Iron.
Pipper, now waiting at the top of the ladder, peered down through a space between the concealing foredrop curtain and the high platform, to watch as Anvar turned and pointed upward; that was Pipper’s cue.
And Pipper in red and trailing orange and yellow ran to the end of the springboard and leapt outward and plummeted down, to the screams of the Chakia and the shouts of the Chakka and the cries of the children below.
As Pipper and Binkton ran back out from the wings to take another bow, ’mid the clapping and cheers Pip looked over at his cousin and said, “I thought those Dwarves were going to charge the stage and save you from the Spikes of Death.”
They straightened and then bowed again to thunderous applause, and Binkton said, “I think they were simply trying to stop the Chakia from wailing for fear of my life.”
On the next bow, Pipper said, “The Dwarves did seem to have trouble holding back when it seemed the Chakia were in distress.”
And the very next bow, Pipper added, “I thought one of the Dwarves was going to throttle me when I almost touched a Chakia during our blindfold mental act.”
“Keep that in mind the next time, bucco,” said Binkton. “Now hush, while I make my challenge.”
Binkton stood and raised his hands for quiet, and when it fell he called out to Dalek, “My Lord Dalek, no irons or gaol can hold me. Have you one in this holt?”
The next day they took Binkton to a seldom-occupied lockup, one now and then used to hold someone who had gotten too deep in his cups and had become belligerent. Not that being thrown in a cell was a common occurrence among the honorable Chakka. Typically, violence was settled with more violence, fists being the weapons of choice, but occasionally a winner of such a bout went on a rampage, in which case several Chakka would haul the perpetrator to the tiny prison and shut him in, much to his chagrin when he finally sobered.
Just like his jailers elsewhere, the warders thoroughly searched Binkton, and finding no lockpicks or other devices, they shut him inside. And then as agreed, they left him alone. When they were gone, he slipped the long length of wire out from his belt. The tip of one end of the wire had previously been bent at a sharp angle to act as a single lockpick, and this was what Binkton first tried to use, to no avail. Carefully, he examined what he could see of the interior of his restraints, and then he bent the other end of the wire into a peculiar shape and tried again. It took Binkton four candlemarks to escape from the Dwarven fetters and cage, but escape he did. And when the Chakka smiths asked him how he had done it, Binkton showed them the weaknesses he had finally discovered in their shackles and in the lock on the door. “The irons were easier than the cell, but both were quite difficult,” he said. “Even so, I stand by my claim that no gaol can hold me, not even a Dwarven one.”
The locksmiths growled and one of them said, “Next time, Waeran. Next time.”
Five days and four house-packed performances later found the Warrows waiting alongside Pendwyr Road for the southbound Red Coach to appear. With them were Brekka and Anvar.
“Where will you go?” asked Anvar.
“Argon Ford Town,” said Pipper.
“And then maybe to Rivers End,” said Binkton.
“But ultimately to Caer Pendwyr, where we hope to open our own theater and music hall,” said Pipper.
“You’ll need a King’s license to do so,” said Brekka, “and those are difficult to come by.”
“To say nothing of the cost,” said Anvar.
“Well, if all folks reward us like your DelfLord did, the coin shouldn’t be too hard to acquire,” said Binkton.
“Here comes your ride,” said Brekka, pointing up the road.
The Red Coach rumbled to a stop alongside the junction, and no one got off. Anvar and Brekka hoisted the trunk up to the footmen atop, and then stepped back.
“Take care, my friends,” said Anvar, “especially in Rivers End. They say it’s a rough place, what with Rivermen and the like prowling the streets.”
“I think they can handle themselves,” said Brekka. “After all, I’ve seen them in action.” Then he turned to the buccen and added, “Nevertheless, Anvar’s advice is good, so watch out for those who would do you harm.”
“Don’t worry, we will,” said Pipper, and he and Binkton clambered aboard the Red Coach, and the driver clucked his tongue and cracked his whip and off toward the mighty Argon River they went.
28
FIRE AND IRON
MID AUTUMN, 6E6
When the Red Coach rumbled into Argon Ferry Town, Pipper and Binkton had the driver stop at the Sturdy Oar, an inn recommended by Brekka. They unladed their gear and took a room, and the next morning after breaking fast they asked the innkeeper, one Tarly Oates, a tall, skinny man, whether there were any theaters in town. He laughed and said, “Nowt in West Bank be there such a thing, and nowt across in East Bank nuther. Nar, you’d have to float downstream to Rivers End or fare across and all the way to Caer Pendwyr to find such.”
“Wull, then,” asked Pipper, “what about an inn with a stage and a high ceiling?”
The ’keep scratched his head, then said, “The Clearwater.”
“The Clearwater?” asked Pipper.
“That’s what he said,” growled Binkton.
“What I meant, Bink, is just where is this Clearwater Inn?” Pipper looked up at Tarly.
“Bain’t no inn, ’cause bain’t no rooms, but a saloon instead, and adown by the water ’tis, at th’ corner o’ Mudlane and Tow. Used t’be a warehouse, it did, till they built them new ones up by the landings. But, fair warnin’ ’bout the Clearwater; we call it th’ Bilgewater instead, ’cause them drinks they serve-ale and such-bain’t as fine as those here’t th’ Oar, and the regulars, well, much o’ them be a lawless crowd, Rivermen that they are.”
Binkton’s face fell. “Oh. Rivermen, eh?”
“That’s what he said, Bink,” snapped Pipper.
“I heard what he said, Pip,” Binkton snapped back. Then he turned once more to Tarly. “Only Rivermen frequent the place?”
“Nar. Now and again th’ toffs ’n’ their ladies and their bodyguards find it amusing to swagger along the ’front, ’n’ they make a parade of it, and them gents and ladies sometimes even drop in t’sample the swill.”
“Swagger along the ’front? You mean the waterfront?”
“Yar.”
“How do we find this place?”
The man pointed leftward. “Go yon till y’come t’Mudlane. Then head f’r th’ river. Right along the bank y’ll find Tow. And right there’ll be the Bilge.”
“Why do you even want to know, Bink?” asked Pipper.
“I thought we’d go look at it anyway.”
“But it’s Rivermen, Bink. Lawless. Didn’t you hear the man?”
“Yes, I heard him.” Binkton started for the door, saying, “But he said the gents and ladies also come to the tavern. So, I’m going to take a look regardless.”
“He said they only sometimes swagger along the ’front. It’s not like they’ll be there every night.”
But Binkton simply shook his head and stepped out from the Oar.
“This is a big mistake,” growled Pipper, yet he followed his cousin into the street.
Still quibbling, the buccen turned to the left and headed for Mudlane.
Unlike many of the thoroughfares in town, Mudlane had no pave-stones, and the Warrows followed the narrow dirt lane down to a road running along the steep bank of the river.
“Oh, lor, Bink, look at the Argon,” marveled Pipper. “Makes the Dinglerill look like a piddling leak, it
