The Walrus and the Warwolf coaaod-4

by Hugh Cook

  The monster within stirred to life. Its wings beat, battering against the low 'stone" roof. Its eight crocodile-sprawling feet tore screams of protest from the rock floor. Suddenly, Ish Ulpin and Bucks Cat stopped pushing. Drake thrust himself back. And felt something snag his arm.'It's got me!' he screamed.

  The Neversh had spiked his right arm with the tip of one of its grapple-hooks.'Help!' screamed Drake. 'It's dragging me in!'

  'We've got you!' yelled Bucks Cat, hauling on Drake's legs.

  Drake felt his hands, greased with sweat, slide over the smooth stones of the mousehold as the Neversh dragged him toward his doom. Then agonizing pain ripped through his right arm. The grapple-hook had torn free. Pulled by Bucks Cat and Ish Ulpin, Drake shot out of the mousehole like a burst of water exploding out of a blowhole.

  The three pirates collapsed in a heap on the floor. There was a hideous sound of ripping rock as the monster tried to tear its way through to the flesh which had just escaped. Drake got to his feet. He shambled through the dark, twisting exitway, colliding off first one wall then another.

  A slash-sharp swash of sunlight. A giddy horizon. Swaying. The ground, buckling underfoot. Breath quick, heart quick. Quick to bursting. Glanced at the sun. White. Swaying. The sea was shuddering. The ground rocked underfoot.'I can't come right!' he cried.

  Tried to walk. Staggered, drunk, as the earth buckled. The ground split black in front of him. He screamed. The crack in the rock sprinted towards him. He jumped. Legs wide apart. The widening crack raced between his legs. Then slammed shut. Opened. Slammed. Opened. Slammed. Opened.

  Drake jumped sideways. Tried to run. Fell. Saw Bucks Cat weaving from side to side, his black face shining with sweat and sunlight. Saw Ish Ulpin, the tall pale man floundering, grasping at air.

  Am I mad?

  The ground rocked again. Then steadied. Drake heard waves thrashing against the shore. Someone wailing. He got to his knees, breathed dust, coughed, sneezed. A distant shout. His torn right arm. Vivid red. Blood. Gore. Deep. Sweat dripped from his forehead in heavy drops. Running as free as blood.'Man!' said Bucks Cat. 'Oh man . . .'

  Drake stood, slowly. There were gaping cracks in the building which held the Neversh. The monster was scrabbling fiercely within. Ish Ulpin clapped a hand on Drake's shoulder.'You all right?' he said.

  T live,' said Drake. 'But, man, we'd better get out of here before that monster tries something else. It's powerful fierce, man!'

  Bucks Cat hooted with laughter. And Ish Ulpin said, with unwonted gentleness:

  'It wasn't the monster which shook the world. It was an earthquake.''Earthquake?' said Drake.

  'Aye,' said Ish Ulpin. 'Have you never been in an earthquake before?'

  'This was my first,' said Drake. 'What makes these earthquake things?'

  'War waged by demon-gods in the halls of hell,' said Ish Ulpin. 'That's what makes earthquakes, or so I've been told. The monster's a lesser danger – and we'll have no more trouble from it till we try to put it on our ship.'

  'How did you do this?' said the wizard Miphon, examining Drake's torn forearm.

  'Man, I was stroking a tabby cat when the vicious little hussy scratched me.'

  'I suppose you pulled its tail,' said Miphon, deadpan, clearing away some of the weltering blood with a moist sponge.

  'Man,' said Drake, in alarm, peering into the gaping gash, 'there's the end of a tendon! I've cut a tendon! Man, I'm crippled for life!'

  'Don't worry about that tendon there,' said Miphon, touching the offending article with the tip of a probe. 'That's surplus to requirements. We haven't used that for millions of years.''Then when did we use it?'

  'At an earlier stage in our evolution. Humans were fish once, then lizards.''A likely story!' said Drake.

  'More likely than some of those you tell,' said Miphon. 'I'll put some internal sutures in here.' 'More cat-gut?'

  'It's the only thing to use,' said Miphon. 'It'll dissolve within the wound when its job's done.' And he began to sew.

  T hope these stitches work better than your magic,' said Drake.'What magic is that?' said Miphon.

  'Why, that magic philtre you sold me, to cure me of love when I first fell for the fair Zanya Kliedervaust.'

  'Ah, that,' said Miphon. 'I remember the philtre. But as for this business of selling it … as I remember, it was a gift freely given.'

  'Aye. Given free, since worthless. Man, that was no love-cure. That was an aphrodisiac! It set me lusting like an octopus.'

  'Did you use the philtre by moonlight, as directed?' said Miphon. 'Did you kiss the ground to invoke her power?' 'Why, no, but-'

  'True wizards never embellish magic with useless ceremony,' said Miphon. 'Every instruction must be followed if you wish for success.'

  'Oh,' said Drake. 'Now I understand. How about some magic to help me out with my lady? I didn't do too well on our first encounter.'

  'How,' said Miphon, swabbing the wound, 'did you approach the lady?''I jumped on top of her,' said Drake.'That wasn't very nice!''Man, that's what women are made for.''Have you asked a woman about that?''What would you know about it? You're a virgin.'

  'Whatever I am,' said Miphon, 'I can tell you this. Young Zanya has been through hard times.''How would you know?'

  'She speaks with me here on occasions,' said Miphon. 'I cannot tell you details, for that would be unethical. But I can tell you that. She is deeply suspicious of men and their motives. With good reason. If you would win her, then you must give her reason to trust you.''How can I do that when she's crazy on faith?'

  'Her faith,' said Miphon, digging in with a needle, 'is at least in part a source of reassurance. If you can give her such, then the faith may … it may, perhaps, accommodate the flesh.''Give me a potion to make her love me,' said Drake.

  'There is,' said Miphon, 'no such potion. Magic is better at destruction than at building.'

  'Magic built the flame trench Drangsturm, did it not?' said Drake.

  'It did indeed. But the flame trench is itself an instrument of destruction. All it creates is violence – a violence which divides the north of Argan from the terror-lands of the Deep South.'

  'Man,' said Drake, 'I've been thinking about that flame trench. That earthquake thing we had just now, could such rip Drangsturm into halves? Could it tear rock so wild that the Swarms found a way north?'

  'Drangsturm is indeed vulnerable to earthquake,' said Miphon gravely. 'And, indeed, to other dangers. That is why the castles of the Confederation stand guard, with the

  Landguard to support them. But . . . don't worry too much. Drangsturm has protected the north for the last four thousand years, ever since the end of the Long War.'

  'The Long War? I've heard rumours of such. Was it wizards and heroes, as they say?'

  'It was before my time,' said Miphon. 'But there was indeed an Alliance of wizards and heroes. They fought the Swarms and threw them back to the Deep South.'

  'So . . .if the Swarms came north again, they could be beaten back.'

  'The Alliance,' said Miphon, 'had use of ancient weapons which were destroyed by their employment. None such remains to us – therefore, we could not be certain of a second victory.'

  'You talk of nonsense,' said Drake. 'There's no weapon you can only use once. A weapon lasts near enough to forever, aye, any swordsmith will tell you that.'

  'A burning arrow is a weapon, is it not?' said Miphon. 'And how many times can you use a burning arrow?''Seventy-five thousand,' said Drake, promptly.

  'You've got a quick wit,' said Miphon. 'Your voice will serve you well in love and war, if you cultivate it. Remember that, when you court the lady Kliedervaust.'

  Evening. Mosquito dance. Standing on the stony beach by an open fire, Zanya Kliedervaust preached to a scattering of soldiers. The purple-skinned Oronoko squatted at her feet, a cudgel in his hands. There was, in consequence, no heckling. Drake hung back in the shadows, reluctant to risk the wrath of Oronoko. He was slightly weak from blood-loss, and definitely in no
state for fighting.

  She was talking of things he had heard before from Gouda Muck and Sully Yot. Talking of purity. Abstinence. Denial.'How far away is the moon?' she said.

  'Further than I can throw an apple,' volunteered one of the soldiers.

  Zanya took a few moments to make sense of that. Her

  Galish had improved, but it seemed she still found swift speech hard to follow.

  'Yes,' she said, at length. 'It is further than we could throw an apple. But things lie hidden within the dark well within a stone's-throw. For dark hides. Dark conceals. Dark entangles. It is light which reveals. Light which clarifies. Light which makes possible. Fire is light. Light is fire.

  'In darkness is secrecy. Secrecy is darkness. Which among you has not a secret which is shameful? Which amongst you could stand bare in truth like the purity of those higher fires, the sun and moon? Yield to the Flame, and the Flame will burn you clean, yea, and you too will stand naked to the eye of truth yet unashamed.'Thus she spoke.

  But there was no fervour in her speech. She was tired. Weary from a long day in the kitchen. She had laboured many days without a break. Each evening she had preached, mouthing the words so many times they had almost lost their meanings. She spoke by rote.

  Drake saw she was so fatigued, so hollow, so worn by routine, that she herself had almost ceased to live. What lived in her was habit. She had become a puppet animated by the alien routines imposed upon her by Gouda Muck. The old man's words had replaced her will. It was not her voice which spoke, but his. She had become his creature.

  Watching, listening, Drake had an unfamiliar intimation of evil". Muck had made Zanya into a weapon. A burning arrow. How many times can a burning arrow be used? She was destroying herself. Nothing on this island of barren rock and inhuman routine would nourish or cherish her. Muck had made her his voice and had sent her into the world to be ruined.Drake felt sorry for her.

  Creeping away into the dark, he made his plans. It was all very well for the wizard Miphon to suggest that he win Zanya by fair speech, but that was impossible. Oronoko would let him nowhere near the woman.

  She would have to be kidnapped. For her own good, mind! Hauled aboard the Walrus. Then tamed at leisure. Taught to be a woman again. It might take some doing. But Drake Douay was equal to the task . . .

  'What's she to you?' said Slagger Mulps. 'You're in lust? You want her as your fancy woman, perhaps? Do you think I'll risk my ship for the whim of your cock?'

  'Man, she's nothing to me,' said Drake, hastily. 'But she's lots to Muck. She's his disciple, don't you know. Man, we can use her as hostage. A pawn in the war for Stokos.'

  'Hmmm,' said the Walrus, running his hand through his green beard as he thought. 'Perhaps King Tor would like to lay hands on Muck's disciple.'

  'Oh, I don't think that's really a good idea,' said Drake. 'Man, he might rip her in half.'

  'Who cares if he does?' said Mulps. 'She's nothing to you, is she? The boys can have fun with her first, before we hand her over. An'vory likes red meat. I've a taste for such myself, if it comes to that.'

  Atsimo Andranovory was indeed pleased when he heard about Drake's scheme to kidnap Zanya Kliedervaust.

  'So the young pup's good for something after all,' he growled.

  'It's a great idea, man,' said Bucks Cat, slapping Drake on the back.

  'Aye,' said Ish Ulpin, squeezing his shoulder. 'We'll let you lead the rape pack when we get the wench aboard.' And Simp Fiche drooled.

  Three days went by.

  Drake endured agonies of horror, guilt and despair. His brilliant idea had gone wrong. But he should have known what would happen! He knew what pirates were like. Aye. And what would happen now? Why, Zanya would be likely ripped apart. And would welcome such death, having wished herself dead many times before.

  He had planned for things to be so nice. Her and him, alone in the dark together. Him explaining things to her, reasonable like. Maybe a little force, if strictly necessary – but just by way of introduction, to show her what delights were available.

  The reality . . .

  The reality which threatened was like something out of nightmare. A long slow voyage of repeated rape, with death at the hands of King Tor at the end of it.

  What should he do?

  Warn Zanya? No – that would ruin his chances with the woman for a lifetime.

  Talk to Mulps, perhaps? Explain that the woman was rightly his, was special, was – well, his true love. No. That would never work. He was only aboard the Walrus on sufferance. Mulps would scarcely take kindly to having Drake Douay dictate his behaviour.Then-

  What if he betrayed Slagger Mulps? Narked to the soldiers, so an ambush was waiting when the raiding party came to kidnap Zanya? What then? The ship would be seized, Slagger Mulps and crew would be killed or enslaved, and Drake would have a lot of explaining to do if he ever got back to the Greaters.Besides . . .

  Whale Mike was his friend, was he not? Yes. The dumb yellow-faced earless monster was, when all was said and done, a true friend. Drake could scarcely sacrifice the ship – if only for the sake of Whale Mike. And Rolf Thelemite – he wasn't bad. You could even say a thing or two for Bucks Cat and Ish Ulpin, despite their murderous taste in practical jokes.

  'The thing to do,' said Drake to Drake, as he walked alone on the shores of Burntos, 'would be to kidnap Zanya on my own. Aye. Then get her to the mainland in a boat.'

  Possible. But – where would they go? Where would they hide if Oronoko came hunting for them? If he killed his purple-skinned rival, how would the Landguard take that? How much of the mainland was under Landguard jurisdiction?There were too many unknowns.

  Besides – he had to go back to the Greaters. Otherwise he would never win King Tor's confidence. He would never get to marry Tor's ogre daughter, Hilda, or be crowned king of Stokos. He would never again see his brother Heth. Or Jon Arabin. Or any of his friends from the Warwolf.'There has to be another way,' said Drake.

  On the afternoon of the third day, as the captive Neversh, weakened by lack of water, was dragged in chains to the ship, Drake realized what he had to do. He went to see the wizard Miphon.

  'Man,' said Drake, 'you've a commander's powers on Burntos, isn't that so?'T said as much,' said Miphon. 'I meant as much.'

  'Then, man … I don't know how to put this. It's delicate, see. Some friends of mine . . . well, they've let high-spirits carry them away. You know how men talk, aye, wild-like, boasting of things round booze. Well, these friends . . . usually their crazy thinking wears off with the drink. But this time, it stuck. I'm. . .these are my friends, man. I don't want to betray them. But I thought maybe -maybe you could help them keep from trouble. By removing temptation. Subtle, like. Without saying anything about anyone informing or such.''You can trust me,' said Miphon. 'Speak.'

  When Drake got back to the Walrus, the Neversh was being folded in thirds to make it fit into the treasure hold, which lay forward of the hold in which Whale Mike lived, cooked and slept. Ish Ulpin winked at Drake, and Bucks Cat slapped him on the back.'Tonight's the night, eh?' said Bucks Cat.'For sure,' said Drake.

  'You'll be coming with us, I suppose,' said Ish Ulpin casually.

  Drake's first thought was to answer 'no'. But he couldn't do that – it would arouse suspicion.

  'Of course,' he said, voice cool as a wet-skinned squid hauled writhing from the blue-black depths of the sea.

  So that was it. He was committed ashore on tonight's raiding expedition to capture Zanya Kliedervaust. What if the wizard Miphon had failed to exile Zanya and Oronoko, as he had promised? What if they were delayed in getting off the island? Worse – what if Miphon, despite his promises, had arranged for an ambush?Tonight, man, perhaps tonight you die.

  18

  Miphon: a slender green-eyed travelling healer; a minor wizard of the order of Nin, who sometimes claims to be of elven descent.

  It was night. The Walrus was ready to sail. Only one task remained: to kidnap Zanya Kliedervaust. The raiding
party gathered on deck under a gloomy sky pitted by stars. Off to the south, some scanty cloud reflected the glowering red blaze of distant Drangsturm. The raiders were hot, fierce, excited.

  'Action!' said Rolf Thelemite. 'That's the thing! Blood and steel!'

  'Don't be too keen to start anything,' warned Praul Galana. 'The odds are against us if it comes to a fight.'

  'Man,' said Drake, 'I'm in no state for fighting – or anything else. Better I stay on the ship.'

  His right arm, torn by a captive Neversh then sewn up by the wizard Miphon, was still in a sling. It ached incessantly; it had been keeping him awake at night.'You're coming,' said Slagger Mulps. 'Get in the boat!'

  'What boat?' said Drake, peering down at the darkened sea.

  'It's down there,' said Mulps. 'At the end of the rope ladder.'

  'How do I climb down with only one arm?' 'Climb! Or I'll give you the problem of climbing with none!'With difficulty, Drake descended the rope ladder to the

  raiding boat. Its crew was Slagger Mulps, Ish Ulpin, Bucks Cat, Rolf Thelemite, Praul Galana and Atsimo Andranovory.'Who's been drinking?' said Drake, smelling alcohol.

  'We're all stone-sober here,' said Andranovory, his brewery breath washing over Drake's face as he spoke.

  'Man, you're half-way pickled,' said.Drake in disgust. 'This is a nice start! And where's Whale Mike? Eh?'

  'What would we want with him?' said Ish Ulpin, as the boat got underway.

  'He's muscle,' said Drake, nursing his sore arm as best he could as dark-tongued waves nagged at the boat. 'A monster like that – he must be something terrible in a fight.'

  'Let's not be calling our good friend a monster,' said Slagger Mulps, a note of warning in his voice.

  'Whatever we call him,' said Drake, 'he's built for battle.'

  'Oh yes,' said Bucks Cat, with a chuckle. 'Built beautiful. But soft as a sea slug. He never likes to kill. Not like some of us.'

  Silence, then, as the rowers pulled for the shore. Burntos, by night, was an ominous, almost featureless mass. Far off down the shore, a bonfire was burning. Praul Galana, having shaped words to his satisfaction, spoke: