Author's note:
This is chapter seven of my series Lost Colony. Most readers should start with chapter one, but if you want to scroll down to the steamy parts, be my guest!
This is a work of (science) fiction. All characters are over age eighteen. Thanks for reading!
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"Would you like some more crab?"
In answer, Bogg only rolled back on his haunches, regarding Sparr with a muzzle flecked with shell fragments. The two were camped along the edge of the massive, brackish lake that Sparr had first seen at Racas the previous night. After making camp near an abandoned building, he had liberated the creature from its pack. As soon as he did so, Bogg had lumbered off to dig for crabs in the muck. After gorging himself on more of the crustaceans than Sparr had believed possible, Bogg waddled back to camp to lay in a near coma. A damp Kaybe evening crept over them.
"I'll take that as a 'no'," Sparr said. The animal, in its gluttonous rampage, had flung more of the crabs onto the shore than it could eat. Sparr gathered them up, steamed them, and had his own feast. Their sweet flesh was a welcome reprieve from dried fish.
Before settling into sleep, Sparr reviewed his situation. Although he was still troubled by the pointless violence of his encounter with the fence, the outcome had been favorable. In addition to his now-heavy pouch of tokens, he had a bedroll, spare shoes, and an oiled jacket well suited for travel in the damp conditions. And there was the pistol. On Earth the thing would be in a museum. It was a single-shot pistol, but one with a punch. Sparr couldn't tell if the charge was explosive, but the gauge suggested a weapon intended for taking out heavy targets. In addition to the chambered round, he had two more. And he still had the lighter-gauge pistol from his survival pack. Provided he didn't drop his guard, Sparr was well prepared for a fight.
More troubling was his path. He still had no idea what happened aboard the Odysseus. His solo ejection suggested some sort of disaster. Yet, he now saw signs that the Alliance crew had survived and were at work exploring the planet. To contact them and rejoin the crew had been his initial choice. Sparr would get the equipment needed for cataloging species, gain a measure of security, and rejoin his friends. But there was risk involved. The military drone that had attacked the caravan at Shong certainly hadn't been sent to rescue him. He would have to learn what they were up to before showing his hand.
For two more days Sparr followed the way southeast toward Santi. The road turned away from the lake into a stretch of gently rolling hills planted in vines and fruit trees. More and more travelers appeared, and were no longer as guarded as those Sparr had seen before. Most regarded him openly, and a few even offered cautious greetings. He spotted one caravan, garishly decorated with Origin symbols, plodding in the opposite direction. Idly Sparr wondered what they would hear of the drone attack when they reached Shong.
Nights were safer as well. The second evening he made out the sharp yelps of dusk hounds. Sparr had camped against an indentation in a rocky outcrop. While less defensible than he would have preferred, he would have a clear shot if the animals chose to attack. Less than fifteen minutes later he heard them again, this time uncomfortably close. Sparr readied his pistol, but before the animals made their appearance Bogg sat up. The creature had sniffed out and consumed a steady diet of tiny berries over the course of the day, his hunt for the potently sweet fruit sometimes taking him hundreds of meters from the road. When they finally made camp the animal collapsed into a happy stupor, snoring sonorously. Now awake, Bogg sniffed the air, wrinkled his nose, then let out a reverberating, deep growl. He rose, paced the edge of the camp several times, and let out another growl. The hounds never appeared.
Around noon the third day, Sparr came upon another town. Caibo sat trapped by the sea on its eastern side, and a steep ridge to the west. A narrow strip of land led to an island thick with structures, and the home to two massive docks. In addition to the road which Sparr had been traveling, another route headed west.
"Your beast was trained by Barro, I see." This comment came from a fellow traveler, a man of average height with brown skin, black hair, and small, inquisitive eyes. The two had stopped at a narrow, timber bridge, waiting for several wagons to pass.
Sparr was caught off guard. He stalled. "Why, yes. Ahhhh, how could you tell?"
The man smiled knowingly. "The ear notch. See there." He indicated Bogg's left ear. "Two notches. Barro's trademark."
"Oh. You're right. Very good." Sparr didn't want to appear ignorant about his own animal.
"Also," the man continued, "you wouldn't be bringing him into Caibo if he wasn't well trained."
"Either way," Sparr said, "I probably won't take him to the sausage vendor's shop."
"Ha! No, that wouldn't be advisable." The man was pushing an elongated cart loaded with coils of a thick, bristly rope.
"Who buys your rope?" Sparr asked.
"Oh, the ship captains can't get enough of it," he replied.
The wagons passed at last, allowing Sparr and the rope vendor to cross. For a time the two walked together, Bogg waddling along behind them. Sparr could just make out the hulks of several fat ships at the docks.
"They journey to Santi?"
The man gave him a surprised look. "Yes, of course. Oh," the man stopped. "Did you mean today, specifically?"
"Oh yes, today."
"I see. Well, in that case I suggest asking at the ships themselves. You might get a good rate on a cabin. That is, if any are left."
"Thank you," Sparr said. "And my apologies, but I've never come this way before."
The pair climbed until they reached a vantage point. "Here's your primer," the man said. He happily rested his cart while pointing out the town's landmarks. "The near-town is here," he said, waving his hand toward the strip of buildings and alleys set back from the sea. "The way of the Stone." Now he gestured toward the island, its only connection to land a narrow causeway. "Far-town. The way of the Wave. Travelers, merchants, thieves, and whores, all must pick a way."
"I seek safe transport to Santi," Sparr said. "Which way is best?"
The man nodded sagely. "Stone is less expensive, if your tokens are few. The way is slower though, and not without danger. A traveler either must join a caravan or face considerable peril. Even with your beast you may not be safe."
"I see," Sparr said. "And Wave?"
"Faster, but more expensive," the man replied. "Berths are few, and usually taken by those with more coin than time." He regarded Sparr as if trying to determine whether or not he was a man of means. "Find Captain Jance," he suggested. "Tell him Ario sent you. He'll give you a good rate. Or," the man said, raising his cart again, "he'll throw you over the side." He chuckled. "I jest. Good luck on your journey." With surprising agility, the man bounded ahead, half pushing his cart, half dragged by it.
Sparr followed the road's gentle switchbacks down to near-town. Here, solid buildings sat one beside the other in orderly rows. Stone footings supported evenly-cut timber walls. Some were narrow, some wide, but none dared to rise more than one level. Where Racas had been fetid and ramshackle, Caibo was tidy and predictable. Sparr passed through the near-town square, which was elongated to match the narrow layout of the town itself. Among other establishments, Sparr recognized the local temple of the Origin, and what might be a trading house, thronging with the strident calls of merchants. The square also served as a staging area for caravans, carrying goods either toward Santi, or west to the continental interior. He inquired at one.
"I seek passage to Santi," he told a woman who gave the appearance of authority.
"That's very well," she said, "but by Stone law you must ask the first caravan in the queue."
Shaking his head, Sparr walked to the next caravan. "Are you the next to depart to Santi?" he inquired of the matron.
The portly woman glanced toward the sky. "Yes," she said, flatly. "We will depart at first light tomorrow."
"How much for passage?"
"For you, eighty tokens. For your beast, another twenty." She sized-up Sparr as if estimating his appetite. "This does not include meals."
"I see," he said. "And how many days is the journey?"
"Eleven days. If we are shadowed by bandits we will have to proceed with more caution. In that case, as many as fourteen days."
"Thank you," Sparr said. "If I decide to seek passage I will be back before evening."
"This is of no consequence to me," the matron said, before turning back to her own thoughts.
Sparr shrugged and headed to the causeway, Bogg in tow. The rest of the town demonstrated the same, orderly construction. It was as if a single person, working from the same design, had built every home, shop, inn, and warehouse.
The far-town, in comparison, was a crazy patchwork of colors, architectural styles, and sizes. A squat customs house greeted travelers as they crossed the causeway, its front a series of bays for inspecting inbound and outbound shipments. Built half on top of it and half against the rising slope of the island's conical shape, a row of shanties had sprouted up, forged from scraps of wood, scavenged metal, and leather. None followed the aesthetic of its neighbor. Sparr found the same to be true as he navigated his way toward the docks. Stout warehouses built from thick timbers sandwiched stacks of narrow shops each barely large enough to hold a few goods and a sleepy shopkeeper. Everywhere Sparr saw signs of salvaged metal, glass, and bricks, the scattered inheritance of the planet's original colonists.
The docks themselves were only slightly more orderly. One low dock serviced smaller boats and skiffs, while the other, set higher over the water, served as a home to larger craft. Sparr approached one of these, addressing a youth.
"I seek Captain Jance."
The youth grunted, tossing his head in the general direction of the next ship. "He's on the Shai."
The Shai was perhaps the most awkwardly designed ship Sparr had ever seen. Though it had an identifiable bow and stern, the vessel was closer to being round than any sailing ship Sparr could recall. The single mast was set in the center of the ship, and topped with arms which suggested square sails. A massive tiller extended aft.
"Are you Captain Jance?"
"I am indeed." The man Sparr had addressed was seated on a crate, finishing his lunch. Round faced, nearly bald, and smiling warmly, he looked as contented a man as Sparr had seen on Kaybe.
"I seek passage to Santi. Ario recommended your ship."
Jance nodded slowly. "For a man who has never set foot aboard, he is an excellent judge of ships." He stomped the deck with a boot as if to emphasize its solidity. "The Shai is not the fastest afloat, but she's quite safe."
"May I inquire how long the journey takes?"
"The winds are favorable this time of year," Jance replied. "Five nights, six at most. Three hundred tokens, including your beast."
"Is that for a cabin?" Sparr had nowhere near three hundred tokens.
"Why yes! The topside cabin is... oh," he trailed off. "Perhaps you are looking to conserve your tokens?"
