by Hugh Cook
So they thought themselves fine fellows as they galloped along, urging their horses closer and closer to the edge of death; they laughed, joked and bragged, persuading themselves their outbreak had been a regular feat of heroism.
Only Drake knew better.
At daybreak, one of the horses collapsed and died. The rest were nearly ready for the knacker's yard. However, at noon, the escapers met a patrol of Harvest Plains cavalry, and were able to commandeer fresh horses. Several changes later, they entered Selzirk.
'Now,' said Drake, to the most senior officer who had ridden with him, 'get me an audience with Morgan Hearst. Immediately.'
'What business have you with him?'
'That which cannot be delayed. Man, get me to see him. I've no money to bribe my way through to his face. Once I'm with him, he'll be the judge of my business. He's hero enough to know if I'm wasting his time.'
The officer, too exhausted for argument, handed Drake over to the appropriate people, telling them Drake must see Hearst instantly.
51
Morgan Hearst: a hero questing in company of the wizard Miphon and the woodsman Blackwood; interrupted heroic quest to command the defence of Selzirk; defeated Elkor Alish and liberated Androlmarphos; sojourns in Selzirk, though has plans for onward travel.
Drake was taken into the heights of a tall and massive tower which stood in what had once been the central courtyard of an ancient wizard stronghold. He was shown into a waiting room from which he could look down on the myrmecoid activity in the streets of Selzirk. But he had no eyes for the view.
He was dismayed at the impossible queue, which included an inventor after a patron for his perpetual motion machine; a man with a gyrfalcon to sell to the hero; a designer who hoped to interest Morgan Hearst in a gaudy coat of arms (it featured, among other things, a sea-dragon naiant, a gryphon rampant, and seventeen other creatures besides). And many others.
'Sit here,' said the functionary who had brought Drake to the place, 'and wait your turn.'
But Drake would have none of that. He strode to the head of the queue and demanded admittance.
'Who are you?' asked the guard at the door.
'I am Baron Farouk's nuncio,' said Drake, in a right stomachy manner. 'I come to speak with the hero.!
'About what?' said the guard.
'Of ships and armies, allegiance and alliance, matters of
high state and the breaking of empires. Stand aside, or I split you with my sword.'
'The weaponless should make no threats so empty,' said the guard.
'The weapon is invisible, yet kills regardless,' said Drake. 'For my father was a jinnee and my mother the worst kind of succubus. I was born in a flood of fire, born amidst thunder, suckled on blood, weaned on a whore's-egg then grown to greatness on the flesh of butchered babies. Will you stand aside, or must I doom you to death? Aye - to hell and damnation?'
'I meant no harm, my lord,' said the guard, standing aside hastily.
In days when the city was full of wild stories of weird magic, and when thousands had seen for their own eyes the powers of the death-stone, all acknowledged the existence of occult things, and Drake's bluff was more to be believed than it would have been in more sober times. Thus he gained prompt entry to the room where Morgan Hearst did business.
Hearst was seated behind a broad desk made of split bamboo. The hero was, as Drake remembered him, a tense, hard-faced man. Lean, clean-shaven, hair cropped short, eyes grey.
One thing had changed.
Hearst's right wrist terminated in a steel hook.
'Do you speak Galish?' said Hearst, studying Drake.
'Very nicely,' said Drake.
'Do I. . . do I know you from somewhere?'
'No, my lord,' said Drake, unwilling to remind Hearst of how he had once run the young Lord Dreldragon out of Estar on account of crimes of theft and hooliganism.
'That's strange,' said Hearst, a puzzled look on his face. T could almost swear I'd met you before.'
Hearst's left hand held a quill pen; papers were heaped up on the desk. The absence of any clerks implied that Hearst was literate.
T see from your desk that you read and write,' said
Drake. 'Not a hero only, but a wise man as well.'
'If that's meant by way of flattery,' said Hearst, 'don't waste your breath. I've scant powers in Selzirk, whatever my reputation might say. Most of the petitioners outside my doors are wasting their time. Most probably whatever you wish to ask for is not within my grant.'
'What I ask, my lord,' said Drake, 'is for you to accept a letter from a man named Elkor Alish.'
'Alish?' said Hearst. 'Who's he?'
'Why, you know!' said Drake, who had expected any reaction but this.
'Tell me about him,' said Hearst. 'Tell me everything about him you've seen and heard.'
Thus began one of those long, long interrogations which Drake, by now, was heartily sick of. At the end of it, Drake cut open the lining of his jerkin and handed over both Alish's letter to Hearst and Alish's letter to Watashi.
Hearst read both, then sent a messenger to summon Watashi into his presence. Farfalla's son arrived promptly.
'You!' said Watashi, on seeing Drake.
'Nay,' said Drake, 'I died at sea some many days ago. What you see here is none but my ghost.'
But Watashi was not as credulous as the guard Drake had frightened earlier, and Drake's swift-flowing horror-talk was cut short by Hearst.
'Business,' said Hearst. 'Elkor Alish is playing a trick with this fellow. A trick he learnt from Selzirk. He holds two of the man's friends as hostage, requiring, for their release, proof of delivery of two letters.'
'How does that concern me?' said Watashi.
'One of those proofs must come from me,' said Hearst. 'But the other needs come from you.'
'I give no proofs to this thieving whoreson bastard,' said Watashi.
'You will give proofs,' said Hearst, waving a letter, 'or I will give this document to the Regency.' 'What says it?'
'This letter from Alish to you invites you to join with him in making war on the Regency and installing yourself as emperor of the Harvest Plains.'
'That speaks of no crime on my part,' said Watashi. 'It's no crime to be made an offer, no matter how criminal. Crime lies only in the acceptance, which I'd never make - and which none could prove against me.'
'I know little of the filthy politics of this city,' said Hearst, 'but I'm sure your Regency would make great play of this letter. You might win clear to freedom, for sure - but is it not better to give the man his proofs, and avoid all chance of such embarrassment?'
'Why do you take his part?' said Watashi.
'Honour acts,' said Hearst. 'It does me no harm to give proof to Elkor Alish that I have seen his letter, and thus release two men held hostage.'
'No harm? Such proof might see one hanged!'
'No,' said Hearst. 'For I will simply date a piece of parchment, write on it that the petition of Drake Douay has been refused, then sign it. That will be proof enough. You will do the same. You cannot be hung, young lordling, for refusing an unspecified petition. That's no crime I know of in any law.'
Watashi, grudgingly, did as Hearst obliged him to. Then Hearst dismissed him.
'So,' said Hearst, holding up two pieces of parchment, 'you have your proofs. Satisfied?'
'I'd be more satisfied if they could be delivered,' said Drake boldly. 'For I've no wish to leave Selzirk. There's a lady I wish to claim, aye, first for love, and second to spite the senile old whoremaster who holds her captive. Have you couriers to Runcorn?'
'None,' said Hearst. 'But such I can find. I'll see your proofs get through.'
Then Hearst dismissed Drake, and dismissed the whole queue of petitioners as well. For he wanted to be alone, so he could think over the letter which Alish had written to him.
But what was in that letter, and what Hearst made of it, and what he did as a result . . . those things were of no concern to D
rake Douay, who had other business on his mind.
Zanya, my heart, me dearest princess. Despair not! 'Tis I, the lordly young Dreldragon, who rides even now to the rescue! I will fight to thy dungeon and free thee from the fiend. Even if I must slay a watermelon stand to do so!
52
Law. the rule of past over present, the dead over the living, precedent over pure reason, syntax over sense and of absurd fictions over urgent realities.
Drake the Doughty, rightful king of Stokos (with Tor dead, who had a better claim?), questing hero extraordinary, star of the Great Arena in Dalar ken Halvar, cocksman and shivman both, thought himself safe enough when he went in pursuit of the red-skinned Zanya Kliedervaust. After all, he had received a full pardon for all crimes he had committed, both in and out of Selzirk. Thus he was safe from the law - or thought he was. And he was confident he could deal with Gouda Muck and his bully boys.
In Jone, Drake found many of his former friends, and persuaded them to come to Santrim with him for a bit of fun. They fronted up to Libernek Square, where Muck was preaching to the usual jeering crowd. Drake, safe with his comrades to support him, slanged off at Muck, and called on him to yield up the fair lady Zanya.
Muck had no dogs, crocodiles or watermelon stands which he could set upon Drake Douay, so sent his Flame-clad stave men to do battle with the questing hero. The crowd joined the fight - on Drake's side - and Muck's men had to beat a hasty retreat.
The next day, Drake returned.
'Send out your bravos!' he bawled, brandishing a knife. 'I've sworn to take five scalps by sundown!'
When nobody came forth from Muck's temple to do battle, Drake and his colleague sang scatological songs in three-part harmony. The crowd joined in. The next day, Drake returned again. He found the crowd larger, more enthusiastic. Great stuff!
'Come out, Muck!' yelled Drake. 'Or I'll storm your gates!'
Muck stayed out of sight, and Drake judged that the crowd was not quite yet ready to take Muck's temple by force.
Tomorrow, maybe. We'll see. A riotous mob, that's the thing!
The fourth day, Drake fronted up for further fun - and was arrested by the Watch. And the day after, he was hauled into the New Courthouse to hear the charges Gouda Muck had preferred against him. The trial came up so quickly because the general pardon, given to celebrate the liberation of Androlmarphos, had cleared the backlog of the courts entirely.
Drake was brought in front of Judge Syrphus, who held court in the traditional glory which tradition decreed for a person in his position. Thanks to tradition, Judge Syrphus wore uncured goatskins and a feathered head-dress, sat on a throne made from the bones of traitors, and wore heavy gold bracelets littered with garnets and bits of black glass.
The proceedings were in the Churl of the Harvest Plains (not High Churl or City Churl or Field Churl, but Legal Churl, which took a good five years for the brightest brains to master) and were translated into Galish for Drake's benefit.
'Are you Drake Douay, runaway swordsmith's apprentice of Stokos?' he was asked by the Clerk of the Court.
'Yes,' he said, fearlessly. 'And you've no jurisdiction over Stokos, so let's hear nothing about running away, aye, or thieving masterswords, or hacking up royal trees or any other such nonsense. Aye, and while we're at it, I've got a pardon for all crimes I might have done in or out of Selzirk - not that I'm admitting any, mind - and here's the document itself. Not that I can read it, but the wise, who ought to know, say it's a pretty enough bit of paper.'
This resulted in some colloquy, after which Drake was told:
'The Court is aware of your pardon, but it has no relevance to this case. In this case, the Court is being asked to subject you to preventive detention on the grounds that you are a public menace. You can be perfectly innocent of all crime yet still be a public menace. So the pardon does you no good.'
'So you're putting me on trial for things I've never done and maybe never will do.'
'Precisely.'
'Then I'll have a lawyer, thanks.' 'What money have you?' 'None.'
'Then you get no lawyer. Call the first witness for the prosecution!'
The witness was called. Into court he came. Gouda Muck! There followed several exchanges between Drake and Muck. They swore, cursed and damned each other, engaged in the wildest insults and used the most shameless, filthy language. Fortunately, they did all this in Ligin, which nobody else in the Court could understand.
Drake Douay and Gouda Muck were, with difficulty, called to order. Then Muck was introduced to the Court as a master swordsmith and a peaceful minister of religion.
'Do you recognize anyone in the Court?' asked the prosecutor.
'Why, yes,' answered Gouda Muck. 'The man in the dock. I know him as Drake Douay. He was my apprentice on Stokos, until he ran away some four or five years ago.'
'When did you see him next?'
'In Runcorn.'
'Runcorn? What was he doing?' 'He ruled the place. He'd founded a truly monstrous religion. I hold a copy of the doctrines of that religion.
This document is The Book of Witness. Know that Drake Douay was at this time going under the name of Arabin lol Arabin.'
After Muck had been questioned further, The Book of Witness was read into the record of the Court. Drake listened intently. He had never heard it before; he was flattered to learn that a follower of his temple had been impressed enough to write down a history of Drake's doings in Runcorn.
This was fame indeed!
The prosecutor finished with Muck, and, very pleased with himself, addressed the Court:
'You have heard both my first witness and The Book of Arabin. Plainly, the accused is an evil, dangerous religious radical. He overthrew the rightful rule Of Runcorn. In its place he installed a monstrous regime of drunkenness, debauchery and polymorphous perversion. That more than suffices to make him a public menace, for what he did in Runcorn he might yet do in Selzirk.'
Smirking, the prosecutor sat. And Drake was asked:
'Do you have questions to put to the witness?'
'Aye, that I do,' said Drake. 'Under torture, if you please. Or, if he'll not submit to torture, let him swear to tell the truth, and let him swear by the Flame he preaches of.'
Drake's petition to have the witness tortured was denied, but Muck was made to swear (by the Flame) that he would tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
'Man,' said Drake, 'you had me as apprentice on Stokos. Was I good or was I bad?'
'You were the worst apprentice I ever had,' said Gouda Muck. 'Drunk, disorderly, disobedient, shiftless, idle, gross, reckless and lawless. You stole my mastersword.'
'Did I ever steal gold?'
'No.'
'Or bread? Or wine? Or wood? Or anything else of you or yours?'
'No.'
'Did I ever hurt or harm or damage anything of you or yours?'
'Yes! You damaged a sword of mine. I remember it well. You were foolish at sword. You knocked out some iron inlay. I can tell the Court exactly. It was the letter Ac0wae.'
'How do you know it was that letter? Did I tell you?'
'You! Tell me! An illiterate fool like you? No, I knew the letter for what it was because I'm a scholar of sorts, as my father was before me.'
'Why call me illiterate?' said Drake, sounding hurt.
'Because you know not one letter from the other. Why, when you were sent to learn your theory, you had to memorize the whole by heart.'
'That's a cruel thing to say,' said Drake. 'Why make me out as ignorant?'
'Because you are!'
'All right,' said Drake. T let you have the point. I know not one letter from the other.'
'And never will,' said Muck, 'for you were no good at learning. Why, I had to beat you to learn you the simples of your business!'
'Beatings, was it?' said Drake. 'Was it with fists? Or with boot? Or with stick? Or did you bang my head against the wall? Or did you throw lumps of coal and ore at me? Or what method did you
use?'
'All of those, and more,' said Muck. 'But all failed.'
'Did I ever beat back in return? Hit or punch or throw or spit?'
Muck laughed.
'You'd never have dared!' he said. 'You were too fearful for that.'
'So what did I do to oppose you?'
'We've been through that! You stole my mastersword and ran away!'
'And when did you see me next?'
'Why, in Runcorn.'
'Tell the Court how you came to see me.'
'I'd made it my business to travel the Salt Road, preaching. I had with me loyal assistants - such as Sully Yot. A better man than you!'
'Tell the Court of this Yot,' said Drake.
'An apprentice of mine,' said Muck. 'He'd been a prisoner of pirates. You were one of those who took him prisoner!'
'Was I just?' said Drake. 'Was I then high in their ranks? A pirate captain, perhaps?'
'No,' said Muck, with a laugh. 'You were but a cook's boy. Peeling cockroaches and hashing up rats, that was about your limit. Why, Yot told of how you'd done the world's worst cookery in the Penvash channel. Rats and cockroaches, yes!'
'So I was the cook?'
'No, no, the cook's boy. You were never destined to go far in the world.'
'Did Yot tell you how I came by these rats and cockroaches he talked of?'
'Why, yes. He said you told him you'd meant them as a sacrifice for Hagon.'
'What is this Hagon?' said Drake.
And the Court heard from Muck the tale of how Drake had devotedly worshipped the Demon Hagon for years. Then Drake changed tack to bring him back on course for Runcorn:
'So the Court now knows about Hagon, aye, and about this fellow Yot. Who knew me, as you say. Yot came to Runcorn with you. What then?'
'We reached Runcorn. I was tired, therefore took to my bed at the inn. Yot went about the city, with the energy of the young. He saw you in the temple of the place. You and a woman, Zanya, whom he knew. I knew her too, for she had been my convert formerly. So Yot went privily to Zanya, and brought her to me.'
'And she spoke with you?'
'Yes. She told how you went by the name of Arabin lol
