Free The Magnificent Showboats by Jack Vance Page A

scrambled over each other, clumsy and disoriented, intent only on laying hands on Apollon Zamp.
    Zamp sprang aft and pulled the alarm gong; the troupe, drilled a hundred times to such a contingency, reacted with precision. Deck-hands cut the hawsers; the vessel drifted away from the dock. Latches on the gunwales were pulled; the rails fell back and over, to hang down beside the hull. Below decks acrobats, magicians and stewards worked great screw jacks to raise the deck in half sections so that each section sloped out toward the water. The bullocks turned the capstan to power the pumps; blasts of water tumbled the Whants down the sloping decks into the dark river.
    A few, nevertheless, gained the foredeck. Some grappled the deck-hands at the nozzles and flung them over the side. Others ran forward, toppled the great bow-lamp and threw torches up at the sails. Others brought oil from the forepeak and poured it across the decks; flame blasted high into the night. Zamp bawled down into the hold: “Reverse the jack; lower the deck!” but the troupe, appalled by the flames, clambered out of the hold and joined Zamp on the quarterdeck.
    The entire bow of the boat seethed with flames. Whants ran crazily back and forth, yelling and hooting. The open hold deterred them from attacking the quarterdeck and they were finally forced by the flames to jump overboard.
    “Down river!” roared Zamp. “We’ll ride the current as far as we can. Man the pumps! To the fire hoses!”
    But no one cared to venture down into the hold, under the burning rigging.
    “Downstream with all speed!” cried Zamp, waving Evulsifer’s sword defiantly toward Port Whant. “We’ll drive our good ship as far as she’ll carry us, then we’ll beach her and let any who molest us beware!”
    Bonko, still wearing his executioner’s costume, politely disputed the order. “Better that we take to the boats, sir! If we beach, the boats may be burnt with the ship and tomorrow the Whants will ride us down.”
    Zamp threw aside the useless weapon and bleakly gazed forward at the roaring flames. “This is how it must be. Stand by to lower boats; we’ll ride the old craft till she falters then let her go her own way.”
    Bonko ran off, shouting orders and instructions; Zamp retired to his cabin. He tore off his costume and donned a suit of gray twill, a fisherman’s cap and sturdy boots; he belted on his best steel-pointed rapier, shoved a pair of snapples into his waist-band together with a magazine of darts and charges. He stood in the center of his cabin and looked all around him, half-blinded by grief and fury. All within the range of his vision was precious: scripts, masks, mementos, testimonials, trophies, his carved furniture and fine blue carpet; his strongbox … He rummaged in his chest and found a lank leather pouch into which he poured all his iron: five pounds or more. What else? He could take nothing else; all must burn. Someday he would own another vessel, the grandest on the river; he’d want no sad recollections, nothing to remind him of the old Miraldra’s Enchantment save possibly the head of Garth Ashgale mounted on a plaque like a hunting trophy … He had almost forgotten his jewels! He crossed to his dressing table and transferred the contents of his jewel-box to his pocket: a topaz and galena clasp, a wristlet of gold set with amethysts and iron studs, a silver chain with a great peridot cabochon; an emerald ear-clip; the silver tablet inviting his presence at the Mornune Festival; a contrivance of iron bars which he usually wore dangling and jingling from the side of his soft black velvet cap: all into his pocket; and now there was time for nothing more. Zamp slung the leather pouch over his shoulder and returned to the quarterdeck.
    Bonko had worked with efficiency; at each of the four boats stood a complement of troupe and crew, awaiting orders to launch the life-boats. Somewhat to the side, aloof and disinterested, Damsel