The heat, the friendliness of the villagers, the lazy days passed in discussion and study produced in the Redowls a feeling of inner security. It was left to Homat to remind them that they were traveling on an alien world and not Earth’s relatively benign waters.
Etienne had gone over the side and was leaning back against one of the curving support struts that ran from hydrofoil to hull, trailing one leg in the cool water and letting the spray from the foil wash over him. They were traveling fast enough to alleviate concern about glass leeches and he was completely relaxed beneath the refreshing spray.
He gave Homat a curious glance as the Mai started to descend alongside him, carrying a metal prod. Now that he’d overcome his initial fear of the strange vessel, the shy native clambered nimbly over it while displaying an agility Etienne could only envy.
It was the prod that caught his eye. “What’s that for?”
Homat gestured with the metal. Etienne wiped spray from his face and looked behind him.
Attached to the foil just beneath the glassy surface of the water and slowly creeping toward Etienne’s feet was a thin dark shape, three meters long and as thick as his arm.
“Sandrush,” Homat said curtly as he worked his way around the strut until he was holding on behind Etienne.
“Poisonous? Parasite?”
“No. Inhaler.”
“What does it inhale? Blood?”
“Inhale you.” Etienne watched with interest as the Mai used the prod to pry open the creature’s wide round mouth. The teeth were small and curved inward. The jaw dislocated itself and Homat spread the gape wider still. As they watched the sandrush began to fill helplessly with river water until it had swollen to four times its normal size. The dull green membrane was evidently capable of expanding to hold prey larger than itself, and the meaning of Homat’s words became ghoulishly clear.
Eventually the pressure of the water proved too much for the powerful suckers that lined the sandrush’s ventral side. It relinquished its grip and fell away astern. Etienne was suitably impressed.
“If it gets a hold of you, very bad,” Homat explained unnecessarily. “It won’t let go unless it dies and sandrush is very hard to kill. Swallow you whole.” He turned to climb back up toward the lower deck.
Etienne wondered at the flexibility that would allow an animal to expand so far beyond its normal size even as he thoughtfully removed his legs from the water. He wondered what other charming native fauna lurked just beneath the surface of the river, following the boat hungrily.
Since there was little here for him to study he did most of the piloting, leaving Lyra free to record her impressions of village life and culture within the Skatandah. While the communities there differed little from those clustered around Steamer Station she continued to take her usual copious notes. Even the tiniest change in social structure or clothing or fishing methods was occasion for excitement.
Gradually the marshlands and islands of the delta began to fade behind them. Fewer platform trees and pseudopalms were seen, more open water and less land. An unknowing observer might have concluded that the Redowls had taken a wrong turn and were heading once more out into the open ocean.
But the water they skimmed over was now almost entirely fresh. They had entered the main body of the Skar, a river large enough to make the Amazon or Nile or any of the other known rivers of the Commonwealth look like a meandering creek. From the center of the river it was impossible to tell you weren’t traveling on a freshwater sea, because there was no sign of land to starboard or port. Beyond invisible banks the cliffs that marked the edge of the Guntali rose unseen toward a cloud-flecked sky.
Etienne eased the hydrofoil to starboard until the shoreline hove into view. Thereafter they were able to cruise on autopilot, allowing Lyra to concentrate on her note-taking and leaving Etienne free to stare through the telescope mounted atop the observation mast. Numerous villages dotted the bank. Farther inland he saw farming communities and small commercial centers. At the extreme range of the scope’s resolving power he could discern the first gentle slopes, evidence that they really were traveling up a river canyon.
While the temperature crept toward the hundred thirty mark in early afternoon, the humidity fell slightly. It required an effort to remain outside the boat’s air-conditioned interior for longer than half an hour. Lyra spent much of her time outside chatting with the owners of the small trading boats that pulled alongside whenever they stopped. While she dictated notes, Homat and Irquit bargained for provisions. Irquit did most of the trading while Homat attended to the cooking, having mastered the electric oven the Redowls insisted he use instead of the wood-burning stove he had brought on board.
They were then a thousand kilometers north of Steamer Station and the mouth of the delta, cruising the smooth back of the river Skar at a steady ninety kph. They had barely begun their journey.
Everywhere the Mai citizenry was friendly and open, though more primitive than those of the advanced societies of the city-states that ringed the great world ocean. All was not peaceful and pastoral along the river, however. The presence of village stockades and other fortifications hinted at sporadic conflict, and there were those who were less than overawed by the peculiar visitors’ advanced technology.
“Hon, I think you’d better have a look at this.” Etienne kept his gaze on the scanner as he took the boat off autopilot.
“What is it?” Lyra’s voice sounded over the intercom in the cockpit.
“Ships ahead, lots of ’em. Fishing boats by the computer image.”
“What’s notable about that? I’m busy, Etienne.”
“Lyra, there are at least a hundred boats. That’s not usual, is it?”
“No, it’s not.” The intercom went quiet for a moment and when she spoke again her tone was thoughtful instead of impatient. “Are you sure?”
“I’m quite capable of following the readouts,” he said sarcastically. “It isn’t normal, is it, for a fishing fleet to attain that size?”
“Not from what we’ve seen thus far, no, but maybe it’s normal up here.”
“Why don’t you ask Irquit?”
A sigh whispered at him from the grid as she put her beloved work aside. “I suppose I’d better.”
Irquit sat on the open rear deck of the hydrofoil, cleaning vegetables for the next meal. Purple and maroon predominated, but that didn’t detract from the tastiness, Lyra knew. Homat peeled tubers by hand.
“Irquit, my husband says that there are at least a hundred fishing boats in the river ahead of us.” Neither of the Mai expressed surprise at this calm revelation, having already become familiar with much of the hydrofoil’s instrumentation. They called the cockpit scanner the iron eye.
Irquit looked uncertain. “That is more than I have ever heard of fishing the river. There are never so many grouped together down by Po Rabi. Is de-Etienne certain they are just fishermen?”
“We can’t tell that through the iron eye. What could they be doing except fishing?”
“It could be a war fleet,” Homat suggested tentatively.
“Out to attack one of the villages? This doesn’t seem to be a poor area.”
“It is sometimes simpler,” said Homat with innocent wisdom, “to take rather than to work, no matter how easy the work may be.”
She could have argued the point but it was not the time to engage in idle sociological speculation. “Tell that to my husband, Homat.”
He made a sign of acknowledgment and worked his way around the boat until he was standing outside the transparent dome of the cockpit. He could see Etienne clearly. Condensation was banished from the clear acrylic by the silent efforts of special air circulators. He leaned toward the speaking membrane.
