The Magnificent Showboats Read Free

magnificent ship with its gallant captain and bring himself and his bit of iron aboard for a performance. The fisherman gave no answering signal and merely stared back numbly. Zamp lowered his arm. Such a lumpkin would be just as likely to blunder aboard Fironzelle’s Golden Conceit should that barge-load of sham drift past. Ashgale had sailed forth in his gaudy palace two weeks before Zamp’s own departure from Coble, and they had passed nowhere along the river. Ah well, Ashgale could come and go as he wished; his acts meant nothing and Zamp went forward to make an inspection of the boat.
    Zamp’s gait was most distinctive. His torso was sturdy, although good living had blurred the taut outline of his middle regions. His legs were long; he walked with a loping bent-kneed stride, shoulders hunched, head somewhat forward, with blue eyes gleaming, fair hair flouncing and aristocratic nose turned first to this side, then that.
    On the midship platform the acrobats and jugglers were at practice, with the animal-trainers and insect-masters under screened awnings to port and starboard. On the foredeck the mime troupe rehearsed their routines, quarreling for space with the grotesques who attempted a new contortion. On the stage itself the Dildeks, who simulated combat with knives, bolos, claws and snapples, ran back and forth across chalked patterns.
    Zamp climbed the shrouds to the crow’s-nest, but observed no cushions, bottles, musical instruments or under-garments, all of which he had discovered at one time or another. The eye at the end line of the triatic stay joining foremast and mainmast showed evidence of chafe. This was the high-wire upon which his funambulists performed their feats. If it broke during a performance, Zamp’s professional reputation would suffer; he would have a word with Bonko at once.
    From this lofty perch the boat presented a scene of cheerful activity; everyone seemed in good spirits. Zamp knew better. Miraldra’s Enchantment carried its full quota of dyspeptic grumblers. Some told of idyllic conditions aboard rival boats; others, slaves to avarice, incessantly demanded iron and more iron. Up here in the crow’s-nest, Zamp could ignore all that was paltry and take pleasure in the view, which extended forever across the vast Big Planet horizons. That far smudge was a line of mountains; that fainter air-colored mark beyond was another, higher, range; and still beyond, at the uncertain limits of perception, a silken line of pale blue ink on gray paper represented still another mountain range of unknown proportions. A glint in the west might be a sea and that trace of smoky lavender along the far shore perhaps indicated a desert. Southward the brimming river dwindled to a twinkling thread of silver; to the north a sugarloaf bluff of red chert concealed the course of the river across the Tinsitala Steppe, onward and onward: where? Past Badburg and Fudurth, and Glassblower’s Point; past the Meagh Mountains and Dead Horse Swamp and Garken; across Slyland, through the Mandaman Gates into Bottomless Lake and the legendary kingdom of Soyvanesse, whose people lived in mansions and dined off iron plates and allowed no strangers to enter, in order to protect their wealth and the suavity of their lives. The River Index showed these places, but who knows? The chart might be factitious. Zamp knew of folk who had journeyed north as far as Garken, but the lands beyond were no more real than the marks on the chart. Zamp nodded his head sagely. So much for the worlds of fancy! Reality lay here, along the Vissel, from Coble to Ratwick, or perhaps Euvis; here was real iron, and a pinch of black in the hand was worth more than clangorous disks and noble bowls of the imagination.
    Zamp descended the shrouds and strode back to the quarterdeck, where he flung himself into a wicker chair and sat staring moodily across the water.

     
    At noon the wind slackened and the ship moved upstream only listlessly, barely making