The Tattooed Tribes by Bev Allen

cargo.

Chapter
6
     
     
    It took the
best part of week to reach The First Cataract. On the way they saw
plenty of traffic going the other way.
    “ Some bands must have come in to trade,”
Jon told Lucien. “That’s this season’s profits going
by.”
    “ Can’t this bucket go any faster?” Frain
yelled. “I’m missing a business opportunity here.”
    “ You could walk,” Jon suggested.
    To the south
the river was wide and it got wider as it made its way to the
western ocean, but on its way to the sea it encountered bands of
hard rock which impeded its progress. What men called The First
Cataract was one of these outcrops.
    The river
boiled and cascaded over huge jutting boulders and massive slabs of
rock worn smooth by thousands of years of pounding water.
    Lucien stared
in amazement at the expanse of white before them.
    “ How do we get past?” he asked, awed by the
power of water.
    “ We don’t!” Jon replied. “Well, we do, but
not by boat. We go by land until the rapids are behind
us.”
    The jetties
below the falls were full of boats being loaded for the rapid
journey back downstream. Frain was eager to get his goods on shore
and begin whatever business he had to transact.
    He flipped
Lucien a short string of cheap trade beads.
    “ Here, kid. Treat yourself to a
woman!”
    Then he
disappeared into the crowds.
    Lucien looked
at the red beads in his hand.
    “ What do I do with these?” he
asked.
    “ They’re as good as money here,” Jon
replied. “If you don’t mind what you buy and who you buy it
from.”
    They made
their way up the rutted, muddy slope to the town, which clung to
the bank above, and Lucien’s eyes grew huge again.
    This was a
frontier town, not a place to settle and raise a family, but
somewhere to trade and make money. Most of the buildings were
constructed of wood, but there were tents and even up-turned boats
being used to house shops and bars, and a dozen other activities
Lucien could only guess at.
    The streets
were unpaved and in places they were ankle deep in mud, or at least
what he hoped was mud.
    Everywhere the
atmosphere was a curious mix of frenetic haste and slow, steady
degradation. In the space of fifteen minutes Lucien witnessed two
fights, one possibly fatal, discovered exactly what Frain had meant
by ‘a woman’ and saw his first real tribesman.
    He looked in
horror and pity on the comatose figure leaning against a step, his
body inches deep in muddy filth, salvia dribbling from his slack
mouth.
    Across his
left hand were fish, deer and wild fowl and on his right a tattooed
wolf.
    “ What’s wrong with him?” he
asked.
    Jon shrugged.
“Dust probably; they still tend to walk when it’s weed.”
    Having spotted
one victim of the settler’s drugs, Lucien saw more, some out for
the count like the first one, but others shuffling around with
vacant expressions.
    They made
their way to the local Tribal Liaison office, a solid non-descript
stone structure tucked away behind the main drag.
    “ Harabin!” the man behind the desk shouted
joyfully. “Good to see you, bietriwer !”
    “ And you, Argent,” Jon replied, shaking
hands, “My apprentice, Lucien Devlin.”
    “ Greetings , biey .”
    “ Biey ?” Lucien asked, after a hand clasp. He noted Mr
Argent’s hands were as heavily tattooed as Jon’s.
    “ Boy,” Jon explained. “Lad, son, youth. It
means all of them.”
    “ We’ve much to talk about, Jon,” Argent
said urgently. “Can Lucien entertain himself until we’re
done?”
    Jon considered
the eager boy.
    “ Come here,” he ordered, fixing Lucien with
a stern look. “You can go and explore, but no more than
that. Don’t get into
trouble and be back here in two hours. Do you
understand?”
    “ Yes, sir!” Lucien said.
    “ You’d better,” Jon threatened.
“Scoot!”
     
     
    To be fair,
Lucien had no intention of disobeying as such, but he did not feel
the order had been completely serious. Had Jon seen the grin on his
face as he