255
The stench of scorched fur hangs heavily in the tap-room, a reminder of the ghastly spiders. The smell turns your stomach, and you motion to Paido to follow as you go up on deck to watch the bargees dispose of the bodies. Contemptuously they weight Kezoor’s corpse with bricks and hurl it over the side, but Trost they lay in an oaken chest and the captain leads your fellow passengers in prayer as it is lowered respectfully into the Phoen.
The heavy rain and the burial have delayed the journey. The bargees try to make up lost time by whipping the ghorkas, but to no avail. The muddy towpath and their waterlogged fur prevent them from pulling any faster. It is mid-afternoon by the time the barge arrives at the next stopping place—Ferry House. A ramshackle building is perched precariously on the edge of the river bank, and an old wooden jetty juts out from the side, its empty platform almost submerged by the swollen river. Two plains farmers disembark here. You hear them talking excitedly about the events they have witnessed, their voices gradually fading as the barge moves forward again.
