98
The cloying smell in the cabin is unbearable and soon forces you to return to the deck to clear your lungs. From there you see the captain walking along the river bank inspecting his team of long-haired ghorkas. Stoically they haul the barge upstream, rarely faltering as they tread the rutted and pot-holed towpath. Beyond the bank lies an incredible array of colourful wild flowers—scarlet lankpetal, yellow podlumes, and violet mellowroots of towering proportions. Their perfume soon dispels the lingering odour in the cabin.
The colourful fields suddenly give way to rolling acres of grassy plain, and gradually the sky grows darker until just a slender streak of light fringes the horizon. It is not long before a roll of thunder echoes across the plain.
‘Storm brewing,’ shouts the captain, as the first drops of rain splash the deck. ‘You two best take shelter below.’ You baulk at the thought of returning to the dank and dismal cabin. Paido suggests a visit to the tap-room and offers to buy you ale. It is an offer that sounds too good to refuse.
