The Walrus and the Warwolf

by Hugh Cook

  'Well, half of Stokos, by now,' said Yot. 'The king himself has converted. There's talk of outlawing the temple.'

  Drake felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. AH the wind was quite taken out of him. But once he had got over the shock he started to get angry.

  'Now look here,' said Drake. 'This nonsense has to end, and here, and now. Recant! Renounce the Flame. Look, there's fire - the oil-lamp's wick. Piss on it, Yot, piss on it now, or I'll kill you!'

  But Yot would not. He wept with fear, he begged, he pleaded, but even in the face of death he would not defile the Flame.

  'And you still think you have to kill me?' said Drake. 'I must! I must!' wept Yot.

  Drake, seething with anger, roped Yot properly and put him on the market. Yot so disgusted him that Drake didn't want to be associated any further - not even for the time it would take to torture his captive to death.

  'Ready meat waiting!' shouted Drake. 'Best stuff for fish bait, torture, raping!'

  But interest was slack. Slaving Day had glutted most people's tastes, and the Bacchanal of the banquet had left just about the entire pirate population of Knock with a hangover.

  Drake grew hoarse with shouting. He cooled his throat with an ale, then thought to ask:

  'You say King Tor has converted to - to—'

  'To the Faith,' said Yot. 'To Goudanism.'

  'Then does Tor believe that I'm—'

  'Tor is a true believer!' said Yot. His voice was shrill with fear and hate. 'He knows you're the son of the Demon. He's ordered that you be handed over to Gouda Muck if you ever set foot on Stokos.'

  'Then what?'

  'Then our all-sacred Muck will have you skinned alive. That's just to start with! Oh, you'll wish you were dead! You'll scream for the privilege of dying! But Muck won't let you go that easily. He'll make you suffer.'

  Drake felt all broken-up inside. This was really the end! He could never go home. Goodbye to his dreams of a place in the priesthood! Goodbye to his hopes for marriage to Tor's daughter and a claim to the throne of Stokos! Goodbye - ay yes, farewell forever! - to the high-breasted Zanya Kliedervaust.

  'This is bad news, truly,' said Drake. 'I ... I thought to go back to Stokos someday. Not least to see my lady.'

  'And who's that?' said Yot.

  'You wouldn't know her,' said Drake. 'She was red of skin and red of hair. She was aged about twenty or so. Tall, yes, mayhap a head higher than me. Breasts beautiful, high-riding like buoyant boats.'

  'Are you talking about Zanya?' said Yot. 'Zanya Kliedervaust?'

  'You know her!'

  'Why, of course,' said Yot. 'She's one of Muck's favourite disciples.'

  'Then she's - she's with Muck?'

  'No,' said Yot. 'She's left Stokos entirely. Gone to do missionary work. To convert the world to Goudanism!'

  'Where has she gone?' said Drake.

  'Why should I tell you?' said Yot. 'You're the Demon-son! And a nasty stunted ugly runt!'

  And Yot spat in Drake's face.

  Whereupon Drake grabbed him, intending to cut his throat on the spot.

  'What's this?' said a jovial voice. 'Business or pleasure?'

  Drake relaxed his grip on Yot. He looked around and saw that a rough-smelling pirate had happened along, an evil brute with a most unlovely bearded face, with pouches under bloodshot eyes, with lice scattered like dandruff through greasy locks, and with splashes of black blood from his most recent murder still splattered across his clothes.

  It was, of course, Andranovory.

  'I came here intending to sell this - this thing,' said Drake. 'But it seems nobody wants to buy such rubbish. So I've decided to cut its throat to get rid of it. Would you hold it still? It's wriggling. Aye! And trying to bite!'

  'Hold still!' barked Andranovory.

  And Yot ceased his struggles immediately.

  'Why, An'vory, man,' said Drake, in reluctant admiration, 'You've sure got a way with your voice.'

  Atsimo Andranovory made no immediate reply, but studied Yot carefully.

  'You meant to sell this?' he said, after a pause, idling a finger across Yot's neck while the apostle of the Flame cringed and whimpered. 'For how much?'

  'To you, he's free,' said Drake, who could think of no worse fate for Yot than sale to Andranovory.

  Andranovory laughed.

  'Done,' said Andranovory, and cut Yot's bonds. Then tossed the boy a knife.

  Startled, Yot caught it by the hilt, and stood there looking most uncertain.

  'You're my shipmate now,' said Andranovory. 'My bloodbrother true. My enemy's enemy is good enough for me. Come, man - I'll take you to meet our captain. Aye. The Walrus - Slagger Mulps himself. He'll be heartened by the sight of a fine young fellow like you.'

  'How about a drink first?' said Yot, feeling he needed something to steady his nerves.

  'Why, sure - that's an excellent idea,' said Andranovory.

  Then Andranovory laughed again at the outrage on Drake's face, and went swaggering off to the nearest beer stand to celebrate his victory.

  15

  Name: Menator.

  Birthplace: by the side of the Salt Road some seven leagues north of the Castle of Controlling Power.

  Occupation: adventurer (and, previously, Galish merchant, horse thief, outlaw, and joint ruler of the kingdom of Talajar).

  Status: warlord.

  Description: a man as bald as Jon Arabin, nose broken, blue rose tattooed on left cheek.

  Drake was sure Slagger Mulps would be too smart to want anything to do with a useless piece of wart-faced filth like Sully Yot. But, to Drake's disgust, Yot was aboard the Walrus when it set off on a raiding expedition the very next day.

  He won't last, though. No. The first time he has to fight it out for real, blade against blade, he'll run screaming. Aye. This first voyage should finish him for piracy.

  However, three days later the Walrus returned after a bloodless victory. Off the coast of Chorst, Slagger Mulps and his men had caught a trading ship. Rather than stand and fight, the crew of their quarry had set fire to their vessel and had then abandoned ship, making for the nearby shore.

  Every man from the Walrus swore they had rescued treasure from the burning ship. As they did no extra

  boozing, gambling or whoring, Drake guessed they were bluffing - but he had no way to prove it.

  After a two-day rest, the Walrus set sail again.

  One more chance for Yot to get himself killed, then.

  But Drake could not help envying Yot. He was sick and tired of the Teeth, bored with fishing, sealing, and the routines of gambling. He found himself longing to be at sea again. Which was perverse, surely, for the sea was big and wet, cold and unfriendly, daunting and merciless.

  But there's companionship there. Aye. The ship's life's one life shared. Yes.

  How long would it be before Jon Arabin took them to sea again?

  Ten days after midwinter's day in Khmar 18 - that is, soon after Drake learnt of his place in the demonology of Goudanism - Jon Arabin called a crew-conference.

  A number of Arabin's wives were pregnant, so he could face the prospect of more murder with equanimity. With the Warwolf properly overhauled, he was ready to try an audacious plan formulated during his long and bitter captivity in Lorp: to raid Cam, in Stokos, and sack the Orsay Bank.

  'It's far,' complained the faint-hearted. 'And it's winter.'

  'For sure it's far,' said Arabin. 'But Narba is further, let alone Ling. You've all at least been to Narba. As to the season, why, winter means they won't be expecting us. Anyway, it'll be warm enough down in Stokos.'

  Drake was enlisted to draw maps of Cam, and help model the harbour for the inspection of Arabin's officers.

  'We'll come as a merchant ship,' said Arabin. 'We'll fly the flag of Chi'ash-lan. We'll have silk on our backs, sheep on the deck, and a bare-breasted woman as figurehead. By night we'll raid the bank. Quick, aye, in and out. Meanwhile, our fire parties set flames amidst the city. Thus
chaos while we retreat.'

  It was a cunning plan, yet simple. And extremely dangerous - which was part of the reason why Drake had mixed feelings about the operation.

  Previously, a voyage to Cam would have meant an ideal opportunity to escape. But flight to Stokos was now the last thing on his mind. Gouda Muck would have him skinned alive then burnt at the stake - or worse.

  He would love to see Stokos again, if only for a day. But should he raid his own people? Even if madness had made them flame worshippers, they were still the true blood of Stokos, the meanest wight amongst them worth more than any ten uitlanders.

  'Troubled?' said Arabin, sensing his confusion. 'Worries about killing your own, is it? Well, I'll give you a choice on this venture. Will you come, or not?'

  'I'll think about it,' said Drake.

  And think he did.

  The Walrus returned to Knock after a successful raid on the docks of Runcorn. This time, Slagger Mulps and his men proved their success by spending gold like water. Sully Yot made a special point of flaunting his wealth in Drake's presence, while boasting of his daring. Drake, violently jealous, thought Arabin's plans might be worth pursuing if only to win triumph equal to Yot's.

  But, while Drake was still weighing the pros and cons, all plans for the raid were interrupted by the unheralded arrival of a foreign adventurer. Menator, he was called: and he came to the Teeth with five ships, three hundred men, and half his own weight in gold.

  Almost immediately, he gained a reputation for ambition. Then came public proposals so brash and rash they made Arabin's outrageous plans seem the ultimate in conservative caution. Word went out to all the islands of the Greaters, and the pirates began to gather in to Knock.

  The pirates met in general assembly to pass judgment on Menator. Crowding a huge cavern lit by light filtering down twenty air shafts, and by half a hundred smoking torches, they gave off a communal stench which could have seriously competed with a legion of dead seals or any army of dung-soaked dogs.

  Drake, in the middle of this mob, was surprised at what a crowd they made.

  Menator spoke eloquently in the Galish Trading Tongue. He was, after all, the only person present who had Galish as his native tongue, for all that it was their lingua franca.

  He wished to unite them for war and for conquest. To bring Stokos under their yoke. To seize the Lesser Teeth. To build an army. And then to start empire-building in earnest.

  Some men jeered, and Drake was one of them. Menator became angry.

  'The Greater Teeth could control all the west of Argan,' said Menator. 'If only you could see it. But no. Here you sit, on your walrus-infested rocks—'

  This provoked mirth in certain quarters, scowls in others. Menator, puzzled by this reaction, looked around carefully then continued:

  'You sit on your rocks, fighting for fish with sharks and skua gulls, when you could rule in palaces of silk and gold, with hot wet women tight between your legs. All it takes is will. An alliance of will. Believe me.'

  Promises of paradise will always find buyers, and Menator's speech met with an enthusiastic reception.

  'So,' said Menator, thinking this was all going very nicely, 'is it agreed?'

  'Hang about!' shouted several voices. 'We haven't heard the other side, yet,'

  The pirates wanted a proper debate. They believed strongly in democracy: meaning, among other things, a full and frank discussion of issues of public importance. Menator, who had never before encountered such plebian lower-class attitudes (he came from the better class of Galish merchant, and had mixed with the right kind of people for most of his life) was shocked.

  Still, there was nothing he could do about it.

  First speaker for the negative was Slagger Mulps, who provoked applause just by rising to his feet. Since he was so very tall, he could be seen by almost everyone. And his shock of green hair identified him even in that poor light. His supporters started to chant in unison:

  'Walrus! Walrus! Walrus!'

  Raising one of his double-thumbed fists on high to acknowledge this applause, Slagger Mulps swaggered to the podium (a heap of ale casks stood on their ends) and Menator was forced to yield it to him. The din slowly died down.

  Drake, who had brought along some dead fish, threw one. But missed Slagger Mulps - and hit Menator slap-bang in the face. There was a roar of applause. Some of Menator's men drew weapons - but their leader brought them to order with a few curt words.

  'Boys,' said Slagger Mulps, with a grin. 'At least you can say this for the Teeth - we've got plenty of fish to spare.'

  (General applause. From Menator, a scowl.)

  'And,' continued Slagger Mulps, 'if the Teeth are infested with Walrus, what's wrong with that?'

  (Mixed laughter, cheers, boos. Several dead fish were thrown, but missed.)

  'These rocks have got a lot going for them,' said Mulps. 'For a start, they're ours. Nobody else wants them. But once we go seeking hegemony over foreign lands, well, then we're into some really heavy competition.'

  (More noise from the audience. A loud-voiced obscene joke about 'herd riding', which was the literal translation of the Galish Mulps had used to say 'hegemony'.)

  'Of course,' said Mulps, 'we could do it if we really wanted to. World conquest would be easy compared to sharing these islands with the Warwolf.'

  (Uproar. A walrus head was suddenly raised on a battle-spear in the middle of the crowd. Scuffles broke out, continuing until the head had been hauled down and kicked to pieces, thus ceasing to become an object of contention. Slagger Mulps, unperturbed, continued.)

  'But, boys, why try enslave the world? We all know how useless slaves are. Won't work unless kicked, and then so tough in the arse you'll as like break your toes as bruise them. Free men work best, boys, as do they now - loading the finest silks and the silkiest women on ships which by the morrow, mark my words, will be idling straight toward our jaws.

  'Boys, let's think real. A conquered city sounds sweet, but like as not we'd burn it down the first time we set out to party. Here's a cheer for the Teeth! The walls are solid. They don't rot, they don't burn, or crack if you smash a skull against them. Why, on rock like this, you could even break up the pig bones which skull-plate the Warwolf!'

  (Renewed uproar, continuing until the Walrus, satisfied with his eloquence, bowed gracefully and yielded the podium to the next speaker.)

  The next speaker was Atsimo Andranovory. The great big barrel-chested black-bearded brute confronted the audience in silence, swaying slightly. Drake, gazing on him with hatred, bitterly regretted the fact that he had no more fish left to throw. Suddenly, Andranovory gave a prodigious belch. Someone clapped. Someone cheered. Then Andranovory vomited - then collapsed. The whole gathering applauded this performance.

  As the drunken sot was carried away, Jon Arabin took the stage.

  'Ladies and gentlemen,' said Arabin, looking around. 'I mean, of course, the gentlemen of the Warwolf and the ladies of the Walrus, and—'

  (Furious shouting. Raucous cheers. Prolonged fish-throwing, most of it, again, inaccurate.)

  'Ladies and gentlemen - may I speak? - thank you! -much as it grieves me to agree with Slagger Mulps, he's given us a lot of common sense. He got it from the fish guts his mother weaned him on. And, in any case, as the saying goes, even a blind walrus knows a dog from a virgin's gracehole.'

  (Pandemonium. An outbreak of predictable behaviour. Consequences of such behaviour, some of them bloodstained. Peace restored, mainly through use of cudgels.)

  'Strange it is for Warwqlf to sing in harmony with Walrus,' said Arabin. 'But on this occasion, I can do nothing else. We've heard easy talk of conquest. Aye. Conquest of Stokos. But who here knows the place as more than a name? I tell you this - I do. For one of my crewmen is Drake Douay, a native of the place. A strong fellow, not lightly scared.'

  Hearing such praise, Drake was filled with a glow of pride. Ah, Jon Arabin! He knew quality when he saw it!

  'With Drake Douay,' said
Jon Arabin, 'I've lately been planning a raid on Stokos, so I know the strengths of the place well. They've people by the tens of thousands. They make weapons for the world, so they won't be short of steel if it comes to a fight. Worse, they've a breed of ogres on that island.

  'Twice the height of men they stand - aye, as tall as Whale Mike. Where are you, Mike? Ah, there he is - over there, in the corner. But Mike, he's slim compared to these ogres, for they're built near as wide as they stand tall. How can humans fight against such?

  'If you ask me, this man Menator's got no true plans for conquest. Instead, he hopes to wish us away to Stokos, so we all get killed in senseless battles. Then he can rule the Teeth, while we rot in hell, getting laughed at by our ancestors. But even if we did win Stokos, what good would that do us? Not much, say I.'

  Then Arabin outlined the case against empire, speaking fluently, cogently, and with much gutter-wit (compared to which, what had gone before was mild).

  Arabin truly doubted that Stokos could be conquered by the Teeth. He also knew that any quest for empire would involve an enormous amount of killing. He would have to breed furiously to pay off his death-debt. Meaning more expense, and more squalling daughters cluttering his caves (why no sons?). And - he was starting to feel his age, perhaps - he just did not think he could stand it.

  After Arabin, many minor luminaries spoke (including Bluewater Draven, captain of the good ship Tusk). Some were for, but most were against. The pirates of the Teeth were, for the most part, too idle, lazy, cowardly, shiftless and gutless to make good imperialists.

  Finally, after some discussion - which left seven pirates dead - the proposal for empire was lost.

  Menator, finding the pirates would not support his drive for empire, announced that he would satisfy his ambitions without pirate help. He planned to begin by conquering the Lessers.

  However, since it was winter, and the weather was bad, it was scarcely the time to hazard the dangerous waters of the Lessers. Menator therefore exercised his men by raiding the coasts of Dybra and Chorst, carrying off skinny sheep and half-starved goats.

  Meanwhile, Jon Arabin resumed planning for a raid on Stokos.