The Magnificent Showboats Page 14

  The official made a polite gesture. “What did it amount to? Nothing. While I am here we had best settle the matter of the dockage fee, which I computed during the performance.” He handed Gassoon a slip of paper. “Here is the receipt; be so good as to pay me this weight of iron.”

  Gassoon reared back aghast. “Dockage fee? For a showboat? Unprecedented! I can pay no such fee! This is half my income for the evening!”

  The official gave a smiling acquiescence. “The fee was calculated upon such a basis. In this ambiguous world, a concept so clear and clean as ‘half’ is absolutely refreshing.”

  Gassoon could hardly wait for morning. Before dawn he ordered all sails set and sheeted home, though they hung limp as bags in the silver calm. At last majestic Phaedra appeared and projected a band of orange-red light across the water. At this moment the air stirred and shivered the river with cat’s-paws. Sails flapped and filled; hawsers were thrown clear; the vessel shouldered sluggishly out upon the water, barely maintaining way against the current. Both to exercise the bullocks and to make better speed, Zamp ordered the stern-wheel into motion, to incur a lambent glare from Gassoon, who resented any encroachment upon his authority.

  The Vissel, now sensibly less ample, began to meander. Back, forth, around, about, with the yards hauled hard about first on one reach, then the other, with the stern wheel dutifully thrashing back water. The banks supported a wonderful variety of trees and shrubs.

  Enormous black-trunked mallows held aloft clouds of pale green foam; below clustered ink-trees, whortleberry thickets, weeping willows, an occasional giant tamarisk with a trunk twenty feet in diameter and branches crusted over with glittering white tree-barnacles.

  During the afternoon the river swept around a group of ancient volcanic necks: a good source, according to the River Index, of pyrite crystals. On the bank a company of nomads watched the ship pass by. They sat motionless on long-legged black horses, performing no salutes, uttering no sounds: a sinister and unnerving immobility. Zamp, studying the group through Gassoon’s spy-glass, could not identify them. He took note of their swarthy skins, pointed jaws and chins, strange black hats with high sharp peaks and long flaring ear-flaps pulled low over blazing black eyes: the faces of malign mythical creatures, redolent of musk and licorice and aromatic smoke.

  Gassoon, in waspish annoyance, came up behind Zamp and took the spy-glass. “I prefer that you do not use my instruments, Master Zamp; they are delicate and valuable.”

  Zamp sighed but made no retort. Gassoon studied the nomads. “An unsavory lot. I am glad they did not come upon us moored to the bank. Otherwise we might have suffered the fate of poor Garth Ashgale. This voyage is truly a work of foolhardy recklessness.”

  The nomads wheeled their mounts and were gone. Zamp scrambled up to the crow’s nest and to his relief saw the group ride south.

  The day passed without incident. Shoals and sand-bars made navigation difficult and Gassoon guided his ship with great care.

  For two days the winds blew capriciously, then settled in strong and fair from the south; and on the fourth day after leaving Skivaree, the boat arrived at Garken, a fortified town somewhat larger than Skivaree, the terminus of caravan routes leading northeast into Lune XXIV Central and west to the Nonestic Ocean of Lune XXII. At the docks two small cogs were moored, flying green, yellow and black gonfalons. Consulting Appendix VIII of the River Index, Zamp identified the colors as those of the Malou-Mandaman-Lacustrine Porterage and Transport Fellowship of the Upper Vissel.

  In reference to Garken the River Index had little to say:

  A town well-fortified against the onslaughts of the Mandaman Basilisks and the tribes of the various Tinsitala nations. Garken is a caravan terminus, a staging and marketing depot for minerals, oil, slaves, fine wood, Lanteen glass, Coble musical instruments, Beynary balsam, Mandaman immortality fluid, Szegedy garnets and dozens of other commodities. The Garken market is a most colorful and stimulating sight, where fortunes in commercial stuffs change hands at a wink, a nod or the flick of a finger.

  The Mercantile Syndicate maintains an efficient if stern police force, which ensures an almost unreal oasis of tranquility. At Garken are found no footpads, thieves, or truculent bravos; they are seized as soon as they appear and dealt with most definitely. For this reason Garken is a haven for just and honest men; under no circumstances attempt illicit dealings, swindling, lewdness, or violence, unless you have lost your zest for life.

  Zamp read the passage with meaningful emphasis to Gassoon who glared at Zamp in indignation. “I need not fear the law-keepers of Garken! I have never performed an illicit act in my life!”

  “Don’t start in Garken,” said Zamp. “Your years of restraint will have been wasted.”

  “I have no misgivings,” said Gassoon. “We will advertise as usual and present performances for so long as we attract custom. I am extremely anxious to derive a profit from this so far bootless journey.”

  “We can spare two days,” said Zamp. “No more. Time has become of the essence.”

  “We shall see.”

  Miraldra’s Enchantment approached the Garken dock and tied up, attracting only small attention. Zamp set forth his placards; the orchestra played merry tunes; the mime-girls cake-walked along the upper deck, but only a few dock-side loiterers came to watch.

  “Odd,” said Gassoon. “Curious indeed. There is adequate population here. Surely they are not subjected to a surfeit of entertainment.”

  “Some trifling promotion will work wonders,” said Zamp. “A parade, some music, and all will be well.”

  “I hope so,” grumbled Gassoon. “Otherwise we’ll have wasted an entire afternoon and evening.”

  Zamp loaded a case with tickets, formed the orchestra into a column, posted three mime-girls with placards on the right and three more on the left. Zamp jerked his arm; the band began to march along the docks, and presently started to play a lively quick-step. In alarm Zamp signaled for silence. “Not yet! There may be restrictions against music during daylight, or some other such ordinance. Let us make certain before we commit the offense. Forward now, neatly, in good order. Girls, hold up the placards! We are selling tickets to the performance, not ogling passersby!”

  Zamp led the parade through an alley out upon the central square, where booths, shops, trays and carts created a gaudy texture of color and shape and movement. A row of hostelries occupied two sides of the area; in another quarter gall-nut trees shaded a group of slave-pens, some empty, others occupied. Directly opposite a great gate in the massive black brick wall framed a view across the steppe.

  Zamp halted his company, which already was attracting attention. Nearby stood a tall dark-haired man with a sallow complexion, sagging jowls and a vulpine nose, which combined to produce a markedly saturnine expression. His armor of polished black bamboo staves and his complicated leather hat of a dozen tucks and folds seemed to indicate an official status, and Zamp approached him, confident of obtaining accurate information.

  “We are strangers at Garken,” said Zamp. “In fact, we have just arrived aboard the showboat Miraldra’s Enchantment, and wish to advertise our entertainment. Will we violate local ordinances by playing music and making an announcement?”

  “Not at all,” declared the man in the black armor. “I can speak with authority on this score, inasmuch as I am one of the magistrates.”

  “In that case,” said Zamp, “I wish to allow you the privilege of buying the first ticket sold in Garken, at the trifling cost of half a groat.”

  The magistrate considered a moment, then said, “Certainly; in fact I will buy four such tickets.” From his pouch he brought a tablet of papers an inch on a side, and used a small instrument to stamp a black sigil on one of these papers, which he then handed to Zamp. “Two groats I believe is the correct sum.”

  Zamp looked dubiously at the trifle of paper. “Under the circumstances, I would prefer to be paid in solid iron.”

  “The token is equivalent to ir
on,” stated the magistrate in a definite voice. “It is redeemable in goods anywhere in Garken; this is the basis upon which we do business.”

  “If so, the concept is most ingenious,” said Zamp. “Can this paper be exchanged for two groats of iron, and if so, where?”

  “Notice the large structure of black brick yonder.” The magistrate pointed a finger long and white as to rival any of Gassoon’s. “That is the bank where all tokens such as these are cleared.”

  “In that case, I thank you, both for the information and your custom,” said Zamp. He signaled the orchestra which at once broke into a merry tune. The mime-girls, after arranging the placards, performed an intricate dance of twirls, hops, swings and knee-bends. Spectators gathered to watch and Zamp, from time to time interrupting the music and dancing, proclaimed the quality of the entertainment to be offered that very evening aboard Miraldra’s Enchantment. He sold a satisfactory number of tickets, all purchased with stamped squares of paper.

  Agitated signals from under the gall-nut trees attracted Zamp’s attention. His curiosity aroused, Zamp walked over to the slave pens. There, constrained behind a bamboo fence, he found Garth Ashgale and various members of his company.

  Zamp looked gravely through the bamboo bars. “Master Ashgale, I am surprised to find you at Garken!”

  “We are not here of our own volition,” declared Ashgale in a quivering voice. “We were captured, threatened, herded like cattle, brought here to be sold into slavery! Can you imagine such a state of affairs? Our delight and relief at the sight of you is frankly undescribable!”

  “A familiar face in a strange land is always pleasant to see,” said Zamp. “Please excuse me; I must sell tickets for the evening’s performance.”

  Zamp returned to the orchestra, where he delivered another announcement and sold almost a hundred tickets.

  Garth Ashgale continued to make urgent gestures, and Zamp at last returned to the slave-pens. “Master Ashgale, were you signaling to me?”

  “Yes indeed! How soon can you get us out of these pens? We are anxious to bathe and take a decent meal!”

  Zamp smiled ruefully. “You exaggerate my abilities. I can do nothing for you.”

  Garth Ashgale leaned back aghast. “You can’t intend to leave us here?”

  “I have no other choice.”

  “But surely you can make some sort of settlement with the slave-dealer!”

  Zamp gave his head a regretful shake. “I have no need for so many slaves, even if I could pay for them.”

  After a moment Ashgale said coldly: “If you can extricate us from this fix, your iron will be definitely and gratefully refunded.”

  “I have no iron,” said Zamp. “Everything I owned went down at Port Whant. Perhaps there is divine justice, after all.”

  “Well then, what of Master Gassoon?”

  Zamp thoughtfully pulled at his goatee. “I can make a single suggestion. We lack four bullocks, but surely you would not care to occupy the stalls and work the capstans?”

  Ashgale heaved a deep breath. “If that is how it must be — we accept.”

  Zamp sauntered to the offices of the slave-dealer: a portly man in a dark red cloak, who gave Zamp a cordial greeting. “How may I assist you?”

  “In a week or so,” said Zamp, “I may be in a position to sell you a dozen items. What do you pay per head?”

  “Much depends upon the item itself; I can quote no exact figure until I inspect the merchandise.”

  “For purposes of rough comparison, let us say that they resemble that group yonder.”

  “Those are utility-grade, for which I pay fifteen groats a head. They have poor durability and are not much in demand.”

  “Indeed!” said Zamp. “I had no idea slaves went so cheap. Your selling price then would be what?”

  The slave-dealer pursed his lips. “I might accept forty groats apiece. But are you selling or buying?”

  “Today, if the price were within reason, I might be buying. I could offer no more than twenty groats per head.”

  The slave-dealer’s hooded eyes flew wide in shock. “How can anyone run his business at a loss? Please be serious.”

  Eventually the dealer agreed to a price of twenty-six and a half groats, to make the final sum an even five hundred groats. “Now, as to payment,” said Zamp, “I have here some certified paper tendered me by the folk of Garken, to the value of sixty-three groats, which I now transfer to you, to leave a total of four hundred and twenty-seven groats.” He opened his case of tickets. “I pay you therefore eight hundred and fifty-four half-groat vouchers, which are similar to the certified papers of Garken — notice the official symbol of the great showboat Miraldra’s Enchantment. They may be exchanged at the gangplank for admission to a performance, and are valuable until redeemed.”

  The slave-trader inspected the tickets which Zamp had tendered. “I am somewhat puzzled as to the function of these vouchers. Are they redemptible in iron?”

  “In iron, if Master Gassoon so elects, or some other valuable commodity, such as admission to a performance of the drama Macbeth. If you choose, you may profit by selling these vouchers for double their face value to folk fresh off the steppes.”

  “Very well. The slaves are yours. At such a price I can make you no warranties.”

  “I must take my chances,” said Zamp. “I will need a rope to tie them neck to neck to prevent their escape.”

  “Escape? To where? Still, yonder is a stout cord which will serve your needs.”

  Zamp led the erstwhile slaves back to the showboat, with the orchestra and mime-girls marching behind. The group filed up the gangplank and out upon the main deck where Garth Ashgale spoke in a trembling voice: “Apollon Zamp, in the past we have had our small differences, but today you have done a generous deed. Be certain that I for one will never forget your action!”

  “Nor I!” declared Alpo the chief acrobat of Zamp’s old troupe. “Three cheers for Apollon Zamp, the most excellent fellow of all!”

  “In due course,” said Garth Ashgale. “Now I am too hungry and weak even to cheer. Remove this cord, Master Zamp; I am truly anxious for a bath, clean garments, a good supper, and then: absolute relaxation!”

  “Not so fast,” said Zamp with a grim smile. “Certain events along the Lant River and at the Green Star Inn are still fresh in my mind.”

  “Come now, friend Zamp!” said Ashgale, “I, for one, am willing to let bygones be bygones.”

  “In due course, but first things first. In assuming your indentures I have paid out a substantial sum.”

  “Of course! We recognize the debt,” said Garth Ashgale heartily. “Each pledges his share of reimbursement!”

  “Very good,” said Zamp. “You may now write me an irrevocable promissory note and bank draft for one thousand groats of iron, then each of the others will pay you his share, in accordance with this pledge.”

  Garth Ashgale began a vociferous protest, but Zamp quelled him with a gesture. “It goes without saying that until I receive the iron into my hands, the indenture holds firm, and all must work at the capstans.”

  “This is bitter news,” said Garth Ashgale. “Your mercy has an acrid flavor.”

  Zamp started to make a cold retort, but was interrupted by Gassoon’s strident voice: “Master Zamp, what is the reason for this incursion?”

  “One moment.” Zamp summoned the boatswain. “Take these folk down to the orlop; see to it that they do not stray to other sections of the ship.”

  The boatswain led the group away and Zamp joined Gassoon on the quarter-deck. “Perhaps you can explain these peculiar acts?” demanded Gassoon.

  “Naturally. Did you not recognize Garth Ashgale and his troupe? I discovered them in the slave pens!”

  Gassoon looked askance at Zamp. “And how, lacking funds, did you liberate them? I hope by neither violence nor fraud?”

  Zamp spoke in a voice of cool superiority. “Lacking funds, I used persuasiveness and resource.”

 
Gassoon clutched his head, so that tufts of white hair protruded past his fingers. “These words have an ominous sound!”

  “The arrangements are perfectly straightforward,” said Zamp with quiet dignity. “The slave-dealer has in effect been appointed our ticket agent. I made a most satisfactory arrangement with him.”

  Gassoon seemed to become limp. In a metallic voice he asked: “What are the details of this transaction?”

  “I allotted him a certain number of tickets in full payment for his fees and charges.”

  Gassoon groaned. “How many tickets?”

  “Eight hundred and fifty-four, to be exact.”

  “Eight hundred and fifty-four tickets! Must we play to three full houses for no return whatever?”

  “Not necessarily,” said Zamp. “The agent has several options. He can sell the tickets at a profit, or distribute them to his friends, or even redeem them here for iron.”

  Gassoon cried out in his most nasal tones: “I should pay iron for my own tickets? Inconceivable! I possess no such sum!”

  “It will never come to that,” said Zamp. “The situation has many advantages. Master Ashgale and his comrades have volunteered to do the work of the missing bullocks; they will also reimburse us when we return to Coble. How can we help but profit?”

  Gassoon threw his hands into the air and stamped away to his office.

  The evening’s performance was poorly attended. Present were the slave-dealer, the magistrate, those others who had paid for their tickets in certified paper, thirty who paid at the gangplank with stamped paper squares, and perhaps a dozen others who presumably had obtained their tickets from the slave-dealer.

  Gassoon glumly surveyed the empty seats. “At this rate we must remain here two weeks, playing two performances a day — for nothing.”

  “Hardly feasible,” said Zamp. “Perhaps …” He paused, to pull thoughtfully at his goatee.

  “Perhaps what?”

  Before Zamp could explain, the magistrate and the slave-dealer approached. “An excellent performance, if somewhat macabre and dreary,” declared the magistrate. “What is tomorrow’s program?”