by Hugh Cook
'How far did you fall?'
'Half way from here to Narba.'
'And you hit your head. What's the last thing you remember?'
'Why, the death and resurrection of the star-dragon Bel. A whore who turned into a horse as she came. Five dozen oysters dancing drunk in the streets of Narba. Why all these daft questions, man? I'm bleeding to death!'
'A little blood,' said Miphon, 'goes a long way. Tell me - what do you see?'
So saying, the green-eyed wizard held up three fingers.
'See?' said Drake. 'Why, I see a blind rat mating with a seagull. Aye, and four blue lepers hauling a giant cockroach backwards up a mountain.'
'That's near enough,' said Miphon.
And, turning away, the wizard began to wash his hands in a bowl of water. Drake smelt something strange. What? Oh - soap. He remembered his sister using it a couple of times. Swift and sly, he reached out, grabbed a couple of tiny cutlass-curved blades from a nearby bench and slipped them into a pocket. Miphon, shaking the water off his hands, turned back to Drake and began examining his scalp.
'I'm the wizard Miphon,' he said, easing Drake's hair this way and that as he explored the damage.
T know that,' said Drake. 'We met on Stokos. Ow!
That's sore! Hey - you really don't remember me?'
'In busy times,' said Miphon, T can see upwards of a hundred people a day. How can I remember all of them?'
Drake felt insulted.
'But I was special!' he said. 'You told me a tale about you being a mind-reading elf. You gave me a philtre to cure myself of love.'
'Oh,' said Miphon, pouring water from a ewer into a clean bowl. 'Oh ... I remember now.' He balanced the bowl on the back of Drake's chair, the hard edge of it against the nape of Drake's neck. 'Lean back. I've got to wash the blood out of your hair. Hmmm ... I remember you all right. But the name . . . that escapes me.'
'I'm Arabin lol Arabin,' said Drake.
The lie came easily. It was a smart move. Who knows? This wizard could have converted to Gouda Muck's cult. He might be one of those who was hunting Drake, thinking him the son of the demon Hagon.
'Arabin lol Arabin,' said Miphon. 'I won't forget you when we meet again.'
'We'll never meet again.'
'It's a small world,' said Miphon. 'Hmmm . . . this looks good . . . the bleeding's more or less stopped.'
'That's health for you,' said Drake.
Miphon laid aside the bowl of blood-misted water. Taking a sharp blade, the wizard began to shave hairs on either side of the gash where Drake's scalp had been torn as his head hit the ground when the purple-skinned Oronoko threw him out of the kitchen.
'How much hair are you cutting away?' said Drake in alarm.
'Does it matter?' said Miphon.
'It matters much! Man, there's a beautiful red-breasted woman I want to make. I can hardly court her if you've cut me half bald.'
'You're after the Kliedervaust woman?' said Miphon.
'That's her.'
Miphon laughed.
'You won't get her,' he said. 'She's in the clutches of faith. She preaches the defiance of the flesh.'
'And what do you think of that?'
'Flesh,' said Miphon, 'is that through which we live. No flesh, no life. Of course, flesh is but the medium in which our existence finds expression. The expression of existence is not to be confounded with the inspiration of that expression. Mere hedonism would exult the medium at the expense of the inspiration. So perhaps her doctrine is a necessary corrective for certain trends.'
'Man,' said Drake, 'you make a right proper tangle out of simple language. What did you mean to say? That you agree with this talk of purity? Or that you don't?'
'That I both do and don't,' said Miphon. 'It is both wise and foolish. Something, perhaps, could be made of it in time.'
'There speaks a wizard! Hey, man - just how much hair are you cutting?'
'Just enough so I've clear skin to sew up this gash with cat-gut.'
'Cat-gut!' said Drake, scandalized. 'The gut of a cat? In me? Man, that's disgusting. Why not dog-gut?'
'Because the dog,' said Miphon, 'is a foul, polluted animal which has nothing to offer the healing arts.' He took up a curved needle from which a length of dark thread trailed. 'This thread is the cat-gut. Hold still, now. This will hurt.'
And he began to sew up the gash in Drake's scalp. With cat-gut.
'Man,' said Drake, doing his best to ignore the bright silver pain of the needle, 'tell me. How long has this Zanya Kliedervaust been here?'
'I've been here ninety days myself,' said Miphon, tying a knot. 'She was here when I came. She preaches nightly to the troops.'
'Surely she must have preached to every soldier here long, long ago.'
'The garrison,' said Miphon, guiding pain again into
Drake's flesh, 'rotates. These soldiers are from the Landguard of the Confederation of Wizards. They guard the castles ranged along Drangsturm; they patrol the shores; they hunt down the few stray monsters which escape our scrutiny and flee to the mountains north of the flame trench.'
'They work ... for wizards, then?'
'Yes.'
'So you, as a wizard,' said Drake, 'do you command this island?'
'I've a commander's power on Burntos if I choose to use it,' said Miphon. 'I've a warrant from the Confederation to prove that power. But I've more sense to try that power except under the pressure of necessity.'
'Man, power is for using. That's half the fun of having it.'
Miphon made no reply to that, but finished off his sewing. Drake had got blood on his hands. Miphon sponged the blood away. Which was unnecessary, but. . . nice. The touch of his firm, competent hands was . . . strangely relaxing.
Having cleaned the hands, Miphon started removing bloodstains from Drake's sealskins.
'No need for that,' said Drake, standing. 'The job's done, aye. Done well. I'll be off now. Oh - but I'll need a bandage for my head first.'
'For what do you need a bandage?' said Miphon. 'Fresh air and sunlight, that's the thing. Whoever does the doctoring on your ship, get them to check your wound daily.'
'How do you know of the ship?' said Drake.
'Do you think your vessel stands invisible?' said Miphon. 'This island is well-watched, though you may not have noticed the watchers. Everyone on Burntos knew of your ship long, long before your rowing boat ever reached for the shore.'
'Why so much effort spent watching?' said Drake.
'Because experience tells us it's necessary,' said Miphon.
And, dipping a hand into the pocket where Drake had hidden the blades he had filched off the bench, Miphon recovered his cutlery.
'Man!' said Drake, wide-eyed with wonder. 'How did those fancy little blades get in there? They must be magic, man! They must have flown through the air and slipped themselves inside there, for I swear I never touched them.'
'I'd find it hard to believe you,' said Miphon, 'except that I did indeed see them fly through the air and hide themselves in your pocket.'
'How did you manage to see that, when you were looking the other way at the time?'
'Being of elven descent,' said Miphon dryly, 'I have invisible eyes in the back of my head.'
On leaving Miphon's clinic, Drake thought about going back to the kitchen. No! Not a good idea! He had no chance against Oronoko. Better to wait till evening came. Then Zanya would preach. He would watch. Look for an opportunity.
A little time, that's all I need. A little time alone with the woman. Man, when she knows I've been chosen as the next king on Stokos, she'll be hot to have me. Surely.
One thing was for certain: he was not leaving Burntos without Zanya. But for the moment. . .
Find the Walrus. Aye. He'll be wondering where I've got to.
The sun was well up. The island was baking. Oven-dry. Wet patches of mirage shimmered on the barren rock. How do soldiers survive?
Drake tried to imagine a soldier's life. Day after day on this lif
eless rock. The inhuman discipline of parades. Inescapable routines. Not much variety in the food, either, if what he'd seen in the kitchen was anything to go by.
He saw, in the distance, a few stray figures standing beside a long, low, isolated building. His comrades? Only one way to find out. . .
On closing the distance, Drake found his captain in conversation with two officers of the Landguard, who looked very smart indeed in their skyblue uniforms and their red leather open-weave sandals. Drake wondered what chance he had of stealing one of those uniforms. It would look real good on him, once the useless height had been cut out of it.
Slagger Mulps did not bother to greet Drake. He was talking money. His double-thumbed fists gesticulated as he emphasized his points.
'Where's the others?' said Drake.
Mulps did not condescend to notice him, but continued talking. His hands squeezed air, chopped it, shaped, thrusted and sliced. A dance of digital articulation, a counterpoint to his voice.
'. . . must understand our funds are not unlimited. I'm working under strict limitations, as I'm only an agent for a-foreign buyer; I've got scant discretionary powers. You've already heard my uppermost offer.'
Man, friend Walrus is talking slick today! How came he by such slackness? Maybe he's a king in exile. Aye. Like King Tor. Like Menator, too. So many kings! A plague of kings. . .
'You must be getting a commission,' said one of the officers. 'If you really want to close the deal, perhaps you'll have to sacrifice a few percentage points of that commission. Because what you call your uppermost offer is in fact - and I'm sure you're aware of the fact - close to farcical. Our product is unique. You can't buy it elsewhere.'
' Yes,' said Mulps.' But demand is minimal. That colours the case somewhat, does it not?'
Drake, losing interest in this dickering, wandered round the windowless building. He found a huge iron-studded sliding door at its southern end. Strange. He kicked it. The door rattled slightly. Then shook with a thunderous crash, as if a giant had kicked back from within. Startled, Drake leapt back.
'Who's there?' he said.
No answer.
He continued his circumnavigation of the building. Right down at the northern end he found a slim doorway leading into the gloom.
Dare I? I'm Drake Douay. Of course I dare!
He went through the door, and found a narrow passage which twisted left, then right, then left again, before opening into a small room lit by a slim overhead light-shaft. Bucks Cat and Ish Ulpin were there, down on their hands and knees staring into what looked like a giant mousehole.
'Hi,' said Drake. 'What're you looking at?'
'A monster,' said Bucks Cat.
'Let's see,' said Drake, and knelt down in front of the hole, which was large enough for him to have crawled through had he wanted to.
He found himself looking into a long hall, dimly lit by overhead lightshafts. Something was in there. What? He saw a gleam of something cool white, like ivory. A tusk? A feeding spike! There was a Neversh in there. Drake's knees began to ache from kneeling on the stone, but he did not rise. He was fascinated.
'Amazing,' he said. 'How did they get it in there?'
'The Neversh flew to the island,' said Ish Ulpin. 'It found all meat fled within the stone. Seeking flesh, it went through the only door - then some hero closed the door and trapped it.'
'But why would a Neversh go into this - this trap if there was no meat within.'
'Oh, there was meat,' said Ish Ulpin. 'It's done like this. A few people stand by the large doorway to tempt the Neversh inside. Then they flee to this end of the building and escape through the bolthole which you're looking at.'
'Man,' said Drake, with a shudder, 'they'd need to be heroes indeed to risk a face-to-face with a brute like that. I'm glad I'm not such a hero.'
'Of course you're such a hero,' said Ish Ulpin.
And he and Bucks Cat grabbed Drake. They forced him into the bolthole.
'Yaaa!' screamed Drake, struggling, bruising his shoulders on the walls of the giant mousehole.
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.'
