The Walrus and the Warwolf coaaod-4

by Hugh Cook

  'How did he know of this Burntos place since he's never been this far south?' said Drake.

  'Oh, we hear of this place in Narba,' said Bucks Cat. 'It's no secret.'

  'Well,' said Drake, 'if you never planned to dare the terror-lands – how come everyone was so hot to hear my stories?'

  'Why, for you tell a good tale, and that's reason enough,' said Bucks Cat. 'Besides – we're not home dry, are we? If there's no monster for sale ashore, maybe we will have to hunt one.'

  And, thought Drake, maybe, even if they secured a monster, bad weather would see the Walrus endure some adventures as wild as those which had befallen the Warwolf in the waters of the Drangsturm Gulf. Though he had to admit the weather had treated them fair enough so far – the Walrus had had dry skies, hot days and favourable breezes ever since leaving Narba.

  Drake was on the first boat which went ashore to Burntos. The others with him were Bucks Cat, Ish Ulpin and Slagger Mulps. In honour of the occasion, the Walrus had shed his sealskins, and had dressed himself in silken robes embroidered with astrological symbols. Drake thought he looked daft – but the green-haired man was obviously very pleased with his appearance.The boat scraped against stones.

  Drake jumped into the sea, and helped haul the boat ashore. A single old man was picking his way along the shore, gathering driftwood. Otherwise, nobody was in sight.

  'Hey,' yelled Bucks Cat. 'You got any monsters for sale?'

  The old man paid them no attention. 'Maybe he speaks no Galish,' said Drake. 'Maybe he's deaf,' said Slagger Mulps. 'Maybe,' said Ish Ulpin, 'selling monsters is against his religion.''Chel!' said Slagger Mulps, meaning 'avanti!'

  And led the way toward the low-slung buildings. Massive buildings. Built of huge stone. Slit windows. Strange, narrow doors.

  'Drake,' said Slagger Mulps, as they came on the nearest building. 'Inside. Sus it out.'

  Drake, with some trepidation, ventured through the narrow door. He found himself in a long, cool, gloomy room. On either side were rows of pallets. On every pallet were identical stacks of folded blankets and folded clothing. At the end of every pallet was a pair of boots. A little dust danced in the shafts of sunlight come through the slit windows.Drake went outside.'Man,' he said, 'this place is for sleeping.'

  They explored further. Finally, surmounting a small rise, they gained a view of a huge paved square. Half a thousand men – or were they statues? – were standing there. In rows. Spears in hand. Utterly motionless.'Here's our people,' said Slagger Mulps.'A parade,' said Ish Ulpin.And spat, in disgust.'What are they doing?' said Drake, bewildered.

  'Soldier stuff,' said Bucks Cat. 'This is – this is kind of holy. I've seen it in the Rice Empire. We'd better stay clear till they've finished.'Drake watched.Nothing happened.

  Were these real soldiers? Impossible! Surely they were statues. Then-

  One of the spearmen went down. Crunch. Falling flat on his face on the paving stones. He stayed down. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Shadows shifted slightly as the sun eased itself across the sky. A fly settled on Drake's face and began to feed. He slapped it. Then was embarrassed by the noise. But nobody looked in his direction. A tiny dust-devil whirled across the courtyard, then faded to nothing.The soldier who had collapsed was still flat on his face. 'Craziness,' muttered Drake.And turned away from the parade. If everyone on the island was going to stand paralysed in the sun, maybe this was a good time to go looting. He wandered off amongst the buildings, peering through the slit windows. Eventually, he came upon a kitchen. Inside were upwards of a dozen women, hard at work preparing corn and potatoes for a meal.'Flesh is hope,' said Drake.

  And dared himself to the door of the kitchen. Being as attractive to women as he was, with any luck he could chat up one of the ladies and get in a quick one before the soldiers finished their daft parade.

  As Drake stepped into the kitchen, the women stopped their work and looked at him. A couple spoke to each other in some foreign tongue, then giggled.'Hi, girls,' said Drake.

  As he spoke, a tall red-skinned woman came out of a side room, her arms white to the elbows with flour. She glanced at him indifferently. Was it . . . Zanya? Yes! It was Zanya!'Zanya!' yelled Drake.

  She looked at him again, shrugged, picked up a rolling pin and retreated into the room she had come from. Drake hastened to the door of that room. And was met by a brawny purple-skinned man who was not entirely a stranger.'Greetings, Oronoko,' said Drake.'Fa'unu a'fukutu,' said Oronoko.

  And scooped up Drake, carried him to the door of the kitchen, and threw him outside in the dust.

  17

  Zanya Kliedervaust: priestess of the Orgy God of the Ebrell Islands; renounced her position and formally abjured alcohol, sexual intercourse, sunbathing, the eating of sweet things and all the other pleasures of the flesh after seeing her mother, father, brothers, sisters, cousins, uncles and aunts die of venereal disease, alcoholism and obesity.

  Quit Ebrell and travelled west in the company of Prince Oronoko of Parengarenga, questing for purity. Arriving at Cam on the xebec which rescued Drake Douay from the Central Ocean, sought work at the leprosarium.

  Was converted to the worship of the Flame by Gouda Muck; became an apostle for Goudanism and left Stokos to preach the Faith in foreign parts.

  The wizard Miphon was cleaning a xyster when Drake Douay was brought into his clinic by one of the women from the kitchen. Blood was dripping through Drake's blond hair and sleeking down his weather-battered sealskins. A drop of dark red fell soundlessly to the cool grey flagstones of the floor.

  'Welcome,' said Miphon, speaking in the Galish Trading Tongue; and, smiling to reinforce his welcome, he laid the xyster down on a well-scrubbed table of sun-bleached driftwood.'Tach smin hebalar,' said the woman from the kitchen.

  Miphon, who did not speak her language, waved her out of the clinic. Choosing to misinterpret this gesture, she

  seated herself in one of the clinic's five bamboo chairs.'Out!' said Miphon sharply, clapping his hands twice.

  Reluctantly, curiosity unappeased, the woman left. Miphon pointed Drake to a bamboo chair, which creaked as the bloodstained pirate sat.'Have you been fighting?' said Miphon.

  'Nay, man,' said Drake, looking around the clinic. His gaze lingered on a remarkable array of delicate steel instruments – hooks, blades', tweezers, spikes and probes. With luck, he could slip a couple into his pockets. Whale Mike might like them for his scrimshaw work. 'I was testing my powers of flight when my wings fell off.''How far did you fall?''Half way from here to Narba.'

  'And you hit your head. What's the last thing you remember?'

  'Why, the death and resurrection of the star-dragon Bel. A whore who turned into a horse as she came. Five dozen oysters dancing drunk in the streets of Narba. Why all these daft questions, man? I'm bleeding to death!'

  'A little blood,' said Miphon, 'goes a long way. Tell me – what do you see?'So saying, the green-eyed wizard held up three fingers.

  'See?' said Drake. 'Why, I see a blind rat mating with a seagull. Aye, and four blue lepers hauling a giant cockroach backwards up a mountain.''That's near enough,' said Miphon.

  And, turning away, the wizard began to wash his hands in a bowl of water. Drake smelt something strange. What? Oh – soap. He remembered his sister using it a couple of times. Swift and sly, he reached out, grabbed a couple of tiny cutlass-curved blades from a nearby bench and slipped them into a pocket. Miphon, shaking the water off his hands, turned back to Drake and began examining his scalp.

  'I'm the wizard Miphon,' he said, easing Drake's hair this way and that as he explored the damage.T know that,' said Drake. 'We met on Stokos. Ow!

  That's sore! Hey – you really don't remember me?'

  'In busy times,' said Miphon, T can see upwards of a hundred people a day. How can I remember all of them?'

  Drake felt insulted.

  'But I was special!' he said. 'You told me a tale about you being a mind-reading elf. You gave me a philtre to cure myself of love.'


  'Oh,' said Miphon, pouring water from a ewer into a clean bowl. 'Oh … I remember now.' He balanced the bowl on the back of Drake's chair, the hard edge of it against the nape of Drake's neck. 'Lean back. I've got to wash the blood out of your hair. Hmmm … I remember you all right. But the name . . . that escapes me.''I'm Arabin lol Arabin,' said Drake.

  The lie came easily. It was a smart move. Who knows? This wizard could have converted to Gouda Muck's cult. He might be one of those who was hunting Drake, thinking him the son of the demon Hagon.

  'Arabin lol Arabin,' said Miphon. 'I won't forget you when we meet again.''We'll never meet again.'

  'It's a small world,' said Miphon. 'Hmmm . . . this looks good . . . the bleeding's more or less stopped.''That's health for you,' said Drake.

  Miphon laid aside the bowl of blood-misted water. Taking a sharp blade, the wizard began to shave hairs on either side of the gash where Drake's scalp had been torn as his head hit the ground when the purple-skinned Oronoko threw him out of the kitchen.

  'How much hair are you cutting away?' said Drake in alarm.'Does it matter?' said Miphon.

  'It matters much! Man, there's a beautiful red-breasted woman I want to make. I can hardly court her if you've cut me half bald.''You're after the Kliedervaust woman?' said Miphon.'That's her.'Miphon laughed.

  'You won't get her,' he said. 'She's in the clutches of faith. She preaches the defiance of the flesh.''And what do you think of that?'

  'Flesh,' said Miphon, 'is that through which we live. No flesh, no life. Of course, flesh is but the medium in which our existence finds expression. The expression of existence is not to be confounded with the inspiration of that expression. Mere hedonism would exult the medium at the expense of the inspiration. So perhaps her doctrine is a necessary corrective for certain trends.'

  'Man,' said Drake, 'you make a right proper tangle out of simple language. What did you mean to say? That you agree with this talk of purity? Or that you don't?'

  'That I both do and don't,' said Miphon. 'It is both wise and foolish. Something, perhaps, could be made of it in time.'

  'There speaks a wizard! Hey, man – just how much hair are you cutting?'

  'Just enough so I've clear skin to sew up this gash with cat-gut.'

  'Cat-gut!' said Drake, scandalized. 'The gut of a cat? In me? Man, that's disgusting. Why not dog-gut?'

  'Because the dog,' said Miphon, 'is a foul, polluted animal which has nothing to offer the healing arts.' He took up a curved needle from which a length of dark thread trailed. 'This thread is the cat-gut. Hold still, now. This will hurt.'

  And he began to sew up the gash in Drake's scalp. With cat-gut.

  'Man,' said Drake, doing his best to ignore the bright silver pain of the needle, 'tell me. How long has this Zanya Kliedervaust been here?'

  'I've been here ninety days myself,' said Miphon, tying a knot. 'She was here when I came. She preaches nightly to the troops.'

  'Surely she must have preached to every soldier here long, long ago.''The garrison,' said Miphon, guiding pain again into

  Drake's flesh, 'rotates. These soldiers are from the Landguard of the Confederation of Wizards. They guard the castles ranged along Drangsturm; they patrol the shores; they hunt down the few stray monsters which escape our scrutiny and flee to the mountains north of the flame trench.''They work … for wizards, then?''Yes.'

  'So you, as a wizard,' said Drake, 'do you command this island?'

  'I've a commander's power on Burntos if I choose to use it,' said Miphon. 'I've a warrant from the Confederation to prove that power. But I've more sense to try that power except under the pressure of necessity.'

  'Man, power is for using. That's half the fun of having it.'

  Miphon made no reply to that, but finished off his sewing. Drake had got blood on his hands. Miphon sponged the blood away. Which was unnecessary, but. . . nice. The touch of his firm, competent hands was . . . strangely relaxing.

  Having cleaned the hands, Miphon started removing bloodstains from Drake's sealskins.

  'No need for that,' said Drake, standing. 'The job's done, aye. Done well. I'll be off now. Oh – but I'll need a bandage for my head first.'

  'For what do you need a bandage?' said Miphon. 'Fresh air and sunlight, that's the thing. Whoever does the doctoring on your ship, get them to check your wound daily.''How do you know of the ship?' said Drake.

  'Do you think your vessel stands invisible?' said Miphon. 'This island is well-watched, though you may not have noticed the watchers. Everyone on Burntos knew of your ship long, long before your rowing boat ever reached for the shore.''Why so much effort spent watching?' said Drake.'Because experience tells us it's necessary,' said Miphon.And, dipping a hand into the pocket where Drake had hidden the blades he had filched off the bench, Miphon recovered his cutlery.

  'Man!' said Drake, wide-eyed with wonder. 'How did those fancy little blades get in there? They must be magic, man! They must have flown through the air and slipped themselves inside there, for I swear I never touched them.'

  'I'd find it hard to believe you,' said Miphon, 'except that I did indeed see them fly through the air and hide themselves in your pocket.'

  'How did you manage to see that, when you were looking the other way at the time?'

  'Being of elven descent,' said Miphon dryly, 'I have invisible eyes in the back of my head.'

  On leaving Miphon's clinic, Drake thought about going back to the kitchen. No! Not a good idea! He had no chance against Oronoko. Better to wait till evening came. Then Zanya would preach. He would watch. Look for an opportunity.

  A little time, that's all I need. A little time alone with the woman. Man, when she knows I've been chosen as the next king on Stokos, she'll be hot to have me. Surely.

  One thing was for certain: he was not leaving Burntos without Zanya. But for the moment. . .

  Find the Walrus. Aye. He'll be wondering where I've got to.

  The sun was well up. The island was baking. Oven-dry. Wet patches of mirage shimmered on the barren rock. How do soldiers survive?

  Drake tried to imagine a soldier's life. Day after day on this lifeless rock. The inhuman discipline of parades. Inescapable routines. Not much variety in the food, either, if what he'd seen in the kitchen was anything to go by.

  He saw, in the distance, a few stray figures standing beside a long, low, isolated building. His comrades? Only one way to find out. . .

  On closing the distance, Drake found his captain in conversation with two officers of the Landguard, who looked very smart indeed in their skyblue uniforms and their red leather open-weave sandals. Drake wondered what chance he had of stealing one of those uniforms. It would look real good on him, once the useless height had been cut out of it.

  Slagger Mulps did not bother to greet Drake. He was talking money. His double-thumbed fists gesticulated as he emphasized his points.'Where's the others?' said Drake.

  Mulps did not condescend to notice him, but continued talking. His hands squeezed air, chopped it, shaped, thrusted and sliced. A dance of digital articulation, a counterpoint to his voice.

  '. . . must understand our funds are not unlimited. I'm working under strict limitations, as I'm only an agent for a-foreign buyer; I've got scant discretionary powers. You've already heard my uppermost offer.'

  Man, friend Walrus is talking slick today! How came he by such slackness? Maybe he's a king in exile. Aye. Like King Tor. Like Menator, too. So many kings! A plague of kings. . .

  'You must be getting a commission,' said one of the officers. 'If you really want to close the deal, perhaps you'll have to sacrifice a few percentage points of that commission. Because what you call your uppermost offer is in fact – and I'm sure you're aware of the fact – close to farcical. Our product is unique. You can't buy it elsewhere.'

  ' Yes,' said Mulps.' But demand is minimal. That colours the case somewhat, does it not?'

  Drake, losing interest in this dickering, wandered round the windowless building. He fou
nd a huge iron-studded sliding door at its southern end. Strange. He kicked it. The door rattled slightly. Then shook with a thunderous crash, as if a giant had kicked back from within. Startled, Drake leapt back.'Who's there?' he said.No answer.

  He continued his circumnavigation of the building. Right down at the northern end he found a slim doorway leading into the gloom.

  Dare I? I'm Drake Douay. Of course I dare!

  He went through the door, and found a narrow passage which twisted left, then right, then left again, before opening into a small room lit by a slim overhead light-shaft. Bucks Cat and Ish Ulpin were there, down on their hands and knees staring into what looked like a giant mousehole.'Hi,' said Drake. 'What're you looking at?''A monster,' said Bucks Cat.

  'Let's see,' said Drake, and knelt down in front of the hole, which was large enough for him to have crawled through had he wanted to.

  He found himself looking into a long hall, dimly lit by overhead lightshafts. Something was in there. What? He saw a gleam of something cool white, like ivory. A tusk? A feeding spike! There was a Neversh in there. Drake's knees began to ache from kneeling on the stone, but he did not rise. He was fascinated.'Amazing,' he said. 'How did they get it in there?'

  'The Neversh flew to the island,' said Ish Ulpin. 'It found all meat fled within the stone. Seeking flesh, it went through the only door – then some hero closed the door and trapped it.'

  'But why would a Neversh go into this – this trap if there was no meat within.'

  'Oh, there was meat,' said Ish Ulpin. 'It's done like this. A few people stand by the large doorway to tempt the Neversh inside. Then they flee to this end of the building and escape through the bolthole which you're looking at.'

  'Man,' said Drake, with a shudder, 'they'd need to be heroes indeed to risk a face-to-face with a brute like that. I'm glad I'm not such a hero.''Of course you're such a hero,' said Ish Ulpin.

  And he and Bucks Cat grabbed Drake. They forced him into the bolthole.

  'Yaaa!' screamed Drake, struggling, bruising his shoulders on the walls of the giant mousehole.