“And how did we obtain this … conveyance?” Sir Eric asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm. His little saurian eyes, almost lost in his fleshy rubicund cheeks, were heavy with contempt. “It was part of the old station outfit, Sir Eric. Bush carpentry. It was enough then. The river wasn’t much more than a creek, except in the wet.” Sir Eric nodded wordlessly. The craft, a deck built over two rusty pontoons with a large but antiquated motor in the well aft, chugged slowly on. An awning amidships provided shade for the collapsible chairs and the little refrigerator. Sir Eric…