Helga: Out of Hedgelands by Rick Johnson (historical books to read TXT) 📕

and big-hearted beast you will never find. In her, ‘bad’ does not mean evil. I call her ‘bad’ as all beasts who dare to challenge her will call her ‘bad’—a more strong and forceful, determined and dangerous beast does not exist. Be warned. She may be young, friendly enough, and mean you no harm if you accept her ways. But be warned.” Ending his strange introduction to what was to come, Winja took a long slurp of Sea Brew and looked toward the Long-Off Pinnacle.

 

Bem Madsoor Introduces Herself

As shadows lengthened in the early evening, a long day of fun and feasting was still going strong at Narrows End Bay. Captain “Red Whale” Gumberpott swung slowly back and forth in a hammock, his legs sprawling over the edges. Thanks to the feasting, his substantial stomach took on truly gigantic proportions as the curve of the hammock pushed it up before his eyes. A bop of Sea Brew rested on Red Whale’s stomach and with only minor effort, the good captain could tip the bop enough to send a small dribble of the Brew into his mouth. Such small movements and sips were about all he could manage. The feasting had taken its toll.

Relaxed and gut-stuffed to the limit, Red Whale contentedly watched some of the more energetic crew of the Daring Dream preparing to compete against some of the Narrows End Bay locals in a Cheat-Break contest. Red Whale remembered the first time he’d seen Cheat-Break played. He’d been a young mate on that first stop at Narrows End Bay so many years ago. “Arr’t it a bit o’ wonder the way time sails by?” he mused, recalling himself in those days. “I was a hunder’d pounds less in the gut then,” he chuckled, “and it’s a blessin’ I’m too heavy to be any use to our team now...Needs a young beast sharp o’ mouth and weak o’ brain—more grit than wit—Aye, getting’ old and heavy has its merits,” he smiled, sipping his Brew.

But Red Whale quickly turned serious as he noticed Katteo Jor’Dane tying a strip of green cloth around her arm. “Nay, Katteo!” he yelled, without moving from his comfortable hammock.  “It’s bein’ a game better for ya to watch than to play. We can’t afford ya gittin’ all smashed up!” Red Whale knew the dangers of Cheat-Break and he was not willing to have his best crew-beasts risk serious injury. “Arr—the same goes for you Piggerton! Off to the sidelines with ya!” If a few of his bilge-brained crew wanted to take their chances in a dangerous game, he could replace them with locals if need be. But he’d not allow his most skilled and vital crew to play the fool with their limbs.

A feast day at Narrows End Bay always ended with Cheat-Break races. As the name implied, Cheat-Break was a rough local game that left cheaters with all manner of broken bones. Teams of ‘Heavers’—twelve to a team—carried longboats above their heads from one end of a marked course to the other.

As the game began, the longboats were empty. But when a longboat crossed a line at one end of the course, the boat was lowered quickly to the ground and one of the Heavers clambered aboard. The remaining Heavers hoisted the boat up again and hurried off toward the other end of the course. After crossing a similar line at that end, the process was repeated. As more and more rounds were completed, and more and more beasts rode in the boats, the heavier the boats became. The team that carried its longboat the longest distance before it could no longer be lifted was the winner.

A red pennant flapped from the prow of one longboat and a green pennant hung from the opposing one. The contest was defined by the curious way the teams were divided. Equal numbers of Red and Green Heavers carried each longboat. All sorts of trickery could be tried to help one’s own team, save only causing the boat to fall. A falling longboat—especially one filled with Heaver beasts—could badly injure many an unlucky beast. Hence, Cheat-Break was a fairly apt name for the rough old sport.

In the early going, the teams moved with some speed. Moving in spurts and spiraling bursts, the boats swayed and dipped in erratic curves. Opposing Heavers struggled to advance their own team’s boat, or delay the opposing one. The basic goal of Heavers carrying the opposing team’s longboat was to make the journey from one end of the course to the other exhausting. The more times a longboat circled aimlessly due to the evenly-matched struggles of opposing Heavers, the more likely that longboat would lose the game. On the other hand, the strategy of Heavers loyal to the longboat they carried was to keep their biggest and strongest teammates as rested as possible in the early going.

The boats weaved down the course amidst a barrage of jabbering and cursing from the Heavers: “YAR! YA BILGE-DRINKIN’ SLIME HOG! KEEPIN’ YER ELBOW TO OUT’ER ME EYES! ER I’LL BITT’IN IT UP!”

“ARRR! YA WORTHLESS SAND-HEAD—YER BE BITIN’ ME AND I’LL POUND YER TEETH INTA YER GUT!”

The yammering of the Heavers mingled with the cheers and taunts of the crowd.

“GLORY ON, RED! GLORY ON! GREEN’S NOTHIN’ BUT SAIL—NOT A BIT O’ WIND! GLORY ON, YA GREEN BOAT-SNATCHERS!”

“AH, SHUT YER GAP! RED PLAYS LIKE FISH TRYIN’ TO WALK. STEP LIVELY, GREEN!”

Puffing and hollering, the Heavers gradually moved the wildly spinning longboats down the course. Each team fought to hold its own in the rugged contest as the boats went up and down, around and around, in the dizzying race.

Red Whale roared with laughter as he watched the comic spectacle. Running his arm across his eyes to wipe away the tears of laughter that had gathered there, he glanced out toward the bay. Turning suddenly ashen, the smile faded from his face. A strange figure was climbing the rigging of the Daring Dream! No beast had been left aboard to take care of the ship. Every member of the crew was ashore! The beast in the riggings was unfurling the sails. The ship was being stolen!

“STATIONS! TO STATIONS! STATIONS! STATIONS! TO THE SHIP! THE SHIP IS BEING STOLEN! IT’S A SNEAK ATTACK!” Red Whale roared, flying into action.

One look toward the ship told everyone Captain Gumberpott was right. Instantly, the Heavers set the longboats down where they were. The Cheat-Break contest was forgotten. Daring Dream crew-beasts scrambled to launch the longboats. Captain Gumberpott was already pulling on the oars as BorMane, Fishbum, and Katteo Jor’Dane splashed through the shallows and clambered into the boat. The rest of the Daring Dream crew ran to the boats, jumping aboard in tangled masses of arms and legs as the longboats rapidly pulled away from the beach. Diving and leaping through waist-deep water the last members of the crew caught the final departing longboat and pulled themselves aboard.

Pulling hard on the oars, the crew-beasts grunted and groaned as the oars dipped in the waves. The iron-armed sea-beasts had never rowed more urgently. With each jangle of the oars in the oarlocks, the heavy longboats seemed to take flight, leaping across the next wave.

But as the longboats drew closer to the Daring Dream, a babble of surprised muttering rose from the crew.

“Nay-O, n’ what’s the attack? I’d see nar’t more than a single beast on the Dream!”

“Tha’rs nar’t but a wee little cockboat tied up there! Don’t look to be a warrin’ ship!”

“There’s narry but a Sea Wolf up there in the riggin’—just a one!”

“Arr! What’s ta meanin’ of all this? Be it a lone Wolf Rummer?”

Reaching the ship first, Captain Gumberpott clambered up the ladder. Just as he stepped onto the deck, the Sea Wolf who had been unfurling the sails, swung easily down to the deck on a rope. Dressed in the rough style of one a long away from home, the Wolf wore a badly worn, but neatly mended, crimson waistcoat and pants, with plain sea cotton shirt, and lizard-skin boots. A long red feather poked jauntily from the side of the snug cap she wore tightly pulled on her head. A reddish bronze chain hung around the Wolf’s thick neck, with an unusual hooked chunk of blood-red glass attached to it. A short sword was in a scabbard on her belt, and a rolled up net hung from a sling across her back. Streaks of white hair scattered among the Wolf’s otherwise long dark red-brown mane marked her as a “well weathered old varmit,” as Winja had described Bem Madsoor  on another occasion.

For indeed it was none other than Bem Madsoor, herself. Burned by the sun to the color of mahogany, the swarthy Wolf’s long, thin face mimicked her rangy height. Standing at least a foot taller than those gathered around, she could look down on everyone except Red Whale. Yet, with the long feather in the close-fitting cap she wore, she made up even those few inches. Landing lightly on the deck, the Wolf reached deftly behind her back. With nearly magical speed and grace she loosened the rolled net she carried and tossed it high in the air. With a bemused smile, Bem watched the net drop neatly over Red Whale, and—fast as lightning—yanked a cord to pull the net tight around the captain. Stepping toward Fishbum, standing dumb-struck beside his captain, the Wolf drew her sword and—THUNK!—struck it into the deck in front of him. Noticing that his sea-coat was not buttoned—and obviously intending to be rude—Bem proceeded to carefully button it from bottom to top.

“Well, now,” the Wolf said, looking closely at each of the Daring Dream crew in turn. “I am Bemrasoria Madsoor—to which of you mealy-brained, gill-quivers might I address some complaints about the condition of this ship? Shattered bowsprit...Smashed oarports...a dangerous rip in the main sail...the hull crusted in barnacles...Seems downright unfriendly and inhospitable for sea-beasts to lay around on the beach over yonder like a mess of oily-looking spoiled fish and not have this ship ready for sail. There’s a wide sea to cross and the Ogress will begin to blow in a few days. This ship isn’t fit to sail across a cup of warm spit in a calmin’ breeze. Who’s the captain here? Why isn’t he in irons for not having this ship ready to sail?”

Bem Madsoor’s display of bold, insulting defiance toward their captain stunned the Daring Dream crew. The normally brave and rowdy crew stood in mute astonishment. Rough manners and harsh characters were well known to them, but the brash, insulting spirit of this Wolf was startling. Such an insulting beast ought to be jumped and tossed into a rowboat. But something about Bem’s manner took the edge off of her insults. Something was likeable about her. There was a rough good-humor in her eye and the constant smile on her face seemed genuine.

“Aye, I seem to recall seein’ the captain,” Red Whale said dryly, still covered with the net, but taking it calmly, startled as much as the rest. “He’s a bad one, though—you can be sure of that—he sailed this here ship right through the Narrows, laughing all the way. And he’s done worse and made port in ships a sight worse than this one. We call him ‘Red Whale,’ and you would be well to know he’s like a Jack-o-Lantern because he has a kindly, laughing shell on the outside, but the fires of hell burn on his insides. So, I offer the warning to one so bold.”

Bem smiled and bowed to Captain Gumberpott, then pulled the net away with lightning agility. “Now dear captain,” she said bowing to him, “I see that irons