What attracted their attention the most was the boat. It was
moored in the shallows. Water lapped gently at its flanks. A
well-tumed railing ran around the deck, and there was no
central cabin.
76
THE HOUR OF THE GATE
A heavy steering oar bobbed at the stem. There was also a
single mast from which a fore-rigged sail hung limp and
tired, loosely draped across the boom.
"I hope our guide is as tough as his boat looks to be,"
said Talea as they mounted the covered porch fronting the
house.
"Only one way to find out." Jon-Tom ducked beneath the
porch roof. The door set in the front of the building was cut
from aged cypress. There was no window or peephole set into
it.
Pog found a comfortable cross-beam, hung head down
from it, and let out a relieved sigh. "Not fancy, maybe, but a
peaceful place ta live. I've always liked rivers."
"How can you like anything?" Talea chided him as they
inspected the house. "You see everything upside down."
"Lizard crap," said the bat with a grunt. "You're da ones
dat sees everyting upside down."
Clothahump knocked on the door. There was no response.
He rapped again, harder. Still nothing, so he tried the handle.
"Locked," he said curtly. "I could spell it open easily
enough, but that would mean naught if the owner is not
present." He sounded concerned. "Could he perhaps be off
on business with a second boat?"
"If so," Jon-Tom started to say, "it wouldn't hurt us to
have a short rest. We could wait until—"
The door opened inward abruptly. The frog that confronted
them stood just over five feet tall, slightly less than Talea, a
touch more than Mudge. Tight snakeskin shorts stopped just
above his knees. The long fringework that lined its hem fell
almost to his ankles. It swayed slightly as he stood inspecting
them.
The shorts were matched by a fringed vest of similar
material. Beneath it he wore a leathern shut that ended above
his elbows. Fringe reached from there to his wrists. He wore
77
Alan Dean Foster
no hat, but a single necklace made from the vertebrae of
some large fish formed a white collar around his green-and-
yellow-spotted neck.
His ventral side was a pale blue that shaded to pink at the
pulsing throat. The rest of his body was dark green marked
with yellow and black spots. Compared to, say, Mudge or
Clothahump, the coloration was somewhat overwhelming. He
would be difficult to lose sight of, even on a dark day.
Examining them one at a time, the frog surveyed his
visitors. He thoroughly sized up every member of the group,
not missing Pog where he hung from the rafter. The bat's
head had swiveled around to stare curiously at the boatman.
The frog blinked, spoke in a low monotone distinguished
by its lack of inflection, friendly or otherwise.
"Cash or credit?"
"Cash," replied Clothahump. "Assuming that we can
work out an agreement to our mutual satisfaction."
"Mutual my ass," said the frog evenly. "I'm the one who
has to be satisfied." When Clothahump offered no rebuttal,
the boatman expressionlessly stepped back inside. "Come on
in, then. No point in standing out in the damp. Sick custom-
ers make lousy passengers."
They filed in, Jon-Tom and Hor electing to take seats on
the floor rather than risk collision with the low, thick-beamed
ceiling, hi addition, the few chairs looked too rickety to
support much weight.
The frog moved to a large iron stove set against a back
wall. A large kettle simmered musically on the hot metal. He
removed the cover, stirred the contents a few times, then
sampled it with a large wooden ladle. The odor was foul.
Taking a couple of large wooden shakers from a nearby wall
shelf, he dumped some of their powdered contents into the
kettle, stirred the liquid a little more, and replaced the iron
cover, apparently satisfied.
78
THE HOUR OF THE GATES
Then he sauntered back to the thick wooden table in the
center of the room. Boating equipment, hooks, ropes,
woodworker's tools, braces and pegs and hammers lined the
other two walls.
At the back was a staircase leading downward. Possibly it
went to the hold, or to clammier and more suitable sleeping
quarters.
Leaning forward across the table, the frog clasped wet
palms together and stared across at Clothahump and Jon-Tom.
His long legs were bent sideways beneath the wood so as not
to kick his guests. Caz was standing near one wall inspecting
some of the aquatic paraphernalia. Talea hunted for a suitable
chair. She finally found one and dragged it up to the table,
where she joined the other three.
"My name's Bribbens Oxiey, of the sandmarsh Oxieys,"
the frog told them. "I'm the best boatman on this or any
other river." This was stated quietly, without any particular
emphasis or boastfulness.
"I know every loggerhead, every tree stump, every knot,
boulder, and rapids for the six hundred leagues between the
Teeth and Kreshfarm-in-the-Geegs. I know the hiding places
of the mudfishers and the waterdrotes' secret holes. I can
smell a storm two days before it hits and ride a wave gentle
enough not to upset a full teacup. I even know the exact place
where ten thousand years ago the witch Wutz tripped over the
cauldron full of magic which doubled the river, and I know
therefore whence comes the name Sloomaz-ayor-le-Weentli."
Jon-Tom gazed back out the still open door, past the
dangling Pog, to what still appeared to be a quite ordinary
stream. Somewhere, he imagined, the river had to fork,
hence the nicknames River of Twos, Double River, and the
others. Since the fork was not here and was unlikely to be
between this spot and the mountains, it had to lie upstream.
79
Alan Dean Foster
He would soon have the chance to find out, he thought, as he
returned his attention to the conversation.
"I can turn my craft circles 'round any other craft and
reach my destination in half their time. I can ride out weather
that puts other merchantmen and fisherfolk under their beds.
I'm not afraid of anything in the river or out of it.
"I personally guarantee to deliver cargo and/or passengers
to their chosen destination for the agreed-upon fee, on the
date determined in advance, if not earlier, or to forfeit all of
my recompense.
"I can outfight anyone, even someone twice my size," he
said, glancing challengingly at Jon-Tom, who tactfully did
not respond, "outeat any other intelligent amphibian or mam-
mal, and I have twenty-two matured tadpoles who can attest
to my other abilities.
"My fee is one goldpiece per league. I'm no cook, and
you can provide your own fodder, or fish if you like. As to
drink, river water's good enough for me, for I'm as home in
it as in this house, but if you get drunk on my craft you'll
soon find yourself swimming for shore. Any questions so
far?"
No one said anything. "Anyone care to dispute anything
I've said?" Still no comment from the visitors. Full of
impatient energy, Talea left her seat and stalked to the door,
stood there leaning against the jamb and staring out at the
river. Bribbens watched her and nodded approvingly.
"Right." He leaned back in his chair, picked idly at the
tangled fringe of his right sleeve. "Now then. How many of
you are going, is there cargo, and where is it you wish to
go?"
Clothahump tapped the table with short fingers. "There is
no cargo save our nominal supplies and personal effects, and