by Hugh Cook
In some ways, Drake regretted the fact that Menator had failed to win pirate support for his dreams of conquest. Their chances of success were small, but. . . what was the alternative?
The alternative was a lifetime of episodic raiding, long interludes of monotony, the shiftless company of drunken cronies, the repetitive comedy of the gambling tables . . .
Which was not enough.
For Drake wanted to make something of himself.
All through the years of his early youth he had imagined himself becoming, eventually, aswordsmith - a respected master craftsman whom the best men on Stokos would admire. When Muck's madness had ruined that dream, he had cherished ambitions of marrying into the royal family, or becoming a priest of the temple of Hagon. Now. . .
Now he was tempted to put his sword at Menator's service. Their chances were slim, yet. . .
We have but one life. If we don't get what we want from it, then what's the point of having it? Better slim odds for success than certain odds for defeat.
To stay a pirate was to be defeated. There was no job on the Teeth. No pride. No trust. Yet. . .
I'm scared, and that's the truth. This Menator's at least half mad. And. . . to leave Jon Arabin. . . why, that'd be a wrench, for sure...
Drake brooded about it while the winter rains and the winter seas launched onslaught after onslaught on the beleaguered desolations of the Teeth.
Thirty days after midwinter, Drake was practising a one-man kata in the privacy of his home cave when he was interrupted by Harly Burpskin.
'What is it?' said Drake. 'Does Arabin wish to see me?'
'Nay, man,' said Burpskin. 'It's strangers.'
'Strangers?'
'They're sitting in the Inner Sleeve.'
'Pray, how sit they there when the water's a full three fathoms deep?'
'They're not swimming, man,' said Burpskin. 'They're on a ship.'
'What ship?' said Drake.
'The Tarik:
'I know it not,' said Drake. 'Where has it come from?'
'From Stokos.'
'Stokos!'
'Aye. With some mighty strange people aboard. Stranger still, when I mentioned we owned a Stokos boy, they proved to know you.'
Drake needed to hear no more, but hastened to the Inner Sleeve. Once he left the protection of the tunnel system, he found the day cold, moist and grey. Rain was falling from a coal-scuttle sky, dimpling the waters of the Inner Sleeve where floated helpless turds, drowned kittens, the corpse of a rat and several ships. One of the ships was a dingy thing painted in colours of earth and clay. A tarpaulin was stretched above her open hold.
'That's the Tarik,' said Burpskin. 'Go to the hold, man. You'll find a friend there.'
'A friend?'
'Aye,' said Burpskin, stepping back into the shelter of a tunnel.
'Aren't you coming?' said Drake.
'I've seen your friend once. That's enough for me.'
Drake looked dubiously at the Tarik. Was this a trap? Only one way to find out. . .
He walked through the rain, stepped onto the greasy gangplank, skidded, and almost fell. As he gained the deck, his heart was scrambling; he was panting with excitement. He strode toward the open hold.
Stout green bamboos held up a ragged brown tarpaulin in which an enormous weight of rainwater had pooled; the bamboos were bending beneath the load. Cautiously, quiet as a cockroach gliding through shadows under the threat of a hunting hammer, Drake eased himself in under the shelter of the tarpaulin and peered into the hold.
There in shivering gloom a great, sad creature sat on a pile of mouldy sacking. The creature was almost as wide as it was tall. Its shaggy black hair trailed down around the huge flaps of its ears. Its blue eyes, set amidst grey skin, looked tired and defeated. Light gleamed faintly on its downward-jutting tusks. It was King Tor.
Yes, Tor - who, by Sully Yot's account, had converted to this weird religion founded by Gouda Muck. Adherents of that faith believed Drake Douay to be the son of Hagon, the incarnation of absolute evil. So prudence dictated a retreat.
Yet Muck's but a mouth talking. And haven't I got a mouth myself? Aye. I'll argue it out with the king. I'll talk him sweet to sense - or die trying.
'My lord
Tor looked up. He saw Drake. His nostrils flared. He came to his feet with a roar. As his head hit the tarpaulin, he thrust up with his arms. The water pooled in the tarpaulin was flung skywards. As it cascaded onto the deck, Tor roared, then shouted:
'Dreldragon! It's Dreldragon! Dreldragon Drakedon Douay!'
At his shout, men came bursting out of the cabins in the poop of the ship, and came racing down the wet, greasy deck, skidding and sliding as they came.
Drake fled.
He sprinted over the water-wet deck, slipped, fell, bruised his shin, gained his feet - and ran straight into the arms of a tall broad-chested man.
Drake struggled. He tried to kick, claw, scratch, bite, butt, spit, punch and swear. But even swearing was nigh impossible with his enemy holding him so tight.
'Ease up, man,' said his captor, with something of a laugh. 'It's me.'
Me? By the voice, 'me' was Heth.
Drake eased up, and looked at the face of the tall, well-built man (his hair as blond as Drake's) who was holding him now like a lover. It was indeed his brother Heth.
'Heth,' said Drake. 'Oh, Heth
And began to weep with relief.
As the two brothers embraced, the rest of Tor's men gathered round. Amongst them was Levil Norkin, Drake's boyhood friend. And Oleg Douay, his uncle - the finest swordsmith on Stokos.
'Hey!' yelled King Tor, peering out of the hold. 'Come in out of the rain. Come down here - I don't want my finest fighting men dying of pernicious anaemia.'
On Stokos, it was a firmly-held belief that prolonged exposure to cold rain caused anaemia. Drake had endured so much bad weather on his adventures that he doubted it could be as destructive as Stokos thought - yet he willingly got himself out of the rain.
In long conversations with Heth, Tor and others, Drake learned of the disaster which had befallen Stokos. After Tor had converted to Goudanism, the temple of
Hagon had been destroyed. Goudanism had been made compulsory.
'It had its advantages,' said Tor. 'With the temple destroyed, the people spent little on whores and gambling. That made it much easier to collect taxes.'
'Aagh,' said Drake, and spat. 'Taxes!'
'Government costs money,' said Tor, 'and there's no way around it. Why, building roads alone - that's a heavy job for taxes.'
'Roads!' said Drake, with contempt, thinking he'd find much better ways to spend money if he were king.
'Roads,' said Tor, 'are necessary, look at it how you will. And they don't build themselves. Anyway - quite apart from the matter of money, the priests of Hagon had been taking more and more power for themselves. So I was glad to see them broken.'
'And then?' said Drake.
'Then Gouda Muck spoke madness. He said that only those born pure in flesh had rights to life. He set down codes for eyes, teeth, limbs, hands, hair and height. He declared all those not matched to his codes were evil.'
'And,' said Drake, 'you . . .?'
T was too tall to start with,' said Tor. 'His codes were built for humans. But I'm an ogre, and proud of it. What's wrong with being an ogre, I ask you?'
'Why, nothing,' said Drake. 'I honour ogres so greatly that I once asked to marry into your family. I'm still good to the offer, man. Where stands your daughter now?'
'My beautiful Hilda,' said Tor, 'is held prisoner on Stokos with her mother.'
And he began to weep. There are few things more lugubrious than an ogre in the depths of despair.
'Never mind,' said Drake. 'We'll rescue her. Aye. A war for Stokos! We'll win. Then chop up Gouda Muck, aye, cut him into seven thousand pieces.'
'With the help of the sea gods,' said Oleg Douay, cheerfully, 'we may well manage to do just that.'
'How sta
nd things on Stokos now?' said Drake.
'After Muck made his codes,' said Heth, slowly, 'some tried to kill Tor. Others fought beside him. We lost.'
'Lost badly?' said Drake.
'Badly enough,' said Heth.
'Who rules then, on Stokos? Does Muck rule?'
'No,' said Heth. 'He's set up Sudder Vemlouf as ruler. Perhaps you've heard of him.'
'Aye, that I have,' said Drake. 'He was Muck's neighbour for year on year. I met him last in Narba, where he tried to kill me. He thinks me the son of Hagon.'
'If you are the son of the Demon,' said King Tor, through tears, 'then I'm with you all the way. Muck talks purity, but what that means is death, murder, blood, killing, the overthrow of rightful rule, the end of law, mad torture, fear, suspicion, and worse.'
'If we struck at Stokos with force,' said Drake, 'how many living there would help us?'
'Many,' said Heth. 'For many favour Muck only since they thought he'd win. If once they thought he'd lose, they'd sing different, that's for certain.'
'But before we can talk of striking,' said Oleg Douay, 'we must have strength to strike with. The gods help those who help themselves, you know.'
'You must,' said Drake, 'meet a man called Menator.'
'Who's he?'said Tor.
'He was once king in a place called Talajar, which is in the Ravlish Lands,' said Drake. 'When he lost his kingdom in war, he fled. He came to the Greaters with five ships, three hundred men and half his own weight in gold. Since then, he's been trying to persuade us pirates to a war of empire.'
'Why talk of yourself as a pirate?' said Tor.
'Why, man, for sake of honesty,' said Drake. 'For that's what I be, right now.'
'No,' said Tor, laying one of his immense hands on Drake's shoulder. 'You are a warlord in the armies of Stokos. You are the betrothed of my daughter, with all that that implies. I name you Lord Dreldragon; I name you heir to the kingdom of Stokos.'
Drake saw Heth grinning at him. Olegy Douay was smiling, obviously pleased. Levil Norkin gave him a clenched-fist salute. Drake felt giddy. Then, unable to help himself, he shouted his triumph to the world, with all the strength and eloquence at his command:
'Wow!'
Menator swiftly came to agreement with King Tor. If Menator supported Tor in the conquest of Stokos, then Tor would give men, gold, weapons and ships to help Menator win an empire. His position bolstered by this agreement, Menator once more sought to win agreement from the pirates.
Drake was now wildly enthusiastic at the prospect of an invasion of Stokos. They would win. He would marry Hilda. And then he would find someone who knew where Zanya Kliedervaust had gone to, and he would send agents forth into the world to hunt her down then drag her back to Stokos to be his pleasure woman.
He was upset to find that, when he lobbied for King Tor, others failed to share his enthusiasm. Jon Arabin was still dead against a war of empire. Drake, who had no inkling of Arabin's religious objections to such a war, said:
'Jon, you must support King Tor!'
'Who are you to tell me what I must and must not do?' said Jon Arabin.
'Jon, it's for your own benefit I'm saying this. Here's a great chance, man! Wealth, fame, power! When I'm king on Stokos, you can be lord of all my seapower.'
'And what makes you think,' said Arabin, 'that I should rejoice at the prospect of serving under a greasy under-sized mannikin who's been for so long my cook's boy?'
Without waiting for a reply to that question, Arabin turned his back on Drake and strode away - leaving Drake feeling cut to the quick.
As the pirates once more gathered in from the islands for a general assembly on Knock, Drake made further attempts to recruit Arabin to Tor's cause - but was again rebuffed. He saw his chances of power and kingdom slipping away from him. In desperation, he ventured to the cave where Slagger Mulps lived, determined to lobby the Walrus.
'The situation,' explained Drake, 'has changed. It's no longer a few wild pirates seeking invasion of Stokos. No - it's civil war we're planning. Once Tor steps ashore at Cam, half the city will rise to his support. We've no longer ogres to fight against - the ogres are on our side.'
The green-haired pirate chief was suspicious.
'What's in it for me?' said Mulps.
'Survival,' said Drake. 'Muck has strange ideas. If he gets to rule the world, you die.'
'How so?' said Slagger Mulps.
Drake explained Gouda Muck's ideas about what flesh should live and what flesh should die.
'I've got no prejudice myself,' said Drake. 'Why, man, I seek to marry an ogre - and they're as weird as ever was, or ever could be. So it matters not to me that your hair is green, aye, and your eyes as well. But Gouda Muck would have you killed for such.'
Drake by now knew that Slagger Mulps was intensely sensitive about his odd appearance. So he played on that as best he could - but, when the day of the meeting came, Drake was still unsure which way the Walrus would speak and vote.
Once more the pirates crowded into their huge meeting cavern. This time, Drake did not come equipped with dead fish, but with a speech carefully worked up with help from both his brother Heth and his uncle Oleg Douay.
Drake was the first speaker.
He climbed onto the podium and faced the mob of pirates. He breathed their stench, and breathed, too, the fumes of half a thousand pipes - a ship laden with tobacco had recently been captured by the Teeth, and many of the pirates were doing their best to dispose of its cargo.
In that cave, dimly lit by air shafts and torches, Drake recognized scarcely a single face. He was speaking to strangers who, if displeased, might throw things - or tear him apart in the mindless rage which could so easily overthrow the sanity of a crowd.
Drake felt unsteady on his feet. There was a strange taste at the back of his throat - a taste like metal. His mouth was dry. He cleared his throat, then hawked, and spat.
'Aagh,' said Drake.
'Stand up!' yelled a wit.
'Man,' said Drake, 'if the good King Tor was here, I'd stand on his shoulders. Then yOu'd see me right enough. But Tor can't be here today. Not today. Not any day. And why? Because he's too great-girthed to dare our tunnels. You've seen him, aye. Surely. That's a monster true. Our monster, if we turn our will to Stokos.'
That opening was impromptu. But, while it had not been planned, it had come out smoothly enough. Now for the prepared speech. Drake looked out over the heads of his auditors. His first move was designed to slit Jon Arabin's sails right down the middle. Very well then.
'Boys, some of you know me, some know me not. I'm Drake Douay. Born on Stokos, aye, and there on Stokos raised. When last we met together, boys, all crowded here as close as buggery, you heard the good Jon Arabin speak well of me.
'Friend Arabin, my captain true, he named me as the one man who knows of Stokos as more than a name. I told Arabin well enough of Stokos, aye, and of the ogres. Hence Arabin spoke against a war on Stokos. And rightly so - for who here could chest it out with an ogre?
'But times change. Now the greatest ogre is ours. King Tor, that's him. He'll not fight against us. No. He's ours. He's with us. And so is every other ogre born on Stokos. For Stokos has fallen to the madness of an old old man called Gouda Muck, who hates all ogres and has sworn to kill them out.'
'With reason, perhaps,' yelled an anonymous heckler.
'This Gouda Muck has got no reason,' said Drake, 'for he speaks against copulation, aye, against men with women, against men with men, against cats with dogs for all I know. He stands against drinking, too. And rules out gambling. He worships what he calls purity, by which he means the end of joy, starvation of the flesh and all.'
Then Drake proceeded to paint a picture for the pirates. They would land on the coast of Stokos. They would rally the countryside. They would march on Cam. The people would rise against Gouda Muck. Tor would be victorious.
'Then,' said Drake, 'we can break apart the Orsay Bank. That's fabulous wealthy - and Tor, he lov
es it not. Yes. King Tor has sworn that our reward will be every treasure looted from the bank. That's wealth for all. Wealth almost beyond imagining.'
Drake spoke the truth. Tor had no love for the Orsay Bank, and was ready to sacrifice it to the pirates.
Drake, having said his piece, sat down. Pirates whistled, stamped, shouted, clapped and threw things. A mixed response, in other words.
What now? Will Arabin speak?
Drake knew Arabin would find it difficult to win much credibility if he chose to speak as an expert on Stokos. Drake had indeed slit Arabin's sails - and he knew Arabin would be furious. Someone was coming to the podium. Who? Why—
Grief of death! It's Sully Yot!
Up on the podium climbed Sully Yot. The lanky wart-faced youth looked flushed, manic, wild-eyed, half-crazed. He screamed at his audience:
'Evil! Evil! Evil! Tor is evil! Gouda Muck has spoken! Praise to Muck! He learns us truth! Some flesh is pure, but other flesh is born to evil. Tor is a monster. Monsters are not human. Tor has teeth which are wrong, limbs which are wrong, hands which are wrong. Only those with a fist of five digits are human. Tor has six fingers.'
'Hey!' yelled the Walrus. 'What's this nonsense about the fist deciding the man?'
'It's not nonsense,' shouted Yot. 'It's truth! Muck's truth! I've heard the news from Stokos! Muck has spoken, Muck has revealed. Muck is the High God of All Gods. And you - you've two fists on each hand. You're a monster too. You don't deserve to live. You—'
Sully Yot was hauled off the podium and pulled into the crowd. For a moment he vanished. He resurfaced briefly, then disappeared again. People were fighting, some obviously trying to kill Yot, others to protect him. Finally, Yot was hauled to safety.
By Quin Baltu, Ika Thole, Shewel Lokenshield, Peg Suzilman, Jon Disaster and Jon Arabin. By Harly Burpskin, Raggage Pouch, querulous old Jez Glane and slim dark Salaman Meerkat. By Lee Dix, Goth Sox, Hewlet Mapleskin and others - the entire crew, it seemed, of the good ship Warwolf.
Drake groaned.
'What is it?' said his brother Heth, who was standing next to him in the crowd.
But Drake had no chance to answer, for uproar broke out as a very angry Walrus gained the podium. Slagger Mulps displayed his two-thumbed fists to the crowd then made them into fists.
