Ellen Under The Stairs

by John Stockmyer

  Platinia did not know much about boats, but did know that something was wrong with the way the boat was going. For it was not floating in great circles like other boats, but moving straight through the center of a circle!

  Magic. The magic of the Mage, magic helped by the sailor at the center of the boat who was looking, with worry, at the hot fire stones and at a metal container, the container getting fatter and thinner, fatter and thinning, all the while making sounds, like the sounds of blood in your ears when your heart pumped. Like when you were afraid. Beat, beat, beat. Fast. But steadier than when your blood was pounding.

  Did the boat have a heart? Was the boat afraid? Platinia did not know.

  Though Platinia did not understand, she guessed that this metal pot was the heart of the boat, beating, beating. And that the two pipes running along the bottom of the boat were carrying the boat's blood.

  She had been ordered to stay out of the way; the single thing she did best. Stay out of the way.

  She had not been ordered to stay far enough away so she could not see and hear!

  So it was that, on tiny feet, she sneaked to the back of the boat, standing out of the way, but near enough to listen to John-Lyon and the Admiral talk. Also to see that the pipes coming down the boat from the "heart" were under water at the back, streams of water shot out behind the boat, but under the water. This was what made the boat go forward, Platinia thought, though she did not know how this could be.

  The Mage and Coluth were talking.

  "Do you think we got out of the harbor without picking up a tail?"

  "Tail?"

  "Having someone see us. Maybe we got away. That no one will be following us. That's the best chance we've got, I'm afraid."

  "Agreed."

  For a time, as the last of the up-light mist lifted from the surface of the sea, they stood at the back rim of the boat, looking behind the way the boat was going.

  "No." It was the Admiral, speaking in his sand-paper voice. (Platinia had seen a man use what was called sandpaper, at the Palace. To fix wood.)

  The Admiral was also cupping his hand to his eyes, the better to see. Platinia had often seen him do that.

  "You see something?"

  "I think so."

  "Chasing us?"

  "That would be my guess."

  "I think ... I can see it now. It's a ship, only a dot. Wait! Two, three ships!

  "That is my count."

  "But they're doing what we knew they would, going the long way, circling off to the right, to come around the rim, and transfer to the next whirlpool."

  "That is the way."

  "Can you tell if they'll catch us?"

  "Too far away."

  "Not today, surely."

  "Or tomorrow. They are too far back."

  "At least that's something," the Mage said, but not in a happy way, the Mage sad because of his belief that the boats following would catch them.

  Suddenly, a movement to the other side of the boat!

  Golden!

  John-Lyon saying he could bring only Coluth and two sailors -- Platinia heard him say that -- he had also brought Golden.

  Truly, there was no understanding Mages!

  * * * * *

  Chapter 19

  And the run for Realgar was on in earnest, a race John had to win; not that he had much time to worry about it at the outset. For in spite of all the planning he'd done on the little ship, John's first task was to modify the boat's design.

  He'd already had his ship builders install elevated metal plates to keep the fire stones off the wood deck of the boat, both for the stones beneath the engine's boiler and those meant to propel his steam-cannon. (Other than the engine, there was no time to construct a super structure, the boat as flat as something a child would carve out of a shingle -- hand rails all around for safety.)

  If he'd had more time to work out every detail, he might have remembered that one of the weaknesses of the old Stanley Steamer was having its engine under the hood, the driver condemned to motor through boiler heated air.

  Applied to the putt-putt boat, the sailor manning the tiller stood between the boat's two heat sources -- boiler ahead of him, the gun's fire stones behind him.

  It hadn't taken long -- Philelph sweating and red faced -- for John to realize he must find a solution to the temperature problem, the limited amount of material they carried making a change of design difficult. For in addition to string and hooks for fishing, a water bucket to keep the fish fresh, and some metal pans for cooking on the fire stones, John had brought along nothing but tools necessary for minor repairs: hammer, nails, pry bar, and chisel.

  Taking his cue from steam boat captains on early America's rivers, who sometimes had to burn wooden parts of their ships to build enough steam to buck unexpectedly heavy currents, John instructed Coluth and Golden to pry up deck boards, the men getting enough lumber to cobble together wooden heat shields to nail in front and in back of the steers man.

  Other than producing unwanted heat -- though buffeted by steam pulses within and the bounce of the boat as it bucked small waves -- the primitive engine held together. So steadily did the engine run, to John's delight, that it took only precautionary watching, freeing Tangu for tiller rotation.

  Plan A was to slip out of the harbor unnoticed, that hope quickly going down the tubes.

  Plan B was to outrun the Malachite cruisers. And maybe that would work, though it was too early to tell.

  Plan C was -- Golden.

  It was a late decision on John's part to take Golden, John wishing to limit the boat's personnel. It was just that John had gotten to thinking that, should the Realgar ships catch them, Golden might be John's ace-in-the-hole. After all, Golden said that some Malachites had recognized him as king, making it possible that, learning their "king" was on board, the Malachite sailors might change sides. It was something to try, anyway.

  A second reason for including Golden was his ability to do what few people here could. While the light allowed everyone to speak/understand all languages (even English), Golden (in his guise as nighttime entertainer), had been forced to learn several Band languages. Assuming John and company reached Realgar, the natives would think that Golden was deaf to their speech after down-light, possibly revealing secrets Golden could relay to John, John knowing enough about Realgarites?? to use caution when dealing with them. (Though it could be nothing but prejudice, when the subject of Realgar came up, it seemed to trigger talk of poison.)

  Back to the chase, everyone sneaking peeks at the pursuit ships as they looped around distant whirlpools, the trailing Malachites still far back but looming larger with each swirl they circled. The question was what it had always been: would the Malachites catch up to John's putt-putt boat before John and his crew reached the safety of the Claws?

  So ended the first day, down-light upon them, the Malachites making for tie-up docks to resume the chase tomorrow.

  With the steam boat no match for the speed of the enemy, John considered traveling throughout the night -- night monsters be damned! But gave that up. Forcing his crew to travel at night was to risk mutiny. (Also to be considered was his brush with the nocturnal Lxlop -- making it at least a possibility that fearsome creatures did lurk beneath the night time sea.)

  So he'd decided to head for shore, tie up presenting another problem!

  Had he thought beyond his eagerness to high tail it out of Xanthin harbor, he would have insisted that the Head cook come along for the ride, Deninia the only one who could "turn on" the fire stones to a sufficiently high temperature to boil water. Without Deninia, he couldn't shut down the boat's engine to make tie-up and expect to get the stones hot enough to take off again tomorrow.

  Time for a final idea, the light fading fast, the trees at shore line dimming to a continuous hedge of green. "Coluth?"

  Turning the steering over to Golden, the Admiral walked to where John was looking at the approaching shore. "Yes?"

  "Is there any chance we can
continue traveling after down-light? But do it safely, by staying in the shallows close to the coast?"

  Resting his sea-roughened forearms on the deck rail, the Admiral thought it over. Shook his head. "Even in waters I know, the dark would hide rocks that might damage the boat."

  Though John had wanted a different response, John could be certain he'd gotten the best advice Coluth had to give, disaster dogging any leader whose followers "sucked up" to him by soft pedaling unpleasant truths.

  "The problem is that we can't stop the boat because only Deninia can fire it up again. Can't even slow it down. So how are we going to tie up a moving boat?"

  Coluth thought about that in his deliberate way.

  "It could work to reach the shallows, then set the rudder to take the ship in tight circles."

  * * * * *

  A suggestion that worked, the boat circling just off shore -- all night long -- the crew cooking the pan fish they'd caught before bedding down on what was left of the boat's deck, using their robes to protect them from the splinters of the unvarnished boards.

  * * * * *

  It was Coluth's turn to keep track of the hunter ships, Coluth thinking that, if he had only traveled to this part of Realgar more often, he could come closer to calculating the number of days it would take to reach the Claws and safety. Not too many, he hoped. For the Malachites new, double oar bank ships were gaining on them with alarming speed, the three of them looming larger each time they reached this end of their circle-turns.

  When making the point to the Mage that the enemy ships were catching up, Coluth had observed John-Lyon carefully. And been discomforted by what he saw.

  Until now, Coluth had been unconcerned about the Malachites. Let them approach. Let them narrow the gap. For when close enough, the Mage would destroy them with bolts from his Mage-Disk.

  On Coluth telling the young Mage the truth about the Malachite advance, however, the Mage's eyes said something different: that John-Lyon did not have that option.

  Coluth's understanding of that haunted look? That, somehow, John-Lyon had lost his Crystal.

  Such were Coluth's thoughts early in the day, Coluth, Golden, Philelph, Tangu, John-Lyon, Philelph, Coluth again ... taking turns at the tiller, the Admiral -- just relieved by Golden -- walking back to lean over the rail.

  John-Lyon joining him, Coluth shaded his eyes ... to see something unusual, an oddity he was about to share, when the Mage spoke.

  "Have you noticed the sky, Coluth? It seems to me that the sky is changing. That the yellow of Stil-de-grain is shading into the orange of Malachite's sky."

  Coluth looked up at the dome. Saw that the Mage was right.

  "From where we are now," -- John-Lyon was about to ask the question he often did -- "can you estimate how long it will take to get to Malachite waters?"

  "Two days, perhaps another day's travel into one of the claws, to be safe."

  "Think we'll make it?" Asked, less with hope, than longing.

  "Perhaps."

  "One thing I wanted to ask about. Does it seem to you that the Malachite cruisers are going faster than they did at the start of the chase?"

  So, John-Lyon had noticed the Malachites were picking up speed.

  "They, also, know we approach Realgar. Wish to catch us before then."

  "But how can they speed up? Are the circles smaller here in Sea Minor, so that they're coming around them faster?"

  "No."

  "Then how?"

  "I was about to tell you."

  "Go on."

  "They go faster because they are rowing all the time, even around the rim, to reach greater speed."

  "I hadn't thought of that."

  "A tactic in our favor, if their sailors tire."

  "And will they?"

  Coluth looked over the stern again, the sea, like the sky, a muddy, yellow-orange, a sure sign of band change. "Perhaps."

  * * * * *

  Another day, John and Coluth watching as the three Malachite cruisers finished a loop, coming so close this time that John could see individual faces of the officers and crew.

  It was then that something ... unusual ... happened.

  "What are they doing, Coluth?"

  What John was talking about was the cruisers pulling close together, oars shipped between the three of them, John making out grappling hooks tossed from deck to deck to bind the ships together.

  "I don't know," Coluth admitted, squinting, shading his eyes again.

  Not what John wanted to hear, but better than some phony answer that would back fire on them later.

  Sensing something was wrong, Golden had come to stand beside them. Also Platinia, out of the way as ordered, but still within ear shot, John noticed.

  "Whatever it is, they're losing ground."

  "I know," Coluth said soberly, this maneuver making no sense to the Admiral, either.

  "Ah." Coluth said, "Now I know. They are exchanging crews."

  "Why? Oh, look!"

  The ships had just separated, two of the three allowing themselves to drift past the "jump point" to the forward swirl, continuing around the same whirlpool to drift back toward Xanthin.

  Only the third ship had done the expected: pulled for the next whirl in the sea, putting them around the rim of the circle John's boat was cutting across.

  "Yes, I see what has happened," Coluth said. "Rowing to catch us was tiring them. They pulled together to consolidate their sailors, putting their strongest men in a single boat."

  "The better to run us down."

  "Now or never, since we're nearing Realgar," Golden put in, the young man rarely speaking throughout the trip, the youth using his free time for exercising -- a Golden obsession.

  "They've still got to go around this loop," John said, stating the obvious. "What's the chance they'll catch us when we reach the other side?"

  "A possibility," Coluth put in, seconding Golden's judgment.

  John looked at the sky. "We're heading into Realgar waters."

  "Yes," said Golden. "I can feel the beginning of Band Sickness."

  And he was right, John also aware of increasing strength. "But it does not matter. They have made a mistake." This, also from Golden.

  "What?"

  "They are down to their last ship."

  "So?" From John's point of view, it was five men on the steam boat against two hundred Malachite sailors and however many marines they had on board. Not only that, but with Malachite a "heavier pulling" band, Malachite men had grown up to be stronger than John's Stil-de-grain crew.

  "With only one ship," Golden continued, in his smug way. "You will find it easy to destroy them with your Mage Magic."

  "Unfortunately, there are side effects to the use of the Crystal."

  "Side effects?"

  "The Crystal makes me ... dangerous to be around."

  Golden nodded.

  "So you can see that I don't want to use the Disk's power unless absolutely necessary."

  "Very wise, great Mage."

  "Let's just say that, for the moment, I'm going to try everything else first."

  A Golden bow of assent.

  The trailing ship continuing to row around the last loop, John found his entire crew gathered at the back of the putt-putt boat. (Even Tangu, who had tied off the rudder so the boat continued to run straight.)

  "As we cross into the next swirl, they'll be near enough to row straight for us," Coluth said, as if announcing that the church picnic was about to begin. Even in a tight spot, you didn't rattle the Admiral.

  "And their rowers seem fresh enough to do that," John added, trying for Coluth's neutral tone.

  What they were talking about was capture. Unless ....

  The Malachites so close John could hear the slap of oars, their sailors pouring on the power, John cupped his hands around his mouth to project his voice. "We have the king of Malachite on board!" Though sound didn't carry well on land, noises skipped a long way over water. "Your true King, Cleadon, son of Cleadon. Yo
u are to take your orders from him!"

  "We follow Lithoid," came the echoey reply. "Until there is proof he is no longer king, our loyalty is to him."

  "The proof," John shouted, feeling for his Crystal in the deep pocket in which he kept it, "is in my word. For I am John Lyon, Mage of Stil-de-grain."

  "There must be more than that." Ever closer, the Malachite captain's voice assumed new authority.

  "Do not force me to give you the final proof. For unless you give up the chase, I will wither you to nothingness."

  Crystal-bluffs had worked before. No reason a Magical threat would fail now.

  There was a pause, then a shifting on board the Malachite boat.

  Slowly, then faster, the sailors pulled on ropes to swing a large mirror forward of the ship's bow.

  John had thought about using a mirror for defense against Mage bolts. Just hadn't had time to try that. Leaving the question: would a mirror reflect a Mage bolt back on those who sent it?

  He hadn't wanted to use his Crystal anyway. Couldn't risk doing that now.

  Not that he was ready to surrender until he'd tried the weapon of last resort.

  "I'm going to use the steam gun," John said to no one in particular -- to all in general. "If this doesn't work, we're through -- unless someone else has a suggestion?"

  No one said anything, all looking at John.

  "OK. Everybody get behind the gun," the men jumping to it, eager to follow that order.

  Meanwhile the Malachite ship continued to approach, its sailors bending their backs to the oars, their sweaty muscles gleaming.

  Closer. .... Closer.

  Near enough!, John bending to grab the crank that siphoned sea water into the back of the gun. If the gun worked like it should, there'd be a moment's delay while the hot rocks at the back turned the nearest water to steam, the rest of the water, now scalding hot, belched out the barrel and across to the Malachite ship.