The Raft by Christopher Blankley Page B

Maggie replied.
    “What- Gandalf's boat is the Kalakala ?” Rachael felt like a schoolgirl. “We're going to
go aboard?”
    “You bet,” Maggie smiled. “Sort of our town
hall. Gandalf bought it from some dryfoot years ago and restored
it. Its car deck is the only place a good number of Rafters can
stand shoulder to shoulder.”
    “So this Gandalf,” Rachael said playfully.
“He's some sort of wizard?”
    Maggie chuckled. “Smart ass.”
    “No, seriously. What is he? Does he head this
Gray Beard council?” Rachael's reporter persona was making an
apprentice.
    “I guess. Owning the town hall sort of makes
you the Mayor by default,” Maggie shrugged.
    “Then, he's not elected? Appointed?”
    “No, nothing like that.”
    “I guess elections would be too structured
for the Raft.”
    “They would,” Maggie nodded. “Legend has it
that the Raft chose the members of the council by measuring the
length of beards. Gandalf, with the longest whiskers, was made
chairman.”
    “That's ridiculous.”
    “It's misogynistic bullshit,” Maggie said
with venom. “But it served an important purpose.”
    “What's that?”
    “To look justifiably ridiculous to anyone
watching from dryland. It's all unofficial you see, the Raft. It
doesn't really exist. It's survived by walking a thin line of
plausible deniability with the dryfoot authorities. It doesn't
exist, therefore there's never been any need to do anything about
it. The second anything aboard the Raft started to look official,
like a governing council, the aura of deniabliity would have been
broken.”
    “So you choose your leaders by the length of
their beards?”
    “Exactly. Stupid. Juvenile. Sexist. Totally
impractical.”
    “Just like the Raft,” Rachael smiled.
    Maggie returned her grin. “But even without
the Gray Beards, Gandalf might still run most everything out here.
After all, he started the Exchange, and it's his gold that backs
it.”
    The word 'gold' caught Rachael's ear. “What?
Exchange? Gold?”
    “Mmm,” Maggie's grin turned into a sly
smirk.
    “You're kidding me?”
    “Nope. A room full of it somewhere. Aboard
the Kalakala. ”
    “A gray-bearded wizard, sitting on a horde of
gold?” Rachael said in disbelief.
    “Life is stranger than fiction,” Maggie
said.
    “At least the Raft is.”
     
    #
     
    The rafts of boats were growing thicker as
they neared the Kalakala . Dozens of craft were moored
together, bobbing gently on the waves. Twenty yards from the hull
of the old ferry, the raft grew so thick that the Soft Cell could sail no farther. Here, at the core of the Raft, boats formed
one large artificial island, wrapping the Kalakala in a
protective shell of smaller ships.
    Maggie pulled up along the side of a large,
opulent pleasure craft and yelled out “Ahoy” in a deep, resonating
voice. From the lower decks of the pleasure yacht, a pair of young
men appeared and rapidly helped Maggie secure the two boats
together.
    “From here, we walk,” Maggie told Rachael
once the lines were secure.
    “Walk? Across the other boats?”
    “Yes, it's how it works. This is as close as
we'll get to the Kalakala until this Raft breaks up and
starts to sail north. It's customary to allow other Rafters use of
your decks for transit. Sometimes these Rafts can get pretty big.
Everyone out here kind of likes to huddle together.” Maggie moved
up the length of the Soft Cell toward Chemical. “Come on,
let's go see the Wizard,” she told him.
    “Piss off,” Chemical cursed.
    “I could just leave you tied up here,” Maggie
said.
    “No, you can't, Maggie Straight. I'll
sue.”
    “You can't sue, Chemical, you don't have a
Magistrate.”
    “But-”
    “Come on.” Maggie took a pocket knife from
her jeans and cut the zip tie that held Chemical to the pulpit.
    With Chemical Ali G free, Maggie took him by
the scruff of the neck and lead him off the deck of the Soft
Cell and up onto the deck of the neighboring pleasure
yacht.
    “Maggie Straight?”