The Ways Between Worlds: Peter Cooper

by Larry E. Clarke

  The administrator for the region was present along with a single armed guard and sizeable retinue. His blue and gold colors were flown by the "Drakor" indicating that he had personally given financial backing (a common practice).

  As customary, the boats began the race tied up at dock side. A sizeable cargo of cut building stone was stacked on the quay. At the starter's signal the crews began loading the cargo as quickly as they could manage. Although the boats were sturdy it would have been unwise to simply toss the stones into a boat’s hold as the pounding could rupture her bottom. Each had to be loaded carefully by hand. The crew of the Drakor pushed off from the dock first and began the pull upstream for the first leg of the race. Approximately 3.5 kilometers upstream a judges' boat was anchored. Both vessels would round the judge’s craft, head back downstream with the current, tie up at the dock from which they had departed, and unload the cargo. When the last stone touched the dock the race was over.

  Although the entire process might take less than 40 minutes, those forty minutes would be ones of incredible exertion to the crews. Even the spectators trying to pace the boats along the riverfront got a fair workout.

  The Drakor maintained a slim lead at the turn down river. Brak had indicated that his strategy would be to stay close but to pace the crew for a rapid pull back to dockside on the downstream leg. He was also counting on gaining some time in the unloading.

  Urs and I jostled our way through the crowd for a good viewpoint. We could tell that Brak was starting to make his play as soon as the prow of the Rikki turned down river. A dozen meters or less separated him from the Drakor, and he was closing that gap steadily. Urs and I were shouting like horse owners at the Derby. He not only wanted to win, he couldn't afford to lose. Things were looking good until the boats were half way back to the dock. The Rikki had a lead of perhaps a hundred meters and looked like a shoe-in when something happened on the far side of the boat.

  She lost speed instantly and the Drakor closed with her. We soon saw an oarsman lift a broken oar from the water and pull it aboard. This was such a rare event that no spares were carried. Perhaps he had hit a piece of flotsom, perhaps the oar itself was flawed, we couldn't tell.

  Now the Rikki was unbalanced and Barg was having to hold her course with the tiller. He obviously felt that a better option than removing a starboard side oar and continuing with just three to a side.

  The Drakor beat them to the dock by perhaps thirty seconds.

  Instantly her crew began flinging the stones from the hold onto the quay. If the loading process had been relatively careful, the unloading proceeded with complete abandon. The only caution taken was that none of the stones fall in the river. For every stone lost the opposing crew was awarded a handicap of 6 stones they did not have to unload. Now the race was really down to the wire. They shipped oars and Barg slammed the Rikki into the quay at faster than safe speed. Verstra, whose oar had snapped leaped shore and secured the prow while the deck hand took care of the stern.

  In thirty seconds the Drakor's crew had unloaded perhaps 15% of her cargo. It was a substantial lead. The crowd pressed the ropes separating them from the contest area. Brak and the crew were working frantically now. It all hinged on how tired they were. If they had the reserve they might catch the Drakor.

  Groaning and sweating even in the cold, under a grey winter sky they seemed to narrow the lead. The crowd, wild with excitement, seemed about evenly divided in their loyalties. From somewhere I could hear Leeta and Modran cheering.

  They were each down to the final layer of stone when Zaneed tossed out a stone that landed on the side of the heap and began to roll back. Worth lept to stop but only succeeded in deflecting it so that it landed squarely back on Zaneed's foot. He cried out in pain for a moment then waved the others back to their tasks. They redoubled their effort. Both crews were near total exhaustion but the men of the Rikki seemed in slightly better shape. When Brak and Zaneed tossed out the last stone the crew of the Drakor had but 5 remaining where hundreds had been only minutes before. It had been that close.

  Both crews collapsed as a note blown through animal horn signaled the end of the competition. From the sidelines came supporters with water, dry clothes, and congratulations or condolences as the case warranted. After a few minutes rest Barg was sufficiently recovered to shuffle over and invite the losing crew for drinks at the Vanu.

  I hadn't had this much excitement since Leeta and I had battled a few Drakor of our own. Once again the Drakor had come out the loser.

  CHAPTER 15

  The drinking and celebrating after the race lasted well past midnight. At last the merry makers were gone and Urs drew me aside to talk.

  "We could not have done it without you Pe-tar. By the staff of Fleerstan, the Drakor was good. We started with a river skow and turned out as fine a boat as ever wet her hull." His pride in what all of us had accomplished was evident in his eyes. It could be seen in the smile he had worn continuously since the Rikki was declared "winner"

  "You know", he continued, "the Fest races are just a span and a half away. Are you up for starting back tomorrow to see if there is any more we can do to get the Rikki in top form?"

  I nodded and gave the local version of the thumbs up gesture, placing one fist atop the other and moving them slightly up and down in a quick motion before heading off toward my sleeping cot in the back room. Leeta and Lady Camille were still awake. They had been as excited as I. The Lady had even come to me beforehand with a small wager she asked me to place for her. I thought of it as I entered and tossed it to her. She flicked out a grasping member and plucked it out of the air like a bullfrog nabbing a passing fly.

  "Thank you Peter. On my world we say 'A contest without a wager will be a dull contest indeed'."

  "You're welcome my friend".

  I had needed no wager to get caught up in the excitement of the races. "Did you and Leeta find a good spot to watch?"

  "We surely did", Leeta volunteered, "Camille let me sit on her back. From there I could look over the heads of even the tallest. When the crowd got too thick she pretended to get wild and they moved back and gave us plenty of room."

  Leeta and Camille both had a good laugh about this.

  The next morning Urs and I were back at the boathouse even earlier than usual. A few others had also turned out early, eager to find someone with whom to rehash the race and savor anew hard won victory.

  The mood of the club members was still one of elated self-congratulation. Several came by to tell me how much credit I should have for the victory. For my part I credited a superb effort on the part of Barg and his crew for the win.

  The Rikki II had done well I suppose but it was not the triumph of (my) superior "alien technology" as I'd fantasized. Even without some of the bad luck we would have won by only a modest margin. I was appropriately humbled when I concluded that against the best boats of the other cities we could very well loose.

  One bit of bad news did dampen the spirits at the boathouse that morning. Word arrived early that Zaneed probably had a broken foot and would not be able to row for several passages. A replacement would have to be found. Trouble was the elaborate rules that applied to these races restricted who that replacement could be. I suppose the rules were designed to keep groups from manipulating the wagering by starting with an inferior crew, running up some big bets at long odds and then bringing in a bunch of ringers on race day.

  The rules required that only the crew originally registered with the boat in the preliminary race could race in the finals. In cases such as this where a crewman was injured only one of the owners, or the crew trainer could fill in. Only one substitution per boat was allowed.

  "Urs, the club members are all registered as owners. Which of them do you think we should ask to replace Zaneed?"

  "None!" He replied.

  "We certainly need someone. You don't plan to race short an oar do you?"

  "No, no, of corse not. But you asked me which ‘club member’ shoul
d replace Zaneed. Look around Pe-tar, all our members are like I am...old, accustomed to an easier life than that on the river. The boatmen among us haven’t worked in at least three cargo seasons. They have become fat and lazy from the inactivity. You could never get them ready in time. I know that apart from the improvements in the boat we won because you had our crew in better condition than the Drakor’s. If a man doesn't hold up his share of the rowing it throws the whole boat off. You saw what happened when that oar snapped. No Pe-tar, none of us are up for that. You are the one who should replace Zaneed."

  This last sentence floored me. I was totally unprepared. Except for a few periods at the rowing dock testing oar designs I'd never held an oar. I'd certainly never rowed a boat. In the movies when the understudy has to fill in on short notice for an ailing star she rehearses till she is about to drop then goes on to be an opening night sensation.

  I had only visions of Urs and all those counting on the Rikki. How would they feel if my error, my weakness or inexperience cost them a chance to win? Honored as I was that Urs had thought of me the thought of accepting gave me a chill. "I can't Urs. I've never even rowed a boat before."

  "Pe-tar you have helped and given us so much to be hopeful about before. I have no right to ask you to do this but I do feel you are best for the job. We can teach you to row. Won't you think about it?"

  "Of course, there is nothing to think about really, I just don't know if I can deliver for you and the others. I ask that the entire club be be polled just as they were before we started on the Rikka II. Call a meeting, ask for suggestions for Zaneed's replacement, nominate me if you like, but let the members decide."

  The next morning I took the road to the north of the town not as the trainer leading the crew but as one of them. The fact that I had trained with the crew was a factor in last night's decision that I would be the replacement. Two others were nominated, but they asked that their names be withdrawn once Urs gave his reasons for promoting me as the replacement. The road work was the easy part. What I needed more than general conditioning was specific rowing experience. Back and shoulder muscles were called on as never before. Leg muscles that pushed with each stroke were also sore at the end of the day. Modran and Leeta took turns massaging my arms, legs, and back as I lay oiled up in front of the fire each evening.

  Barg spent hours with me each day. We did only about an hour of actual rowing. The rest of the time he worked with me on the rowing cadences, procedures for making the turns, and commands for docking, systems for loading and unloading, everything which would be done in the race.

  Each afternoon we took the Rikki out on the course for a practice run. The other competing boats were in port now doing the same thing, getting the feel of the river, learning where the currents were strongest, where a second could be shaved, a meter gained on the other boats.

  Evenings in the shelter of the boathouse with windows draped against the view of passersby, Barg and I put the crew through its paces with our secret weapon. All agreed to keep what we did secret even from other members of the boat club. Some members did not like that, but most were willing to leave a winning crew alone if that was what we requested.

  A pale sun broke through thin high clouds and began melting frost from the windowpanes on the day before festival. I had been so busy preparing that I'd paid scant attention to the steadily growing throng now occupying every stable, crib and cot in Mon-ton. At the Vanu some of the guests were sleeping on, under and around the tables in the dining room. They paid the exorbitant, if customary, rate of 2 hist per night for this dubious privilege. Modran had somehow found bedding enough for all. Sharny the evening serving girl distributed the bedding for a small additional fee each evening and collected it again before breakfast each morning.

  There were occasional disagreements, and a couple of fights before word got around that Urs exiled anyone caught fighting, and that his fellow tavern keepers wouldn't accommodate anyone Urs had thrown out.

  I was sure that under usual circumstances the quarters Leeta, The Lady, and I occupied would have been given over to accommodating guests as well, but Urs insisted that we all needed our privacy and rest and wouldn't hear of it when we offered to vacate the room.

  Today we would do only a very light run together in the morning. The crew would meet and eat at the boathouse at mid-day and leave from there to head dockside for the mid afternoon start.

  Barg had given us final instructions as we had eaten our mid-day meal. The river and the course we knew as well as anyone could.

  Rains upriver had swollen the Ton to near bank full. Its usually clear waters were now slightly darker as it swept down to meld with the muddy waters of the Mon below the town. There had been much talk locally about how the faster current would affect the outcome of the race. The only sure thing was that the upstream leg was going to be a long hard pull and the turns at the buoy would be trickier than usual as three craft jockeyed for the inside track.

  In recent days we had seen the competing crews working out but it was difficult to judge how they would stand up under competition. Each captain tried to avoid giving away his race strategy during the practice runs. Each knew that there was never a moment while the boats were in the water that someone was not watching, trying to gain some useful bit of intelligence to turn to their advantage in a wager, or to help a rival crew. The competitions were "friendly", in that there was a tradition of fair play during the race, and the losers paid up and went home without starting a riot, but beyond that. . . anything went!

  This year there were three additional crews instead of the more typical two. Perhaps the biggest surprise had been the lack of an entry from Olmos, MonTon’s perennial rival. Pretty much the entire crew had been stricken with some malady that generated high fevers, diarrhea, and even a degree of temporary delirium! Reports indicated that the crew members were all recovering but were in no condition to row.

  Each morning now the crew from Seestra was working on the river. Their boat was the "Spirit of Seestra". They looked, spoke, and rowed much as the crew or the Rikki did. They were, after all, from a sister city just down the river.

  The other crews were non-human. Hurathain oarsmen crewed the “Spear Bearer”. They were brawny creatures with skin that could have passed for tanned leather. It joined at various places in a manner reminiscent of plates in a rhino’s hide. Their faces were flat with wide mouths filled with several rows of pointy teeth. Urs told me that they lived in the marsh lands far to the south of Llhaven and Seestra. Here the Mon-ton spread out so wide it looked like a lake.

  In the thick marsh lands at its edges the Hurath lived in great houses roofed with marsh grass and built on stilts against fluctuations in the river's level. Their bite, Urs claimed was poison, as was a scratch from their claws. From his accounts it seemed they must secrete a potent neuroinhibitor that rendered a victim unable to move after only a minute or two. Yet, all in all, Urs said they were an industrious, friendly, people who liked nothing better than to trade goods up and down the river. Word locally was that this team, a surprise entry this year, had astonished everyone by handily winning a number of qualifying heats. They had earned their slot in the Winterfest race card.

  The second alien vessel had a name so unpronounceable I’ll not even attempt to write it. Each crewman (crewwoman?) wore a long duster of rough material. Their clothes and their persons were completely without ornamentation. All that was visible of each was a pair of calloused hands typical of all oarsmen and their eyes visible through a slit in the hoods they wore. What if anything they wore beneath the duster, or what kinds of beings they were beneath that cloth was difficult to say.

  Soltan, who considered himself an expert at practically everything, told me they represented Rasstra, a major port well below the capital of Llhaven. His scuttlebutt included information that they were not from the city itself. Their boat was smaller and flatter bottomed than either the Rikki or the Spirit. They lived many kilometers above Rasstra on the banks of the
Ulanta, a shallow tributary which joined the Mon-Ton just above Rasstra. During the dry season they were cut off from river commerce by low water levels. They did most of their trading during those relatively brief seasons in fall and spring when snow melt and mountian rains rushed down to fill the Ulanta. Of all the crews they were probably the most experienced with swift currents.

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  We assembled at the boathouse about half an interval before race time (*The roughly 20 hour planetary day was divided into 12 intervals of about 100 minutes each.) There were a few short speeches by officials of the boat club. For the most part they spoke of past triumphs, and wished all the entrants well in the current effort. The other crewmen maintained, as I did an outward air of attention as each speaker addressed the crowd. I knew, however, that each was actually listening to some small inner dialogue, aware that words at this point would change nothing.

  Finally it was time to parade the half kilometer or so through the streets to the starting point. Club members with banners and pennons newly made to replace those lost in the fire preceded us. Behind them three teenaged boys hired for the occasion kept a cadence with percussion instruments somewhat like large tambourines with some sort of snares stretched across the bottom. The other members of the crew followed behind in five groups of two. Whether by intent or accident I noted that each had taken the same position in the parade that they would occupy in the boat. I would be the number 2 oar on the starboard side (Zaneed’s old position). We all wore loose smocks of blue and gold which the administrator had sent for us. Although he had backed the Drakor in the preliminary heat he was ready to have us carry his personal colors as we represented the city. We’d leave them dockside once the competition had begun.

  Along the route locals and visitors alike saluted us as we passed, nodding recognition, or sweeping their right hand out from their chests to hold for a moment palm up at sholder height. Here and there we passed street venders who had come out especially for the festival. Some sold hot grog from large clay jars nestled in baskets lined with straw to keep the contents warm. Others had sweets, fried pies stuffed with spicy meats and vegetables, or baked goods for the hungry spectators. From taverns and eating establishments along the way came a steady stream of spectators leaving the warm interiors in order to arrive at a favorite viewing spot in time for the festival.