by Hugh Cook
He wished to unite them for war and for conquest. To bring Stokos under their yoke. To seize the Lesser Teeth. To build an army. And then to start empire-building in earnest.
Some men jeered, and Drake was one of them. Menator became angry.
'The Greater Teeth could control all the west of Argan,' said Menator. 'If only you could see it. But no. Here you sit, on your walrus-infested rocks-'
This provoked mirth in certain quarters, scowls in others. Menator, puzzled by this reaction, looked around carefully then continued:
'You sit on your rocks, fighting for fish with sharks and skua gulls, when you could rule in palaces of silk and gold, with hot wet women tight between your legs. All it takes is will. An alliance of will. Believe me.'
Promises of paradise will always find buyers, and Menator's speech met with an enthusiastic reception.
'So,' said Menator, thinking this was all going very nicely, 'is it agreed?'
'Hang about!' shouted several voices. 'We haven't heard the other side, yet,'
The pirates wanted a proper debate. They believed strongly in democracy: meaning, among other things, a full and frank discussion of issues of public importance. Menator, who had never before encountered such plebian lower-class attitudes (he came from the better class of Galish merchant, and had mixed with the right kind of people for most of his life) was shocked.Still, there was nothing he could do about it.
First speaker for the negative was Slagger Mulps, who provoked applause just by rising to his feet. Since he was so very tall, he could be seen by almost everyone. And his shock of green hair identified him even in that poor light. His supporters started to chant in unison:'Walrus! Walrus! Walrus!'
Raising one of his double-thumbed fists on high to acknowledge this applause, Slagger Mulps swaggered to the podium (a heap of ale casks stood on their ends) and Menator was forced to yield it to him. The din slowly died down.
Drake, who had brought along some dead fish, threw one. But missed Slagger Mulps – and hit Menator slap-bang in the face. There was a roar of applause. Some of Menator's men drew weapons – but their leader brought them to order with a few curt words.
'Boys,' said Slagger Mulps, with a grin. 'At least you can say this for the Teeth – we've got plenty of fish to spare.'(General applause. From Menator, a scowl.)
'And,' continued Slagger Mulps, 'if the Teeth are infested with Walrus, what's wrong with that?'
(Mixed laughter, cheers, boos. Several dead fish were thrown, but missed.)
'These rocks have got a lot going for them,' said Mulps. 'For a start, they're ours. Nobody else wants them. But once we go seeking hegemony over foreign lands, well, then we're into some really heavy competition.'
(More noise from the audience. A loud-voiced obscene joke about 'herd riding', which was the literal translation of the Galish Mulps had used to say 'hegemony'.)
'Of course,' said Mulps, 'we could do it if we really wanted to. World conquest would be easy compared to sharing these islands with the Warwolf.'
(Uproar. A walrus head was suddenly raised on a battle-spear in the middle of the crowd. Scuffles broke out, continuing until the head had been hauled down and kicked to pieces, thus ceasing to become an object of contention. Slagger Mulps, unperturbed, continued.)
'But, boys, why try enslave the world? We all know how useless slaves are. Won't work unless kicked, and then so tough in the arse you'll as like break your toes as bruise them. Free men work best, boys, as do they now – loading the finest silks and the silkiest women on ships which by the morrow, mark my words, will be idling straight toward our jaws.
'Boys, let's think real. A conquered city sounds sweet, but like as not we'd burn it down the first time we set out to party. Here's a cheer for the Teeth! The walls are solid. They don't rot, they don't burn, or crack if you smash a skull against them. Why, on rock like this, you could even break up the pig bones which skull-plate the Warwolf!'
(Renewed uproar, continuing until the Walrus, satisfied with his eloquence, bowed gracefully and yielded the podium to the next speaker.)
The next speaker was Atsimo Andranovory. The great big barrel-chested black-bearded brute confronted the audience in silence, swaying slightly. Drake, gazing on him with hatred, bitterly regretted the fact that he had no more fish left to throw. Suddenly, Andranovory gave a prodigious belch. Someone clapped. Someone cheered. Then Andranovory vomited – then collapsed. The whole gathering applauded this performance.
As the drunken sot was carried away, Jon Arabin took the stage.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' said Arabin, looking around. 'I mean, of course, the gentlemen of the Warwolf and the ladies of the Walrus, and-'
(Furious shouting. Raucous cheers. Prolonged fish-throwing, most of it, again, inaccurate.)
'Ladies and gentlemen – may I speak? – thank you! -much as it grieves me to agree with Slagger Mulps, he's given us a lot of common sense. He got it from the fish guts his mother weaned him on. And, in any case, as the saying goes, even a blind walrus knows a dog from a virgin's gracehole.'
(Pandemonium. An outbreak of predictable behaviour. Consequences of such behaviour, some of them bloodstained. Peace restored, mainly through use of cudgels.)
'Strange it is for Warwqlf to sing in harmony with Walrus,' said Arabin. 'But on this occasion, I can do nothing else. We've heard easy talk of conquest. Aye. Conquest of Stokos. But who here knows the place as more than a name? I tell you this – I do. For one of my crewmen is Drake Douay, a native of the place. A strong fellow, not lightly scared.'
Hearing such praise, Drake was filled with a glow of pride. Ah, Jon Arabin! He knew quality when he saw it!
'With Drake Douay,' said Jon Arabin, 'I've lately been planning a raid on Stokos, so I know the strengths of the place well. They've people by the tens of thousands. They make weapons for the world, so they won't be short of steel if it comes to a fight. Worse, they've a breed of ogres on that island.
'Twice the height of men they stand – aye, as tall as Whale Mike. Where are you, Mike? Ah, there he is – over there, in the corner. But Mike, he's slim compared to these ogres, for they're built near as wide as they stand tall. How can humans fight against such?
'If you ask me, this man Menator's got no true plans for conquest. Instead, he hopes to wish us away to Stokos, so we all get killed in senseless battles. Then he can rule the Teeth, while we rot in hell, getting laughed at by our ancestors. But even if we did win Stokos, what good would that do us? Not much, say I.'
Then Arabin outlined the case against empire, speaking fluently, cogently, and with much gutter-wit (compared to which, what had gone before was mild).
Arabin truly doubted that Stokos could be conquered by the Teeth. He also knew that any quest for empire would involve an enormous amount of killing. He would have to breed furiously to pay off his death-debt. Meaning more expense, and more squalling daughters cluttering his caves (why no sons?). And – he was starting to feel his age, perhaps – he just did not think he could stand it.
After Arabin, many minor luminaries spoke (including Bluewater Draven, captain of the good ship Tusk). Some were for, but most were against. The pirates of the Teeth were, for the most part, too idle, lazy, cowardly, shiftless and gutless to make good imperialists.
Finally, after some discussion – which left seven pirates dead – the proposal for empire was lost.
Menator, finding the pirates would not support his drive for empire, announced that he would satisfy his ambitions without pirate help. He planned to begin by conquering the Lessers.
However, since it was winter, and the weather was bad, it was scarcely the time to hazard the dangerous waters of the Lessers. Menator therefore exercised his men by raiding the coasts of Dybra and Chorst, carrying off skinny sheep and half-starved goats.
Meanwhile, Jon Arabin resumed planning for a raid on Stokos.
In some ways, Drake regretted the fact that Menator had failed to win pirate support for his dreams of conquest. Thei
r chances of success were small, but. . . what was the alternative?
The alternative was a lifetime of episodic raiding, long interludes of monotony, the shiftless company of drunken cronies, the repetitive comedy of the gambling tables . . .Which was not enough.For Drake wanted to make something of himself.
All through the years of his early youth he had imagined himself becoming, eventually, aswordsmith – a respected master craftsman whom the best men on Stokos would admire. When Muck's madness had ruined that dream, he had cherished ambitions of marrying into the royal family, or becoming a priest of the temple of Hagon. Now. . .
Now he was tempted to put his sword at Menator's service. Their chances were slim, yet. . .
We have but one life. If we don't get what we want from it, then what's the point of having it? Better slim odds for success than certain odds for defeat.
To stay a pirate was to be defeated. There was no job on the Teeth. No pride. No trust. Yet. . .
I'm scared, and that's the truth. This Menator's at least half mad. And. . . to leave Jon Arabin. . . why, that'd be a wrench, for sure…
Drake brooded about it while the winter rains and the winter seas launched onslaught after onslaught on the beleaguered desolations of the Teeth.
Thirty days after midwinter, Drake was practising a one-man kata in the privacy of his home cave when he was interrupted by Harly Burpskin.'What is it?' said Drake. 'Does Arabin wish to see me?''Nay, man,' said Burpskin. 'It's strangers.''Strangers?''They're sitting in the Inner Sleeve.'
'Pray, how sit they there when the water's a full three fathoms deep?'
'They're not swimming, man,' said Burpskin. 'They're on a ship.''What ship?' said Drake.'The Tarik:'I know it not,' said Drake. 'Where has it come from?''From Stokos.''Stokos!'
'Aye. With some mighty strange people aboard. Stranger still, when I mentioned we owned a Stokos boy, they proved to know you.'
Drake needed to hear no more, but hastened to the Inner Sleeve. Once he left the protection of the tunnel system, he found the day cold, moist and grey. Rain was falling from a coal-scuttle sky, dimpling the waters of the Inner Sleeve where floated helpless turds, drowned kittens, the corpse of a rat and several ships. One of the ships was a dingy thing painted in colours of earth and clay. A tarpaulin was stretched above her open hold.
'That's the Tarik,' said Burpskin. 'Go to the hold, man. You'll find a friend there.''A friend?'
'Aye,' said Burpskin, stepping back into the shelter of a tunnel.'Aren't you coming?' said Drake.'I've seen your friend once. That's enough for me.'
Drake looked dubiously at the Tarik. Was this a trap? Only one way to find out. . .
He walked through the rain, stepped onto the greasy gangplank, skidded, and almost fell. As he gained the deck, his heart was scrambling; he was panting with excitement. He strode toward the open hold.
Stout green bamboos held up a ragged brown tarpaulin in which an enormous weight of rainwater had pooled; the bamboos were bending beneath the load. Cautiously, quiet as a cockroach gliding through shadows under the threat of a hunting hammer, Drake eased himself in under the shelter of the tarpaulin and peered into the hold.
There in shivering gloom a great, sad creature sat on a pile of mouldy sacking. The creature was almost as wide as it was tall. Its shaggy black hair trailed down around the huge flaps of its ears. Its blue eyes, set amidst grey skin, looked tired and defeated. Light gleamed faintly on its downward-jutting tusks. It was King Tor.
Yes, Tor – who, by Sully Yot's account, had converted to this weird religion founded by Gouda Muck. Adherents of that faith believed Drake Douay to be the son of Hagon, the incarnation of absolute evil. So prudence dictated a retreat.
Yet Muck's but a mouth talking. And haven't I got a mouth myself? Aye. I'll argue it out with the king. I'll talk him sweet to sense – or die trying.'My lord
Tor looked up. He saw Drake. His nostrils flared. He came to his feet with a roar. As his head hit the tarpaulin, he thrust up with his arms. The water pooled in the tarpaulin was flung skywards. As it cascaded onto the deck, Tor roared, then shouted:
'Dreldragon! It's Dreldragon! Dreldragon Drakedon Douay!'
At his shout, men came bursting out of the cabins in the poop of the ship, and came racing down the wet, greasy deck, skidding and sliding as they came.Drake fled.
He sprinted over the water-wet deck, slipped, fell, bruised his shin, gained his feet – and ran straight into the arms of a tall broad-chested man.
Drake struggled. He tried to kick, claw, scratch, bite, butt, spit, punch and swear. But even swearing was nigh impossible with his enemy holding him so tight.
'Ease up, man,' said his captor, with something of a laugh. 'It's me.'Me? By the voice, 'me' was Heth.
Drake eased up, and looked at the face of the tall, well-built man (his hair as blond as Drake's) who was holding him now like a lover. It was indeed his brother Heth.'Heth,' said Drake. 'Oh, HethAnd began to weep with relief.
As the two brothers embraced, the rest of Tor's men gathered round. Amongst them was Levil Norkin, Drake's boyhood friend. And Oleg Douay, his uncle – the finest swordsmith on Stokos.
'Hey!' yelled King Tor, peering out of the hold. 'Come in out of the rain. Come down here – I don't want my finest fighting men dying of pernicious anaemia.'
On Stokos, it was a firmly-held belief that prolonged exposure to cold rain caused anaemia. Drake had endured so much bad weather on his adventures that he doubted it could be as destructive as Stokos thought – yet he willingly got himself out of the rain.
In long conversations with Heth, Tor and others, Drake learned of the disaster which had befallen Stokos. After Tor had converted to Goudanism, the temple of
Hagon had been destroyed. Goudanism had been made compulsory.
'It had its advantages,' said Tor. 'With the temple destroyed, the people spent little on whores and gambling. That made it much easier to collect taxes.''Aagh,' said Drake, and spat. 'Taxes!'
'Government costs money,' said Tor, 'and there's no way around it. Why, building roads alone – that's a heavy job for taxes.'
'Roads!' said Drake, with contempt, thinking he'd find much better ways to spend money if he were king.
'Roads,' said Tor, 'are necessary, look at it how you will. And they don't build themselves. Anyway – quite apart from the matter of money, the priests of Hagon had been taking more and more power for themselves. So I was glad to see them broken.''And then?' said Drake.
'Then Gouda Muck spoke madness. He said that only those born pure in flesh had rights to life. He set down codes for eyes, teeth, limbs, hands, hair and height. He declared all those not matched to his codes were evil.''And,' said Drake, 'you . . .?'
T was too tall to start with,' said Tor. 'His codes were built for humans. But I'm an ogre, and proud of it. What's wrong with being an ogre, I ask you?'
'Why, nothing,' said Drake. 'I honour ogres so greatly that I once asked to marry into your family. I'm still good to the offer, man. Where stands your daughter now?'
'My beautiful Hilda,' said Tor, 'is held prisoner on Stokos with her mother.'
And he began to weep. There are few things more lugubrious than an ogre in the depths of despair.
'Never mind,' said Drake. 'We'll rescue her. Aye. A war for Stokos! We'll win. Then chop up Gouda Muck, aye, cut him into seven thousand pieces.'
'With the help of the sea gods,' said Oleg Douay, cheerfully, 'we may well manage to do just that.''How stand things on Stokos now?' said Drake.
'After Muck made his codes,' said Heth, slowly, 'some tried to kill Tor. Others fought beside him. We lost.''Lost badly?' said Drake.'Badly enough,' said Heth.'Who rules then, on Stokos? Does Muck rule?'
'No,' said Heth. 'He's set up Sudder Vemlouf as ruler. Perhaps you've heard of him.'
'Aye, that I have,' said Drake. 'He was Muck's neighbour for year on year. I met him last in Narba, where he tried to kill me. He thinks me the son of Hagon.'
'If you are the s
on of the Demon,' said King Tor, through tears, 'then I'm with you all the way. Muck talks purity, but what that means is death, murder, blood, killing, the overthrow of rightful rule, the end of law, mad torture, fear, suspicion, and worse.'
'If we struck at Stokos with force,' said Drake, 'how many living there would help us?'
'Many,' said Heth. 'For many favour Muck only since they thought he'd win. If once they thought he'd lose, they'd sing different, that's for certain.'
'But before we can talk of striking,' said Oleg Douay, 'we must have strength to strike with. The gods help those who help themselves, you know.''You must,' said Drake, 'meet a man called Menator.''Who's he?'said Tor.
'He was once king in a place called Talajar, which is in the Ravlish Lands,' said Drake. 'When he lost his kingdom in war, he fled. He came to the Greaters with five ships, three hundred men and half his own weight in gold. Since then, he's been trying to persuade us pirates to a war of empire.''Why talk of yourself as a pirate?' said Tor.
'Why, man, for sake of honesty,' said Drake. 'For that's what I be, right now.'
'No,' said Tor, laying one of his immense hands on Drake's shoulder. 'You are a warlord in the armies of Stokos. You are the betrothed of my daughter, with all that that implies. I name you Lord Dreldragon; I name you heir to the kingdom of Stokos.'
Drake saw Heth grinning at him. Olegy Douay was smiling, obviously pleased. Levil Norkin gave him a clenched-fist salute. Drake felt giddy. Then, unable to help himself, he shouted his triumph to the world, with all the strength and eloquence at his command:'Wow!'
Menator swiftly came to agreement with King Tor. If Menator supported Tor in the conquest of Stokos, then Tor would give men, gold, weapons and ships to help Menator win an empire. His position bolstered by this agreement, Menator once more sought to win agreement from the pirates.
Drake was now wildly enthusiastic at the prospect of an invasion of Stokos. They would win. He would marry Hilda. And then he would find someone who knew where Zanya Kliedervaust had gone to, and he would send agents forth into the world to hunt her down then drag her back to Stokos to be his pleasure woman.
