Chapter 6: The Captain and the Kid
Thanks: To Sarah, for the Title.
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The Amoza River Queen. The name is painted on the wheel deck in florid script, bright red picked out with gold and blue. A full classic Mississippi River steam boat. Not one of the largest, but still, luxury transportation by Chak River standards. More so since Barbara has arranged a charter, so we should have the boat to ourselves. Well, all to ourselves except for a few 'emergency' deliveries that the dock man assures us are a matter of life and death - or at least local domestic happiness. I'd rather stay on schedule, but I'm realistic. As long as we can avoid unwanted passengers, I can tolerate a few 'local deliveries'.
It's a better ship then I had expected. Well maintained despite the local climate, which is hard on the paint. The technology may be obsolete, but the wood had worn well. The brass work may not have gleamed, but it was solid.
Captain Allnut is a capable looking man. Tall and rangy. He give me a quick one over and a hearty handshake. "I'm American too. Ex-pat from the Bronx. Been here since before the Great War. First wife was British." He smiles at the memory.
"Tough bird." I sense that's his highest complement "Worked the river with me until '92. "Needed help after she died. I took on Greg Ch'oc as a partner." He waves forward a much younger man clad only in work stained denim.
I shake hands with the young native. I'd put him in his late twenties. Tattoos make is hard to be certain. Five four, which is tall for the jungle tribes. Strong more then bulked. Thick calluses on both hands. A good man to have on our side. No telling if he speaks English. He doesn't seem to speak at all.
"Married his sister," the Captain adds by way of conclusion.
"Welcome on board, Mr. Wayne." A female voice addresses me from behind. " Your people?" 'Mrs. Captain' is small and dark and shockingly tattooed, but her English is (ignoring the Bronx accent) excellent. And she is in her own way, no doubt, a very tough bird.
We do introductions all around. She takes one look at Dinah and I can tell I am on her list for evil intentions. Maybe some of the locals are more Catholic then Dr. Jones suspects. No problem. Around Dinah I can most certainly keep my hands to myself.
It's near dark when we board, so after a brief tour of the boat she sends us down ship to settle in.
I notice that, while with the men our hostess just points to the rooms up on the balcony floor, Dinah gets escorted to her door. Confirmed. We are on old-time Catholic turf. Maybe I should have gone with Jean-Paul after all.
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The cabins are surprisingly luxurious. Or maybe not so surprising. The River Queen was built for the Mississippi trade back in 1896. The cabins reflect that in their carved furniture and satin wallpaper. Faded, perhaps, but still showing the signs of past elegance.
I flip back the sheets. Not just curious. A mattress can hold some unpleasant surprises in this part of the world. Rope bed. Good. I test the tension. Firm. Should be stable, even under weight.
'Mrs. Captain' is a good housekeeper. The sheets are clean. So are the glass lanterns on the kerosene lamps. And the basin water smells fresh, which means it was boiled rather than just scooped out of the river. Even the chamber pot under the bed looks clean. Not that I'd wish to use it. There are overdeck privies which we can use unless there is a piranha sighting.
Dinah has been discretely placed in one connecting cabin, and Dick in the other. Dr. Jones has the corner cabin across. All linked with inside transom doors. Necessary in the stifling heat and humility, and also convenient. Dinah's is locked. I was so right about Mrs. Captain and her suspicions.
I pick the lock. Just in case.
I trust the Captain - with in reason. But only within reason.
Ignoring my suitcase, I stroll over to Dick's cabin. Much the same. Just a porthole on the other side. He's busy unpacking the few things he will need for this part of the trip. All fresh T-shirts, I notice. He must be anticipating a rough trip if he won't risk the old ones.
"Dinah seems quite taken with Dr. Jones." Not that it matters. Her loyalty is beyond question. Just making conversation.
"Which is one count against him, given her luck with men." A bit snappy. He must be tired from the drive.
"On the other hand", I reply, " if she's sleeping with him at least we'll know where he is." Dick would deny it, but I like to think I look for the positive.
"You don't trust him?" OK, you don't trust anyone, but......"
"I trust you."
"Me and Tim and Alfred - and maybe Babs and Dinah"
"Of course I trust Barbara!" She has always been a bit of a sore spot between us. Barbara is...very fond.. of Dick. And...Dick has always been...very fond of her. Not that he shouldn't be, of course. She's a wonderful person. I'm fond of her myself. Still, there have been times...... I put that out of my mind.
I move the conversation to a less dangerous ground. "Dr. Jones has a reputation for fortuitous finds." If one is being polite about it. Others have called him a tomb robber or worse. "I'm not certain why he chose to accept this job. We are not looking for Mayan ruins. His jungle knowledge is useful to us, but are we useful to him?"
"You're paying him. That's useful. And he'll probably hit you up for a grant. " Dick leans back. It's been a long day. " We'll keep an eye on him." He is asleep before I can say another word.
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Dawn finds us well into the jungle. We have traveled all night, and made surprising good time. It was not quiet, like I would think. The jungle has a noise of its own. And the churning of the paddle wheel adds a constant background tone.
But at dawn everything falls silent.
I am awake. I have never slept well outside my city. Here, even the scent is strange, and I can find no comfort. It is too early to bother the others, so I slip out on the balcony to watch the landscape as we float by.
Perhaps I should exercise, but for now I let myself absorb the scene.
Bright birds cross overhead, flocks of parrots and macaws as close and common as pigeons in Gotham Park. A flashing glimpse of a monkey, flipping through high branches. In my world, only people move like that. The tight green comes right down to the water, venturing in like a swimmer in some places.
In the distance a wolf howls. A wolf? More likely a feral dog. Whatever the sound, there are no wolves native to this area.
I gaze deep into the forest canopy, thick with twisting growth. In it's desperate vigor, it has spread up and out, trying to cover even the wide waters of the river. Day has come, and soon the sky will brighten, but down here we will still be in shadow.
Ivy would be at home here. It's not my place. It's not Gotham. But it is, in its way, as beautiful. And it is, most assuredly, just as deadly.
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About an hour later our non-stop charter makes it's first stop. Coal is scarce here, so the River Queen is burning wood. Scrap mostly, culled from the lumber sites. I concede it's a efficient use of resources. But wood is bulky, so we will have to make frequent stops early on to fill up the hoppers.
The wood we get, and also fresh fruit, eggs and meat, but there is still some problem.
Captain Allnut jumps down to talk to the deck men.
?Donde nuestra gasolina est?"
Annoying. They are not loading the expected gasoline for the excursion boat.
"No hay gasolina."
"Fui dicho....."
The deck man cuts him off, apologetic but certain.
"Si, se entrego." A wave of his hands, replacing argument. "Si, estaba elasidero activado para usted."
He makes the universal gesture for 'what can you do?'.
"Los Hombres in un barco vineron aqui antes del alba. Ellos se desperaron al jefe, los abtovo fuers de su cama. Ellos dijeron que ellos necesitaran los gasolina."
Men in a boat, tough enough to wake up the dock master. More interesting.
"No es sabio a discute con tales hombres."
No, it is not wise to argue with such men. We will miss the gasoline, but we will manage. I have gained something more valuable. Information. It would seem we are not the only travelers the river.
END CHAPTER SIX
With a nod to Tanger. Reviews get chapters. But next time? It's really smart to *read* the intro.
Thanks: To Sarah, for the Title.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
The Amoza River Queen. The name is painted on the wheel deck in florid script, bright red picked out with gold and blue. A full classic Mississippi River steam boat. Not one of the largest, but still, luxury transportation by Chak River standards. More so since Barbara has arranged a charter, so we should have the boat to ourselves. Well, all to ourselves except for a few 'emergency' deliveries that the dock man assures us are a matter of life and death - or at least local domestic happiness. I'd rather stay on schedule, but I'm realistic. As long as we can avoid unwanted passengers, I can tolerate a few 'local deliveries'.
It's a better ship then I had expected. Well maintained despite the local climate, which is hard on the paint. The technology may be obsolete, but the wood had worn well. The brass work may not have gleamed, but it was solid.
Captain Allnut is a capable looking man. Tall and rangy. He give me a quick one over and a hearty handshake. "I'm American too. Ex-pat from the Bronx. Been here since before the Great War. First wife was British." He smiles at the memory.
"Tough bird." I sense that's his highest complement "Worked the river with me until '92. "Needed help after she died. I took on Greg Ch'oc as a partner." He waves forward a much younger man clad only in work stained denim.
I shake hands with the young native. I'd put him in his late twenties. Tattoos make is hard to be certain. Five four, which is tall for the jungle tribes. Strong more then bulked. Thick calluses on both hands. A good man to have on our side. No telling if he speaks English. He doesn't seem to speak at all.
"Married his sister," the Captain adds by way of conclusion.
"Welcome on board, Mr. Wayne." A female voice addresses me from behind. " Your people?" 'Mrs. Captain' is small and dark and shockingly tattooed, but her English is (ignoring the Bronx accent) excellent. And she is in her own way, no doubt, a very tough bird.
We do introductions all around. She takes one look at Dinah and I can tell I am on her list for evil intentions. Maybe some of the locals are more Catholic then Dr. Jones suspects. No problem. Around Dinah I can most certainly keep my hands to myself.
It's near dark when we board, so after a brief tour of the boat she sends us down ship to settle in.
I notice that, while with the men our hostess just points to the rooms up on the balcony floor, Dinah gets escorted to her door. Confirmed. We are on old-time Catholic turf. Maybe I should have gone with Jean-Paul after all.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
The cabins are surprisingly luxurious. Or maybe not so surprising. The River Queen was built for the Mississippi trade back in 1896. The cabins reflect that in their carved furniture and satin wallpaper. Faded, perhaps, but still showing the signs of past elegance.
I flip back the sheets. Not just curious. A mattress can hold some unpleasant surprises in this part of the world. Rope bed. Good. I test the tension. Firm. Should be stable, even under weight.
'Mrs. Captain' is a good housekeeper. The sheets are clean. So are the glass lanterns on the kerosene lamps. And the basin water smells fresh, which means it was boiled rather than just scooped out of the river. Even the chamber pot under the bed looks clean. Not that I'd wish to use it. There are overdeck privies which we can use unless there is a piranha sighting.
Dinah has been discretely placed in one connecting cabin, and Dick in the other. Dr. Jones has the corner cabin across. All linked with inside transom doors. Necessary in the stifling heat and humility, and also convenient. Dinah's is locked. I was so right about Mrs. Captain and her suspicions.
I pick the lock. Just in case.
I trust the Captain - with in reason. But only within reason.
Ignoring my suitcase, I stroll over to Dick's cabin. Much the same. Just a porthole on the other side. He's busy unpacking the few things he will need for this part of the trip. All fresh T-shirts, I notice. He must be anticipating a rough trip if he won't risk the old ones.
"Dinah seems quite taken with Dr. Jones." Not that it matters. Her loyalty is beyond question. Just making conversation.
"Which is one count against him, given her luck with men." A bit snappy. He must be tired from the drive.
"On the other hand", I reply, " if she's sleeping with him at least we'll know where he is." Dick would deny it, but I like to think I look for the positive.
"You don't trust him?" OK, you don't trust anyone, but......"
"I trust you."
"Me and Tim and Alfred - and maybe Babs and Dinah"
"Of course I trust Barbara!" She has always been a bit of a sore spot between us. Barbara is...very fond.. of Dick. And...Dick has always been...very fond of her. Not that he shouldn't be, of course. She's a wonderful person. I'm fond of her myself. Still, there have been times...... I put that out of my mind.
I move the conversation to a less dangerous ground. "Dr. Jones has a reputation for fortuitous finds." If one is being polite about it. Others have called him a tomb robber or worse. "I'm not certain why he chose to accept this job. We are not looking for Mayan ruins. His jungle knowledge is useful to us, but are we useful to him?"
"You're paying him. That's useful. And he'll probably hit you up for a grant. " Dick leans back. It's been a long day. " We'll keep an eye on him." He is asleep before I can say another word.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
Dawn finds us well into the jungle. We have traveled all night, and made surprising good time. It was not quiet, like I would think. The jungle has a noise of its own. And the churning of the paddle wheel adds a constant background tone.
But at dawn everything falls silent.
I am awake. I have never slept well outside my city. Here, even the scent is strange, and I can find no comfort. It is too early to bother the others, so I slip out on the balcony to watch the landscape as we float by.
Perhaps I should exercise, but for now I let myself absorb the scene.
Bright birds cross overhead, flocks of parrots and macaws as close and common as pigeons in Gotham Park. A flashing glimpse of a monkey, flipping through high branches. In my world, only people move like that. The tight green comes right down to the water, venturing in like a swimmer in some places.
In the distance a wolf howls. A wolf? More likely a feral dog. Whatever the sound, there are no wolves native to this area.
I gaze deep into the forest canopy, thick with twisting growth. In it's desperate vigor, it has spread up and out, trying to cover even the wide waters of the river. Day has come, and soon the sky will brighten, but down here we will still be in shadow.
Ivy would be at home here. It's not my place. It's not Gotham. But it is, in its way, as beautiful. And it is, most assuredly, just as deadly.
^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)
About an hour later our non-stop charter makes it's first stop. Coal is scarce here, so the River Queen is burning wood. Scrap mostly, culled from the lumber sites. I concede it's a efficient use of resources. But wood is bulky, so we will have to make frequent stops early on to fill up the hoppers.
The wood we get, and also fresh fruit, eggs and meat, but there is still some problem.
Captain Allnut jumps down to talk to the deck men.
?Donde nuestra gasolina est?"
Annoying. They are not loading the expected gasoline for the excursion boat.
"No hay gasolina."
"Fui dicho....."
The deck man cuts him off, apologetic but certain.
"Si, se entrego." A wave of his hands, replacing argument. "Si, estaba elasidero activado para usted."
He makes the universal gesture for 'what can you do?'.
"Los Hombres in un barco vineron aqui antes del alba. Ellos se desperaron al jefe, los abtovo fuers de su cama. Ellos dijeron que ellos necesitaran los gasolina."
Men in a boat, tough enough to wake up the dock master. More interesting.
"No es sabio a discute con tales hombres."
No, it is not wise to argue with such men. We will miss the gasoline, but we will manage. I have gained something more valuable. Information. It would seem we are not the only travelers the river.
END CHAPTER SIX
With a nod to Tanger. Reviews get chapters. But next time? It's really smart to *read* the intro.