Foster, Dean - Spellsinger 02 - The Hour of the Gate

desired destination. I won't argue with you." He paused,

added as an afterthought, "Dinner's about ready to boil over.

Make up your minds."

"We have little choice," said Clothahump, "and no further

use for the wagon anyway." He glared at Caz, who turned

away and studied the river, unrepentant. "We agree. When

can we start?"

"Tomorrow morning. I have my own preparations to make

and supplies to lay in. Meanwhile, I suggest you all get a

good night's sleep." Bribbens looked at the cliffs which rose

to the east.

"Into the Teeth." He fixed a bulbous eye on Jen-Tom.

"You'll have no need for money in there, nor on the other

side, if there is one. My offspring will find it here if I don't

come back, and it will do them more good than the dead."

84

THE HOUR OF Tm GATE

Humming to himself, he turned and padded back toward his

house.

They slept in the wagon again that night. As Bribbens

formally explained, their fee included only his services and

transport and did not extend to the use of his home.

But the following morning he was up before the sun and

was ready to depart before they'd hardly awakened. "I like to

get an early start," he explained as they gathered themselves

for the journey. "I give value for money. You pay for a day's

travel, you get a day's travel."

Caz adjusted his monocle. "Reasonable enough, consider-

ing that we've given a month's pay for every day we're likely

to travel."

Bribbens looked unperturbed. "I once saw a rabbit who'd

had all his fur shaved off. He was a mighty funny-looking

critter."

"And I," countered Caz with equal aplomb, "once saw a

ftog whose mouth was too big for his head. He experienced a

terrible accident."

"What kind of accident?" inquired Bribbens, unimpressed.

"Foot-in-mouth. Worst case I ever saw. It turned out to be

fatal."

"Progs aren't subject to hoof-in-mouth."

The rabbit smiled tolerantly. "My foot in his mouth."

The two held their stares another moment. Then Bribbens

smiled, an expression particularly suited to frogs.

"I've seen it happen to creatures other than my own kind,

three-eyes."

Caz grinned back. "It's common enough, I suppose. And I

see better out of one eye than most people do out of two."

"See your way to moving a little faster, then. We can't

sleep here all day." The boatman ambled off.

Talea was leaning out of the wagon, brushing sleepily at

reluctant curls tight as steel springs.

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Alan Dean Foster

"Since you layabouts aren't ready yet, I'm going to take

the time to secure my team and wagon and lay out fodder for

them," said the frog.

"Possessive little bugger, ain't 'e?" Mudge commented.

"It's his wagon and team now, Mudge." Jon-Tom carefully

slipped his staff into the loops crossing his back beneath the

flashing emerald cape. "They're in his care. Just like we

are."

When they were all assembled on the boat and had tied

down their packs and supplies, Bribbens loosed the ropes,

neatly coiled them in place, and leaned on the long steering

oar. The boat slid out into the river. Pog shifted his grip on

the spreaders high up on the mast and watched as silver sky

raced past blue ground.

Before very long the current caught them. The cove with

its mud-and-thatch house vanished behind. Ahead lay a gray-

brown wall of granite and ice; home to arboreal carnivores,

undisciplined winds, and racing cloud-crowns.

Jon-Tom lay down on the edge of the craft and let a hand

trail lazily in the water. It was difficult to think of the journey

they'd embarked upon as threatening. The water was warmed

from its long journey down from distant Kreshfarm-in-the-

Geegs. The sun often snuck clear of obstructing clouds to lie

pleasantly on one's face. And there seemed no chance of rain

until the night.

"Three days to get to the base of the mountains, you

said?"

"That's right, man," Bribbens replied. The boatman did

not look at Jon-Tom when he spoke. His right arm was curled

around the shaft of the steering oar, and his eyes were on the

river ahead. He sat in a chair built onto the railing at the

craft's stem. A long, thin curved pipe dangled from thick

lips. River breeze carried the thin smoke from its small white

bowl up into the sky.

86

THE HOUR Of THE GATE

"How far into the mountains does the river go?" Flor was

on her knees, staring over the front of the boat. Her voice was

full of expectation and excitement.

"Nobody knows," said Bribbens. "Leagues, maybe weeks

worth. Maybe only a few hours."

"Where does it end, do you suppose? In an underground

lake?"

"Helldrink," said the boatman.

"And what's Helldrink, Senor Ranar'

"A rumor. A story. An amalgam of all the fears of every

creature that's ever navigated on the waters in times of

trouble, during bad storms or on leaking ships, in foul

harbors or under the lash of a drunken captain. I've spent my

life on me water and in it. It would be worth the trip to me if

we should find it, even should it mean my death. It's where

all true sailors should end up."

"Does that mean we're likely to get a refund?" inquired

Caz.

The boatman laughed. "You're a sharp fellow, aren't you,

rabbit? I hope if we find it you'll still be able to joke."

"There should be no difficulty," said Clothahump. "I, too,

have heard legends of Helldrink. They say that you know it is

there before you encounter it. All you need do is deposit us

safely clear of it and, we will continue our journey on foot.

You may proceed to your sailor's discovery however you

wish."

"Sounds like a fine scenario, sir," the boatman agreed.

"Assuming I can make a landing somewhere safe, if there is a

safe landing. Otherwise you may have to accompany me on

my discovery."

"So you're risking your. life to leam the truth about this

legend?" asked Flor.

"No, woman. I'm risking my life for a hundred pieces of

gold. And a wagon and team. I'm risking my life for

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Alan Dean Foster

twenty-two offspring. I'm risking my life because I never

turned down a job in my life. Without my reputation, I'm

nothing. I had to take your offer, you see."

He adjusted the steering oar a little to port. The boat

changed its heading slightly and moved still further into the

center of the stream.

"Money and pride," she said. "That's hardly worth risking

your life for."

"Can you think of any better reason, then?"

"You bet I can, Rana. One a hell of a lot less brazen than

yours." She proceeded to explain the impetus for their jour-

ney. Bribbens was not to be recruited.

"I prefer money, thank you."

It was a good thing Falameezar was no longer with them,

Jen-Tom thought. He and their boatman were at opposite ends

of the political spectrum. Of course, with Falameezar, they

would not have required Bribbens' services. He was surprised

to discover that despite the archaic, inflexible political philos-

ophy, he still missed the dragon.

"Young female," Bribbens said finally, "you have your

romantic ideas and I've got mine. I'm helping you to satisfy

your needs and that's all you'll get from me. Now shut up. I

dislike noisy chatter, especially from romantic females."

"Oh you do, do you?" Ror started to get to her feet.

"How would you like—"

The frog jerked a webbed hand toward the southern shore.