The Walrus and the Warwolf

by Hugh Cook

  That chamber was the same big bare grey room which Drake had already sat in for so long. He waited. In came a tough, fierce-faced swordsman wearing plumed helm, glittering greaves and battle-ready mail. Behind him came half a dozen men more simply dressed.

  'Watashi?' said Drake, getting to his feet. 'Man, I've got a few—'

  'Shut up,' said the swordsman. 'No - don't sit. Stay on your feet. The prince will be here soon.'

  'Who are you then?' said Drake.

  'I am Thodric Jarl, warrior of Rovac. And these are the prince's guards. Lawmen, you may go.'

  There was an exchange of courtesies, then the black-clad lawmen retired, leaving Drake to the mercies of the prince's guards.

  'Man,' said Drake. 'It's great news, you being a Rovac warrior and all. I used to know one myself, he calls himself Rolf Thelemite.'

  'Thelemite?' said Jarl. 'So the oath-breaker still lives! Very well. Once the prince is finished with you, I have business with your flesh. If it still lives. I will have your knowledge of this Thelemite. Yes, and see him dead.'

  And Drake thought:

  How did I get into this mess?

  Then into the room came a haughty man of about age twenty-five, battle-scars on his face. Brown hair, brown eyes and dark-brown skin. Robes of blue silk, boots of white leather. A sword at his side.

  'I am Watashi,' he said, 'hero of war and rightful inheritor of the Harvest Plains. Down on your knees, peon! Come on! Get down!'

  'Make me,' said Drake.

  Watashi's guards proceeded to do just that. After

  Drake had been roughed up a bit, he was allowed to stand. Bloodied but still unbowed.

  'It's wrong to treat me like this,' he said. 'I'm an honest peddler, from Runcorn, I demand—'

  'You demand nothing!' barked Thodric Jarl.

  And gave physical emphasis to his words.

  'That's enough,' said Watashi, at length. 'We don't want him dead before we have the truth out of him. You - who are you, and what?'

  'I've told you,' said Drake, belligerent as ever. 'I'm from Runcorn. A peddler. Aye, and an honest man.'

  'Honest? Then why did you steal my bard?'

  'Your bard? What means this bard?'

  'This!' said Watashi, dangling a familiar object in front of Drake.

  It was a glossy black lozenge which, as it dangled from the slim black chain which sustained it, turned to reveal first a sun then a moon with stars.

  'I never stole anything,' said Drake. T got the - the bard thing down in Ling.'

  'You not only stole it,' said Watashi. 'You damaged it as well. There's a gouge ripped right through the skin under the sun.'

  'That? Man, that's just a nick. Some fellow tried to knife me in Narba.'

  'In Narba?'

  'It's a seaport, down south where—'

  T know where Narba is! It was your veracity I was questioning, not your geography.'

  'Veracity. Aye. You mean my truth. Didn't think I'd know the word, either, did you? Well, man, it's all true enough. Oh yes, and it's a great tale into the bargain. Sit yourself down, get some wine laid on, and I could keep your ears buzzing for the next sixty years. Aye, truth and wonders, that's what I've seen.'

  This offer was meant to be conciliatory. But Watashi was not in a placable mood.

  'I've no interest in fairy tales,' said he.

  'Man, then I'll tell you none,' said Drake, 'for I've never seen a fairy. But I've seen elves, aye, elves with handfuls of legs apiece on a flying island. And a dwarf, yes, right recent. Down at the Eagle, in fact. A friend of mine stepped on him.'

  'That was my dwarf!' shouted Watashi. 'His name's Glambrax. You cracked his ribs!'

  'Man, no need to shout,' said Drake. T can hear you from here. Anyway, it wasn't me that stepped on him. And cracked ribs heal up nice enough. Why, I got me ribs bust in a fight I could tell you about, a regular scramble it was, epic, aye, like those wars of the ancients. Why—'

  'Enough of your nonsense,' said Watashi. 'Look here!'

  And he snapped his fingers to summon a servant, who displayed a shield for Drake's inspection. On it was emblazoned a black rustre, with a crescent moon and seven stars arranged on the surrounding red.

  'What is it?' said Drake.

  'It's a coat of arms, made for me last year. And proof that the bard was mine!'

  'I got the amulet in Ling,' insisted Drake. 'There were dozens of them, each like to each as so many glips.'

  'Glips?' said Watashi, who knew not that Orfus word.

  'Aye. Little silver fish, a fingerlength each. Man, they'd look right handsome on your coat of arms, one chasing each of those seven fancy stars.'

  This suggestion was not well received.

  'I paid fifty skilders for that bard!' said Watashi.

  'Well then, I'd like a cut of that money. Because it was likely stolen property you were paying out for. My property! Won with great cost in Ling, aye, fights with metal and all. Then stolen from me in Narba, yes, by some villainous pirates or such in a bar.'

  'Enough of your cheek,' said Watashi. 'Some papers went missing when this bard was stolen. Very important papers. I want them back!'

  'Man, I can't read nor write. What would I want with papers?'

  'To sell them to the Regency, perhaps,' said Watashi. 'Give me the truth! Who was with you? Where did the papers go? Answer, or I'll choke the life out of you!'

  'You won't get many answers from a choked-dead man,' said Drake.

  'No, but I'd get a lot of satisfaction,' said Watashi, something ugly in his voice. This was getting serious.

  'I want alawyer,' said Drake, who had fond memories of the games he had played with the City Fathers in Runcorn when the formidable Garimanthea had been in support.

  'A what?'

  'A lawyer! Aye, then we'll have some fun. Aye, injunctions and mandamuses to start with. Then worse! Court costs and colloquy and such.'

  'What are you talking about?' said Watashi, to whom these threats - couched as they were in an obscure variant of Galish especially invented for the law courts of Runcorn - were completely unintelligible.

  'I'm talking about a quo warranto, to start with,' said Drake, getting excited, already imagining the looks of anxiety, contrition and terror which the right lawyer would bring to Watashi's face.

  'A what?'

  ' It means you have to prove yourself out as the prince you claim to be. Aye, then there's a better writ, I forget the name of it, which means you have to prove you exist at all. Oh, that can be a tricky one!'

  'You seriously mean to try to bring me to courts?' said Watashi, incredulously, as he began to understand Drake's intent. T don't grabble in the courts with the common crowd! Take him away and interrogate him for the truth!'

  And Drake was dragged away by Watashi's guards.

  Drake started shouting about civil liberties and Habeas Corpus. So the guards, knowing full well that Watashi's detention of Drake was in law no more than a kidnapping, gagged him lest someone should hear.

  'Don't try anything stupid,' said Thodric Jarl, warrior of

  Rovac and bodyguard to Watashi. 'Most of all, don't try to escape. For if you get out of here, the Mucks will catch you in the city. Then, if rumour's only half-way true, they'll skin you alive and strangle you with your own intestines.'

  'Mmf eph gumph,' said Drake, speaking as best he could with a gag in his mouth.

  But Thodric Jarl made no effort to remove Drake's gag, guessing that the angry young man was only trying to give voice to some obscenities which he knew well enough already, thank you very much.

  In fact, Drake was trying to say:

  'I can't breathe! I can't breathe!'

  But he was still alive by the time they reached Watashi's very private torture chamber.

  47

  Morgan Hearst: one of the leaders of a band of questing heroes which had several interesting adventures with dragons, wizards and magic before mutiny split their ranks. While Hearst and others continued the quest, t
he mutineers - including Andranovory, Erhed and others - came down the Velvet River through Chenameg to Selzirk.

  Watashi's private torture chamber was a soundproof room containing a narrow wooden bench, which bore a number of ominous russet stains, and many ugly implements of iron. Drake did his thinking - and fast. Clearly, posing as an innocent peddler was not going to save him. He would lose one or more bits of himself unless he did something drastic - and fast.

  Ungagged, Drake spoke quickly:

  'Man, before we go much further, there's something you ought to know.'

  'What's that?' said Jarl.

  'Man, I'm not a peddler at all,' said Drake.

  'I didn't for a moment think that you were,' said Jarl. 'What are you then?'

  'I'm an ambassador. From King Tor.'

  'Tor?' said Jarl, blankly.

  'Aye, man! Rightful king of Stokos! He's giving your troops a hell of a battering right now, in Hok.' 'Is he?' said Jarl, with indifference. 'There's more,' babbled Drake. 'Tor has promised me

  his daughter's hand in marriage. That makes me rightful heir to Stokos. Don't you understand? That makes me an enemy of the Harvest Plains. You turn me over to the law courts, you'll be famous. Aye. They'll put me on trial, I'll get chopped to pieces, and you'll be a hero.'

  'Bullshit,' said Jarl. 'The most bullshit I've ever heard in my life.'

  'Why would I say it unless it was true?' said Drake.

  'For you're the type who makes unlimited trouble once you get hold of a lawyer,' said Jarl. 'I know your sort! Haul you into a court of law and you prove immortal! Well, you '11 not prove immortal here, I'd swear my life to that.'

  Jarl's analysis was fairly accurate. Drake was no stranger to argument. He had lost count of the number of trials he had attended - manyofthemhisown.He'dbeenontrialforhis life in places as far apart as the Iron Palace of Cam and the Castle of Controlling Power. He'd faced Jon Arabin's kind of justice on the deck of the Warwolf,ioo. He'd rather be in a court of law than a torture chamber any day of the year.

  'Man,' said Drake, 'this war in Hok threatens the very life of the Harvest Plains. You could use me as a hostage, aye, there's a thought, send messengers into Hok to see if Tor wants to buy me. That way you could buy peace.'

  'Selzirk cares nothing for Hok,' said Jarl. 'A few soldiers chasing bandits in the hills - what's that to the city? Nothing!'

  T'ma—'

  'Shut up!'.said Jarl. 'Whatever you mean to Tor or Stokos, that's nothing to Selzirk. Only a mad ego could make you think yourself that important.'

  'Oh,' said Drake, 'sol'mof no importance. Is that right! Then how about letting me out of here?'

  'Tell me who helped you steal the bard and you can go,' said Jarl.

  'I'd tell if I knew but I don't!' shouted Drake. 'Don't you understand that?'

  ' Strap him down!' said Jarl. His men moved to obey.

  'You'll get nothing out of me,' said Drake, as he was strapped to the torture bench. 'Never!'

  'Cut off his feet,' said Jarl, curtly.

  'No!' screamed Drake, as a man applied saw to ankle. 'No, no, I confess, I did it, I'll tell anything, everything.'

  The sawman paused.

  'Who was with you then?' said Jarl.

  'Andranovory,' said Drake. 'We talked it up together. Him and me. And Erhed, yes, Erhed, that's the one, you'll find him at the Eagle. They were both in on it. We stole the bard. We stole the papers. An'vory had them last. He was supposed to share out the money to all. I've not had my share yet, get it off him when you catch him.'

  'Descriptions,' said Jarl crisply.

  'Well,' said Drake, 'An'vory, he's simple. Enough hair on his head to mop a floor. But a bit missing up topside - maybe someone scalped him or something. Black beard, great pouches under his eyes and such.'

  Drake gave a workable description of Atsimo Andranovory, whom he had first met on the docks of Cam the day after his sixteenth birthday. He had more trouble describing Erhed, who was so insignificant that even his best friends would have been hard put to decently describe him to a stranger. But he did his best.

  Thodric Jarl was so pleased with this information that he quite forgot to interrogate Drake about the whereabouts of Rolf Thelemite, the oath-breaker. Instead, he had Drake thrown into solitary confinement, and went off to organize a raid. That very evening, Jarl and a dozen of his men raided the Eagle in Jone, capturing Andranovory and Erhed.

  Jarl and his party bound their captives hand and foot, put them into sacks, threw the sacks onto a cart, then started the return journey from Jone to Santrim. They had got almost as far as Kesh when they were ambushed by members of the criminal fraternity.

  Thodric Jarl was good at what he did. He had almost, won his little war when ninety soldiers from Kesh surrounded the scene of combat and arrested everyone in sight, including two whores who had stopped to watch the fun and a debt collector who had been trying to go about his lawful business. Interrogations proceeded.

  Meanwhile, Drake, alone in his cell, thought things through. Why had Selzirk executed the three ambassadors sent by King Tor? Well - it was entirely possible Selzirk had done no such thing. Drake's only knowledge of the executions came from a sucker-fool encountered dockside in Jone. Drake had swallowed his story without hesitation - but it had quite possibly been a fabrication.

  Anyway, JarPs response had been a good indication of how things stood, surely. Being associated with Tor was hardly certain death. Particularly since the association was ancient. So he could breathe a little easier. So what now?

  Lawyers, that's the thing!

  The next day, Drake, to his great surprise, was taken from his place of confinement to have an audience with the Kingmaker Farfalla and with Plovey of the Regency.

  'It was wrong of my son to arrest you,' said Farfalla, with a glance at Plovey.

  'Very wrong,' said the Regency official gravely.

  T thought as much!' said Drake. 'Right, I'll get a lawyer! There'll be writs and damages and compensations and such. Unless your son wants to settle out of court, perhaps. Very cheap, ma'am - I'll settle for half my own weight in gold.'

  'Not so fast!' said Plovey.

  'Oh, it won't be fast, law is slow, yes, but we'll get there in the end.'

  'There are other matters to be cleared up first,' said Plovey.

  'Yes,' said Farfalla. 'Before anything else is attended to, you must tell us what you know about the death-stone.'

  'That's easily done,' said Drake. 'For I know nothing about any death-stone. Now, about my lawyer—'

  'Young man,' said Plovey, cutting across his enthusiasm, 'we know that you know about the weapon your master Morgan Hearst was in search of. There's other things we want to know about, too. The secret underground way between the far north and the Araconch Waters. And other things. The madness of the magic stones, for one.'

  'Magic stones?' said Drake. 'Is it fairy tales you're after? Man, I could tell you a famous fairy tale, yes. With elves in it, aye, and a friendly dwarf with a red nose, and a talking rabbit, and—'

  'The truth!' said Plovey. 'That's what we want!'

  'Then the truth is that I know nothing of this Heist or Hest or whatever his name was, nothing of his magic stones or balls or cats' eyes or whatever they were, and nothing of any underground way, excepting one which lies in Penvash, which I'll be happy enough to tell for you.'

  'We want no story-stories about Penvash. Only the truth!'

  'Man, there are great truths about Penvash. Listen - there's a Door up there. It goes from place to place, just a single step to take you a thousand leagues or more. Man, with that, you people could conquer the world.'

  'No more of your foolery!' said Plovey. 'The truth! About Hearst! The stone! The madness! The dragons! The way! The wars!'

  'This,' said Farfalla, in a quiet yet determined voice, 'is important to us.'

  'But I've told you—'

  'Take him to the Deep,' said Plovey, grimly. 'Leave him there until he's ready to tell the truth.
'

  Guards threw Drake into the Deep, a cell awash with sewage and swarming with pythogenic vermin. He was in there scarcely long enough to scream his surrender. Then he began to sing, oh yes, sweetly as anything. All the tavern-talk he'd heard from Andranovory and others came out of him as slick as vomit.

  '. . . then Alish smashed Erhed on the head with a rock. Ah, brutal ugly it was! Alish wanted to kill him off for dragon-meat. When? Aagh, the day after Poxquill was killed by the basilisk. How? Man, it breathed on him. Or else looked him eye-to-eye. Kills either way, yes. An ugly little brute of a thing, scarce as long as my forearm. But Hearst killed it from behind, so we ate that, and Poxquill too . . .'

  At first his interrogators seemed to believe everything. For, as Drake was swiftly learning, human beings are very credulous creatures, with no reservoirs of disbelief worth mentioning. But, after he had been singing sweetly for ten days and a half, Plovey came to visit him:

  'Young man,' he said, 'you stand in danger of compromising your anatomy, if not your life. For the tale you have told us fails to match that told by Andranovory and others.'

  'Man,' said Drake. 'I'll tell anything to please. What do you want to hear?'

  'You already know the answer to that,' said Plovey. 'The truth!'

  'Man,' said Drake. 'I'd tell the truth, but you'd never believe it. Why, it was the truth itself which made me champion liar of Selzirk, aye, champion of your city of filth and sewers. A truth I told about Doors and monster-fights and such, that's what did it.'

  'I want the truth,' said Plovey. 'I'll get it from you dead or alive.'

  'You'll not get much from me once I'm dead!' said Drake.

  .'You'd be surprised,' said Plovey, 'of the powers of some of our thaumaturgists. Torturers, take him away!'

  So Drake obliged with the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. As he had expected, it did him no good whatsoever.

  'That won't do,' said his torturer, and sank a bodkin into Drake's testicles.

  Drake screamed.

  'Plovey!' he screamed. 'Get Plovey of the Regency, I'll tell it to him, anything, anything.'

  The torturer, who wanted the afternoon off so he could visit his grandmother (who was near enough to ninety, and feeling her age) arranged for Drake to have the interview he requested.