The Walrus and the Warwolf

by Hugh Cook

  He was half-persuaded that he had. Aye, and the sun, moon, and sky, and all theother improbabilities of a world of earth, air, fire and water.

  But all those things were real.

  And, while Drake lay rotting in his filthy dungeon cell, Zanya Kliedervaust lay on her bed, stroking (in an absent-minded fashion) the sparse hair of Gouda Muck's head, which was busy between her thighs. Staring at the ceiling, she thought, with regret, of Drake. He was a brash sexist barbarian who needed to be taught good manners, and a lot of other things besides. But he had had so much promise! Why, when he had come bursting into her room, he had seemed to her, for a moment, like a regular demon lover, a true hero.

  But obviously Drake did not truly value her. Otherwise, he would have returned. Instead, after he was chased away by Muck's men, he had never returned. She was insulted by the way he had abandoned his quest for her so easily. . .

  Gouda Muck raised his head and removed one of Zanya's pubic hairs from his lips.

  'Darling,' crooned Zanya, 'you're a marvellous man, really you are.'

  'Then worship me,' said Muck.

  Which she did, in a very practical fashion.

  And the days passed.

  And, meanwhile, History went on as usual, with its wars, riots, revolutions, law makings, law breakings, plantings, reapings, stocktakings, loves, lusts, joys, horrors, quests, herofeats, births, deaths, copulations, speeches, prize giv-ings, graduations, discoveries, despairs, hopes, philosophies, religious revelations undso weiter.

  Until finally, as a consequence of one of the minor eddies of History, men came for Drake Douay, who was known in certain quarters to be physically alive, for all that he was legally dead.

  He was seized. He was dragged from his cell, filthy and naked, breath foetid, eyes dull, hair and nails uncut, body swarming with vermin, a scrag of ginger beard on his chin. He was bathed, shaved, manicured, scraped, disinfected, deloused, then dressed in velvet trousers, a cotton shirt and black felt slippers.

  'You look beautiful, darling boy,' said Plovey of the Regency.

  'Where did you come from?' demanded Drake.

  'I came through the door, of course. Ah. Trousers, shirt, slippers - what more could you want?'

  'A hat,' said Drake, promptly, always one to grab when the grabbing was good.

  So Plovey saw him kitted out with a pert blue bycoket.

  'Now food!' demanded Drake.

  All he got was a bowl of broth and a single zakuska, but that was undoubtedly the most his half-starved stomach could have handled. Then he was led to a room which was far too bright for him and filled with far too many people, most of whom were talking simultaneously.

  'A Certificate of Resurrection,' said a beak-nosed lawyer, shoving a piece of parchment into Drake's hands. 'You are now officially alive again. Here - take this. A full pardon for all crimes you've so far committed, both in and out of Selzirk. You are free to go.'

  'But,' said Plovey, 'first hear our offer.'

  'An offer I can't refuse, I suppose,' said Drake, clutching the parchments which had resurrected and pardoned him.

  'Of course,' said Plovey. 'What other kind of offer is worth making? General Tream, the situation, if you please!'

  General Tream stepped forward.

  'Listen up!' he bellowed, silencing the chatter in the room. 'Situation. A Rovac warrior by name of Elkor Alish has leagued with pirates and others to take the city of Androlmarphos. Alish holds that city now. Fortunately, the warrior Morgan Hearst has joined the army of Selzirk. He bears the deathstone. He will commit that weapon against both Alish and Androlmarphos unless the both surrender.'

  Then Tream, assisted by others, started to explain the details. But it was all so confusing - the noise, the brightness, the unfamiliar wealth of food in Drake's stomach, the unaccustomed labour of standing - that in the end he fainted clean away.

  After he had convalesced for three days, Plovey came to him alone, and explained things quietly.

  They wanted Drake to carry documents to Alish in Androlmarphos. One was a threat: he and his captured city would be destroyed by the deathstone unless they surrendered. The other was an offer: of safe conduct and a massive bribe if Alish gave himself up.

  'Once you've seen Alish and returned to Selzirk, we'll also pardon your Walrus and Warwolf.'

  'They live?'

  'They do. Their trials have not yet been commenced. After all, unlike you, they made no foolish confessions of piracy. So. See Alish in Androlmarphos. Give him our letters. Then return. And both Walrus and Warwolf will be set at liberty. But you must bring us proof that you've met with Alish in 'Marphos.'

  'And what proof would that be?'

  'Why, a document in Rovac runes drafted by the hand of Elkor Alish himself. Let him testify to the fact that you've seen him. Even if he wants nothing to do with our offers, I'm sure he'll give you proofs. For if he means to stand against us in defiance, he'll be as eager as you are to secure the release of two pirate captains. Useful men they'd make for him.'

  'Then why are you prepared to let them go?'

  'It's a small stake in a big game. What can we lose? Two prisoners. What can we win? Why, maybe the war. Bring proof! Our Morgan Hearst knows Alish's writing, so try no fakery.'

  'This sounds a right weird scheme to me,' said Drake. 'Ah, darling boy,' said Plovey, 'your judgment is very sound. I don't myself think you'll get audience with Alish. Or return.'

  'Then why are you letting me go?' said Drake.

  'Ah. Because none of this is my idea. No, it's Watashi's idea. And Farfalla's son, dear boy, is a constant threat to the Regency which I serve. We must seize on every opportunity to discredit him. However ... if you do return, well, no hard feelings. Indeed, if you do return, you must dine with me and my darling wife. I'm sure the family atmosphere would do you good.'

  'I'll return, right enough,' said Drake. 'But I'll see both Walrus and Warwolf before setting out. I know your life and death! They may be living by your law, though their bones have rotted away.'

  'Indeed,' said Plovey, 'such is possible. For the law specifically states that a person shall not be deemed to be dead merely because they have ceased to exist. However, both Walrus and Warwolf are alive, as the vulgar understand life. And you will see them before setting forth.'

  And so Drake did. And a tearful reunion he had with Jon Arabin, who was close to him by now as a father.

  And this was Plovey's parting advice to Drake:

  'Remember, darling boy, if you're not back within ten days, we'll torture Walrus and Warwolf to death. Little as I wish to see your return, I'll hold good to this threat, for I'm a very law-abiding man. I'll supervise the torture personally. Thodric Jarl will help me.'

  And Drake, despite himself, shuddered.

  49

  Velvet River, flows from Araconch Waters through lonely inland desolation, through Chenameg, then into Harvest Plains. Is joined by Shouda Flow at Selzirk. Divides into a delta near the sea, where the port of Androlmarphos prospers from the river-trade.

  Rule of Velvet River by dams (all upstream from Selzirk), irrigation schemes, dredging and dyke-building is a major function of the government of the Harvest Plains.

  On a day of high summer, Drake Douay was taken out into the streets, where the strenuous noise and the clash of garish colours made him dizzy. He saw a boy playing with a bandalore, which had been quite the fashion in children's toys throughout the winter. Drake mistook the leaping thing for a vicious insect, and looked away, frightened.

  The fashion for red-dyed skin was almost dead, though the Kingmaker Farfalla still indulged in it. But Drake did see one red-skinned red-haired woman, styling pink trousers and a matellasse blouse.

  'Zanya!' he cried, thinking it was her.

  Then saw it was an utter stranger.

  He started to cry. Was ashamed of himself, yet could not help it. Had endured so much. Too much.

  At a riverside dock, he boarded a trireme. Down the river they went. Sun too
bright. Sky too blue. The riverside fields huge beyond all prison-cell imaginings.

  Shocked by the enormous vistas of liberty, he hid his face.

  The trireme did not venture all the way to Androl-marphos, for Selzirk would not risk such a valuable craft so close to the enemy-held city. Instead, on reaching the place where the Velvet River began to divide into the many branches of the delta, Drake was put aboard a smaller craft, a galley of but twenty oars.

  Some leagues downstream, Drake glimpsed a familiar sight: a pyramid some two thousand years old, built by a wizard of Ebber who had once lorded it as emperor of the Harvest Plains. That pyramid stood on the dusty plains within sight of Androlmarphos, and Drake had seen it often enough in the days he had spent as a galley-slave. That had been years ago, when he was a mere boy of sixteen. And how old was he now? Why, twenty. Young, yes, with all of manhood in front of him.

  Irresistibly, his spirits began to rise. Pirates were in Androlmarphos? Why, then, he'd meet with old comrades, surely. Jon Disaster, aye. Ika Thole, maybe, or Abousir Belench, or some of his shipmates from his voyage from Narba to the Teeth on the good ship Jade.

  Then the galley pulled in to the bank.

  'Get off,' said the galley captain.

  'What?' said Drake, alarmed, imagining he was in for an impromptu riverside execution.

  'Off!'

  'But we're leagues from the city yet.' 'That's why we haven't cut your legs off. Come on, out!'

  Reluctantly, Drake went ashore, and the galley turned around and, oars keeping to a regular rhythm, began to make its way upstream. Back to Selzirk. Well. He had life and freedom still. But a long hard walk ahead of him. He was still weak from imprisonment.

  But I'll work on that, man. Sword, that's the way. Work rigorous daily.

  Drake, thirsty, drank from the dirty brown water of the river. He deserved to die for such foolishness, but the wisdom of Ling preserved him, for the myriad genetically tailored worms infesting his body kept him safe from every toxin and zyme.

  'March,' said Drake to Drake.

  And set out for Androlmarphos.

  A long, slow journey he had of it, with the sun scalding his prison pallor, and his prison-soft feet slowly going into blisters. At the city gate, he found a rabble of armed men drinking, gambling, bartering and gossiping. One stirred himself to confront Drake, asking:

  'Sen fedda nanishV

  'Speak you the Tongue?' said Drake.

  T have the Galish. Who are you, to risk yourself at Lord Menator's gate?'

  T be Lord Menator's loyal servant,' said Drake, 'and require audience with him immediately.'

  'Then that you will have, for Lord Menator requires any wanderers to be brought before him immediately. He wants no spy, assassin or alien arsonist to run loose in his imperial capital.'

  Thus Drake was taken in charge and led through the streets of Androlmarphos to Menator's headquarters. He began - far too late! - to worry. He remembered that Menator had put a price on his head. Why hadn't he thought of that sooner?

  Why, man, because this torture and stuff has left me but half of a brain.

  He hoped he pulled himself together, fast. But Androlmarphos seemed scarcely the right city in which to convalesce. Drake was not fussy and fancy, but, nevertheless, the streets of 'Marphos appalled him with their noise, filth, stench and gross over-crowding.

  Stinks worse than Selzirk's dungeons. And that's something!

  The city was but a league from north to south; its tottering tenements had always been crowded, and now were packed beyond endurance. The harbour was choked with ships; other vessels were anchored in nearby Lake

  Ouija, while some shifted as best they could in river estuaries. 'Marphos, holding its usual residents, additional hostages seized from the hinterland, pirates, mercenaries of all descriptions, renegade soldiers from the Harvest Plains and horses by the thousands besides, was a quartermaster's nightmare.

  But Menator's my nightmare true, that's for real. Hates me, doesn't he? Jealous of luck and talent, I suppose.

  Drake urged himself to courage. Surely, under the circumstances, Lord Menator would not be vindictive. The rose-tattooed man, flushed with victory, would surely be magnanimous.

  Much will depend on how I speak. And speaking's my best, isn't it? Yes.

  Drake told himself that, once he got an audience with Menator, he would surely get permission to meet with Elkor Alish. Surely Alish would give him the proofs he needed to secure the release of both the Warwolf and his blood-brother Walrus.

  Drake imagined how they would gratulate him. Jon Arabin would laugh out hearty, slap him on the back and call him a man, yes. The Walrus would scowl, swear, then mutter something grudging in acknowledgement.

  'Heigh ho,' said Drake to Drake. 'It's great to be a hero!'

  Shortly, he was ushered into the presence of Menator, who, after making himself lord of all the pirates, had leagued with Elkor Alish to seize Androlmarphos. Menator was sitting in state like an emperor. But, seated on a throne of equal height, was a graceful, lyncean, lordly man, Elkor Alish himself. These two - so far -were ruling as equals.

  'Drake Douay,' said Menator, caressing Drake's name in a way which reminded Drake of Plovey of the Regency. 'Drake Douay, beloved of King Tor. What brings you here?'

  'A mission of life and death,' said Drake.

  'You think to threaten me on behalf of Selzirk, then.'

  'You won those words from the air,' said Drake. 'You judge me wrong.'

  'Iknowyouof old,' saidMenator. 'I passed judgment on you long ago.'

  'Don't silence me fast!' said Drake, a touch of desperation in his voice. 'Or you'll never hear of Morgan Hearst and all.'

  'Of Hearst?' said Elkor Alish, he of the elegant clothes and the square-cut black beard. 'Tell!'

  So Drake told his story, clearly, briefly and with only a bare minimum of exaggeration. He held nothing back. He offered up the documents he had been told to take to Elkor Alish, and concluded:

  '. . .so you see, all I need is a note in the hand of the good lord Alish. Then we can have two of the world's best pirate captains back to fight with us, aye, to tear down the towers of Selzirk, burn out their law courts, pull down their prisons, lynch their gaolers, kill out the Regency entire, string up Watashi and torture the torturers to death.'

  'Admirable sentiments,' said Alish, with a smile.

  Then he conferred with Menator. They spoke in something close to a whisper: nevertheless, their disagreement was plain. Finally, Alish said to Drake:

  'You must talk in private with the pair of us.'

  With some trepidation, Drake accompanied the two warlords into a private chamber where they interrogated him in depth and in detail, until his head spun. The questions they asked! What signs had he seen of war? Of the arming of men? The disposition of cavalry? The stockpiling of fodder? The movement of stores? The building of ships?

  They were on at him till nightfall, by which time he was fatigued to the point of death. Both were intensely interested in the conflict between Watashi and the Regency -thinking obviously, that here was something they could exploit.

  When they were finished, Drake mustered up his boldest voice and spoke:

  'I've done my best, man. Now what about my note, that I may rescue Walrus and Warwolf? There's not much time left, you know.'

  'You may have no note,' said Menator, 'for you have seen what you have seen, and they will use you as a spy if you return. You've sharp eyes about you: that you've proved by your answers.'

  'He'll tell them no more than they know already,' said Alish.

  T ask you not to defy me in this,' said Menator.

  After some argument, Alish - against his better judgment - yielded to Menator over what was to him a small matter. But it was no small matter to Menator. He loved the thought of Walrus and Warwolf being tortured to death: he had wanted, for a long time, to be rid of them once and for all.

  'Menator, man,' said Drake.

  One last chance
. But a good one.

  'What say you?' said Menator.

  'I say you're missing a grand opportunity, man. You think of me as enemy, that's plain, but I could be ally for real. Listen - you've got 'Marphos, true, but Selzirk is strong. You need all the help you can get.'

  'What help are you?' said Lord Menator.

  'It's King Tor who'd be help if I spoke to him right,' said Drake. 'I could go to the province of Hok, aye, summon him out of the mountains, march his men to your banner.'

  Menator laughed.

  'What's so funny, man?' said Drake, in anger. 'Haven't you heard?' said Lord Menator. 'King Tor is dead. He died this last winter. Killed on Stokos he was.' 'How came it?' said Drake.

  'Your ogre-king gambled at war,' said Lord Menator. 'He left Hok with what men remained to him. He landed on Stokos. Many flocked to his banner. Then those who ruled in Cam were sore afraid.'

  T bet they were!' said Drake. 'Tell on!'

  'With pleasure,' said Menator, for this was one of his favourite stories, and it was rare for him to meet ainan who did not know it backwards. 'It happened that those who held Stokos for Gouda Muck fought savage battles with Tor. The result.was a draw.'

  'They split the island in half?' said Drake.

  'No,' said Lord Menator. 'They sat licking their wounds, thinking. Those who ruled in the name of the Flame thought best. They sent to the Teeth, inviting me to take their side in return for the rule of Stokos. It was their lives they were fearing for, you see.'

  'Gutless cowards!' said Drake. 'I see right enough!'

  'So I sailed my ships to Stokos,' said Lord Menator. 'That turned the balance. King Tor's men saw that all was lost. So they murdered their king. They brought the ogre's head to Sudder Vemlouf in Cam. By that time, of course, I was ruling above Vemlouf.'

  'So you won your war with the blood of others!' said Drake, shocked at how filthy power politics could be.

  'Isn't that always the best way to win a war?' said Lord Menator, grinning.

  He was doing well for himself. He had won the rule of the Greater Teeth; he had conquered Stokos; he commanded Androlmarphos. He was well on the way to fulfilling his ambition to conquer the western seaboard of Argan.