Farmer, Philip Jose - Riverworld 2 - The Fabulous Riverboat

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The Fabulous Riverboat

Book 2 of The Riverworld Series

By Philip Jose Farmer

Version 1.0

"Resurrection, like politics, makes strange bedfellows,"

Sam Clemens said. "I can't say that the sleeping is very

restful."

Telescope under one arm, he puffed on a long, green

cigar while he paced back and forth on the poopdeck of

the Dreyrugr (Bloodstained). Ari Grimolfsson, the helms-

man, not understanding English, looked bleakly at

Clemens. Clemens translated for him in wretched Old

Norse. The helmsman still looked bleak.

Clemens loudly cursed him in English for a dunder-

headed barbarian. For three years, Clemens had been

practicing tenth-century Norse night and day. And he was

still only half intelligible to most of the men and women

aboard the Dreyrugr.

"A ninety-five-year-old Huck Finn, give or take a few

thousand years," Clemens said, "I start out down The

River on a raft. Now I'm on this idiot Viking ship, going

upRiver. What next? When will I realize my dream?"

Keeping the upper part of his right arm close to his

body so he would not drop the precious telescope, he

pounded his right fist into his open left palm.

"Iron! I need iron! But where on this people-rich,

metal-poor planet is iron? There has to be some! Other-

wise, where did Erik's ax come from? And how much is

there? Enough? Probably not. Probably there's just a very

small meteorite. But maybe there's enough for what I

want. But where? My God, The River may be twenty

million miles long! The iron, if any, may be at the other

end.

"No, that can't be! It has to be somewhere not too far

away, within 100,000 miles of here. But we may be going

in the wrong direction. Ignorance, the mother of hysteria,

or is it vice versa?"

He looked through the telescope at the right bank and

cursed again. Despite his pleas to bring the ship in so that

he could scan the faces at a closer range, he had been

refused. The king of the Norseman fleet, Erik Bloodaxe,

said that this was hostile territory. Until the fleet was. out

of it, the fleet would stay close to the middle of The River.

The Dreyrugr was the flagship of three, all alike. It was

eighty feet long, built largely of bamboo and resembled a

Viking dragonboat. It had a long low hull, an oak

figurehead carved into a dragon's head, and a curled-tail

stern. But it also had a raised foredeck and poopdeck, the

sides of both extending out over the water. The two bam-

boo masts were fore-and-aft rigged. The sails were a very

thin but tough and flexible membrane made from the

stomach of the deep-dwelling "riverdragon" fish. There

was also a rudder controlled by a wheel on the poopdeck.

The round leather-and-oak shields of the crew hung

over the sides; the great oars were piled on racks. The

Dreyrugr was sailing against the wind, tacking back and

forth, a maneuver unknown to the Norsemen when they

had lived on Earth.

The men and women of the crew not handling the ropes

sat on the oarsmen benches and talked and threw dice and

played poker. From below the poopdeck came cries of ex-

citation or curses and an occasional faint click. Bloodaxe

and his bodyguard were shooting pool, and their doing so

at this tune made Clemens very nervous. Bloodaxe knew

that enemy ships three miles up The River were putting

out to intercept them, and ships from both banks behind

them were putting out to trail them. Yet the king was pre-

tending to be very cool. Maybe he was actually as un-

disturbed as Drake had supposedly been just before the

battle of the Great Armada.

"But the conditions are different here," Clemens mut-

tered. "There's not much room to maneuver on a river

only a mile and a half wide. And no storm is going to help

us out."

He swept the bank with the telescope as he had been

doing ever since the fleet set out three years ago. He was

of medium height and had a big head that made his none-

too-broad shoulders look even more narrow. His eyes

were blue; his eyebrows, shaggy; his nose, Roman. His

hair was long and reddish brown. His face was innocent of

the mustache that had been so well known during his ter-

restrial life. (Men had been resurrected without face hair.)

His chest was a sea of brown-red curly hair that lapped at

the hollow of his throat. He wore only a knee-length white

towel secured at the waist, a leather belt for holding

weapons and the sheath for his telescope, and leather slip-

pers. His skin was bronzed by the equatorial sun.

He removed the telescope from his eye to look at the

enemy ships trailing by a mile. As he did so, he saw some-

thing flash in the sky. It was a curving sword of white, ap-

pearing suddenly as if unsheathed from the blue. It

stabbed downward and then was gone behind the moun-

tains.

Sam was startled. He had seen many small meteorites in

the night sky but never a large one. Yet this daytime giant

set his eyes afire and left an afterimage on his eyes for a

second or two. Then the image faded, and Sam forgot about

the falling star. He scanned the bank again with his

telescope.

This part of The River had been typical. On each side of

the mile-and-a-half-wide River was a mile-and-a-half-

wide grass-grown plain. On each bank, huge mushroom-

shaped stone structures, the grailstones, were spaced a mile

apart. Trees were few on the plains, but the foothills were

thick with pine, oak, yew and the irontree. This was a

thousand-foot-high plant with gray bark, enormous ele-

phant-ear leaves, hundreds of thick gnarly branches, roots

so deep and wood so hard that the tree could not be cut,

burned or dug out. Vines bearing large flowers of many

bright colors grew over their branches.

There was a mile or two of foothills, and then the

abruptness of smooth-sided mountains, towering from

20,000 to 30,000 feet, unscalable past the 10,000-foot

mark.

The area through which the three Norse boats were

sailing was inhabited largely by early nineteenth-century

Germans. There was the usual ten percent population

from another place and time of Earth. Here, the ten per-

cent was first-century Persians. And there was also the

ubiquitous one percent of seemingly random choices from

any time and any place.

The telescope swung past the bamboo huts on the plains

and the faces of the people. The men were clad only in

various towels; the women, in short towellike skirts and

thin cloths around the breasts. There were many gathered

on the bank, apparently to watch the battle. They carried

flint-tipped spears and bows and arrows but were not in

martial array.

Clemens grunted suddenly and held the telescope on the

face of a man. At this distance and with the weak power of

the instrument, he could not clearly see the man's features.

But the wide-shouldered body and dark face suggested

familiarity. Where had he seen that face before?

Then it struck him. The man looked remarkably like the

photographs of the famous English explorer Sir Richard

Burton that he'd seen on Earth. Rather, there was some-

thing suggestive of the man. Clemens sighed and turned

the eyepiece to the other faces as the ship took him away.

He would never know the true identity of the fellow.

He would have liked to put ashore and talk to him, find

out if he really was Burton. In the twenty years of life on

this river-planet, and the seeing of millions of faces,

Clemens had not yet met one person he had known on

Earth. He did not know Burton personally, but he was

sure that Burton must have heard of him. This man-if he

was Burton-would be a link, if thin, to the dead Earth.

And then, as a far-off blurred figure came within the

round of the telescope, Clemens cried out incredulously.

"Livy! Oh, my God! Livy!"

There could be no doubt. Although the features could

not be clearly distinguished, they formed an overwhelm-

ing, not-to-be-denied truth. The head, the hairdo, the

figure and the unmistakable walk (as unique as a finger-

print) shouted out that here was his Earthly wife.

"Livy!" he sobbed. The ship heeled to tack, and he lost

her. Frantically, he swung the end of the scope back and

forth.

Eyes wide, he stomped with his foot on the deck, and he

bellowed, "Bloodaxe! Bloodaxe! Up here! Hurry!"

He swung toward the helmsman and shouted that he

should go back and direct the ship toward the bank.

Grimolfsson was taken aback at first by Clemens'

vehemence. Then he slitted his eyes, shook his head, and

growled out a no.

"I order you to!" Clemens screamed, forgetting that the

helmsman did not understand English. "That's my wife!

Livy! My beautiful Livy, as she was when she was twenty-

five! Brought back from the dead!"

Someone rumbled behind him, and Clemens whirled to

see a blond head with a shorn-off left ear appear on the

level of the deck. Then Erik Bloodaxe's broad shoulders,

massive chest and huge biceps came into view, followed by

pillarlike thighs as he came on up the ladder. He wore a

green-and-black checked towel, a broad belt holding

several chert knives and a holster for his ax. This was of

steel, broadbladed and with an oak handle. It was, as far

as Clemens knew, unique on this planet, where stone and

wood were the only materials for weapons.

He frowned as he looked over the river. He turned to

Clemens and said, "What is it, sma-skitligr? You made me

miscue when you screamed like Thor's bride on her wed-

ding night. I lost a cigar to Toki Njalsson."

He took the ax from its holster and swung it. The sun

glinted off the blue steel. "You had better have a good

reason for disturbing me. I have killed many men for far

less."

Clemens' face was pale beneath the tan, but this time it

was not caused by Erik's threat. He glared, the wind-

ruffled hair, staring eyes and aquiline profile making him

look like a kestrel falcon.

"To hell with you and your ax!" he shouted. "I just saw

my wife, Livy, there on the right bank! I want ... I de-

mand . . . that you take me ashore so I can be with her

again! Oh, God, after all these years, all this hopeless

searching! It'll only take a minute! You can't deny me this;

you'd be inhuman to do so!"

The ax whistled and sparkled. The Norseman grinned.

"All this fuss for a woman? What about her?" And he

gestured at a small dark woman standing near the great

pedestal and tube of the rocket-launcher.

Clemens became even paler. He said, "Temah is a fine

girl! I'm very fond of her! But she's not Livy!"

"Enough of this," Bloodaxe said. "Do you take me to

be as big a fool as you? If I put into shore, we'd be caught

between the ground and river forces, ground like meal in

Freyr's mill. Forget about her."

Clemens screamed like a falcon and launched himself,

arms out and flapping, at the Viking. Erik brought the flat

of the ax against Clemens' head and knocked him to the

deck. For several minutes, Clemens lay on his back, eyes

open and staring at the sun. Blood seeped from the roots

of the hair falling down over his face. Then he got to all-

fours and began to vomit.

Erik gave an impatient order. Temah, looking sidewise

with fright at Erik, dipped a bucket at the end of a rope in-

to The River. She threw the water over Clemens, who sat

up and then wobbled to his feet. Temah drew another

bucket and washed off the deck.

Clemens snarled at Erik. Erik laughed and said, "Little

coward, you've been talking too big for too long! Now,

you know what happens when you talk to Erik Bloodaxe

as if he were a thrall. Consider yourself lucky that I did

not kill you."

Clemens spun away from Erik, staggered to the railing,

and began to climb upon it. "Livy!"

Swearing, Bloodaxe ran after him, seized him around

the waist and dragged him back. Then he pushed Clemens

so heavily that Clemens fell on the deck again.

"You're not deserting me at this time!" Erik said. "I

need you to find that iron mine!"

"There isn ..." Clemens said and then closed his mouth

tightly. Let the Norseman find out that he did not know

where the mine-if there was a mine-was located, and he

would be killed on the spot.

"Moreover," Erik continued cheerfully, "after we find

the iron, I may need you to help us toward the Polar

Tower, although I think I can get there just by following

The River. But you have much knowledge that I need.

And I can use that frost giant, Joe Miller."

"Joe!" Clemens said in a thick voice. He tried to get

back onto his feet. "Joe Miller! Where's Joe? He'll kill

you!"

The ax cut the air above Clemens' head. "You will tell

Joe nothing of this, do you hear? I swear by Odin's blind

socket, I will get to you and kill you before he can put a

hand on me. Do you hear?"

Clemens got to his feet and swayed for a minute. Then

he called, in a louder voice, "Joe! Joe Miller!"

A voice from below the poopdeck muttered. It was so

deep that it made the hairs on the backs of men's necks

rise even after hearing it for the thousandth time.

The stout bamboo ladder creaked beneath a weight,

creaked so loudly it could be heard above the song of wind

through leather ropes, flapping of membranous sails, grind

of wooden joints, shouts of crew, hiss of water against the

hull.

The head that rose above the edge of the deck was even

more frightening than the inhumanly deep voice. It was as

large as a half pony of beer and was all bars and arches

and shelves and flying buttresses of bone beneath a

pinkish and loose skin. Bone circled the eyes, small-

seeming and dark blue. The nose was inappropriate to the

rest of his features, since it should have been flat-bridged

and flaring-nostriled. Instead, it was the monstrous and

comical travesty of the human nose that the proboscis

monkey shows to a laughing world. In its lengthy shadow

was a long upper lip, like a chimpanzee's or comic-strip

Irishman's. The lips were thin and protruded, shoved out

by the convex jaws beneath.

His shoulders made Erik Bloodaxe's look like pretzels.

Ahead of him he pushed a great paunch, a balloon trying

to rise from the body to which it was anchored. His legs

and arms seemed short, they were so out of proportion to

the long trunk. The juncture of thigh and body was level

with Sam Clemens' chin, and his arms, extended, could

hold, and had held, Clemens out at arm's length in the air

for an hour without a tremor.

He wore no clothes nor did he need them for modesty's

sake, though he had not known modesty until taught by

Homo sapiens. Long rusty-red hair, thicker than a man's,

less dense than a chimpanzee's, was plastered to the body

by his sweat. The skin beneath the hairs was the dirty-pink

of a blond Nordic.

He ran a hand the size of an unabridged dictionary

through the wavy, rusty-red hair that began an inch above

the eyes and slanted back rapidly. He yawned and showed

huge human-seeming teeth.

"I vath thleeping," he rumbled, "I vath dreaming of

Earth, of klravulthithmengbhabajving-vhat you call mam-

mothth. Thothe vere the good old dayth."

He shuffled forward, then stopped. "Tham! Vhat hap-

pened! You're bleeding! You look thick!"

Bellowing for his guards, Erik Bloodaxe stepped

backwards from the titanthrop. "Your friend went mad!

He thought he'd seen his wife-for the thousandth

time-and he attacked me because I wouldn't take him in

to the bank to her. Tyr's testicles, Joe! You know how

many times he's thought he saw that woman, and how

many times we stopped, and how many tunes it always

turned out to be a woman who looked something like his

woman but wasn't!

"This tune, I said no! Even if it had been his woman, I

would have said no! We'd be putting our heads in the

wolfs mouth!"

Erik crouched, ax lifted, ready to swing at the giant.

Shouts came from middeck, and a big redhead with a flint

ax ran up the ladder. The helmsman gestured for him to

leave. The redhead, seeing Joe Miller so belligerent, did

not hesitate to retreat.

"Vhat you thay, Tham?" Miller said. "Thyould I tear

him apart?"

Clemens held his head in both hands and said, "No.

He's right, I suppose. I don't really know if she was Livy.

Probably just a German hausfrau. I don't know!"

He groaned. "I don't know! Maybe it was her!"

Fishbone horns blared, and a huge drum on the mid-

deck thundered. Sam Clemens said, "Forget about this,

Joe, until we get through the straits-if we do get through!

If we're to survive, we'll have to fight together. Later . . ."

"You alvayth thay later, Tham, but there never ith a

later. Vhy?"

"If you can't figure that out, Joe, you're as dumb as you

look!" Clemens snapped.

Tearshields glinted in Joe's eyes, and his bulging cheeks

became wet.

"Every time you get thcared, you call me dumb," he

said. "Vhy take it out on me? Vhy not on the people that

thcare you the thyit outa you, vhy not on Bloodakthe?"

"I apologize, Joe," Clemens said. "Out of the mouths of

babes and apemen. . . . You're not so dumb, you're

pretty smart. Forget it, Joe. I'm sorry."

Bloodaxe swaggered up to them but kept out of Joe's

reach. He grinned as he swung his ax. "There shall soon

be a meeting of the metal!" And then he laughed and said,

"What am I saying? Battle any more is the meeting of

stone and wood, except for my star-ax, of course! But

what does that matter? I have grown tired of these six

months of peace. I need the cries of war, the whistling

spear, the chunk of my sharp steel biting into flesh, the

spurt of blood. I have become as impatient as a penned-up

stallion who smells a mare in heat; I would mate with

Death."

"Bull!" Joe Miller said. "You're jutht ath bad ath Tham

in your vay. You're thcared, too, but you cover it up vith

your big mouth."

"I do not understand your mangled speech," Bloodaxe

said. "Apes should not attempt the tongue of man."

"You underthtand me all right," Joe said.

"Keep quiet, Joe," Clemens said. He looked upRiver.

Two miles away, the plains on each side of The River

dwindled away as the mountains curved inward to create

straits not more than a quarter mile wide. The water

boiled at the bottom of the cliffs, which were perhaps

3,000 feet high. On the cliff-tops, on both sides, unidenti-

fied objects glittered in the sun.

A half mile below the straits, thirty galleys had formed

three crescents. And, aided by the swift current and sixty

oars each, they were speeding toward the three intruders.

Clemens viewed them through his telescope and then

said, "Each has about forty warriors aboard and two

rocket-launchers. We're in a hell of a trap. And our own

rockets have been in storage so long, the powder's likely to

be crystallized. They'll go off in the tubes and blow us to

kingdom come.

"And those things on top of the cliffs. Apparatus for

projecting Greek fire?"

A man brought the king's armor: a triple-layered leather

helmet with imitation leather wings and a nosepiece, a

leather cuirass, leather breeches and a shield. Another

man brought a bundle of spears: yew shafts and flint tips.

The rocket crew, all women, placed a projectile in the

swivable launching tube. The rocket was six feet long, not

counting the guide stick, built of bamboo, and looked ex-

actly like a Fourth of July rocket. Its warhead contained

twenty pounds of black gunpowder in which were many

tiny chips of stone: shrapnel.

Joe Miller, the deck creaking beneath his 800 pounds,

went below to get his armor and weapons. Clemens put on

a helmet and slung a shield over his shoulder, but he

would not use a cuirass or leggings. Although he feared

wounds, he was even more frightened of drowning because

of the heavy armor if he fell into The River.

Clemens thanked whatever gods there were that he had

been lucky enough to fall in with Joe Miller. They were

blood-brothers now-even if Clemens had fainted during

the ceremony, which demanded mingling of blood and

some even more painful and repulsive acts. Miller was to

defend him, and Clemens was to defend Miller to the

death. So far, the titanthrop had done all the battling. But

then he was more than big enough for two.

Bloodaxe's dislike of Miller was caused by envy.

Bloodaxe fancied himself as the world's greatest fighter

and yet knew that Miller would have no more trouble

dispatching him in combat than Miller would with a dog.

And with a small dog at that.

Erik Bloodaxe gave his battle orders, which were

transmitted to the other two ships by flashes of sunlight off

obsidian mirrors. The ships would keep sails up and try to

steer between the galleys. This would be difficult because

a ship might have to change course to avoid ramming and

so lose the wind. Also, each ship would thrice be subjected

to crossfire.

"The wind's with them," Clemens said. "Their rockets

will have more range until we're among them."

"Teach your grandmother to suck . . ." Bloodaxe said

and stopped.

Some bright objects on the cliff-tops had left their posi-

tions and now were swooping through the air in a path that

would bring them close above the Vikings. The Norsemen

shouted with bewilderment and alarm, but Clemens

recognized them as gliders. In as few words as possible, he

explained to Bloodaxe. The king started to relay the in-

formation to the other Vikings but had to stop because the

lead galleys fired off the first volley of rockets. Wobbling,

trailing thick black smoke, ten rockets arced toward the

three sailships. These changed course as quickly as possi-

ble, two almost colliding. Some of the rockets almost

struck the masts or the hulls, but none hit and all splashed

unexploded, falling into The River.

By then the first of the gliders made its pass. Slim-

fuselaged, long-winged, with black Maltese crosses on the

sides of its slim and silvery fuselage, it dived at a 45-

degree angle toward the Dreyrugr. The Norsemen archers

bent their yew bows and, at a command from the chief

archer, loosed their shafts.

The glider swooped low over the water, several arrows

sticking out of the fuselage, and it settled down for a land-

ing on The River. It had failed to drop its bombs on the

Dreyrugr. They were somewhere below the surface of The

River.

But now other gliders were coming in at all three ships,

and the enemy lead galleys had loosed another flight of

rockets. Clemens glanced at their own rocket-launcher.

The big blond crew-women were swiveling the tube under

the command of small dark Temah, but she was not ready

to touch the fuse. The Dreyrugr was not yet within range

of the nearest galley.

For a second, everything was as if suspended in a

photograph: the two gliders, their wingtips only two feet

apart, pulling up out of the dive and the small black

bombs dropping toward the decks of their targets, the ar-

rows halfway toward the gliders, the German rockets half-

way toward the Viking ships, on the downcurve of their

arcs.

Clemens felt the sudden push of wind behind him, a

whistling, an explosion as the sails took the full impact of

air and rolled the ship over sharply on its longitudinal ax-

is. There was a tearing sound as if the fabric of the world

were being ripped apart; a cracking as if great axes had

slammed into the masts.

The bombs, the gliders, the rockets, the arrows were

lifted upward and backwards, turned upside down. The

sails and masts left the ship, as if they had been launched

from tubes, and soared away. The ship, released from the

push of sail, rolled back to horizontal from an almost 90-

degree angle to The River. Clemens was saved from flying

off the deck in the first slam of wind only because the

titanthrop had seized the wheel with one hand and

clutched him with the other. The helmsman had also

clung to the wheel. The rocket crew, their shrieks carried

upRiver by the wind, mouths open, hair whipping, flew

like birds from the ship, soared and then splashed into The

River. The rocket tube tore loose from its pedestal and

followed them.

Bloodaxe had grabbed the railing with one hand and

kept hold of his precious steel weapon with the other.

While the ship rocked back and forth, he managed to stick

the axhandle in the holster and then to cling to the railing

with both hands. It was well for him that he did, because

the wind, screaming like a woman falling off a cliff, be-

came even more powerful and within a few seconds, a hot

blast tore at the ship, and Clemens was as deafened and as

seared as if he were standing near a rocket blast.

A great swell of Riverwater lifted the ship high.

Clemens opened his eyes and then screamed but could not

hear his own voice because of his stunned ears.

A wall of dirty brown water, at least fifty feet high, was

racing around the curve of the valley between four and

five miles away. He wanted to close his eyes again but

could not. He continued to gaze with his lids rigid until the

elevated sea was a mile away. Then he could make out the

individual trees, the giant pines, oaks, and yews scattered

along the front of the wave, and, as it got closer, pieces of

bamboo and pine houses, a roof somehow still intact, a

shattered hull with a half mast, the sperm-whale-sized,

dark-gray body of a Riverdragon fish, plucked from the

five-hundred-feet depths of The River.

Terror numbed him. He wanted to die to escape this

particular death. But he could not, and so he watched with

frozen eyes and congealed mind as the ship, instead of

being drowned and smashed beneath hundreds of thou-

sands of gallons of water, rose up and up and up on the

slope of the wave, up and up, the dirty brown wreckage-

strewn cliff towering above, always threatening to ava-

lanche down upon the ship, and the sky above, now

turned from bright noon-blue to gray.

Then they were on the top, poised for a downward slide,

rocked, dipped, and went down toward the trough.

Smaller, but still huge waves fell over the boat. A body

landed on the deck near Clemens, a body catapulted from

the raging waters. Clemens stared at it with only a spark of

comprehension. He was too iced with terror to feel

anymore; he had reached the limits.

And so he stared at Livy's body, smashed on one side

but untouched on the other side! It was Livy, his wife,

whom he had seen on that Riverbank.

Another wave that almost tore nun and the titanthrop

loose struck the deck. The helmsman screamed as he lost

his grip and followed the woman's corpse overboard.

The boat, sliding upward from the depths of the trough,

turned to present its broadside to the wave. But the boat

continued to soar upward, though it tilted so that Miller

and Clemens were hanging from the stump of the wheel's

base as if they were dangling from a tree trunk on the face

of a mountain. Then the boat rolled back to horizontal

position as it raced down the next valley. Bloodaxe had

lost his grip and was shot across the deck and would have

gone over the other side if the ship had not righted itself in

time. Now he clung to the port railing.

On top of the third wave, the Dreyrugr sped slantwise

down the mountain of water. It struck the broken forepart

of another vessel, shuddered, and Bloodaxe's grip was

torn loose by the impact. He spun along the railing, hit the

other railing on the edge of the poopdeck, shattered it, and

went on over the edge and below to the middeck.

Not until morning of the next day did Sam Clemens

thaw out of his shock. The Dreyrugr had somehow ridden

out the great waves long enough to go slanting across the

plains on the shallower but still rough waters. It had been

shot past hills and through a narrow pass into a small

canyon at the base of the mountain. And, as the waters

subsided from beneath it, the boat had settled with a

crash into the ground.

The crew lay in terror thick as cold mud while The

River and the wind raged and the sky remained the color

of chilling iron. Then the winds ceased. Rather, the

downRiver winds stopped, and the normal soothing wind

from upRiver resumed.

The five survivors on deck began to stir and to ask

questions. Sam felt as if he could barely force the words

out through a numbed mouth. Stammering, he told them

of the flash he had seen in the sky fifteen minutes before

the winds struck. Somewhere down the valley, maybe two

hundred miles away, a giant meteorite had struck. The

winds created by the heat of passage through the air and

by the displacement of air by the meteorite had generated

those giant waves. Terrible as they were, they must have

been pygmies compared to those nearer the point of im-

pact. Actually, the Dreyrugr was in the outer edge of the

fury.

"It had quit being mad and was getting downright jovial

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TheFabulousRiverboatBook2ofTheRiverworldSeriesByPhilipJoseFarmerVersion1.01"Resurrection,likepolitics,makesstrangebedfellows,"SamClemenssaid."Ican'tsaythatthesleepingisveryrestful."Telescopeunderonearm,hepuffedonalong,greencigarwhilehepacedbackandforthonthepoopdeckoftheDreyrugr(Bloodstained).AriGrim...

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Farmer, Philip Jose - Riverworld 2 - The Fabulous Riverboat.pdf

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Farmer, Philip Jose - Riverworld 2 - The Fabulous Riverboat

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