The Walrus and the Warwolf

by Hugh Cook

  And that they did.

  As they went, Drake dreamed of his future.

  At the Gates of Chenameg, Drake had tested and refined his ability to lead, to rule and to govern. He had made many mistakes - some of them almost disastrous - but he had survived. Yes. Even though he had faced mutiny, subversion, treason . . .

  He was sure he would be able to rule on Stokos, if he got the chance.

  There were obstacles to overcome, of course.

  He would have to overthrow the last remnants of Goudanism, if any such survived. Who ruled on Stokos now? When the pirates were driven from Androlmarphos, had Stokos stayed loyal to its rulers from the Teeth? Or had the locals seized the chance for revolution?

  Worse still - might the Swarms have got a foothold on

  Stokos? If they had, it might be a devil of a job driving them from the island.

  'Whoever rules on Stokos,' said Drake to Drake, 'whether it's pirates, priests of the Flame or the Swarms themselves, I'll likely need an army to take the island. Aye. And ships to move the army. My nobility itself will not suffice.'

  But he was sure ships and army would not prove impossible to come by.

  'This,' said Drake to Drake, 'is my destiny. To rule as a king. I feel it in my bones.'

  Whatever he felt in his bones, he felt hunger in his belly, for their long lean march saw them scavenging slugs and earthworms before they were finished.

  At last, in early summer in the year Celadric 3, Drake and Zanya entered Trest from the east. They were intercepted by a patrol of Rangers, roving Rovac warriors who maintained order on the eastern marches. The Rovac directed them to the nearest nameworthy place, the High Castle of Trest, a stronghold held by Captain Occam for the Triple Kings - Hearst, Blackwood and Miphon.

  T once heard of three questing heroes thus named,' said Drake.

  'Our kings are the same three,' came the answer. 'It is their peace we enforce.' 'Good,' said Drake.

  This was a welcome piece of news indeed. He was acquainted with all three of the Triple Kings, which should make things easy enough when it came time to persuade them to lend him ships and an army. Meantime - he had other, more urgent problems to worry about.

  Zanya had not been in proper health for some time, and her condition was worsening. Odd fevers took her; she suffered night sweats, diarrhoea, nausea without explanation. Sometimes she found herself icy cold and shivering in the noonday summer sun.

  She was not pregnant.

  Thus Drake was glad when they reached the High Castle, an ancient wizard stronghold of daunting battlements and sky-challenging towers, all girt round with a flame trench which could only be crossed by a single drawbridge.

  In this grim fortress was the mint which had just that season begun producing the gladiate coins which the ruling regime had decreed were to become the currency of the realm. Drake, with some reservations, traded a little gold for this odd-shaped money, which he found good for the purchase of food and lodgings.

  Drake and Zanya stayed for some days in a little village which was growing up in the shadow of the High Castle. But rest failed to improve Zanya's condition. Instead, her symptoms worsened, and she complained that there were lumps in her mouth.

  'Lumps?' said Drake, with dread in his voice.

  He remembered. A room on Stokos. The body. Grinning red. Blood. So much blood.

  'Yes, lumps,' said Zanya. 'Have a look and . . . and tell me what colour those lumps might be.'

  'I'll not do that,' said Drake, 'unless you promise you will never cut your throat.'

  'Why should I do that?' asked Zanya.

  Drake made no answer.

  They both knew why.

  'Come on,' said Zanya. 'Be a man! Look! And tell!'

  Drake looked, as best he could, peering into the dark, wet, saliva-gleaming cave of her mouth, where an unruly tongue and a jiggling uvula seemed to be doing their best to frustrate his examination. As far as he could tell - which, admittedly, was not far at all - there were blue lumps all the way down her throat.

  Sky-blue lumps.

  He felt sick.

  'It's the blue leprosy, isn't it?' said Zanya.

  Drake made no answer, but his face told all. They held each other close. They wept. For both knew the score.

  Blue lepers died a terrible death. First came outbreaks of blue sores. Then, in time, great septic ulcers. Then, after about a year, a black rot which turned the eyes to jelly. Then, eventually, gangrene, bringing death in the second year. And Drake thought: Is this my fault?

  He had known for years that he might be contaminated with blue leprosy. After all, his sister had become infected with it. Yet he had taken no precautions to keep Zanya safe. . .

  'We need help,' said Drake, at last.

  'There is no help for this,' said Zanya.

  Drake knew as much. The wizard Miphon had, years ago, brought knowledge of the disease to Stokos. Blue leprosy was incurable. It led to a certain death.

  'We have to try,' said Drake.

  And almost launched into a disquisition on the Experimental Method. He halted himself just in time, and went in search of a healer. But the best he could find was a drunken surgeon who tended to the garrison in the High Castle.

  'My wife has a sickness,' said Drake.

  'What kind of sickness?'

  'Oh, a fever, which comes and goes.'

  'Has she blue sores?' asked the surgeon.

  Drake hesitated. Then decided he must give an honest answer, for that was the only way to win any cure which might be available.

  'Aye,' he said, 'blue sores in her mouth and elsewhere.'

  Whereupon the surgeon had both Drake and Zanya arrested, and walled up in a cell, leaving only a single hole big enough for food and water to be passed through.

  'How do we get out of here?' said Zanya.

  T don't think we do,' answered Drake.

  But, fortunately, the surgeon reported his actions to Captain Occam, who held the High Castle for the Triple Kings. Occam promptly had the wall broken down, and had the captives taken to his private quarters.

  'The wizard Miphon has spread the truth about this disease,' said Occam.

  'What truth does Miphon tell about the blue leprosy?' said Drake.

  'First, that it is not leprosy but a pox,' said Occam. 'He has given it a new name. We now call it blue star fever. Yet still the surgeon fears it, as he fears plague and other things. But Lord Miphon says those with blue star fever are not to be feared, for the disease spreads only if one lies with the sick as a man lies with a woman.'

  'What has Miphon said of a cure?' said Zanya.

  'That there is none,' answered Occam, frankly. 'But he is wise, therefore thinks not that he knows all. He always searches for new wisdom. I have not spoken with him since spring. Who knows? His wisdom may by now encompass a cure for blue star fever.'

  Occam advised Drake to take Zanya to Lorford, in Estar, to see Miphon, who was usually to be found at Lorford.

  'But say nothing of disease to anyone on the way,' said Occam. 'Or you may never reach Lorford alive.'

  'I passed through Lorford once before,' said Drake, 'and heard no mention of blue leprosy then. It seems the thing has spread, aye, and that people fear it more.'

  'The whole world,' said Occam, 'has been thrown into flux by war and invasion. Thousands travel down roads which once saw but a handful of strangers a season. When thousands suffer and starve, women sell their flesh to eat - as do some men. Thus we have new fears, and new diseases. Cultures clash, and—

  'Yes, yes,' said Drake, who, as an accomplished orator himself, knew the start of a long speech when he heard it. 'I get the message.'

  'Then don't forget it!' said Occam. 'Keep your mouth shut! And make your journey swift, for your woman will weaken by the day.'

  So Drake hired a donkey cart and a guide, and off they went. Swamps lay between Trest and Estar, but these were crossed easily enough by a corduroy road, built when Collosnon armies once invaded Argan, an
d now kept in repair by work gangs financed by the state.

  Thus Drake and Zanya crossed into Estar and proceeded to Lorford, a town on the banks of the Hollern River, which here flowed west toward the Central Ocean. Both Drake and Zanya remembered the place, for, after escaping from Penvash years ago, they had stopped here briefly before proceeding down the Salt Road to Runcorn.

  But all had changed since their last visit, when a mighty castle had dominated Melross Hill. The castle had since been smashed by war or magic; only a shattered wreckage of splintered stone and undying wizard-fire remained.

  In Lorford, Drake sought an inn where Zanya could rest. He found one, soon enough. The innkeeper, who must have been a refugee from the Harvest Plains, was speaking with some cronies in Churl, but when Drake and Zanya entered he switched to Galish.

  'I want a big room,' said Drake. 'A quiet room, where my wife can rest.'

  'Is she sick?' said the innkeeper.

  The suspicion in the man's voice gave Drake all the warning he needed.

  'She's with child,' he said, telling an easy lie. 'So a little poorly at times. Needs tenderness, aye.'

  'That's all right then. As long as she's got no illness.'

  'Nay, man. She never has a day's fever in her life, for she was born tough, aye, fathered by a mule and all.'

  'By a mule? How so? Through what evil?'

  'Man,' said Drake, irritated, 'I meant but to joke a little.'

  'Yes, well. The fewer jokes the better. These are troubled times.'

  In the room, Drake made Zanya comfortable. He saw, to his dismay, that a tiny blue spot had appeared at one corner of her mouth. He said nothing to her about it, but kissed her goodbye. Easy enough to kiss her now, yes. But what about later? When her body was filthy with bloated sores? When her eyes melted to pits of corruption? When her body decayed towards gangrene?

  'Don't cry, dearest treasure snake,' said Zanya.

  But Drake could not help himself. And, while he had intended to leave immediately, it was in fact a long time before he pulled himself together and went to see the innkeeper.

  'Where do your kings hold court?' asked Drake. 'Why ask you?'

  'Man,' said Drake, 'because my sword wishes to be of service to kings.'

  'Then go to the west gate, for the western gatehouse is palace, gaol, fort, arsenal, treasury and citadel, all rolled into one.'

  The western gatehouse proved to be a stout building of logs, plankwork and bamboo. It was four storeys high, and was as square as it was tall. Drake went swaggering up to the entrance, as bold as a rat boarding a battleship, and demanded an immediate audience with Lord Miphon.

  'Why,' said the guards, 'he's in Looming Forest, after herbs and such. As for Lord Blackwood, he's in the forest also, settling a disputed timber claim. But you'll find Lord Hearst on the riverbank just an arrowshot south of here.'

  'Doing what?'

  'Why, administering justice, that's what.'

  So Drake went that arrowshot south, and found a crowd of people by the riverbank, where Morgan Hearst was administering justice. Drake stood back to watch. Hearst was speaking in Galish. Did the Rovac warrior know the local Estral? Perhaps. But doubtless Lorford was peopled mostly by refugees, with Galish the only tongue they held in common.

  'All right, all right,' shouted Hearst, 'that's adoptions done with. Now how many of you want to get divorced? Come on, let's have a show of hands! All right, form two lines, men on this side, women on that side. Move it along now, we haven't got all day!

  'Where's your wife? She's dead!? Sorry, we can't divorce the dead, not here, you need a thaumaturgist for that. One's set up shop by Berick's timberyard.'

  Once the would-be divorcees had been regimented into ranks, Hearst conducted a ceremony of his own devising, which saw him striding up and down between the ranks scattering handfuls of leaves from last year's autumn while shouting:

  'I divorce you! I divorce you! I divorce you!'

  Then, as the crowd began to break up, Hearst shouted:

  'Remember, I'm doing marriages tomorrow morning. So if you see anyone here you fancy, try them out tonight and be here by the morn's morn.'

  With the main business of the day evidently over, a few petitioners approached Hearst. He dealt with them swiftly, grinding one petition underfoot, slashing another with the steel hook-claw which served him instead of a right hand, and ordering one petitioner to go jump in the river (which, of course, he duly did). Thus it was with some uneasiness that Drake approached.

  On their last meeting, in Selzirk, Hearst had thought (rightly!) that he had seen Drake before. This time, the Rovac warrior's face showed not the slightest sign of recognition.

  'Who are you?' he said.

  Drake was hurt not to be recognized. He also found Hearst's brusque manner hard to take. After playing out elaborate charades of royalty for over a year at the Gates of Chenameg, Drake was still finding it hard to adjust to his present status as an ordinary citizen.

  'We met in Selzirk,' said Drake.

  'Why, maybe we did. Have you any idea the thousands I've met in my travels?'

  'I brought you a message from Elkor Alish.'

  'Ah ... I remember the message right enough, but not the messenger. Are you seeking reward after all these years?'

  'I seek the healer Miphon.'

  'Have you a pox, have you?'

  'My woman is sick.'

  'Then take her to Mystrel, Blackwood's wife. She's good with women things. Look, that place on the hill. See? That's the House of Health. Well, what are you waiting for? Hurry along!'

  So Drake hurried. When he reached Mystrel's House of Health, half way up Melross Hill, a birth was in progress, so he had to wait to see the healer. But, soon enough, out she came into the sunlight. She was as he remembered her from their previous meeting in Blackwood's house in Looming Forest: a work-worn middle-aged woman. She must have forgotten him entirely, for she asked straight out:

  'Are you the herbalist with the master-wort for sale?' 'No ... I come because my - my wife is sick.' 'And invisible into the bargain?' said Mystrel, looking around.

  'No, she's back at the town.' 'What, too sick to walk?' 'No, she—'

  'Then bring her here! I can't read disease at a distance!'

  Whereupon Drake hustled back to the town. At the inn, the innkeeper was still in conversation with his cronies.

  'Did your sword find service with the kings?' said the innkeeper.

  'Not yet,' said Drake.

  'Nay,' jeered one of the innkeeper's cronies. 'For—' The rest of what he said was in Churl, and Drake understood only enough to realize that something very rude was being said. Shrugging off the insult, he went to his rented room, where Zanya greeted him. Perhaps it was just Drake's imagination, but the blue sore at the side of Zanya's mouth seemed to have grown larger in his absence.

  'Come,' he said. 'We're going to see Mystrel.' 'Has she a cure?' said Zanya.

  T know not what she has,' said Drake. 'That we'll discover when we get there:' As they were leaving the inn, a voice cried: 'Hey!'

  'Keep walking,' murmured Drake to Zanya. 'Slowly.'

  But he heard footsteps behind, following them out into the hot sunlight. So he turned to face his danger. The innkeeper had come outside, three of his friends with him.

  'Yon woman's got a sore on her face,' said the innkeeper.

  'Aye,' said Drake. 'A gadfly bit her.' 'No gadfly ever bit blue. That's a leper you've got there. A blue leper.'

  'Man,' said Drake, 'whatever she is, we're leaving.' The innkeeper spat.

  'Leaving? To spread plague through Lorford? Oh, not so easy!'

  He nodded at one of his companions, who slipped away. To summon help? Doubtless. That left two men to back up the innkeeper. So Drake drew blade and challenged:

  'Which dies first?'

  The three scarpered at the sight of his steel. Once they had retreated into the inn, Drake sheathed his blade. He was fit, strong and long-breathed - but, even so, his br
eath was whipping in and out as quick as a frog's tongue, and his heart was hammering as if it had fifty knives to forge by nightfall. Turning to Zanya, he saw she was crying.

  'Love,' said Drake, 'none will hurt you while I've sword by my side.'

  'They hate me!' she said, crying the more.

  He kissed and soothed her as best he could, trying to appear calm although he was desperately impatient to be gone. Lorford was dangerous. When they did get clear of the town, he looked behind often to make sure there was no pursuit.

  Zanya was sweating heavily by the time they reached the House of Health. As they entered the cool shadows within, Mystrel greeted them. She examined Zanya's face, and became grave.

  'We have seen none of this for a season,' she said.

  'What is it?' asked Drake, hoping she would give him an answer different to the one he knew.

  'An illness,' said Mystrel. 'An illness which many fear. What is your name, love? Zanya? Then come in, Zanya, for there's a welcome for you amongst the women. We've met before, haven't we? I remember you by your red skin. Come! Why hesitate?'

  'I'll not come inside,' said Zanya, with what bravery she could muster. 'No, not if I'll spread sickness.'

  'This illness,' said Mystrel, with a glance at Drake. 'It's spread only when two lie together as a woman lies with a man.'

  Mystrel led Zanya into a room for women, which Drake was forbidden to enter. Then she returned, and took Drake aside for serious talk.

  'Likely you have the same disease yourself,' said Mystrel. 'Thus you must lie with no woman and with no man, or others will die of it.'

  She was still counselling him when a young woman interrupted them.

  'Shaga endevin, NickleV said Mystrel, slipping into her native Estral, a tongue unknown to Drake.

  'Inem preluce tint opsand,' replied the young woman.

  'Excuse me,' said Mystrel to Drake.

  She made for the door. Curious, Drake followed. Standing in the shadows, he saw a lanky young man standing out in the sunlight.

  'Oh no!' muttered Drake to Drake. 'Tell me it's not true!'