The Overending

by Rick Johnson

  “I’ve got my reasons for this getup,” Bem chuckled. “So hush up, you old rigging-rat—it won’t be good for either of us if your jabbering draws attention.”

  “You two know each other?” Annie exclaimed with surprise.

  “Oh, yes,” Bem replied. “This old weather and I have taken some storms together. But how do you know him?”

  The roar of the crowd was now deafening, so Annie simply yelled, “The match is almost over—can’t tell you or hear now! Watch the match—we’ll talk later—Toshty’s working himself toward a Clean Sweep!”

  Sure enough, when Bem turned her attention back to the game, there were few players left on the field. Toshty seemed to be everywhere at once. Racing from one side of the field to another, keeping the striped ball in play, skillfully weaving among the obstacles and bouncing unexpectedly in front of opposing players, forcing them to crash or touch—often their own teammates. As the green bleachers erupted into delirious cheers and the yellow bleachers grew silent, the number of players on the field dwindled. Finally, it was a contest between Toshty and two yellow players. Bouncing and feinting, Toshty carefully eyed the yellow players, watching for a moment to make his move.

  The ground literally shook with the noise and stomping from the bleachers. Toshty, his legs a blur of motion, suddenly raced directly at one of the yellow players. An instant before impact, he switched direction, missing the yellow player by a whisker. It was enough, however, to send the yellow player off balance, leaving him muttering on the ground. Now the match came down to one-on-one. Moving furiously, Toshty got his ball moving in a dizzyingly fast circle around the remaining yellow player. It was as if a green phantom was stalking the yellow player. Regardless of how the yellow player moved, Toshty was there, circling. Finally, the yellow player broke through the circle and dashed behind one of the water obstacles. For his part, Toshty began circling again, adjusting his movement to bring the yellow player back within his circle. As the seconds ticked by, it became obvious that Toshty, circling methodically, now controlled the momentum of the match. Taking a sudden, furious bounce, the yellow player tried one last time to disrupt Toshty’s strategy. But, Toshty, taking an even more powerful bounce against the slope of an obstacle hill, went sailing high above the field. The crowd gasped.

  Free-falling back toward the ground, Toshty dropped directly toward the yellow player. The astonishing feat mesmerized the yellow player for an instant. With a wildly yelling Owl about to clobber him, the yellow player dived aside. Twisting to bounce on the now vacant yellow ball, Toshty flew back up into the air and with a double-over-flip to adjust direction, landed back on his own green ball. Bouncing again high in the air, he maneuvered several more bounces on his own ball, losing height each time, until he landed solidly and took his ball under normal foot control.

  The stands on both sides of the field erupted in tumultuous cheers. Nothing like this had ever been seen. It was enough to arouse every spark of superstition that a simple beast might carry in his mind. Indeed, the sight of what had just occurred left many a voice quavering.

  “By earth and sky, I swear I must have been dreaming!”

  “It must be my fondness for drink—it could not have been!”

  “Somber days and frightful nights are coming, I tell you—no beast can play Tosht like that and not be the Winds of Doom itself comin’ for a visit.” But, mainly, the crowd, especially those favoring the green team, were simply pleased to have been present at what was, without a doubt, the most memorable Tosht match ever.

  “Well, I see now,” Bem observed, “how it is that Tosht is such an interesting sport. Amazing spectacle, I have to agree. How did your lovey learn to play like that? He’s truly amazing—especially for an old fellow.”

  “Two things,” Annie grinned. “First, he’s an artist. Every artist I ever knew was ‘a bit off-the-beaten-track.’ Toshty just turned that extra something toward Tosht. Second, without Shweng, his Otter friend and coach back home, Toshty couldn’t play the way he does. You see, Shweng is blind, and he and Toshty communicate really well. They practice together, and because Shweng can’t see, Toshty plays with his eyes closed. From Shweng, he’s learned to feel the game, rather than just rely on seeing things. It’s made him unstoppable.”

  “You said earlier that this was an important Tosht match—what’s so important about it?” Bem asked.

  Annie smiled. “Toshty was playing—that makes it important to me.”

  Annie, BorMane, and Bem met Toshty outside the green team’s dressing room. Annie had rented lodging for herself, Toshty, and BorMane while they attended the match, and the four friends walked back to the village. Arriving at the lodging house, they ascended the stairs to their small set of rooms. Annie put on water to boil and soon enough, the group was enjoying Darkest Night Fudge and Runt-Rosted Coffee. Sharing stories, Bem learned that Annie, Toshy, and BorMane were only in town for the Tosht match and planned to return to Toshty’s home in the morning. Talk eventually settled into a long and detailed discussion of the Tosht match, with Toshty analyzing every facet of the game. Bem and the others were enjoying the talk, but BorMane was restless.

  After a time, BorMane scowled, “Now, how long are we going to waste our ears on this? There’s foul weather about, I’ll be bound. Capt’n Madsoor didn’t come up here to learn Tosht. Now, what in the bats o’hell are we going to do?”

  “All I really need is for you to come back to Hadst with me,” Bem replied. “I need you as a navigator.”

  BorMane scowled again. “Bah! Stuff and foolishness! That’s all it is!” He rose from the table and paced the floor. “You have a Scrib and disguise you’ve paid a slick of silver for and barely used. Listen close, you all! Haven’t you noticed what’s been happening lately? Sparrows, that’s what! Everywhere you turn, there’s a Sparrow—watching you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Toshty asked.

  “Ask around, like I was doing at the match today. Beasts don’t notice it, but if you ask them, they’ll tell you that there never used to be Sparrows around here. They’re so small and discreet that you don’t notice ’em. They just show up, and you get so used to them you don’t notice ’em. Some even say they like the feeling that the Sparrows are always there watching things. But you got to notice—they’re lousy spies!”

  “Spies!” Annie gasped.

  “That’s what I said—spies!” BorMane repeated.

  “But why?” Bem questioned. “Who’s spying? Why?”

  “I know a few ways to get beasts to say the little bit they know,” BorMane replied. “I hear that the High One’s getting tired of his slaving being poached. The Sparrows are gathering information so that he can move against the good beasts harassing the slavers.”

  BorMane had caught his friends’ attention, and the conversation took on a serious tone. Now in whispered voices, the talk continued for another hour, focused on the implications of BorMane’s news.

  “I’ll go with you to Hadst,” BorMane said at last, “but first you must make better use of that Scrib and disguise than you have so far.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Bem asked.

  “You’re going to try to get inside the main Wrackshee camp in the Grand Deep,” BorMane replied.

  “Get inside a Wrackshee camp!” Bem exclaimed. “What do you think I am, crazy?”

  “Yes,” BorMane laughed, “I think you’re just crazy enough to do it—which is why I’m asking you. You’ve got guts, smarts, and a very precious Scrib that allows you to travel freely in the Grand Deep.”

  “But I came up here to get you so we can rescue Red Whale and Lord Farseeker,” Bem protested.

  “And we will,” BorMane said. “There’s an entrance to the Grand Deep just a few miles from here. Once you’re inside, it shouldn’t take you more than a day to see what you can see. Whatever you learn could save many, many beasts and throw a stone in the High One’s plans. That’s worth the loss of a day in your own plans, yes?”

&
nbsp; “Then let it begin as soon as it can!” Bem declared.

  “That’s the Capt’n Madsoor I know!” BorMane laughed. “I learned that there’s a party of Miner Bears in town, getting ready to go down into the Grand Deep tomorrow. I think they might welcome a snake trapper. It’s grim work down there, and I think they’d jump at the chance for regular fresh meat. That would give you a perfect alibi.”

  “But I don’t actually know a single thing about trapping snakes,” Bem observed.

  “That’s why you’re only staying down under a few hours, my friend,” BorMane grinned. “You’ll be out of there before anyone expects you to trap any.”

  “All right, you old weather!” Bem said. “But since I’m your Captain now, the Captain’s got orders for you. I want you to head downriver to Hadst and work with Loog, my agent, to make sure he’s setting up everything I asked. I’ll brief you on my plans. It’s not that I don’t trust Loog—it’s just that there’s too much at stake, and time’s too short for there to be problems. I’ll give you a message for Katteo Jor’Dane so she knows what I’ve asked you to do. She’s in charge of the ship, so you’ll sign on there with her first thing.”

  “Aye, Capt’n! Glad to be aboard!” BorMane chuckled. “This retirement business doesn’t work very well for me.”

  The Shèttings

  It was a clear, sunny morning when Bem left the lodging house and turned down one of the streets that led out of the village. She wandered along, looking in shop windows, until she saw a group of Miner Bears packing supplies and readying to depart.

  Bem sauntered over to the group and started to join in the packing without anyone taking note. Most were absorbed in what they were doing, and the few who were not working were in the café finishing breakfast. It was with some surprise, then, when a sharp slap on the back caught her unawares.

  “Hey-Do! This is no place for visitors!” a massive Miner Bear snarled at Bem, towering over her.

  “I don’t think I’m a visitor,” Bem replied cooly. “I’m as hard a worker as the rest of the scum-breaths around here! So, give me a civil, ‘Hello,’ if you mean to say anything worth listening to.”

  “I don’t recall as knowing your name,” the Miner Bear persisted, stepping toward Bem threateningly. As the huge beast advanced, Bem backed away. The café wall behind her, and the sheer bulk of the Bear in front, made escape impossible, even if Bem had wanted to. Instead, she fingered the Frang Blade in her pocket. Grasping it firmly, she pulled it out, pointed it toward the Bear, and released the switch. Click-click-click-click. The blade shot out, the point making a slight mark on the Bear’s coat.

  The Miner Bear stopped. “YA! The beastie gives a warning, does she?”

  “Nay, mate,” Bem replied. “That was no warning. I don’t fool around with warnings. Had I extended my arm, that blade would have run you through. I just wanted you to stop, so I ran it out just far enough to do that. I don’t mean any harm.”

  “So what do you mean, beastie?” the Bear asked.

  “I mean to be treated with respect,” Bem said, gazing boldly at the Bear. “And I mean to sign on as snake-trapper with your crew.”

  “Snake-trapper, eh?” the Bear replied. “I hate snake meat and so does the rest of my crew. I’d rather eat my own fur than snake meat.” He pushed the Frang Blade aside and extended a huge paw toward Bem. “You’ve got spirit, and I see by your eyes that you’re dealing true with me. Won’t hurt to have you around with that sword thing, whatever it is. I’ll take you on as my assistant—can’t be too careful where we’re going. It’s more likely I can trust you than my friends when we get down under.”

  “Why?” Bem asked.

  “You’ll see,” the Bear said, “the Grand Deep works on you. You see things a beast shouldn’t see and hear things a beast shouldn’t hear. It just works on you—sends good beasts to the bad and sane beasts to madness. Hard to count on much of anything down there.”

  “So, you’d trust me, a stranger?” Bem asked.

  The Miner Bear nodded. “A strange beastie, with a good heart, which is what I take you to be, is better than a corrupt and jaded beast whose seen it all too much, too often, and no longer cares about anything. Aye, I’d rather have you.”

  Bem could not believe her good luck! Being on the inside of the Boss Miner’s team would be a good place to see and hear things. And no snake-trapping required!

  “Got your Scrib on you?” the Boss Miner Bear asked.

  “Yes,” Bem replied. She had hoped that the offer to serve as the Boss’s assistant meant that she’d slipped by questions about her identity.

  “Come on, then,” the Miner Bear directed, “you and I got to go see the Skull Buzzards.”

  “Skull Buzzards? Here?” Bem asked with surprise. “I’ve never heard of Skull Buzzards being down below the Granite Hulks.”

  “And in most times, they aren’t,” the Boss replied. “But “most times” is gone, and there’s Skull Buzzard patrols everywhere now. Why, I can’t even take on a likely beastie such as yourself without them sniffin’ you over. Let’s get it over with—oh, and, everyone just calls me Boss.”

  The news put a bit of a damper on Bem’s good humor as she and Boss walked to the tavern where the Skull Buzzards had set up their post.

  Surprisingly, the tavern had a sign saying, “Closed Until Futher Notice,” on the door when they arrived. “Aye,” Boss snorted, “no likely beast is going to come here while the Skull Buzzies are hanging out.” Motioning for Bem to follow him, the Miner Bear entered the tavern. There, they found some dozen Skull Buzzards assembled. Empty mugs and dirty plates were scattered everywhere. Clearly, no one was attending to the Buzzards but themselves. The air hung heavy with the sickeningly sweet smell of the Mudge Wop that Skull Buzzards favored for drink.

  “That’s the fellow we want, right there,” Boss said, indicating a Skull Buzzard seated at a table, peering at a ledger. Never had Bem seen a creature more ugly and repulsive. Extremely, grossly fat, and hunched at the shoulders, the Buzzard had a face covered with grey warts. As they approached, he turned his attention to them, closing the ledger. His movements seemed more like a crawling insect than anything a normal creature would do. Most disgusting of all, however, was the large knot of dried snot that seemed to form a permanent blemish at the very tip of the Skull Buzzard’s beak.

  “What is it? Who do you claim to be?” the Skull Buzzard demanded, an evil look in his eye.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Bem said. “I don’t claim to be anyone. If you’re speaking to me, you’re speaking to Bemrasoria Madsoor, of Nare Lafargic, a place more noble, by far, than this.”

  “I despise pedigrees and noble-sounding names,” the Skull Buzzard replied. “One may sing a false tune, regardless of where you come from. Show me your Scrib.”

  Handing the document to the Skull Buzzard, Bem watched the repulsive creature carefully study it. Curled tightly over the document, the official spent some minutes pondering. At last, the Buzzard handed the Scrib back to Bem.

  “It has a good likeness of you,” the Skull Buzzard snarled. “Now, get your stinking hide out of here and leave me alone.”

  “High Lord Snot-Knot!” Bem fumed, when they were back in the street.

  Boss laughed. “Why, you’ve got more fire and go-at-em than the rest of my crew put together. I already liked you, and now that you’ve passed the Skull Buzzard sniff test, you’re on the crew.”

  When Bem and Boss rejoined the mining crew, the packing was complete. With a few final adjustments, the group moved out, following a sharply switch-backing trail up into the mountains. It was rough going. Rugged mountains stretched away on all sides. A place almost savage in its lonely solitude, Bem thought that it felt as empty and silent as any of the vast oceans she had sailed. How great was her surprise, therefore, when after barely two hours walking, Boss led the group through a crevasse snaking up the side of a cliff.

  “Welcome to the Grungg Pit,” Boss said. “This is our mining base. He
re’s where we eat, bunk, and store our supplies and tools. Long lines of canvas awnings hung here and there to deflect the incessantly dripping water away from supplies and beds.

  “Throw your stuff on an empty bunk. We’ll be heading into the down-under pretty quick,” Boss said.

  Dropping her pack, Bem hurried after Boss, who was already giving his crew instructions. “When I get back, we’ll start the new project. The Wrackshees are hot to get it open for traffic. Once it’s cut through, it’ll save them almost a full day when they’re moving slaves. I’ve got to head up to the Wrackshee camp to get your pay and handle a few other details. Bem will go with me. We’ll be back tomorrow. Get our equipment ready. Slim is in charge.”

  After a few more brief words, Boss and Bem set out on a well-worn path going deeper into the cave system.

  Boss carried an oil lantern and led the way. They walked through the cave for several hours, stopping only briefly to rest. Bem noticed that, as they moved deeper into the cave, the air gradually became warmer and damper. A shrill screeching sound also became noticeable as they continued along.

  “We’re nearly there,” Boss said. “When we arrive, you keep your trap shut. That old Skull Buzzard back there was a kindly old gentlebeast compared to the Wrackshees. One slip of a loose tongue, and you’ll lose it—and, if you’re lucky, that’s all you lose.”

  The loud screeching sound soon merged with a general indescribable din. The darkness of the cave steadily gave way to light and within five more minutes, Bem and Boss entered a gigantic chamber holding what Bem guessed must be hundreds of tents! The place had a horrendous stench that made Bem’s stomach turn and her eyes water. Boss wiped his own eyes and coughed. “Welcome to the Shèttings,” Boss said. “You never really get used to the Wrackshee smell, but—come on, the sooner we get started here, the sooner we can leave.”