by Hugh Cook
"Low types like us," joked Zurdok. "They'll make us feel at home."
"They'll more likely draw cuts for the privilege of slicing and dicing us. It was bad enough by day. It's no place to venture at nightfall."
"It's not dark yet, boy," said Zurdok. "So we'll risk a look at the place, at least."
For a man who had recently come close to death, Zurdok was in exceptionally high spirits, all smiles and whistles. Then, as they approached the tavern from the blind side, the whistling abruptly stopped. They heard hoarse shouting and a cry of pain. A duel? A brawl?
"This may be one of those times," said Togura, "when it's best to leave before arriving."
"Gather your courage," said Zurdok. "And follow me."
They ducked round to the doorway side of the tavern. The first thing Togura saw was a man lying dead on the ground. The landlord was being held at bay by half a dozen masked men armed with staves, flails and hatchets. He was armed with a whip and a pitchfork. His horns were stained with bright fresh blood.
"Back, you braggarts!" roared the landlord. "Back, before I scupper the lot of you."
"You're the one who's scuppered," shouted a bald man with golden roses tattooed on his naked pate. "Here's reinforcement!" He appealed to Togura and Zurdok. "Will you join us for the monster's gold? His death's a fortune for each of us. Will you join us?"
"Yes," said Zurdok, striding forward.
"Good," said the man of the golden roses.
And Zurdok booted him in the crutch then wrecked him with three well-placed blows too swift for Togura to follow. As the others gasped alarm, Zurdok's fingers flickered. A man went down with a throwing knife in his throat. The landlord hurled his pitchfork and slashed away with his whip. Zurdok drew his cutlass and laid about him. Closing with his nearest victim, the landlord gored him through the heart.
And suddenly there were four men freshly dead and two men running for their lives. The action had been so swift that Togura had scarcely had time to realise it had started. The landlord shook himself free from the body of the man he had gored.
"You!" said the landlord, in surprise.
"Me!" said Zurdok.
And the two of them embraced.
"I thought you'd setsko and amanacain," said the landlord.
"Me? Log Jaris, you'd fana-ma-skote."
There was a lot more of this swift, jabbering argot, which Togura found impossible to follow. The language the two men were speaking was basically Galish, but it was so full of slang and foreign lingo that he found it incomprehensible.
"Well," said the landlord at last, breaking off the conversation, "I'm sure we can bed down a boy and a pirate. So come in, the two of you."
"Pirate?" said Togura, looking around.
"He's the pirate!" said the landlord, laughing as he pointed to Zurdok.
"He's no pirate," protested Togura. "He's Gelzeda Zurdok, merchant of Androlmarphos. He was being held prisoner on the pirate ship which was wrecked."
"And you helped him escape from the frenzied mob."
"Yes!" said Togura, whho was proud of his effort, which had taken a lot of quick thinking and a nimble bit of bluff.
"Well, well," said the landlord. "What a brave little boy. Come on, let's no more linger. Inside!"
And in they went.
The landlord's woman, she of the cat's paws, was standing behind the bar, mopping the counter. She greeted them with a placid smile, then carried on sponging up the blood which had been spilt so liberally on the counter. There were at least five sodden bodies floating in the water.
"Love," said the landlord to the woman. "Fetch us two bailing boys from the Nun's Backside. And send a messenger to old Karold; tell him there's butcher's meat here for the taking."
"Shall I set up first for the evening trade?" asked the woman, her voice smooth and mellow.
"There'll be no evening trade tonight," said the landlord. "They'll be whooping it up at the wreck, burning their prisoners alive. Come, boys, let's have an ale."
The three sat themselves down at a table with bread and tankards, then the landlord talked ninety to the dozen with Gelzeda Zurdok. Togura, unable to follow their quick-weaving cant, felt excluded and insulted. Finally he could stand it no more.
"What's that language you're talking?" he demanded.
"Galish," said the landlord easily. "Galish as she is spoke in the Greater Teeth."
"The Greater Teeth? But only pirates live thee!"
"And what else would we be? I told you already, the man you saved from the wreck is a pirate. No – don't give me that merchant nonsense again. What merchant from Androlmarphos would walk with a sea swagger as he does? Besides, boy, if you knew your Androlmarphos you'd know that the men there have a fashion for clean shaving. They walk their lives beardless – not like Draven here."
"Draven?" said Togura, staring at the man he knew as Gelzeda Zurdok. He'd heard that name before. The more notable sea bandits were known by name even in the households of Keep. "Draven the Womanrider?"
"No, boy!" shouted Gelzeda Zurdok, slamming the table with the flat of his hand. "Do I look like him? Do I speak like him? Do I stink like him? No, and no, and again no. Don't confuse me with the most notorious coward of the twenty-seven seas. I'm not the Womanrider. I'm not Draven the leper, either, or Battleaxe Draven. I'm Bluewater Draven, and you'd better remember it."
"Peace," said the landlord, with a smile. "Peace, the pair of you."
"I wasn't arguing!" said Togura.
"Then peace regardless," said the landlord. "He tells the truth. An unusual experience for him, but he tells it. He is, in truth, Bluewater Draven of the Greater Teeth. His ship, which was wrecked today, was one of three on a passage to Ork, an island far distant which you're not likely to have heard of. They were on a mission which does not bear naming at this moment."
"How do you know all this?" said Togura.
"We've been talking, haven't we? Why so fierce, youngster?"
"Because I've been cheated and tricked and lied to. Because I risked my life to save him and because I thought him an honest stranger. Because he conned me and duped me and gives me no thanks. Look at him smirking!"
"Thanks is not in his nature," said the landlord, "but he can surely redeem his debt to you all the same. As I was telling you, his ship was one of three. They had a rendevous point for gathering in case they were separated in the Penvash Channel – which is that body of water on our doorstep, in case you didn't know."
"I know," said Togura, who hadn't until that moment.
"If one or both remaining ships survive, they'll search for Draven's vessel. In all probability, they'll put a boat ashore to make discretions in D'Waith."
"Discretions?"
"They'll ask after the lotch, but carefully," said the landlord patiently.
"The lotch?"
"The missing one, the retarded one, the latecomer," said the landlord, supplying the meaning of the cant word. "If they varry – "
"Varry?"
"Enough of this language lesson!" said Draven impatiently. "Come on, let's pay off the boy."
"I don't want to be paid off," said Togura. "I want an apology."
"What an innocent little mannikin," said the landlord, with a laugh which – and this was unusual for him – had something of a jeer about it. "Apologies? From a pirate? You'd be searching! There now, don't take it hard. You saved a life. That's something for a day's work. You've got Bluewater Draven in your debt, so take what's offering. Take his gold or his services. He can ship you to Ork, if you're wanting."
"Can I think about it?" said Togura, seeing that argument was going to get him nowhere.
"Thinking's free," said Draven. "But have a decision by tomorrow's daylight."
At that moment, two boys arrived with buckets, and began to bail out the tavern. Shortly afterwards, a butcher from D'Waith arrived to take away the dead bodies to be made into sausage meat. Then some jubilant wreckers entered, bearing trophies – the heads of five sea rovers – and pirate gold.
As the tavern began to get lively, despite the landlord's expectations, talk of sensitive matters ended.
From the tavern talk, Tokura was able to complete his picture of what had happened while he had been absent from civilization. On the day on which the Warguild had attacked the wedding at the Suet's Grand Hall, Baron Chan Poulaan had gone missing. Rumour had it that Togura Poulaan, also known as Barak the Battleman, had pitched his father into a mining pit, thus murdering him.
Togura's half brother, Cromarty, had assumed control of the family estate near Keep, and had offered a reward for Togura's head. Rumour held that Togura, aka Barak, had been sighted in fifty different places during the time he had been hunted – which was now almost a year. He was credited with five rapes, two murders and several acts of vandalism and arson; most recently, or so rumour had it, he had attacked a homestead in the mountains, routing the seven men who tried to defend the place against his depredations.
"Ay, I can credit that," said a one-legged card sharp, and proceeded to give a vivid eyewitness account of how he had confronted Barak half a year ago. "Chewed off my leg, he did. Turned himself into a great black manul, leapt, fanged him, bit, chewed, swallowed – kneecap, ankle, shin, he ate the lot."
"Give over, Doss," said an onlooker. "You lost that leg ten years ago if it was a day."
"No," insisted the card sharp. "That's not true. Listen, it was up in the mountains. A cold day. I challenged him. One moment he was standing there, as clear as I see you – a great big unruly fellow with a spiked club in his hand – and the next moment he'd turned himself into this gory great cat, as big as a horse if it was larger than a mouse."
His eyes shone with sincerity; his voice carried the tones of impeccable conviction; it was clear that more than a few believed him.
These being the rumours that Togura did hear – and in a single night, at that – he could only guess at those he didn't hear. Offering a reward for a man's head was a foreign practice previously almost unheard of in Keep; the reward made this manhunt a novelty, and the recent increase in the amount of the reward had made it a topical novelty at that.
With his dream of retiring into this father's home now shattered, Togura had to think of his own safety. There were no portraits or sketches of him in circulation, so few people outside Keep would know what he looked like. Nevertheless, it would be safer to get out of Sung until this trouble blew over.
By morning, Togura had come to a decision. He asked Draven to take him to Larbster Bay; from there, he would make his way along the Salt Road to Estar. Once he reached Estar, he would be faced with another decision. There were two possibilities.
Either he could stay in Estar and work at some honest trade, hoping for Cromarty to get himself killed in a duel or a feud, thus opening the way for Togura to return home; or, alternatively, he could approach Prince Comedo of Estar and ask for permission to dare the terror of the monster which guarded the bottle which contained the box which contained the index which spoke the Universal Language which would give him control of the odex.
"Can you take me to Larbster Bay?" said Togura.
"Nothing easier," said Draven. "Once a ship calls for us. It's on the way to Ork. Perhaps, of course, there'll be no ship. If so, I'll buy us passage with the next Galish convoy travelling from D'Waith to Larbster Bay. We'll get you on your journey, youngster. Trust Draven. Thousands do – and no man ever regretted it."
Togura, judging Draven to be sincere, ate well, drank well, slept well, helped the landlord tend the bar, and waited until they could start their journey.
Chapter 19
The seas at the end of summer were in full flood. The tall ship strode the ocean, riding over the scalloping light, urged by a brisk wind which drove it through the dalloping dolloping waves.
The name of the ship was the Warwolf, but her figurehead was no wolf but a dragon. She had been built by the best shipwrights of the Greater Teeth. Her timbers were of winter oak and cedar, but for the masts, which were of kauri from Quilth, and the deck, which had been made of a chance load of mahogany alleged to have originated in Yestron. She had three masts, and sails of green canvas.
Togura Poulaan, taking his ease on a sunny yet sheltered part of the deck, surveyed the work going on at hand and thanked his stars – which were the two green ones known as the Cat's Eyes – that he was not a pirate. From this vantage point, it looked too much like hard work.
Taking advantage of the fine weather, the weapons muqaddam was supervising the overhaul of armaments and muniments. He was a broad-fisted man with shoulders like an ox and a shadow like a menhir. He was bald but for a little floccus scabbing the centre of his skull. His eyes, squinting out of a sun-weathered face, were as sharp as caltrops. His tongue was as rough as pumice, and he used it industriously.
Glad to be a passenger, Togura closed his eyes and leisured out at full length on the deck. Then cloud quenched the sun; a crisp whippet of wind came cleaning around him, and, chilled and annoyed, he sat up again.
"Come back son," said Togura. "Go away wind."
The wind, obedient to his commands, veered away to vanishing. But the sun remained hidden by a sulk of cloud. In the sea, something hinted through the waters. Seal? Dolphin? Whale? Rock? Togura narrowed his eyes, trying to see it more clearly. But it had gone. Perhaps it had been nothing to start with, or a chance bit of driftwood or float-stone now smothered by a wave.
Togura closed his eyes again, but was abruptly jolted into full alertness when a fight began. Looking round, he saw it was only two young pirates sparring with a lot of brag and paraffle. The weapons muqaddam, seeing their footwork looked sloppy, screamed abuse at them. They took heed, stopped fooling around and became more businesslike. They were rather good.
Togura had always imagined pirates as being lazy, leisurely beasts, loafing through the idle seas, amusing themselves with wine and women until the opportunity for pillage aroused them from their sport. Now, after only a brief acquaintance with the breed, he knew the reality was altogether different.
There was wine aboard, true, but it was rationed – a gill per man per day, which was next to nothing. There were women somewhere below deck – not that Togura had seen them – but the woman ration was stricter still. Most of the day was spent in work, maintenace, exercise and training. The Warwolf was a taut, sober, workmanlike ship, captained by the stern, ascetic Jon Arabin; there was no laybaout nonsense here.
If Togura had ever had the misfortune to sail on Draven's ship, the Tusk, then he would have found a state of affairs rather closer to his imaginings – which was the main reason why the Tusk had been smashed on the coast of Sung, the crew butchered by the local populace, and the wreckage looted, while the Warwolf rode out the storm with matchless aplomb.
As the sun came out again, Togura dozed down to the deck and relaxed. For the moment, he had no worries. This ship, its mission urgent, had no time to call at Larbster Bay on this leg of its journey. Instead, it would take him all the way to the distant island of Ork, then drop him at Larbster on the return voyage. For the time being, all he had to do was eat, sleep, and enjoy the sun at the end of summer.
With all his difficulties thus comfortably postponed, it was pleasing to toy with the idea of being a questing hero. Once he finally got from Larbster Bay to Estar, he would most certainly have a look at the monster in Prince Comedo's Castle Vaunting. He would then be able to decide whether he should attempt to recover the box which held the index.
He remembered back to the days when he had lived in the stronghold of the Wordsmiths in Keep. Brother Troop had talked about the box, which held the index which could control the odex. Aasked what the index looked like, he had answered:
"When you open the box, you'll know. Remember, it speaks the Universal Language."
Togura, daydreaming, imagined himself performing desperate heroics and recovering the vital box. It would open at a Word. And the Word was?
– Konanabarok?
– Yaradoshek?
– Slonshenamenel?
No, it was nothing like that. It was something else, but, for the life of him, he could not remember what. For a moment, he panicked. Then he relaxed. There was no need for him to remember how to command the box. All he had to do was get it to Keep. The Wordsmiths would do the rest.
It would be easy.
Or would it?
After all, there was not just Castle Vaunting's monster to deal with. If he slew the monster, that in itself would not be enough to give him the box which held the index, or the box was at the bottom of the bottle. Togura tried to remember Brother Troop's instructions for getting into the bottle, but could not. All he could remember was Brother Troop saying:
"The box itself lies as the very bottom of the bottle, and is Guarded… which means there's death waiting nearby."
Remembering this talk of death made Togura once more doubt the wisdom of being a questing hero. He decided to procrastinate his decision until he reached Estar, which would not be for many days yet: there was no hurry.
A shadow blocked out the sun. Togura opened his eyes and saw a fair-haired young pirate looking down at him. The pirate, who was unarmed, was wearing a woolen shepherd's rig and rope-soled shoes.
"What are you staring at?" said Togura.
"Nothing that catches my fancy," said the youth. "They told me you were a manhunter, so I thought you'd be something special. But you're not."
Togura wondered whether to take offence, then decided against it. The doughty little pirate was a tough, nuggety piece of work. Togura might have trouble handling him if it came to a scuffle.
"Tell me, for you're the expert," said Togura, venturing a little flattery, "what's that island over there?"
And he pointed at a high-rising island some distance off. Its coast was "walled round with bronze," as the pirate idiom had it – that is to say, it had a rugged, iron-bound coast.
"That?" said the youth. "We name him Drum. That's – "
He broke off as the ship shuddered as if something had struck it. There was instant alarm on board. Men rushed to the side and peered overboard. Shouts rang out as deck queried crow's nest.
