“No, the old men told me about them.”
“Bah … Arnkh, take over from me,” Uncle said with a tired sigh. “It would be simpler to let it go than put ourselves through this agony.”
“Never!” Kli-Kli and Hallas howled in a single voice.
The battle with the water monster continued. By the time something long and black finally appeared on the surface of the water we were all fed up.
“A log!” said Deler, spitting in disappointment. “All that time tugging just wasted!”
“Ah!” said Arnkh. “And there was I thinking—”
“That’s no log! It can’t be a log! I couldn’t have caught a log!” Kli-Kli exclaimed indignantly.
“Better accept it, my friend,” Bass laughed. And just then the log opened a mouth that could have swallowed up a full-grown man.
“Oh, mother,” Kli-Kli cried, and fell over on his back in surprise.
“A catfish!” Uncle roared. “What a huge brute!”
At this point the catfish realized that the Wild Hearts weren’t going to be impressed just by a large pair of jaws—they’d seen worse things than that in the Desolate Lands—and it made an attempt to escape. The water seethed and Honeycomb went down on his knees, but he didn’t let go of the line. Arnkh gritted his teeth as he tried to hold on to the huge fish. Everyone on the bank, including me, went dashing to help them.
As a result of our joint efforts, the catfish ended up on the bank. The massive black body was covered with waterweed and shells; its long black whiskers twitched, its great white eyes gaped at us, and the fish opened its mouth greedily, threatening to gobble up anyone who dared to come close enough. The monster had an entire arsenal of different-sized hooks sticking out of its lips. It was about seven yards long and I didn’t even want to think about how much it must have weighed.
“What’s going on here?” asked Miralissa, who had come out to us.
“Miralissa, I caught a fish! Word of honor! Just look how big it is, they all helped me pull it out, but I caught it! Isn’t that fantastic?” Kli-Kli boasted.
“And what are you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know…” Kli-Kli pondered for a moment. “Let’s take it with us!”
“Eat this rubbish?” said Hallas, pulling a face. “It must be at least a hundred years old! Old meat, it’ll have the stench of the swamp! Damn the thing. Better just to let it go!”
“Let it go?” said Kli-Kli, pondering again, and then he decided to demonstrate the magnanimity of the victor to the defeated, and said with a solemn nod: “We can let it go. Off you swim, fish, and don’t forget that dead cats will be the ruin of you. Right, then … you know … push it into the water, won’t you.…”
Unable to believe its fishy luck, the catfish sent a column of water high up into the air as it plunged into the black depths of the river.
“Harold, did you see what a fish I caught? Tremendous, wasn’t it?”
“Well done, Kli-Kli, you’re a genuine fisherman,” I said.
“You really think so?”
“Yes, really,” I sighed. “Now go gnaw on a carrot and calm down.”
“I haven’t got any carrots,” Kli-Kli said with a shrug of disappointment. “I ran out the day before yesterday.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Hey, Kli-Kli! Help Marmot bring the firewood,” Uncle ordered the goblin.
“Straightaway! I’ll do that in a moment!” And the ever-cheerful goblin forgot about the fish and rushed off on his new assignment.
By the time they had got the fire going and Uncle, who took over kitchen duty from Hallas, had cooked breakfast, and we had packed away our things, it was early morning. The sky was already completely bright, the sunlight had driven away the stars, and there was only a slim crescent, the pale ghost of the moon, still hanging just above the horizon. The ferryman came back, accompanied by six hefty hulks, and said we could set out straightaway if we wanted.
“Only, my good gentlemen, you won’t all fit in at once. There are too many of you, and all the horses, too. I can take you across in two trips.”
“No need for that,” replied Alistan, counting out six silver pieces to the ferryman. “I see your neighbor’s back at work, too, so he can take the others across.”
“That won’t do, milord, pardon me for speaking so plainly. It’s a matter of professional pride. He won’t carry my clients, and I won’t take his, that’s the way things are. I humbly beg your pardon, but you’ll have to make the two trips.”
The other ferryman and his helpers were glowering hostilely at their rival.
“Two trips then, if it has to be two,” Alistan agreed. “Uncle, you divide up the men.”
“I hate boats,” Hallas muttered, glancing at the ferry apprehensively.
The gnome’s face was the color of tender young leaves in spring.
“Stop that,” Arnkh laughed, and his chain mail jangled. “Look, there aren’t any waves, the water’s smooth, you’ll get across and nothing will happen to you.”
“But as soon as the ferry starts swaying up and down, up and down, you’ll see what kind of stomach our mattockman has,” Deler laughed.
“Shut up, pumpkin-head!” Hallas snarled, gazing at the river fearfully. “I’m feeling sick enough without any help from you.”
“Then go into the bushes so you won’t upset anyone, and throw up there,” the kind-hearted dwarf suggested.
Hallas groaned and tightened his grip on the handle of his battle-mattock.
“Why don’t you sing a little song?” Kli-Kli suggested to the gnome. “It helps me.”
“Really?” An expression of disbelief mingled with hope appeared on the gnome’s bearded face. “But what should I sing?”
“Well, sing ‘The Hammer on the Axe.’ Or ‘The Song of the Crazy Miners,’” said Deler, slapping Hallas on the shoulder. “Welcome on board!”
The gnome gulped, turned even brighter green, told us all for the hundredth time that he hated boats, and stepped onto the ferry.
“Kli-Kli, you now,” said Uncle, nodding.
“Oh no, not on your life! I’ll go with Harold!”
“If that’s what you want. Then it’s you, Lamplighter. That’s it, cast off, we’ll follow on!”
“Put your backs into it, lads!” the ferryman called to his men.
His workers heaved on the drum, the chain clanged as it was wound up, and the ferry set off. Kli-Kli, Uncle, Arnkh, Eel, and I were left on the bank, together with the packhorses.
When the ferry had got a quarter of the way across, the peaceful silence of the early morning was shattered as Hallas started singing. I didn’t envy the others who were on the ferry right then—the gnome could sing about as well as I could fly.
Lucky Hallas roared away out of tune at the top of his voice, howling so loud that they could even hear his song in Boltnik. I doubted whether the inhabitants of the village would be grateful to the gnome for this wonderful awakening.
“Just listen to him howl,” Arnkh chuckled, hanging his sword’s scabbard behind his shoulder. His eternal chain mail had been joined by a leather jerkin with metal plates sewn onto it, arm and leg armor, and chain-mail gloves. Arnkh caught my puzzled glance.
“It’s not far to the Border Kingdom now; I have to return to my homeland fully armed.”
“We still have two weeks’ riding to reach the Border Kingdom…”
“Well?”
It would take a h’san’kor to understand these men from the Borderland. They’ll happily go hungry, just as long as they can hang iron all over themselves. Living close to the eastern Forests of Zagraba—the domain of the Firstborn—does pretty strange things to people.
Meanwhile Hallas was still belting out his song loud enough to frighten everyone for miles around.
