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Title: Swept Away! - Two Boys Adventures on The Great River
(“With A Thousand Elephants!”) - A Pseudo Victorian Boys Adventure
Author: Derien
Genres: Science-fiction/Victorian Adventure/Queer Teen Romance.
Notes:(Please go Back to Chapter One for full Notes)
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 License.
Previous chapters can be found on my own site here,
or read on LiveJournal: CH 1 / CH 2 / CH 3 / CH 4 / CH 5 / CH 6 / CH 7 / CH 8 / CH 9 / CH 10
***
Suspicious as he was of the potatoes, Phipps helped gather a few more sticks from under the leaf mould to coax the fire back from the embers, and poked and blew as he could, sneaking wide-eyed glances at Tom when he thought the other wasn't looking. Tom began to feel badly - he had been brusque with the boy earlier and now had frightened him with ebullience; what sort of a protector was he? Neither of them had much choice but to stick together, and Phipps had no one else to turn to. He attempted, now, to move more quietly, conscious again of how much larger he was than the slender Phipps, who huddled in on himself. Eventually he was able to set the potatoes, wrapped in leaves, into the embers at the edge of the fire, and settled himself on a rock to wait for them while Phipps stared doggedly at the flames. He was an odd sort, but really he had held up fairly well, Tom thought.
Tom cleared his throat and assayed, gruffly, "I'm sorry. I'll try to stay a little more level-headed."
Phipps looked up, cocking an eyebrow. "You? At least you're optimistic. You've been a rock all along. But doesn't it seem awfully odd, though, these potatoes?"
"I don't understand why it worries you so. I'm not sure why our benefactor wants to hide himself, but I'm only too happy to have some help."
"I don't know. There's something..." Phipps gnawed the corner of his thumb, staring toward the river. "Don't you wonder why the potatoes were wet?
"They washed them?"
"No... Well, I mean, possibly, but how did they get them onto the raft without being seen?"
"We were sleeping."
"You jumped up so quickly, though. I don't think anyone could have climbed up the bank that fast."
"Maybe they just tossed them down from the bank?"
Phipps shook his head. "They would bounce and roll. It seems almost impossible. They'd all have been in the river." He was warming to his topic, now, and his face almost glowed. "Ah! Do you know what I think? I think whoever left these for us must have swum!"
"Swum? But wouldn't I still have seen them?"
"They might be quite good at swimming under water. Oh, that has to be the answer!"
Tom considered, and nodded. "It sounds good. Make sense. But," he continued, after a moment of thought, "What are we to make of it, though?"
Phipps brow furrowed again. "There I'm stumped. You didn't notice anything else?"
"Well. Maybe."
"What did you see?"
"There may have been something in the water. A ripple. Something dove... or maybe it was one of the potatoes falling off the raft. It certainly wasn't big enough for a person."
"Hm."
"What are you thinking?"
Phipps stared at the water for a few moments, musing, but then turned his attention back to Tom with a rueful twist to his lips and shrugged. "I can't make anything of it."
Tom did not think he looked as though he could give this mystery up, obviously Phipps was going to fret about this question. But at least it was something different to worry about than if they were going to die, and for that he was glad. "Let's see if we can eat one of these."
The first was barely soft on the surface, and the middle was still far too crunchy, so Tom decided it might be best to distract himself by searching through the wagon for something to put on them. Accordingly, he was back on the raft, carefully drawing out each of the various tins and jars for consideration, when splashes and sharp squeals from down stream caught his attention. He shaded his eyes and squinted, but all he could make out with the distance, the curve of the bank and the glare of sunlight on water, was the fact that there was something going on, a tussle between some predator and prey, apparently. It appeared to centre around another of those ubiquitous black, floating dead trees, which rolled, it's limbs waving... now, in the daylight, it looked even more as though they were waving like tentacles, reaching high in the air momentarily, coming down into the water with a splash. He wondered what sort of creature was large enough to be causing such a bulky trunk to roll like that, and then he heard Phipps shout from the forest above. Evidently he had moved toward the activity. Tom cursed and slung his rifle again over his shoulder, heading up the embankment.
"Sir! Ethan?"
An indistinct shout came back, even further away, but Tom thought this time it sounded delighted, excited, even. Once at the top of the slope Tom dashed headlong through the trees, trying to protect his face with his forearms from the slap of twigs, in such a hurry that he almost missed Phipps entirely. The boy was laying flat against a tree trunk which leaned out over the water, where a bend in the river formed a sort of harbour.
"I've got it!" he crowed, stopping Tom in his tracks. "I know who our friends are!" He jerked his head toward the river, as both arms were hanging onto the tree. "If you take a shot try to not hit the little fellows. They're so clever!"
Below there was a struggle going on between writhing black tentacles and sleek, wet, brown creatures. The tentacles, though, were confined by something, seemingly a net, which grew ever tighter and constrained the creature.
"Whoever trained these animals to fight this way must be our benefactor. We helped them fight the river-monster so he sent them with food for us." Phipps raised his voice - "Call them off so we can get a good shot!"
The battle below raged on, and a small brown body floated to the surface where it began to bob off downstream, to renewed squeals from the furred creatures which sounded like anguished rage. One of the group threw himself after the body of his comrade and rolled it the other way up, so that the ratlike face was out of the water, tugging the body to the shore. As the others continued the fight he rolled the stricken one on his side and began pushing on his shoulder and pulling his foreleg up, alternately; it looked to Tom as though he were trying to force the water from his friends lungs. These were very smart animals, he decided, to understand such training for saving a drowning victim and decide when to use it - for he had seen no sign from any one on the river bank, nor heard anything that might seem to be orders.
Meanwhile Phipps had shouted again, and now he whistled loudly, waving his arms. One of the animals looked up and responded with two short, peremptory whistles, and all of the troop leapt, swam and scattered from the tentacled creature.
"Take your shot!" Phipps urged.
Tom raised the rifle to his shoulder, despairing of doing any good - he knew that bullets were often deflected by water, and he had no idea how much of this monster's body was hidden from view or exactly where it would be - but he resolved to do his best and carefully aiming low, in hopes that his bullet would not skip, he squeezed the trigger. The report of the gun was met with a jolt from the creature, and even wilder thrashing, so that a tentacle broke free and waved madly, high in the air. However, the creature was now moving upstream and appeared to have decided that running was the wiser choice.
Ethan leapt with joy and threw his arms around Tom. "Great shot!" he crowed, and then continued on in a steady rush about what he had observed before Tom had arrived - the tentacled monster had been lead into a certain spot by one of the furred animals which had faked distress and injury, and the others had brought the net down out of the trees and up from under the water, leaping in unison and wrapping the river monster before it could retreat.
Tom found his own tongue loosed by the enthusiastic tirade, and told of what he had observed - the animal who had gone after his friend and tried to revive him on the shore.
"Could you ever teach a dog to do that!?" Phipps asked, "They must be incredibly intelligent creatures!"
"I don't think you could teach a young child to do something like that, even if they had the capability, physically. And the manoeuvre with the net, leaping from the trees, coordinated? Sounds like they're smarter than my little nephew. Here, let's go see if those potatoes are done."
As they ate and discussed Tom began to wonder how odd Phipps might think him if he suggested that there might not be a trainer for these animals. Was it possible that they had done all of this on their own? If so, could they be considered animals? And yet he wondered if Phipps may not have already come to the same conclusion, as there had been that moment of carelessness when he had seemed to be referring to the animals as their friends, and then had apparently collected himself so as to redirect the comments as if he were speaking of the animal's trainer. Well, and why could not these creatures be as smart as humans? Their heads, though initially appearing somewhat ratlike, seemed to have plenty of space for a larger brain.
That evening, as they lay curled together preparatory to falling asleep (for Ethan, though not as cold as he had been earlier, had coiled back to Tom's stomach as though that were perfectly usual) he finally gathered his courage to broach the subject. Somehow it seemed easier in the dark to say, "This may seem like a strange idea..."
Phipps chuckled softly after he elaborated. "Not strange at all. I think you're right. We've seen no sign of a trainer; I don't think we'll find one. I think if we're to talk to our friends we shall have to learn their language."
"Why not teach them English?"
"Of what use would it be to them, out there? We may be the only humans they ever see, whereas we may well need to communicate with many of them."
Tome agreed to the sensibleness of this outlook, though he felt it might be prudent to consider that this tribe lived not too far from a trade route, "And we might do them some good by teaching them one or two words, so that people will know they're not animals."
"Perhaps. What would you suggest? 'Friend?' 'Don't shoot?'"
Tom smiled in the darkness at the back of Ethan's head. "Something like that, sure." Soon they settled and ceased conversation, slipping into sleep, despite their excitement at this discovery.
As always, I actually DO want to know if you notice massive holes in the plot, stupid things that you don't think they would ever say, words or phrases which are not British English, horrible grammer/spelling/punctuation or anything at all which is confusing or makes you lose the ambiance. I don't post stuff just to hear lovely comments, although lovely comments make me feel all wonderful and warm and I do need some good feeling about my abilities at the moment so I can get on with writing chapter 14. Ah ha, yes, did I surprise you? There are indeed two more chapters in the pipeline for the near future. :)
(“With A Thousand Elephants!”) - A Pseudo Victorian Boys Adventure
Author: Derien
Genres: Science-fiction/Victorian Adventure/Queer Teen Romance.
Notes:(Please go Back to Chapter One for full Notes)
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 License.
Previous chapters can be found on my own site here,
or read on LiveJournal: CH 1 / CH 2 / CH 3 / CH 4 / CH 5 / CH 6 / CH 7 / CH 8 / CH 9 / CH 10
***
Suspicious as he was of the potatoes, Phipps helped gather a few more sticks from under the leaf mould to coax the fire back from the embers, and poked and blew as he could, sneaking wide-eyed glances at Tom when he thought the other wasn't looking. Tom began to feel badly - he had been brusque with the boy earlier and now had frightened him with ebullience; what sort of a protector was he? Neither of them had much choice but to stick together, and Phipps had no one else to turn to. He attempted, now, to move more quietly, conscious again of how much larger he was than the slender Phipps, who huddled in on himself. Eventually he was able to set the potatoes, wrapped in leaves, into the embers at the edge of the fire, and settled himself on a rock to wait for them while Phipps stared doggedly at the flames. He was an odd sort, but really he had held up fairly well, Tom thought.
Tom cleared his throat and assayed, gruffly, "I'm sorry. I'll try to stay a little more level-headed."
Phipps looked up, cocking an eyebrow. "You? At least you're optimistic. You've been a rock all along. But doesn't it seem awfully odd, though, these potatoes?"
"I don't understand why it worries you so. I'm not sure why our benefactor wants to hide himself, but I'm only too happy to have some help."
"I don't know. There's something..." Phipps gnawed the corner of his thumb, staring toward the river. "Don't you wonder why the potatoes were wet?
"They washed them?"
"No... Well, I mean, possibly, but how did they get them onto the raft without being seen?"
"We were sleeping."
"You jumped up so quickly, though. I don't think anyone could have climbed up the bank that fast."
"Maybe they just tossed them down from the bank?"
Phipps shook his head. "They would bounce and roll. It seems almost impossible. They'd all have been in the river." He was warming to his topic, now, and his face almost glowed. "Ah! Do you know what I think? I think whoever left these for us must have swum!"
"Swum? But wouldn't I still have seen them?"
"They might be quite good at swimming under water. Oh, that has to be the answer!"
Tom considered, and nodded. "It sounds good. Make sense. But," he continued, after a moment of thought, "What are we to make of it, though?"
Phipps brow furrowed again. "There I'm stumped. You didn't notice anything else?"
"Well. Maybe."
"What did you see?"
"There may have been something in the water. A ripple. Something dove... or maybe it was one of the potatoes falling off the raft. It certainly wasn't big enough for a person."
"Hm."
"What are you thinking?"
Phipps stared at the water for a few moments, musing, but then turned his attention back to Tom with a rueful twist to his lips and shrugged. "I can't make anything of it."
Tom did not think he looked as though he could give this mystery up, obviously Phipps was going to fret about this question. But at least it was something different to worry about than if they were going to die, and for that he was glad. "Let's see if we can eat one of these."
The first was barely soft on the surface, and the middle was still far too crunchy, so Tom decided it might be best to distract himself by searching through the wagon for something to put on them. Accordingly, he was back on the raft, carefully drawing out each of the various tins and jars for consideration, when splashes and sharp squeals from down stream caught his attention. He shaded his eyes and squinted, but all he could make out with the distance, the curve of the bank and the glare of sunlight on water, was the fact that there was something going on, a tussle between some predator and prey, apparently. It appeared to centre around another of those ubiquitous black, floating dead trees, which rolled, it's limbs waving... now, in the daylight, it looked even more as though they were waving like tentacles, reaching high in the air momentarily, coming down into the water with a splash. He wondered what sort of creature was large enough to be causing such a bulky trunk to roll like that, and then he heard Phipps shout from the forest above. Evidently he had moved toward the activity. Tom cursed and slung his rifle again over his shoulder, heading up the embankment.
"Sir! Ethan?"
An indistinct shout came back, even further away, but Tom thought this time it sounded delighted, excited, even. Once at the top of the slope Tom dashed headlong through the trees, trying to protect his face with his forearms from the slap of twigs, in such a hurry that he almost missed Phipps entirely. The boy was laying flat against a tree trunk which leaned out over the water, where a bend in the river formed a sort of harbour.
"I've got it!" he crowed, stopping Tom in his tracks. "I know who our friends are!" He jerked his head toward the river, as both arms were hanging onto the tree. "If you take a shot try to not hit the little fellows. They're so clever!"
Below there was a struggle going on between writhing black tentacles and sleek, wet, brown creatures. The tentacles, though, were confined by something, seemingly a net, which grew ever tighter and constrained the creature.
"Whoever trained these animals to fight this way must be our benefactor. We helped them fight the river-monster so he sent them with food for us." Phipps raised his voice - "Call them off so we can get a good shot!"
The battle below raged on, and a small brown body floated to the surface where it began to bob off downstream, to renewed squeals from the furred creatures which sounded like anguished rage. One of the group threw himself after the body of his comrade and rolled it the other way up, so that the ratlike face was out of the water, tugging the body to the shore. As the others continued the fight he rolled the stricken one on his side and began pushing on his shoulder and pulling his foreleg up, alternately; it looked to Tom as though he were trying to force the water from his friends lungs. These were very smart animals, he decided, to understand such training for saving a drowning victim and decide when to use it - for he had seen no sign from any one on the river bank, nor heard anything that might seem to be orders.
Meanwhile Phipps had shouted again, and now he whistled loudly, waving his arms. One of the animals looked up and responded with two short, peremptory whistles, and all of the troop leapt, swam and scattered from the tentacled creature.
"Take your shot!" Phipps urged.
Tom raised the rifle to his shoulder, despairing of doing any good - he knew that bullets were often deflected by water, and he had no idea how much of this monster's body was hidden from view or exactly where it would be - but he resolved to do his best and carefully aiming low, in hopes that his bullet would not skip, he squeezed the trigger. The report of the gun was met with a jolt from the creature, and even wilder thrashing, so that a tentacle broke free and waved madly, high in the air. However, the creature was now moving upstream and appeared to have decided that running was the wiser choice.
Ethan leapt with joy and threw his arms around Tom. "Great shot!" he crowed, and then continued on in a steady rush about what he had observed before Tom had arrived - the tentacled monster had been lead into a certain spot by one of the furred animals which had faked distress and injury, and the others had brought the net down out of the trees and up from under the water, leaping in unison and wrapping the river monster before it could retreat.
Tom found his own tongue loosed by the enthusiastic tirade, and told of what he had observed - the animal who had gone after his friend and tried to revive him on the shore.
"Could you ever teach a dog to do that!?" Phipps asked, "They must be incredibly intelligent creatures!"
"I don't think you could teach a young child to do something like that, even if they had the capability, physically. And the manoeuvre with the net, leaping from the trees, coordinated? Sounds like they're smarter than my little nephew. Here, let's go see if those potatoes are done."
As they ate and discussed Tom began to wonder how odd Phipps might think him if he suggested that there might not be a trainer for these animals. Was it possible that they had done all of this on their own? If so, could they be considered animals? And yet he wondered if Phipps may not have already come to the same conclusion, as there had been that moment of carelessness when he had seemed to be referring to the animals as their friends, and then had apparently collected himself so as to redirect the comments as if he were speaking of the animal's trainer. Well, and why could not these creatures be as smart as humans? Their heads, though initially appearing somewhat ratlike, seemed to have plenty of space for a larger brain.
That evening, as they lay curled together preparatory to falling asleep (for Ethan, though not as cold as he had been earlier, had coiled back to Tom's stomach as though that were perfectly usual) he finally gathered his courage to broach the subject. Somehow it seemed easier in the dark to say, "This may seem like a strange idea..."
Phipps chuckled softly after he elaborated. "Not strange at all. I think you're right. We've seen no sign of a trainer; I don't think we'll find one. I think if we're to talk to our friends we shall have to learn their language."
"Why not teach them English?"
"Of what use would it be to them, out there? We may be the only humans they ever see, whereas we may well need to communicate with many of them."
Tome agreed to the sensibleness of this outlook, though he felt it might be prudent to consider that this tribe lived not too far from a trade route, "And we might do them some good by teaching them one or two words, so that people will know they're not animals."
"Perhaps. What would you suggest? 'Friend?' 'Don't shoot?'"
Tom smiled in the darkness at the back of Ethan's head. "Something like that, sure." Soon they settled and ceased conversation, slipping into sleep, despite their excitement at this discovery.
As always, I actually DO want to know if you notice massive holes in the plot, stupid things that you don't think they would ever say, words or phrases which are not British English, horrible grammer/spelling/punctuation or anything at all which is confusing or makes you lose the ambiance. I don't post stuff just to hear lovely comments, although lovely comments make me feel all wonderful and warm and I do need some good feeling about my abilities at the moment so I can get on with writing chapter 14. Ah ha, yes, did I surprise you? There are indeed two more chapters in the pipeline for the near future. :)
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"The tentacled monster had been lead into a certain spot" - it should be "led".
I've just read all the chapters and I'm impressed. The dialogue mostly rings true and the ambience of a "Boys Own" type of adventure is well maintained. :)
From:
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Oh, lead/led, of course, I'm so stupid! Thank you!
I can't believe that you've read all of the chapters thus far, just today - thanks. :) I hope I don't keep you waiting too long for the next one. And thanks for the mega wonderful compliment about the dialogue and ambiance. If there's anything in the previous chapters you felt struck a wrong note, don't hesitate to say something. It's possible I may not change it at this point, but I will probably do another re-write at some point when I've got the whole thing done, and anything that I learn also can get added to future writing I do even if it doesn't get fixed with this one.
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But I suppose it could be some form of New World dialect. :)
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But I'll be amazed if Dickens ever used the word "dove" except when referring to birds. :p