, Speedbreaker?” Cocking his ear as if listening to a response, he said, “You see, friends, Speedbreaker here is my own dear boat. Made ’er myself and love her like a daughter. Not a better gusher-canoe to be had.”
“Wal’eee!” Bem whistled as she looked over the most beautiful boat she’d ever seen. Slim, elegantly curved, and shining, it reminded her more of the sleek and swift leaping porpoises she’d seen at sea, than a boat. Four comfortable seats, sunk deep inside the graceful craft, put those powering the boat in a somewhat reclined position for maximum efficiency. When passengers were aboard, only their heads protruded slightly.
“Come on, friends,” NeyMooz beckoned, “enough silliness. Piloting a gusher-canoe is serious business. I need you to surrender every speck of your attention to me. We don’t have much time—not enough to train you properly. I’ll do my best, but you’ve got to pay close attention, and then it’ll be up to your wits—and to Speedbreaker.”
Pulling the gusher-canoe toward the water, he continued, “First, you should know that everything about this gusher-canoe is designed for speed. At full speed, ol’ Speedbreaker will make your hair flow behind you in the wind. Speed is great—but it’s also dangerous. A wrong move and you’ll capsize. Now, help me get Speedbreaker in the water.”
When the gusher-canoe was floating partially in the water, ready to launch, the Horse said, “All right, this will be your one and only lesson—thirty minutes, and you’re on your own.”
“Thirty minutes!” Plug exclaimed. “You just told us how dangerous this contraption is, and you’re only giving us thirty minutes to learn?”
“Look,” NeyMooz replied, “you’re either smart enough to learn how to handle Speedbreaker, or you’re not—and we can see that in thirty minutes. The key thing is whether you can learn quickly, especially the pilot. If I stayed with you in the boat, you’d always be looking to me to pull you out of difficulties. No, you’ve got to learn your way out of your difficulties. I’ll show you the basics, then you’re on your own.”
“Who’s going to be the pilot?” NeyMooz asked, looking from Klemés to Plug to Thick to Wittover.
“Klemés is our leader,” Thick said.
“Yes,” the Horse replied, “but I asked you who should be Speedbreaker’s pilot. That’s not the same thing as being your leader.”
There was silence for a few moments, as each beast considered the question.
“I think Plug should do it,” Thick offered.
“Me!” Plug exploded. “I don’t like water—and I hate boats! The thought of drowning scares the bewittles out of me!”
“That’s just it,” Thick replied. “I want someone piloting this death-trap who’s scared to death of it! And, more to the guts of it, there’s no beast at Tilk Duraow who’s faster thinkin’ on his feet and
quicker with his paws. Why, more’n once I’ve seen beasts saved from plummeting off the Hulks by Plug movin’ quick with his paws—and blazin’ fast with his brain.” Putting his paw on Thick’s shoulder, Plug said, “There’s no beast’s better at what’s needed here.”
“Plug’s right,” Klemés agreed. “I’m getting old and my reflexes aren’t what they used to be. We need Plug for this job.” He smiled at his comrades and said, “So says your leader.”
NeyMooz looked at Plug. “All right, young fellow, here’s what it means to pilot a gusher-canoe. Every beast, including you, has to pedal together, as a team. The better you all work together on the pedals, the faster Speedbreaker will move, and the easier it will be for the pilot to handle her. That’s because the rudder and elevator mechanism sits directly in the flow of water that shoots out behind. The more powerful the flow shooting out, the more the effect when you move the rudder or elevator.”
“Why is that?” Plug asked.
“Without the jet of water pushing the canoe forward, the rudder and elevator do nothing—it’s just like wagging your tongue in the air and expecting something to happen. The only way you can steer a gusher-canoe is with the jet shooting water out. And, the more water shooting out, the more change the rudder or elevator makes.” Leaning forward and grabbing the boat, NeyMooz said, “Push off and jump in your seats. I’ll hold on to the mooring rope to keep you near shore while you practice.”
Pushing the craft into the water and jumping aboard, the four beasts took their places. Under NeyMooz’ instruction, they practiced working the pedals together, and Plug experimented with the single lever that simultaneously controlled the rudder and elevator.
“I get the purpose of the rudder,” Plug called to NeyMooz, “but what’s the elevator for?”
“It’s hard to show you that, while we’re practicing here by shore,” the Horse replied. “You need to be moving pretty fast to see how it works, and why you need it. But, essentially, the elevator lets you push the nose of the canoe down closer to the water. You’ll see that when you really get flying with Speedbreaker, sometimes her nose will lift out of the water. The boat can start bouncing when that happens and you may lose control and flip over. Applying a little elevator can keep that from happening.”
After allowing the new gusher-canoe crew to practice for a while, and answering their questions, NeyMooz said, “It’s time to cut you loose. Come back to shore and load up your packs. Then you’re off.”
With the gusher-canoe loaded, and amidst heart-felt farewells, Plug and his crew were ready to cast off. “Follow the river,” NeyMooz directed. “It will take you where you need to go. You’ll be in open country for the first couple of hours. Then the river drops underground, but there’s a dull glimmer of blue light from lamps set in the rock walls—enough to see the way. Once you go underground, it’s just a few more minutes to the landing. If there’s Club Wolves at the landing, their band will be playing. It’s so deathly quiet, lonely, and dark down there, that troops used to go insane. So now the band plays most of the time.”
“An underground band, playing to keep beasts from losing their minds?” Wittover said. “Must be a very strange place.”
“Remember that the Club Wolves stationed down there are almost a forgotten garrison,” NeyMooz replied. “Their only purpose now is to guard the underground entrance to Tilk Duraow from enemies that no longer exist. The only visitors they get are shark luggers and replacements once a week. For the most part, they do nothing. Imagine the loneliness they face. Perfect silence. Three or four hundred feet of rock between them and any other beast. It’s real isolation. Not a grain of sand moving. Nothing. Darkness, except for the bleak flicker of dim lamps. Then, there’s the sound of sharks knifing through the black water, their teeth clicking together. I think you’d want a band playing.”
“What are sharks doing down there?” Thick asked. “Sounds strange to have sharks way up here in the mountains.”
“They were imported long ago to provide meat for the Skull Buzzards and other staff at Tilk Duraow,” NeyMooz responded. “The Club Wolf landing sits on the leading edge of a large lake where the sharks roam. The landing is positioned to block the sharks from escaping up the river. On the far side of the lake lies the Plummet. That’s where water falls out of the lake down a long rock slide. Then, the river continues from there. Boaters have to haul themselves up or down the slide; there’s no way around.”
“Sharks like cold water?” Plug said.
“Who said the water’s cold?” NeyMooz replied. “Once you pass the Plummet, the river breaks back out of the mountain and runs in daylight again. That’s the realm of Mt. Distemper, the ancient volcano that still heats up the underground around here. There’s hot water springs from ol’ Distemper seeping up all over around here. Some comes up from under the lake and warms it. The sharks love it!”
“Actually sounds like a lovely little outing,” Plug said, putting on an actor’s voice. “Did you pack those small sandwiches that the sharks like so well, Thick? You know how disagreeable they are when we forget their snacks.”
“Across a lake filled with sharks, eh?” Thick replied, ignoring Plug’s attempt at humor.
“Why do you think I gave you my fastest gusher-canoe?” NeyMooz laughed. “And I waxed the bottom, too!”
With that final thought and a friendly wave, the gusher-canoe left the bank. As they began peddling, the canoe first spun wildly in one direction, and then in another. Moving the rudder frantically, Plug found that what NeyMooz had said was true. The current did as it would with the boat. It was impossible to steer the craft without a strong flow of water shooting out the rear.
“Put your hearts in it, beasts! We need power!” Plug yelled.
Making a mighty effort, every beast pushed the pedals with his full strength. “Puff! Gasp! Chuffle!” went the straining beasts. Round and round went the pedals. Faster and faster turned the gears. As the jet of water began picking up power, Speedbreaker began to straighten out in the river and move with enough of speed to manage the current. With a series of wobbles and spins, Plug learned how much movement in the rudder or elevator produced the course he wanted.
Soon, but not before most of the crew was soaked with cold water from nearly capsizing, Speedbreaker was moving downriver on an easy course. The crew pedaled hard enough to generate a fine ‘rooster tail’ of spray shooting out behind the boat. As the crew’s teamwork came together, Klemés, true to his sea-faring days, composed a sailor’s song that synchronized with the movement of the pedals.
“Here you go, my hearties,” he laughed, “a song for the good ship Speedbreaker.”
Ra—ram—tam—ram—too,
NeyMooz leant us his canoe,
If we’re lucky buckyoos,
It may come back to NeyMooz,
In less than threes and twos.
Although the river ran by a winding route, Speedbreaker’s swift progress carried the adventurers rapidly toward Tilk Duraow, easily visible in the distance as they descended from East o’Non.
“Stormin’ ahead,” Klemés called out. “Gonna be even wetter’n soon.” Not far off, threatening clouds collected, pushing across the sun toward them. The hollow rumble of thunder and blazing flashes of lightning added to the warning. The landscape took on an eerie, unhealthy color and the trees began to heave under the pressure of rising winds. The storm came on rapidly. Flashes of lightning blistered the sky in fierce competition with each other, each more dazzling and frightening than the last. Thunder roared and sheets of rain lashed across the unlucky adventurers.
“Keep pedaling!” Plug roared. “There’s no hope of a landing now! Pedal! Keep singing—we need to stay our course—keep the rhythm going.”
Ra—ram—tam—ram—too,
NeyMooz leant us his canoe,
If we’re lucky buckyoos…
Rain poured down their faces. Unable to wipe it away, the stalwart comrades leaned into the pedals with every ounce of deter
mination. Plug, the lightning giving him almost constant glimpses of the river ahead, worked skillfully to avoid rocks. Fortunately, he was helped by the narrowing of the river as it plunged much more steeply than before. As the river channel narrowed, it deepened, and the danger of hitting underwater rocks lessened.
“By the Ancient Ones, we’re going to make it!” he yelled.
“Keep your blessings to yourself!” Wittover growled. “If we take on any more water, we won’t be able to pedal!” It was true. Torrents of rain, added to the water from their earlier near-disaster, left the pedalers sitting low in the boat, in rising water. Their legs churned and splashed through the water sloshing inside the narrow boat.
“Keep at it!” Plug yelled. “Sing! This can’t last much longer—this too shall pass!”
Ra—ram—tam—ram—too,
NeyMooz leant us his canoe,
If we’re lucky buckyoos…
Plug’s crew dutifully began the song, but it was more from a sense of grim submission to the lack of choice, than enthusiastic teamwork. A few minutes later, the heavy rain ceased, the wind subsided, and the storm passed away overhead. Despite the end of the storm, the crew was miserable. Wet and shivering in the mountain air, sitting in cold water, fatigue was setting in. Spirits were at low ebb.
Without warning, except for a slight increase in the already nearly deafening roar of the river as it sliced between ever higher cliffs, the boat swept over a perpendicular drop of ten feet. YEEEE-OOOWWW! The narrowing and deepending of the river had been the entry stages of the grand chasm running around the very base of Tilk Duraow. Now being swept into its deepest reaches, the descent was ferociously rapid.
