by Hugh Cook
Yes. . .
On the third day of the Warwolf's voyage south, Drake Douay was discovered hiding in a sail locker, and was dragged on deck to meet the justice of Jon Arabin. The day was cool and almost calm. The entire crew gathered on deck to watch the proceedings. Even Harly Burpskin was there. He was supposed to be steering the ship, but, with the winds being so light, he thought it safe enough to lash the wheel and slip into the crowd to watch the fun.
Jon Arabin, face set like rock, came out of his cabin to deal with the stowaway. He came stalking down the deck, halted three paces in front of Drake and stared at him.
'Hi!' said Drake, brightly.
And smiled.
No smile came in response.
Obviously, the Warwolf's temper had not yet changed for the better. Drake's smile crumpled. He looked at the silent faces all around, and saw there - death. His death. Friendless he was, alone amongst his enemies. He felt. . . not frightened, not terror-stricken, but . . . crushed. Desolated. Utterly lonely.
'Jon, man,' said Drake, striving to arrange a fresh smile on his face. 'Why so solemn?'
Silence.
No response.
Then:
'Quin Baltu!' said Arabin.
'Yes?' said Quin Baltu, the foul-mouthed muscle-man.
'Throw this rubbish overboard,' said Jon Arabin.
Then turned his back on the pair of them, perhaps because he did not want to watch. Quin Baltu looked at Drake, looked at Arabin's back, cleared his throat, then spoke:
'Jon, I've thrown him over. But he's so full of bounce he's come right back again.'
Jon Arabin turned on him.
'This is no joke!' roared Arabin.
'Aye, well,' saidQ uin Baltu, 'I didn't think it was. Death . . . that's never a joking matter, Jon. We kill fish, that's easy. Kill enemies, too. But friends? That's a difficult one, Jon.'
'He's your friend?' said Arabin. 'This snivelling little dwarf is your friend? Don't be crazy! Give him to the sharks!'
'No,'said Baltu.
The two men stared at each other. 'Is this mutiny?' said Arabin.
'Jon, man,' said Baltu, slowly, 'I remember a time when there was near enough to mutiny aboard. We were running hard for the western coast of the Drangsturm Gulf. Aye. There were some of us hot for turning back, even if it meant the ship's destruction. We'd rather chance to the boats than risk that coast. But Drake Douay stood staunch beside you.
'You remember, Jon, as well as I do. Drake saved your ship from mutiny by talk of an island. Tor. That's the name of the island. So we ran west. We f ound the island. Ship and men were saved. But did Drake know the island was there? Man, you know better than me. I've thought it through since, and I know what I think. Jon - if the boy dreamed up the island by way of bluff, it means he trusted you. If he invented that island by way of bluff, it means he was sure you'd find us safety somehow to the west.'
Jon Arabin was silent.
Remembering.
Drake Douay had indeed helped save his ship from mutiny and loss at sea. The knowledge hurt.
'If the boy told a lie about an island,' said Arabin harshly, 'why should I save him for that? Because he's a liar?'
'You shouldn't save him!' cried the excited voice of Sully Yot. 'You should kill him! Gut him open! He's the enemy of Gouda Muck! He's the son of Hagon! He's the Evil One! He's—'
The tirade from the lean, lanky wart-faced Sully Yot ended suddenly as Ika Thole brought the blunt end of a marlinspike down on his head. Hard. Sully Yot collapsed unconscious on the deck. The red-skinned Ika Thole stood over his body and spoke:
'This useless piece of meat called Sully Yot, if he were my son I'd cut him up and use him as shark-bait. He yatters on about religion till he takes me to the very point of murder. And where did he come from? Why, off the Walrus, that's where he came from. So he was our enemy, once. Yet you took him in, Jon, because he spoke against Slagger Mulps when the Orfus met in assembly.
'Drake Douay, well, I didn't think much of him at sight, and don't think much more now. But if we were hungry enough to be killing for eating, he wouldn't be first on my list. This Yot would be first. We've taken on Yot, who was crewman under the Walrus. So we can take back Drake, whatever he's done or hasn't.'
With that said, Ika Thole gave Yot's body a kick, then looked hard at Jon Arabin.
'Our good friend from the Ebrells is talking good sense,' said the weapons muqaddam (who had abandoned his name twenty years previously on joining the Church of the Anonymous Congregation).
'Sense?' said Arabin, in anger.
'Jon, man,' said the weapons muqaddam, 'don't let pride do the talking for you. For pride is a monster. Remember what you owe to the boy.'
'Owe?' said Arabin, in outrage. 'I owe him nothing!'
'Myself you spoke to after you rid the ship of the Neversh,' said the weapons muqaddam. 'Aye, back in the disaster days in the Drangsturm Gulf. You told me then you'd never have done it without Drake Douay standing staunch beside you.'
As the weapons muqaddam spoke, Drake remembered the gut-wrenching terror of the battle against the Neversh. Remembered storm wind, cold water, the evening darkening. Remembered Jon Arabin's bald head looking, in the gathering night, like an egg decaying to darkness. Remembered, most of all, the moment when he had become sure that Arabin, despite his threats, would never kill him.
He felt the same now.
Or felt, at any rate, that Arabin did not want to kill him. The eyes told that tale. But the man might be pushed to slaughter anyway, to salvage his pride.
'Jon,' said Drake. 'Jon . . .'
He did not know what to say.
'You've no words, have you?' said Arabin, in a heavy voice, hand falling to the hilt of his falchion.
'Steady up!' said Harly Burpskin.
'Who are you to tell me to steady up?' said Arabin, turning on the hapless helmsman.
Burpskin held his ground with a courage which Drake would not have credited him with.
'Captain mine,' said Burpskin, 'there's something you ought to know, which I've never told. You remember Island Tor, aye, when you sent three of us by boat to scout out the island. That first evening we found a harbour, safe, wide and deep. Drake Douay, his thought was all for the ship. The ship's our survival, that's what he said. He—'
'AH this talk is rubbish,' said Jon Arabin. 'I've reason to need the blood of young Drake Douay. He spoke against me when all pirates met to talk through Menator's offer of empire. Worse, he insulted me by offering me a place in his service when he became king upon Stokos.'
'So what?' said the weapons muqaddam. 'He's but a boy. We're men. Since when did we expect the sense of a man from the head of a boy?'
'Aye,' said Baltu. 'And, boy or otherwise, he saved your ship. More than the once.'
'He wished to save it again by offering you that harbour I spoke of,' said Burpskin. 'But me and the others, we were too hot for pressing on.'
'So you were derelict in your duty!' roared Arabin, finding at last some way to lose his temper entirely. 'And you're derelict now! You're the helmsman, aren't you? I set you at the wheel myself. What have you done? Have you lashed it? Have you dared? Oh, no good running away. Too late for that!'
And, shortly thereafter, Burpskin was lashed to the main-mast, and a whip was streaking blood across his back. After which Arabin, now in a truly evil mood, organized a training session in unarmed combat with the weapons muqaddam, Quin Baltu and Ika Thole. At the end of it, they were all of them battered, bloody and bruised, and Baltu had lost four teeth.
There followed ten days of hell in which, through worsening weather, Jon Arabin drove his ship and his crew like a madman. Then, finally, he drank himself drunk on Dog's Breath rum, took sick in his cabin for two days, and emerged as a new man. Rage, hate, bile and injured pride forgotten.
'Drake,' he said, and embraced him. 'I'm glad I didn't lose you.'
'Jon, man,' said Drake, 'that was neat to watch when you knocked out Baltu's teeth. You mu
st teach me some of that stuff.'
'We'll start you training today,' said Arabin. 'With weapons, too. The weapons muqaddam will organize it. The whole crew should get into it again - the weather's easing, and we'll have plenty of time as we run for the west.'
'The west?' said Drake. 'Aye. We turn west today.'
'But we've not yet reached the Drangsturm Gulf!' said Drake.
'What?' said Drake. 'Did you think this good ship was going to run to the terror-lands, grapple with the Swarms and capture a monster that way?'
'Well, why not?' said Drake. 'That's what the Walrus did. I told King Tor all about it when I reported to him.'
'Aye,' said Arabin. 'So Tor believes it. And Menator too, for that's the kind of fool he is. But - Drake, man, I'm not so stupid. I hear the Walrus had some trouble while provisioning at Island Burntos. I know the place, aye. Likely one of the provisions taken aboard was the Neversh which Mulps produced at the Teeth.'
'Well,' said Drake, 'if you think that, then why not go to Burntos yourself?'
'Because Drake Douay was at the heart of whatever trouble happened there,' said Jon Arabin. 'Do you think I'd risk my ship in a place where the son of the demon Hagon has been stirring things up? I might if I could get at the truth - but I'm wise enough to know the truth's the last thing I'd get out of Drake Douay.
'Nay, man. We're on our way to Hexagon. That's one of the Scattered Islands, far out in the Central Ocean. Ships from Narba trade there regular, aye, and bring back rumours. They claim that Baron Farouk of Hexagon has a baby keflo in his menagerie, purchased from Drangsturm for twice its own weight of silver.'
'This keflo,' said Drake. 'Is that the monster which is built with a turtle shell, with legs and hooks and claws and things underneath?'
'Aye, so it is,' said Arabin. 'So you've learnt something on your travels! Like all of the Swarms, it grows fearful large, but this one should be small enough to get aboard. If rumour proves true.'
'What date has the rumour?' said Drake.
'The rumour is recent,' said Jon Arabin, 'So I've high hopes that fact will satisfy claim. If the keflo's there, and small enough to get aboard, that's half our problem solved.'
'And the other half?' said Drake.
'The other half of our problem,' said Jon Arabin, 'will be persuading Baron Farouk to part with this rare and most expensive monster. With luck, we won't have any trouble.'
20
Lord Menator: Galish-born warlord-adventurer who has made himself ruler of the Greater Teeth (having been aided in a crucial debate by Drake Douay).
Menator, a broken-nosed man as bald as Jon Arabin, notable for the blue rose tattooed on his left cheek, has agreed to help the ogre Tor launch an invasion of Stokos.
Menator plans for this invasion to be the start of a War of Empire which will see his forces conquer the western seaboard of the continent of Argan.
Baron Farouk of Hexagon did in fact have a keflo in his menagerie. He also proved extremely reluctant to sell it. However, after a certain amount of unpleasantness, which involved (among other things) the kidnapping of his eldest daughter and the burning of his capital city, he released the monster into the care of the Warwolf, which sailed home in triumph.
'Now,' said Jon Arabin to Lord Menator, 'I've captured a monster just as the Walrus has. So I've as much right to be admiral as he has.'
Menator, of course, wanted neither Walrus nor Warwolf as admiral. He wanted his own hand-picked men to take positions of power in his planned empire. Besides which, he hated blacks - and had his doubts about gangling green-haired double-thumbed mutants. As Walrus and Warwolf were too powerful and popular for Menator to refuse them directly, he had set them a challenge which should by rights have killed them.
Yet they had survived.
They had proved beyond all doubt that they were both worthy of power and position.
Lord Menator had been startled to see them return at all, awed by their captive monsters, and deeply shaken by their tales of appalling sufferings endured while questing in the terror-lands south of Drangsturm.
He knew so little about pirates that he actually believed the swaggering braggarts when they boasted of hand-to-hand combats with green centipedes, nightmarish encounters with stalkers, sightings of the fearsome jugalut (which last is actually an entirely mythical beast), and their disappointment when monsters kept them from the Fountain of Youth, the Tree of Gold, the Temple of the Lost Twelve Thousand Virgins, and several other wonders of the legend-lands beyond Drangsturm.
'Which of us,' said Arabin, 'is to be Grand Admiral of the Fleet of Imperial Conquest? You must decide.'
'Yes,' said Slagger Mulps. 'And don't say neither. You promised.'
'I promised,' said Menator, 'to seriously consider a suitable questing hero as Grand Admiral. As I've got two questing heroes and only one position to offer, this gives me a problem.'
'Then think about your problem,' said Arabin. 'And think carefully. Remember, you've got two questing heroes to deal with - and only a single head on your shoulders.'
And, having made that scarcely veiled threat, Jon Arabin departed, in the company of Slagger Mulps. Menator, in his wisdom, decided to do nothing. Walrus and Warwolf were, after all, notorious enemies. Surely there was a good chance they would come to blows, and halve his problem (or, with luck, solve it entirely).
For a while, it looked like Walrus and Warwolf would indeed solve Menator's problem for him. The rival captains began sharpening weapons, meanwhile engaging in a crude form of psychological warfare, involving boasts, threats, rumour-mongering, and a variety of popular slogans (for example, 'The Walrus knobs pigs' bums' - which was about the height of wit in this particular campaign).
Slagger Mulps brought a shark to market, cut a slit in its belly, then offered to sell it to the Warwolf as a whore. Men from the opposing crews then set about remoulding each other's heads with staves and cudgels.
Drake wondered how the two captains could be so foolish. When Mulps was first dared south to hunt a monster, Drake had seen immediately that it was just Menator's way of killing the man off. Since then, Drake had thought long and hard about the way in which King Tor and Lord Menator had ordered Drake Douay to go with the Walrus. Drake was fairly sure that Menator, at least, had meant for Drake to get killed.
'The man's mad for power,' muttered Drake to Drake. 'He wanted me dead lest I rule on Stokos one day. Aye. Likely he wants Stokos for his own. And he'll kill off every other rival, too, starting with Walrus and Warwolf.'
The obvious move was for Walrus and Warwolf to end their feud and make a united approach to Menator. But did Drake dare suggest it?
No.
The Walrus still thought of Drake as a traitor. Ish Ulpin was still ready to kill Drake the first moment he caught him alone - which was why Drake stuck close in the company of Warwolf crewmen. And as for Jon Arabin . . . why, giving him advice would mean stirring up that monstrous pride of his.
'Heth,' said Drake. 'I wish you were here for me to talk to!'
But Heth had not yet returned from his raiding expedition to Stokos. Grave fears were held for his safety.
'Likely Heth's dead,' said Drake, bitterly. 'So who's left? King Tor? No. He does what Menator tells him to, as far as I can see. So who can talk to Walrus and Warwolf both?'
In the end, Drake shared his fears with Jon Disaster.
'Abousir Belench,' said Disaster, once he knew all the facts. 'That's your man. He trusts nobody. He'd be the first to mistrust Menator if we told things to him straight. He'd talk sense to our captains, for he knows them both of old.'
With Disaster and Baltu, Drake ventured to Chastity Bay, and returned to Knock with Abousir Belench, who went into action with some swift, effective diplomacy. He arranged a temporary truce of sorts between Walrus and Warwolf. He also organized a coalition of pirate captains to put pressure on Menator.
Thus, shortly, Jon Arabin and Slagger Mulps had another interview with Menator.
'I've had ti
me to think,' said Menator, 'and I've come to a decision.'
'Aye, well,' said Mulps, 'let's hope it's a good one.'
'Aye,' said Arabin, 'for we were none of us blooded yesterday.'
'The decision should please both of you,' said Menator. 'It can't,' said Arabin, 'unless we both get to be admirals.'
'That's what I was thinking of,' said Menator. 'Since you've both proved worthy, it's only right you should both be admirals.'
'But you've only got one fleet,' objected Mulps. 'Cut it in half, and we won't be admiral of much.'
'Ah,' said Menator, 'but, you see, I've decided to double the size of the imperial sea force by inviting my brother Ohio to join forces with us. I have lately learnt that he heads a pirate fleet operating out of Ork.'
'Out of where?' said Mulps.
Menator explained.
'That's a devil of a long way from here,' said Mulps. 'I'm glad I don't have to go there.'
'Ah,' said Menator. 'But . . . since you will both be admirals, you must prove a peace between you.'
'We've done it!' said Arabin.
'Your reputations,' said Menator smoothly, without missing a beat, 'suggest two men at war. To prove peace, you must sail to Ork on the same ship, negotiate with my brother, and bring back from him a token he carries which matches this half-coin I hold - no, you don't need to see it more closely. You must get all this done by the end of autumn at the latest.'
That was not far away, all this politicking, adventuring and boasting having made time fly like feathers in a hurricane. Did they have enough time? Jon Arabin judged that they did. Plenty of time.
'We'll do it,' he said, thinking it would be easy. 'It's a task fit for heroes.'
And Slagger Mulps, though he had his doubts about the enterprise, was not prepared to plead himself less than a hero.
Drake Douay, hearing the news, was dismayed.
'Menator suckered our captains anyway!' he complained to Jon Disaster. 'He's got us running on another daft and dangerous expedition.'
'Relax, man,' said Disaster. 'It's just a sea voyage we're facing, that's all.'
'A voyage north,' said Drake. 'First north, then east. I've heard Jon Arabin talking of those waters, aye. The sands of the Lessers, which break ships by thousands. The coast of Lorp, plagued with poxy shipwreckers. The rocks of Penvash. The northern storms.'
