The Time Of The Transferance Read online

  The line of shacks, lean-tos and cabins’ hardly qualified as houses. Shelters would’ve been a more accurate description. Some appeared to stand erect in defiance of gravity.

  Jon-Tom was nonplussed by the sight. “This doesn’t look right, Mudge. The houses don’t fit, there’s no sign of the ketch, and that singing doesn’t sound like the chorus of a bunch of drunken brigands to me. I’d swear some of the voices are female.”

  “One way to find out.”

  They tied the zodiac to a downstream cypress and cautiously headed toward the makeshift village, Jon-Tom cursing the low-hanging branches and thick roots as he fought to follow the agile otter. There was a small gap between a couple of the cabins and they slowly followed it toward the light and singing. All of the cabins were built on stilts, a necessity in a swampland that doubtless flooded every wet season.

  Beyond the semicircle of structures was the bonfire whose glow they’d spotted from the river. A covey of musicians were playing a rollicking tune to which numerous members of the little community were dancing and jumping. None of them were dressed like pirates. Mudge’s black nose was working overtime.

  “They don’t cook like pirates, neither. Wonderful smells! You know wot?” He glanced up at his friend. “I bloody well think we’ve come to the wrong place. These folks ain’t buccaneers.”

  “Of course we no buccaneers. What you two?”

  Jon-Tom spun, to see a young lady muskrat leaning out of a cabin window looking down at him. She had a corncob pipe stuck in one comer of her mouth and a bright yellow polka-dot bandana wrapped around her head.

  “Yeah, ever’body!” she yelled.

  The dancing slowed and the music stopped as the villagers turned in the direction of the shout.

  “Right, let’s not overstay the welcome we ain’t been given.” Mudge started to back up the way they’d come, but Jon-Tom put out a hand to hold him. The otter shook it off.

  “Wot’s the ‘old-up, mate? Wot are you waitin’ for? Let’s make a run for the boat while we still ‘ave the time.”

  “So we can do what? Continue sailing blindly along the coast until we hit a submerged root or something? Maybe these people can help us.”

  Reluctantly Mudge held his ground, muttering. “Aye, *elp us into the cookpot.”

  A fox, several squirrels, and a sleepy-eyed porcupine approached to confront the strangers. “Now what we got here, you think?” The fox’s clothes were of simple materials and design, frayed at the edges but clean. Nor did Jon-Tom fail to note the long sharp skinning knife sheathed at his waist. One of the lady squirrels walked right up to Mudge and put her nose against his, sniffing interestedly. He drew back.

  “ ‘Ave a care for the familiarities, luv. We ain’t been properly introduced.”

  “Doen flatter youself, water rat. I already married.” She looked up at the fox. “Smell clean, no blood on ‘em. Not recently, anyways.”

  “You’re not pirates,” said Jon-Tom.

  The fox and the squirrel looked at each other and then burst out laughing. The porcupine let out a gruff guffaw.

  “Us, pirates?” said the fox. “We fisherman, crabbers, swampfolk. What you?” He had to lean back to look up at Jon-Tom, since he was no taller than Mudge. “Big man; never seen one big like you. Pirates. You hungry?”

  The thought of a hot meal overcame Mudge’s initial hesitations. Also his second and third ones. “Now that you mention it, mate, I could do with a spot o’ tea an’ fish.”

  “Good!” The fox turned to yell over his shoulder. “Play-on music! Get the food ready.” He grinned up at Jon-Tom, showing sharp teeth. “Time to eat anyway, an’ now we got company time.” Putting a paw on the tall human’s arm, he gently led Jon-Tom toward the roaring, crackling blaze.

  “Hey, Porge, what you stop playin’ for? The field mouse who sat in the front of the band was staring at Jon-Tom.

  “Hey, I doen know.” He put his lips to his double harmonica. The other musicians resumed their serenade and a few of the villagers struck up a brisk dance, but most were moving toward a line of roughhewn tables laden with food. There was a lot of red and yellow in the food, though whether from spices or natural coloring Jon-Tom couldn’t tell. He didn’t care. Not after a day eating cold rations in an open boat.

  One thing they didn’t have to worry about was poison. All the food came out of common pots and portable ovens and casseroles. Jon-Tom and Mudge joined the other villagers in heaping it on individual plates.

  “So where you two funny fellas come from?” the fox asked him.

  “Up north.” Someone shoved a ladle full of vegetables and two or three different kinds of meat onto his plate. He hunted around until he located a cut-off stump that would do service as a chair. “North by a roundabout route.” Since no one profferred a fork or any other silverware, he dug in with his fingers.

  The first bite nearly blew his palate off. There was a big pitcher of cool water nearby and he gulped a third of it without wasting time hunting for a glass.

  “Take small bites,” the lady squirrel advised him. Jon-Tom nodded, picked carefully at his plate as he enviously watched Mudge downing huge mouthfuls of the fiery concoction. The otter saw him staring, sidled over to sit on the ground next to the stump. He gestured at the village, the fire, the inhabitants.

  “Wonder who these people are and where they came from? Whichever, they sure as ‘ell can cook.”

  “So you think we pirates?” The fox sat on Jon-Tom’s other side. “That pretty funny, man. What you want to find pirates for? Most folk want to avoid them.”

  It was hard to talk, what with’his mouth having been thoroughly numbed by the steady barrage of peppers and other spices. Everything between his lips and upper alimentary tract had been blitzed by a combination of food and liquid that most closely resembled carbonated turpentine. He made an effort to communicate.

  “Last night some of them attacked the ship my friend and I were on and made off with his intended.”

  The fox looked solemn. “I see now. Nasty goingson. Take a little money and goods, that business, but people-stealin’ we doen agree wid.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any idea where this particular bunch of cutthroats might have their landing, would you? We were assured it was right around here someplace.”

  For an instant Jon-Tom thought he saw a spark of recognition in the fox’s eyes. Then his host was leaning backward and staring at Jon-Tom’s pack. “Hey I never see instrument like that before. Funny-lookin’ thing. You musician? Maybe you give folks a little music, who know, maybe you jog somebody’s memory.” He winked.

  Jon-Tom smiled back. “Sure, I’d be happy to.”

  “Careful now.” Mudge put his plate aside. “We don’t wish to scare the lot o’ them into the woods.”

  Jon-Tom gave his companion a sour look as he strode past the fire to join the village band. They welcomed him curiously, checking out his suar. Rather than launching into some alien tune, he chose to listen until he could pick up on their own music. It wasn’t difficult. The rhythms were simple and the melodies straightforward. He jumped in at an opportune moment and let the beat take him, his fingers moving faster and faster over the suar’s strings. He found he was enjoying himself immensely, almost wished for a real guitar instead of the suar he was forced to make do with. If his duar had been intact he could have ‘given them some magic to go along with his music, but the latter seemed more than enough. Villagers set their food aside to join in the dancing; swirling and flying around the fire. One egret executed a move that had Jon-Tom laughing off and on for half an hour.

  Still, despite his best efforts to blend in and make himself a part of the band the suar didn’t sound right. If only he could play it differently, the way he’d seen similar instruments in identical circumstances played. Then there it was, just as he wished for it, near at it. From a terrapin tapping his feet nearby Jon-Tom plucked a device that looked like a cross between a saw and a cheese slicer but was less biti
ng than either. Bowed across the suar’s strings it made the instrument sound very much like a country fiddle.

  The dancing and singing didn’t slow down even when a muskrat and a drunken mongoose fell to fighting. The battle only inspired Jon-Tom’s fellow musicians to play faster.

  Eventually the celebration petered out as couples wandered off into the woods or back to their cabins. Soon Jon-Tom and the terrapin were the only ones still playing. By mutual agreement they halted together. It was time to call it a night. Jon-Tom was plumb tuckered, but also elated. Making music was as good as making magic, especially when one had an appreciative audience.

  The grateful fox escorted the visitors to an empty cabin.

  “About these pirates now, friend.” The fox ignored the otter’s query.

  “You had enough to eat?”

  “Yeh, plenty, but....”

  “Good. You be hungry all over by morning, you see. Maybe you get rid of supper quick-like unexpected in middle of night. Light up swamp.” He chuckled. “Just watch out for gator an’ snake or maybe you lose more than your food.” Laughing to himself, he sauntered back out toward the clearing. Jon-Tom noticed that he was slightly bowlegged. A couple of lady mice were raking out the coals from the fire.

  He leaned back on the bed which was soft and almost long enough to accommodate his gangling frame. Mudge sat on the edge of a nearby cot.

  “What do you make of that?”

  “I dunno, mate,” said the otter thoughtfully. “Friendly enough. Never met a chummier bunch. Never saw so many people ready to drop everythin’ an’ ‘ave a good time with strangers.”

  “Never saw any folks it was so hard to get a straight answer out of, either.”

  “Too many good spirits maybe, lad.”

  “Possible. Or maybe they don’t like talking about pirates because it’s unhealthy. That would make sense if the schmucks we’re after hang around this part of the country a lot. We’ll find out in the morning if we have to corner one of these happy chappies and tie him to the breakfast table.”

  “Until then, let’s try and get some sleep.”

  A paw on his shoulder woke Jon-Tom. He couldn’t hear anything over the din of night critters from within the swamp, but He could see a furry shape standing in the darkness staring down at him.

  “Mudge?” His eyes were reluctant to open.

  “No. You be quiet, man.”

  The silhouette turned and approached the otter’s bed.

  “Don’t worry about me, stranger,” Jon-Tom heard his friend whisper. “I’ve been awake ever since you set foot to board.”

  “So I see.” No doubt their visitor also saw the glint of moonlight on Mudge’s knife.

  “ Tis a bit early for breakfast and a shade too late for sweet goodnights. Wot is it you want?”

  “To help you. I listen during dancing and talking and bullshitting, hear whole story. Got one for you.”

  Jon-Tom was sitting up on his cot now. As his eyes grew used to the light he saw that their nocturnal visitor was about Mudge’s size and shape. At first glance he thought the stranger wore a mask to disguise his identity, then he realized the mask was part of the face.

  “Name is Cautious.” The raccoon was looking out the cabin’s front window as he spoke. “I hear much of what you talk with fox and others. You looking for your beloved.”

  “My loved, anyway.”

  “Love what matters.” He was wearing vest and short pants with a hole cut in the latter to allow the bushy gray tail egress.

  “The fox told us he’d discuss Mudge’s problem in the morning.”

  Dark eyes winked at him. “Fox say anything to change the subject.”

  “So you do know something about the pirates.”

  “Sure we know ‘bout ‘em. We sell them food and other supplies and sometime two or three of us go help work fix up their boat. Their ship-place not too far south of here.”

  “We just didn’t sail far enough,” Jon-Tom muttered half to himself.

  “You sell them supplies; wot do they pay you with?”

  The raccoon shrugged. “Money, goods, none of it earned honest, you bet. We’re isolated village here. Do pretty good business with them and don’t ask too hard where payment come from.” He spat disgustedly to one side.

  “Only you’re different.” Jon-Tom was wide awake now.

  “Pretty sick of whole stinkin’ business, but nobody listen to Cautious. Ever’body listen to fox who he say if we doen sell them food then next village inland or one beyond that will get the gold. He say we not cutting anybody’s throat. Me, I think you take the money, you take the blood that come with it, you bet. Once in while you get paid with silk dress or boots that got funny stain on ‘em you know don’t come from maker’s mistake, you know what I mean.”

  “We know wot you mean, mate.” Mudge put his knife up.

  “Now maybe they take your lady someplace and trade her for gold. Not around here. Swamp folk doen traffic in live people. Others do.”

  “Why are you telling us all this?” Jon-Tom was slipping into his clothes.

  “I ask myself: Cautious, you mean anything of what you say or you just full of swamp gas? So I decide to come help you fellows because what you lost lot more precious than gold. I doen know, maybe we get killed this night, but I can take you to where pirates sleep. Help you much as I can.”

  “Damn decent of you. Just show us where they are and Mudge and I will try and do the rest. This isn’t your fight. There’s no reason for you to risk your life.”

  “Me, I ain’t got much life.” His face was sad. “Two year ago big storm hit swamp. Big wave come all the way in from sea, right through village. Most of us know it coming so go up in trees until wave go by, then climb down and fix up house.” His voice grew raspy. “My mate and two cubs way out picking oysters. They doen get back in time and I doen get out in time to warn them. Oysters get washed away, wife and babies get washed away.” He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. It was dead silent inside the cabin.

  “So that’s why you want to ‘elp us?” Mudge finally murmured.

  “That why I know what you feeling. Storm take my loved ones from me. Pirates take yours. Can’t do nothin’ about storm, maybe can do something about pirates. So you doen worry about oP Cautious, you hear?”

  “We hear.” Jon-Tom considered. Could they believe the raccoon, put their trust in him completely? Was the story about losing his family just that, a clever story they were about to buy unknowingly?

  The same thought had occurred to Mudge. “No offense, mate, but ‘ow do we know you ain’t making this tragedy up as you go along? ‘Ow can we be sure you ain’t plannin’ to sell somethin’ besides shellfish and shellac to these pirates?”

  “Maybe I leave you find them on your own.” Cautious took a step toward the doorway. Mudge restrained him.

  “Easy, guv’nor. Consider our position ‘ere.”

  The coon hesitated, glanced from otterish visage to human. “Hokay. This time I forget you say something like what you said. You say it again and I disappear into trees.”

  He led them out the back of the cabin. The village was silent, sleeping off the previous evening’s binge.

  “Come on now, quick. I hear about your boat.”

  “What’s the rush? Just because everyone else was intentionally evasive doesn’t mean they’d try and stop us.”

  “No telling what they might do. Swamp folk like that. Party with you one night, put you in the gumbo next. Fox and others make good living off pirates. You sneak up on their camp and steal one of their prizes, maybe you jeopardize that living. Better go quiet.”

  “Me feelin’ precisely.”Mudge pushed aside a branch. It snapped back to smack Jon-Tom in the gut. Murmured curses rose above the drone of the crickets.

  “Funny boat,” Cautious commented when they reached the place where the zodiac was tied. “Sure like to see animal builder took skin from.”

  “It’s an artificial fabric, not a skin.” Jo
n-Tom was looking anxiously in the direction of the village. There was no sign of pursuit. “It came from a polyethelene plant.”

  “Must be some damn fine big leaves.” The raccoon gestured downstream. “We go that ways toward ocean some then cut back in through hidden channel. Try to sneak up on them from other direction or they see us for sure.” Mudge nodded. “You can bet your arse on that. The one runnin’ that crew’s the suspicious type.”

  “What you say? You know this bunch of picaroons?”

  “We’ve ‘ad occasion to chat with ‘em before.” Mudge paddled steadily down river. “Their Captain’s got a score to settle with us, so we’d just as soon snatch back me lady quiet-like and slip away same.”

  “Oh ho. Gets to be interesting, this business.”

  “Take Mudge’s word for it; you don’t want to make this bastard’s acquaintance.”

  “Hokay. Had few dealings with them myself. Mostly fox, he go and do business with them. How you come to know them, eh?”

  Jon-Tom and Mudge took turns relating to their guide the tale of their earlier encounter with Sasheem and the rest of Corroboc’s crew. By the time they had finished the story the sun had put in an appearance, peeping uncertainly over the tallest trees. Shafts of light sliced down through the vines and moss. They were paddling through a deep water inlet over a sandy bottom. “Good place for big boat, but we coming up on them from behind. We find a good spot to leave this funny-skinned craft and go through trees, get your lady, then run like crazy back same way. If lucky, I doen think they see us.”

  Jon-Tom frowned at the sky. “We’ll have to wait a whole day until it’s dark again.”

  “No problem.” He settled down in the bottom of the boat. “This good place for sleeping.”

  “So close to their camp?”

  “Doen worry. They never come in swamp. Stick to open water and their boat. Why you think they buy food from us instead of looking for it themselves?”

  “What if they take Weegee and sail off?”

  “You worry too much, man. You say they just got beaten off your big ship. Now they got to rest up and lick their wounds.”

  “ ‘Ow about you, mate? Won’t they miss you back ‘ome?”