Read Online The Wanderers of the Water-Realm by Alan Lawton - Free Book Online
Authors: Alan Lawton
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to meet him. George can stay aboard and watch for our return.”
Darryl swallowed the last dregs of his black tea and stood up. “Well, if we are all agreed, then we had best make a start, but first we’ll arm ourselves as best we can, for only fools confront danger empty handed.”
The boatmaster buckled the sword ‘kingslayer’ to his waist and made sure that the blade was free in the scabbard, whilst George opened a locker and selected a blunt and battered meat cleaver from the tangle of utensils stored within.
“Not much of a weapon,” he reflected as he tested the cleaver for balance. “But it will serve to split the skull of anyone who attempts to clamber aboard the ‘Bonny Barbara’whilst the pair of you are absent.”
Myra took charge of the only firearm which the crew possessed; this was an ancient flintlock fowling piece that had been the property of Robert Littlewood until he had sold the boat and its contents to his younger kinsman. The weapon had seen little recent use, due to the severity of the game laws, and indeed there was only enough powder and shot to load it with a single charge. The three crewmembers then quit the cabin without further delay and prepared to navigate their craft to the mouth of the Exit River.
Darryl and his young boat hand hauled up the makeshift anchors and returned to their labour at the long poles, whilst Myra took up her former station at the tiller. Slowly, the
‘Bonny Barbara’began making headway and their progress quickened appreciably as the current from the Exit River began taking hold of the craft. Soon, the toilers were able to ship their poles entirely and rest as the narrowboat passed beneath the remnants of the great bridge and began making headway down the mainstream of the river.
Darryl dispatched his young assistant to the bows of the craft, in order to give ample warning of swiftly running rapids or any other danger to navigation they might encounter, but the current bore them along at a steady walking pace and this portion of the waterway appeared to be free of obstructions as far as the eye could see.
The travellers were able to relax and view their surrounding at leisure. But Myra noticed another strange phenomenon, for the narrowboat was responding readily to every touch of the tiller although the craft was being carried forward by the power of the current alone. No helmsman would have this much control whilst navigating a river in her home reality, she thought before shrugging her shoulders, for this was not the river Mersey and she was no longer on the planet Earth.
As the craft advanced, it became clear that the Exit River was taking them through a district that had once been the city’s main docklands area, for abandoned wharves and ruined warehouses lined both banks of the waterway; numerous secondary canals, now largely obstructed by fallen debris, branched out in every direction and having obviously once carried a vast commercial trade to every portion of the city.
“Heaven preserve us!” Muttered the boatmaster, as he viewed row upon row of ruined structures, “yon place would have made the Manchester canal wharves look like some country parcel-stop by comparison. I doubt if the Liverpool docks could have competed for size with this place, at least, when it was occupied and at the height of its prosperity.”
The narrowboat proceeded steadily for almost an hour, until Myra suddenly winced and clasped a hand to her forehead.
“Our helper is very near,” she said. “It’s time to steer over to the right bank and find ourselves a safe and secure mooring.”
Darryl took over the tiller and with practiced skill he steered the craft alongside a long jetty that jutted out into the river for a considerable distance. He then ordered George to moor the craft by a single cable, which he secured to the vessel’s stern.
“Now lad,” he instructed as he prepared to accompany his sister ashore. “Keep a sharp lookout, whilst we are gone. If danger
Darryl swallowed the last dregs of his black tea and stood up. “Well, if we are all agreed, then we had best make a start, but first we’ll arm ourselves as best we can, for only fools confront danger empty handed.”
The boatmaster buckled the sword ‘kingslayer’ to his waist and made sure that the blade was free in the scabbard, whilst George opened a locker and selected a blunt and battered meat cleaver from the tangle of utensils stored within.
“Not much of a weapon,” he reflected as he tested the cleaver for balance. “But it will serve to split the skull of anyone who attempts to clamber aboard the ‘Bonny Barbara’whilst the pair of you are absent.”
Myra took charge of the only firearm which the crew possessed; this was an ancient flintlock fowling piece that had been the property of Robert Littlewood until he had sold the boat and its contents to his younger kinsman. The weapon had seen little recent use, due to the severity of the game laws, and indeed there was only enough powder and shot to load it with a single charge. The three crewmembers then quit the cabin without further delay and prepared to navigate their craft to the mouth of the Exit River.
Darryl and his young boat hand hauled up the makeshift anchors and returned to their labour at the long poles, whilst Myra took up her former station at the tiller. Slowly, the
‘Bonny Barbara’began making headway and their progress quickened appreciably as the current from the Exit River began taking hold of the craft. Soon, the toilers were able to ship their poles entirely and rest as the narrowboat passed beneath the remnants of the great bridge and began making headway down the mainstream of the river.
Darryl dispatched his young assistant to the bows of the craft, in order to give ample warning of swiftly running rapids or any other danger to navigation they might encounter, but the current bore them along at a steady walking pace and this portion of the waterway appeared to be free of obstructions as far as the eye could see.
The travellers were able to relax and view their surrounding at leisure. But Myra noticed another strange phenomenon, for the narrowboat was responding readily to every touch of the tiller although the craft was being carried forward by the power of the current alone. No helmsman would have this much control whilst navigating a river in her home reality, she thought before shrugging her shoulders, for this was not the river Mersey and she was no longer on the planet Earth.
As the craft advanced, it became clear that the Exit River was taking them through a district that had once been the city’s main docklands area, for abandoned wharves and ruined warehouses lined both banks of the waterway; numerous secondary canals, now largely obstructed by fallen debris, branched out in every direction and having obviously once carried a vast commercial trade to every portion of the city.
“Heaven preserve us!” Muttered the boatmaster, as he viewed row upon row of ruined structures, “yon place would have made the Manchester canal wharves look like some country parcel-stop by comparison. I doubt if the Liverpool docks could have competed for size with this place, at least, when it was occupied and at the height of its prosperity.”
The narrowboat proceeded steadily for almost an hour, until Myra suddenly winced and clasped a hand to her forehead.
“Our helper is very near,” she said. “It’s time to steer over to the right bank and find ourselves a safe and secure mooring.”
Darryl took over the tiller and with practiced skill he steered the craft alongside a long jetty that jutted out into the river for a considerable distance. He then ordered George to moor the craft by a single cable, which he secured to the vessel’s stern.
“Now lad,” he instructed as he prepared to accompany his sister ashore. “Keep a sharp lookout, whilst we are gone. If danger
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