by Rick Johnson
Waking up the water cabbie, who was napping while waiting for Bem’s return, she was soon back aboard Daring Dream II.
A Tosht Match to Remember
Two days after her meeting with Loog, long before dawn, Bem gathered a few essentials into a red travelling bag and prepared to leave the ship. Stopping by the galley, she picked up some travelling food: Dried Sticky Fish, Mole Biscuit, and Sicker’s Gnaw.
Giving final instructions to Katteo Jor’Dane, she said, “I trust you to make the best of our time here.” Removing her snug cap with its long red plume, she placed it on Katteo’s head. She also took off the reddish bronze chain hanging around her neck, with its unusual hooked chunk of blood-red glass, and gave it to Katteo.
“I leave these to your care while I am away, as a sign to all that they are to trust in your command,” she said. “Should anyone question you about what we’re about, tell them that your Captain is deathly fevered at the moment and not able to answer, but has every desire to reply to their requests. She will do so as soon as the fever passes.”
“You are in a fever, aren’t you?” Katteo said, smiling at her Captain.
“Yes, it’s a deathly fever I’ve got,” Bem replied. “A fever to see this thing through.”
Completing her farewell, Bem climbed down the ladder into the kayak she had hired for her journey up the river. Settling in and stowing her pack, she saluted the Daring Dream crew gathered at the rail. Casting off, she paddled to shore to meet Loog. Finding him in his accustomed place, Bem soon gathered the items Loog had promised.
Stepping into the service room of the coffeehouse, Bem quickly exchanged her clothes for the ones Loog had provided. When she came out, Loog smiled. He had disguised Bem well. No one would now suspect that the young Wolf was a sea-captain, or a sea-beast at all. She now wore a curious cap—more like puffy bonnet, actually, made of rough linen, except for a red lizard-skin band and trim. A blue snakeskin shirt hung loosely over tight-weave, greased cotton trousers, tucked into knee-high iron-bound boots. She held a fine long stave, nearly six feet long. A worn knapsack with a filthy rolled blanket now hung across her back. A couple of snake traps dangled on chains slung on one shoulder.
“Well,” Loog observed, “I don’t think any self-respectin’ Skull Buzzard is goin’ to be much interested in a poor excuse for a snake trapper like you.”
Bem smiled. “I don’t get the entire effect since I can’t see myself, but I’ll take your word for it. Nice work, Loog.”
“Don’t mention it,” the Banzit replied, “you pay for what you get.” Turning his head to the right, he let a wad of spit fly. “Which way you goin’?”
“Heading up the river—goes where I’m heading, and faster than hacking my way through the wilderness!” Bem laughed.
“Don’t know what you’ll find up the river, do you?” Loog observed.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Bem replied.
“I’m not meanin’ nothin’ so far as that goes,” Loog said. “Just pointin’ out a fact you might find interestin’, that’s all.”
“I’ve been around Hadst a long time and never heard anything bad about the river, Loog,” Bem replied. “I’ve also been around you long enough to know you’re always trying to work some game, so don’t—”
“Netch! Never ask, never know,” Loog said, his mouth working to ready a wad of spit. “You never asked any beast, now did you? So how do you expect to know anything about the river?”
“I’ve got a good map,” Bem said, “and I did ask around about the river. No one gave any warnings.”
“I rest my case,” Loog chuckled. “No one knows, ’cause you’ve been asking idle-brains who don’t know twit about twat.”
“It doesn’t much matter,” Bem said, “the river’s the only way to get inland as fast as I need to go. This is one of those take-your-chances times—and I’m taking my chances.”
“Have it your way,” Loog replied, “just let me advise you not to be so all-fired cocky as to ignore the obvious.”
“And what might that be?” Bem snorted.
“Well,” Loog said, knocking a fly out of the air with a wad of spit, “it’s obvious that you’re goin’ to need a Frang Blade.” Reaching into his coat pocket, Loog pulled out a round snakeskin handle about six inches long. Holding the handle out for Bem to examine, just as she was about to grasp it, Loog turned it slightly to the side, flicked a switch, and—click, click, click, click, click—a thin, needle-sharp blade shot out to a length of nearly two feet!
Shooting out faster than the blink of an eye, Bem was stunned to see the deadly cone-shaped blade sticking through her sleeve. “By the Ancients!” she breathed. “An inch to the left and you’d have run me through!”
“It’s obvious you need a Frang Blade, no?” Loog asked.
“Well, it’s difficult to ignore it, that’s for certain,” Bem replied, pulling her sleeve free from the blade.
“My point, you see,” Loog said, smiling at his pun, “is that, where you are going, you can’t be too careful. Having a Frang Blade in your pocket—well—let’s just call it a bit like taking out an insurance policy.”
“And how much will this insurance cost?” Bem asked, giving Loog a wry grin.
“As my concern is solely for your well-being and safety,” Loog began, “and in spite of having obtained this very rare item from a party of Frang traders after no small bit of difficulties…”
“Get to it, Loog!” Bem interrupted, frustrated.
“Calm yourself,” Loog responded, slowly swilling spit around in his mouth. Letting fly a huge glob, he continued, “In my line of work, difficulties are not cheap—let’s call it one more slick of silver and you’ll be off.”
“Another slick of silver!” Bem exploded. “Not on my life!”
“Careful with your words, my friend,” Loog laughed, “one should not use playful words about the value of one’s life. Imagine yourself, trapped in close quarters, unable to do more than reach your pocket, wondering how you can save yourself from—from whatever it is that frightens you. Fortunately, your fingers close around the Frang Blade in your pocket. Your insurance policy! A flick of a finger and—worth a slick of silver, no?”
“You’re a crafty, greedy beast,” Bem complained.
“No, no, dear friend, I’m just a simple merchant, peddling insurance—how much might a lonely beast, trapped and desperate, wish for some insurance? That’s all I’m asking you to pay.”
Bem thought for a moment, then said, “All right, an extra slick of silver for the Frang Blade. But if I find fabulous riches while I’m up the river, you don’t get to so much as smell it when I return.”
Loog gazed silently at Bem for a moment. His intense gaze caused Bem to gaze back at him, as if in a duel. Minutes seemed to pass, although it was only a few seconds before Loog spoke. “So you think there may be treasure up the river, do you?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Bem responded. “Remember? You told me I don’t know anything about what’s up the river.”
“How do I know you don’t, though?” Loog said. “Maybe you know more than you’re letting on.”
“Could be,” Bem replied. “I’m just saying that, if I give you another slick of silver, you’ll get nothing more if I come back with something you want. If I pay you now, that’s it.”
“And if you don’t give me another slick of silver now?” Loog asked.
“That all depends,” Bem said, holding out her paw. “Let’s shake on this: I come back with riches, I’ll be as fair to you as a dear friend can be.”
“No more promise than that?” Loog said.
“No more promise than that,” Bem answered.
Saying nothing more, Loog shook on the deal and handed Bem the Frang Blade.
Bem nodded and put her paw over her chest as a sign of farewell.
As she turned to leave, Loog said, “One more thing, Madsoor.” A massive glob of spit hit the ground in front of Bem. “Netch! Just wishing
you good luck,” he said, smiling.
Leaving Loog to the other customers gathering outside his door, Bem returned to her kayak. Stowing her gear, she was soon paddling into the mouth of the river. Within a few minutes, the lush green wilds closed off the world behind from what lay ahead. The rising morning heat grew heavy as the cool sea breezes faded away. Paddling with a steady, swinging motion, Bem strained against the rushing current. Her panting breath came in time with strokes of the paddle.
Keeping on throughout several days, Bem saw few other beasts along the river. Each day, the tangled forest passed by, without a hint of beasts at work or habitations of any kind. The first night, Bem pulled ashore and attempted to camp. But although the forest was silent and motionless during the day, it was a different story after dark. Night frogs croaked and bellowed in massive numbers, and thousands of crawling insects appeared. Sleep was impossible. Her only rest came as she dozed fitfully, hunched over in her kayak tied to a rock in the river.
As the sun began to slip downward in the late afternoon of the fifth day, drifting curls of smoke became visible above the trees. Soon after, a village came into view. There were a few boats and kayaks swinging on ropes at a pier jutting out into the river, but no beasts were visible. Tying her own kayak up, Bem climbed a ladder to the landing and stretched her limbs.
A small village commons surrounded the pier, with a lovely stone fountain flowing in the center, shaded by a large cottonwood tree. Narrow streets radiated out from the pier like spokes on a wheel. Neat wooden houses lined the dirt streets. The village seemed deserted. Sounds of yelling and cheering, however, suggested that a sizable crowd of beasts was somewhere nearby.
Weary from her journey, Bem refreshed herself before looking around further. She splashed cool refreshing water from the fountain in her face and then submerged her whole head. Vigorously shaking her head and sending water flying everywhere, she felt like a new beast.
Now ready to explore, she followed one of the empty streets, heading toward the loud crowd noises she heard. Near the edge of the village, she found a playing field. Gathered around it, a large crowd was screaming and cheering. The playing field lay between two gently sloping hills. Wooden bleachers, packed with spectators, rose up the hills on both sides of the field.
On the field, beasts in yellow or green sweaters, balancing atop giant lizard-skin balls of matching colors, whirled the balls with their feet. The inflated balls were hard enough to roll easily, but had plenty of bounce. Swiftly shifting their feet to maintain balance and propel the balls, the players raced this way and that, trying to push an even larger striped ball before them. The game was strange enough for Bem, but the playing field was even more unusual. Haphazardly scattered across the field, were earthen mounds, pits filled with water, and other obstacles. As Bem watched, she was amazed at how skillfully the players used the obstacles to block other players or to bounce over them to break free from pursuers.
Bem walked to the bleachers on the left side of the field, where green pennants fluttered and green clothing predominated. The bleachers seemed full, so Bem pushed her way through the dense standing crowd to find a place at the fence.
“What’s the game?” she asked a female Cougar standing beside her.
“What’s the game?” the Cougar repeated, as if she had not heard correctly. “What’s the game, you say? Why, it’s only the most important Tosht game ever played around here! Where ya been? Never heard of Tosht?”
Realizing that it was time to start playing her part, Bem said, “Sure, I heard of it, but never watched the stuff. You spend your years in the wilds trappin’ snakes—you wouldn’t be seein’ much o’ games either. I been in the wilds since I was a wee little beastie—never had time for spectatin’ games. I hear there’s good trappin’ up river from here, so just passin’ through. Some beasts got time for spectatin’, some don’t. I been too busy makin’ my way.”
The Cougar chuckled and turned to Bem with a smile. “You make me sound lazy, like I’m wastin’ my time, but I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Annie, and, just to set things straight, I don’t “spectate” all the time—just when my husband’s playing.”
“Your lovey is out there?” Bem asked with a bemused look.
“Yes,” Annie replied, “see that Owl out there with the long shaggy feathers hanging out all over the place? The one racing downfield pushing the striped ball ahead of everyone else? GO TOSHTY! CROWD THAT BEAST COMIN’ AT YOU! GO! GO!”
Bem watch the Owl in amazement. A mass of wildly tangled feathers stuck out of his green sweater, giving him a disheveled look. A baggy beret drooped down on the left side of his head. Although it was a bit hard to tell because of the distance, he looked to be wearing a large brass ring through his lower beak.
Whistles blew, and action stopped momentarily. A beast in a yellow sweater had fallen on one of the obstacles and was being helped off the field. The lull in the action brought Annie’s attention back to Bem. “So, never seen a Tosht match before, eh?”
“No—heard of it, like I said, but don’t know anything about it,” Bem replied. “What’s going on out there.”
Annie pointed to one end of the field, then the other. “See how each end of the field has two sets of posts in the center of the field? Those are Scoring Mugs. You notice that one set of posts has yellow pennants at the top, while the second set has green pennants at the top. Look at the opposite end of the field, and you’ll see that the pattern is reversed, with the first set having green pennants and the second set, yellow ones.”
“How does it work?” Bem asked.
“Tosht is a game of skill and speed,” Annie explained. “Players must move around by rolling their balls only with their feet. If players fall off the ball, they’re out of the match. So only the most skilled ball-rollers last all the way through a match. Players are forbidden to touch other players or their balls. Tosht is strictly no-contact. Make contact with another player, and you’re out of the match. Players can get in each other’s way, block other players, or try to force them to make contact, but they must avoid being the first to make contact.”
“So you move the striped ball down to the Scoring Mugs without touching the other players, is that the idea?” Bem observed.
“Yes, that’s the basic idea,” Annie continued, “but there’s one more important thing to know. Like I said, there are two Scoring Mugs at each end. A team has to get the striped ball through the first Mug—thus scoring a goal for the opposing team—before they can go on and get the ball through the second Mug and score for their own team.”
“You score for the opposing team?” Bem exclaimed. “That’s a crazy sport, if you ask me!”
“It’s part of what makes Tosht so interesting,” Annie replied. “It’s all about skill, speed, and strategy. You see, scoring against yourself gives the other team one point. But scoring for your own team results in three points. The effect is to focus the most intense play between the two Mugs. How a team handles play down there is one of the keys to winning. Have too many players down there, and it’s too crowded—players touch and get retired from the game. Most teams that lose matches have so many players retired during the game that they can no longer defend or score effectively. The whole strategy of a match is more about how to retire players from the other team, than it is about scoring Mugs. Get enough opposing players out of the match, and scoring takes care of itself.”
“Interesting,” Bem commented, “but I don’t quite understand why you have to score for the other team in order to score for yourself.”
“Tosht has a code of honor,” Annie replied. “You don’t kick another beast when he’s down. A basic principle of Tosht is that you have to win by your skills and strategy—so scoring for the other team is one way to make even great teams work harder and play smarter. The way the field is laid out does that, too.”
“What do you mean?” Bem asked.
“Every Tosht field has the same dimensions, the same placement of the Mugs, the
same time limit for matches, and the same type and number of obstacles,” Annie explained. “But the home team chooses where to place the obstacles—and the visiting team doesn’t know where they will be until they arrive for the match.”
“The home team can change the field around and not tell the other team?” Bem exclaimed.
“Yes,” Annie said. “In fact, that’s a normal part of Tosht strategy. You arrange the field to benefit your team’s players and try to make it harder for the other team.”
“Amazing!” Bem chuckled. “I can see how one could get into a game like this.”
“I didn’t know much about it either,” Annie replied, “until I met Toshty.”
“So Toshty is your lovey out there, eh?” Bem observed.
“Yes, he’s called Toshty because he’s one of the best players ever,” Annie said proudly.
“He’s that good, eh?” Bem said.
“It’s not unusual for Toshty to be the only player left on the field at the end of match,” Annie replied. “All the other players have fallen off or touched another player. With only one player left on the field, that player can score at will, so even if a team is behind in terms of points, if a Clean Sweep occurs—that’s having just one player left on the field—then that team wins automatically. Toshty has the most Clean Sweeps of any player ever! Just watch him on the field, and you’ll see he’s amazing.”
The Tosht match began again and the conversation lapsed. Play was going fast and the crowd screaming its lungs out, when a Coyote walked up behind Bem, leaned in close, and said in a low voice, “Who ya tryin’ to fool with that getup? It takes more than some silly clothes to fool old BorMane.” Startled, Bem whirled around to find her old shipmate standing behind her.
“BorMane, you old weathered piece of sea-beast!” Bem whispered happily, trying to keep her excitement in check.
The ancient Coyote, half-hidden under a large, floppy hat—ringed all around with strings of shark teeth and shells—grinned back at her. Wearing a heavy blanket as a cloak, he carried his familiar well-used harpoon, its wooden handle carved all over with curious names. Brown and burly, hair wizened and weathered from salt air and sun, the Coyote had obviously sailed on many a voyage.
