The Walrus and the Warwolf coaaod-4 Page 9

  From the deck, Drake looked around with eyes which had widened to accommodate the gloom. Overhanging cliffs tossed around the echoes of boots on stone, harsh laughter and shipwork hammering. The place stank of sewage, smoke and fish heads. Dogs were barking, babies bawling, and fat women yelling in a Galish patois at times scarcely comprehensible.

  'Come along, boy,' said Jon Arabin, striding down the gang-plank. 'What are you waiting for? A whore-money proposition?'

  Dumbly, Drake followed his new master – wishing, for a moment, that he was a fish, free to take the sea-path back to Stokos. They fumbled their way down cockroach-haunted tunnels to Arabin's living quarters, where a confusion of women and children filled the air with tears and laughter.

  Drake was shown a place where he could sleep, a side-kennel in Jon Arabin's cave complex. It was a warehouse of sorts, holding baulks of spare timber, buckets of tar, lobster pots, fishing floats, harpoons, chunks of cork and hundreds of odds and ends of rope.

  'You say you know rope, boy,' said Arabin. 'Well, have we got work for you! Look on it as a challenge. Do you accept?'

  'Plen pro!' said Drake in his native Ligin, meaning 'avec plaisir'.

  And he sat down on the spot and began rummaging through the ropes. Jon Arabin laughed.'Lunch first!' said he.

  Lunch was three different kinds of seaweed, assorted seaslugs, lobster, whore's-eggs, raw fish and roast seal, all obtained locally. Drake was glad he had learnt that raw fish was safe to eat – otherwise he might have disgraced himself by accusing Jon Arabin of trying to poison him.'Good fish,' he said.

  ' You' 11 find, boy,' said Arabin, 'that the Teeth must feed themselves, more or less. You'll be busy enough when the Warwolf's home. Aye. Working sealing boats and fishing.''Do I start that after lunch?' said Drake.

  'Nay,' said Arabin, with another laugh. 'After lunch, it's ropes. Rope is your future, boy, till I say otherwise.'

  Drake was glad he had not been bluffing about rope. He knew knots and splices, and used them well, fashioning serviceable rope from the wreckage he was given to work with. At first he worked without ceasing, thinking himself a slave. But Jon Arabin paid little attention to his rope production, so Drake soon eased up.

  And, before very long, he discovered that they practised religion here, too, albeit in a fairly disorganized fashion.

  Jon Arabin gave Drake some beer money. Once he had mastered this strange coinage – a mixture of brass triangles, bronze hexagons and copper squares, all written over with alien hieroglyphics – he multiplied it through cards. No pirate played without cheating, but, as the saying goes on Stokos, 'The Demon takes care of his own.' Drake reaped the rewards of the truly devout.

  After scarcely five days on Gufling, he had made himself so unpopular by his large-scale winnings that nobody on the island would play with him.

  'Never mind,' said Arabin, when he heard of Drake's plight. 'After our next trip, we'll buy back into Knock. There's ten times the people there.'Knock, Drake learned, was the largest of the Teeth.'And when is the next trip?' he asked.'We leave tomorrow,' said Arabin.That night, Drake indulged himself with wild imaginings in which rape, slaughter and pillage took pride of place. However, the next day, as they laboured at the tedious business of putting the Warwolf to sea – more warping, towing and sounding – he learned, to his disappointment, that on this trip they were to be engaged in strictly legitimate trade.

  To be precise, they were going to make the pearl run down to Ling, about a thousand leagues away, in the Drangsturm Gulf. Few would dare the pearl-run risks, not even pirates. But Jon Arabin, who had chanced it first a decade ago, risked it every second year.

  After much labour, they cleared Gufling and set a course for the south. As pirates nimbled through the rigging, Drake wondered when he'd be taken in hand and shown how it was done. He was sure he'd manage splendidly. He was still wondering when a filthy mumbling old man confronted him. The ancient looked Drake up and down with rheuming eyes that were three parts blind, bared his lips to show toothless gums, and said:'You Drake?'

  T do have the honour of being Dreldragon Drakedon Douay, a pirate of the Greater Teeth and a henchman of the honourable Jon Arabin, whom I hope to serve well,' said Drake, with all the dignity he could muster.

  'Aye,' said the old man, with a cackle. 'You'll serve him well enough. Come with me!'

  Drake, not knowing what to expect, followed warily, a hand on the hilt of the dirk Jon Arabin had let him keep after their brusque introduction on the Gaunt Reefs. The old man mumbled to himself as they ventured into the fumbling gloom below decks. Drake caught snatches of his monologue:

  '. . . yes . . . valley . . . she and her twat. . . good gold and biting. . .oh you were pretty. . . hot bread for forking . . . dragons may say. . .what's with the warthog. . .'

  And more of the same, punctuated with cackles of laughter and the odd bit of shadow-boxing.

  Down and down they went, until they came to the deepest, darkest, dirtiest bit of the ship, where a guttering seal-oil lamp fouled the air with smoke, where rats sat on their hind legs screaming defiance, where the scuttling cockroaches were a handful apiece, where the air stank of stale cheese, grease, old fish, dead cat, offal, soft carrots and rotten potatoes. Four charcoal stoves were burning, so it was hot – as hot as sharing a bed with five fat whores and fifty pairs of woollen socks.

  'Where are we?' asked Drake with something very much like dread, fearing that he knew the answer already.'We're in the klandlay, boy.''The kitchen?''Aye, that's a name for it.''And what – well, what am I meant to do here?'

  'Why so many questions when you already know the answers?' said the ancient.

  He plunged his hands into a bucket of white fluid -milk? – and retrieved half a dozen eggs. What happened next would not bear description – but the crew ate the results at meal time.

  So Drake abandoned dreams of larking in the rigging, of swashing onto merchant ships with cutlass in hand, of blooding virgins and breaking into treasure chests. He settled, instead, to life as the cook's boy, helping prepare and dish up meals of salt pork, seal meat, sea biscuit, salted cod, stockfish, bacon, grey peas, and rye-flour cakes fried in whale oil and served with a dole of vinegar.

  As the ship ploughed south, Drake adapted to life in the fo'c'sle, a crowded bunkroom continually damp with sea-gear and loud with coughing, snoring, sneezing, scratching, farting, gossip and argument. He found it hard to make friends as the crew blamed him (not, it must be admitted, entirely without justification) for some of the more appalling culinary disasters they endured.

  In the fo'c'sle there were, amongst others, a huge foul-mouthed muscle man called Quin Baltu; Jon Disaster, who liked to be thought of as hard and dangerous; Raggage Pouch, who stole anything and everything that was not nailed down; Harly Burpskin, who had more money than sense, but was evening up the balance by playing cards with Drake.

  There was also Ika Thole, a red-skinned red-haired harpoon man from the Ebrell Islands. Naturally, he reminded Drake of the high-breasted Zanya Kliedervaust, whom he had last seen at Cam's leper colony. Drake, homesick, lovesick, was eager to learn all he could of Zanya's homeland. He asked Thole to speak of the Ebrells – but Thole slapped him down, called him 'you greasy little quat', called him worse, and refused to have anything to do with him.

  Even Burpskin, though he was prepared to challenge Drake at cards, could scarcely be counted as a friend. Drake sensed that there were strong bonds of trust and friendship between the crewmen, however much they quarrelled and fought. Working the canvas, riding out whatever weather the Central Ocean assailed them with, they relied on each other for their very lives. Drake, working as he did in the galley, was excluded from this great partnership. He was a lower order of life entirely.

  He started to lust for the day when he too would be a sailor, hauling on ropes, running out along the yard-arm, standing watches at night, spitting on his fellows from the crow's-nest. . .

  But when he asked Jon Arabin for permissio
n to get started on real sailor work, his captain just laughed, patted him on the head and said:'Wait till you grow to man-height.'

  Which, naturally, infuriated Drake almost beyond measure. He would have consoled himself by getting drunk. However, with the exception of gambling, the consolations of religion were unobtainable on this dry ship. Consequently, their voyage seemed to last forever. But they were scarcely twenty days from the Teeth when, by night, they sighted a glow on the eastern horizon.

  Drake saw it when he went to relieve himself at the ship's head, a perilous place built out above the water. He met Ika Thole, there for the same purpose.

  'That's Drangsturm, boy,' said Thole, feeling congenial because he had just come off watch.

  'The flame trench,' said Drake, to show that he knew what it was all about. While he resented being addressed as 'boy', he,was glad Thole had condescended to speak to him at all.'Aye,' said Thole.

  And they said no more about it, but stood for some time watching those barbecue skies. The ever-burning fires of Drangsturm ran from west to east across the narrow isthmus which separated the Drangsturm Gulf from the Inner Waters. In strongholds such as the Castle of Controlling Power, members of the Confederation of Wizards stood guard, ready to repel any monsters of the Swarms which managed to get beyond Drangsturm.

  Both Thole and Drake knew the easy motion of the ship was taking them steadily toward the horrors of the terror-lands beyond the protection of the flame trench. Shortly, the ship changed course. Near Drangsturm, the coast made an elbow and ran west. Ling lay some seventy-five leagues (as bird-flight measures distance) along that coast. So west ran the Warwolf.

  That night, in his dreams, Drake did battle with the monsters of the Swarms, which he knew well enough from songs and legends common on Stokos. He dreamed that the awesome might of the flame trench failed; that the fantastic wizard-castles fell to ruin in war; that the Swarms came north; that the ancient enemy marched on Narba, on Veda, even on the towers of Selzirk the fair.

  Drake woke when Shewel Lokenshield thumped him in the face with a dead fish.'Grumph!' snorted Drake, waking in a great hurry.

  'Keep the noise down,' growled Lokenshield. 'You were groaning like a sow in heat.''Nightmares,' said Drake, by way of explanation.

  'Man,' said Lokenshield, in disgust, 'if you're having bad dreams already, you'll be sleeping screaming by the time we get to Ling!'

  Moments later, Lokenshield was asleep again. But Drake lay sleepless, sweating in the hot, dank fug of the fo'c'sle. Worrying about Ling. Now it was so close, he was truly beginning to realize the risks they were running.

  By dawn, theNvind had died away to almost nothing. The Warwolf floated in sunlit seas with only the lightest of airs to gentle her sails. They were running – well, idling – some twenty leagues north of the coast, a featureless blue-green line on the horizon.

  'The terror-lands,' said Jon Disaster grandly, indicating the coast to the south. 'Home of the Swarms.'

  T suppose,' said Drake hopefully, 'that the Swarms couldn't get to us from the shore.'

  'Oh, the greatest of them,' said Disaster, 'they could fly, well, they could damn-near fly from here to Stokos.'

  'Oh,' said Drake, feeling younger and less certain than he had for years, and hurried down below to the comparative security of the galley.

  The Warwolf cruised along the coast to Peninsular Quanat. She rounded Cape Songala then dared the narrow strait between Quanat and Island Va. Then ran by night for Ling. Drake was up bright and early, curiosity defying fear.

  'What's that island?' he said, pointing to a considerable chunk of offshore rock.

  'That's Ko,' said Jon Disaster. 'That's where the pearls are.'

  'If we know where they are,' said Drake, 'why do we trade for them? Why don't we go get some for ourselves?'Jon Disaster laughed, and made no answer.

  Shortly, the anchor slid away to the sandy bottom of Ling Bay. Drake scanned the daunting cliffs, which were punctured with holes, caves, tunnels, shafts, windows, embrasures and vents.

  'What's that which glitters?' he said, shading his eyes against the sun.'Quartz in the rock,' said Jon Disaster.

  'Quartz?' said Drake, who knew nothing of any geology saving certain iron-yielding ores and the coal-strata near his parents' home.

  'Quartz is cheap crystal,' said Disaster. 'Aye, you'll see soon enough.'

  Looking down into the cool, clear water, Drake saw great globular crabs picking their way across the sands like so many crawling skulls. Skylarking pirates dived to the sea, ducked each other under and wagered as to how far down the anchor cable they could swim. Drake was not tempted to join them. He was far too tense to play idle water-games.'Shouldn't we be keeping a watch?' he said.'A watch?' said Disaster. 'Whatever for?''The Swarms, of course.'

  'Boy, like as not they'll never come. Inland, water's scarce, and little water means few of them. It's only the flying ones to fear. If those come – well, it'll be a hundred as like as one.'

  Drake shuddered. What on earth was he doing here? He should be back on Stokos, yes. Stokos where he would one day be king. Or would he? Would Drake's theft of a mastersword and his subsequent disappearance prejudice King Tor against him? Well, just possibly . . .

  But he had a legitimate excuse! If Muck had taught him properly, he would have endured everything, anything. Surely Tor would understand that. Wouldn't he?

  Drake thought; Well, even if I don't get to marry Tor's daughter, I could always become a priest.

  Yes. That would suit him right down to the ground. If he couldn't be king, he'd be a priest instead, devoting his life entirely to religion. Yes. He'd teach his temple's women himself, personally, one by one, to ensure quality control. He was surprised he'd never thought of the idea before.

  'What you thinking about?' said Disaster, seeing Drake's abstracted expression.'Screwing,' said Drake.

  He stared again at the cliffs. There was still no sign of the natives of the place. Were they dead? Killed out by the Swarms, perhaps?

  'Why doesn't Arabin send a longboat ashore?' said Drake.

  'It's best to let the Ling take their own good time,' explained Disaster. 'They're not much used to strangers, for few come south by sea.''And by land?' said Drake.Disaster laughed.

  'It's fearful rough country inland,' he said. 'As far as I know, even Southsearchers venture here near to never. You know Southsearchers, boy?'

  'Aye,' said'Drake knowledgeably, though most of what he knew was vague.

  At last, late in the afternoon, the Ling did venture out. They came in small outrigger canoes cobbled together from scraps of driftwood. They were a strange breed of tall, lean people with golden skins: not the glossy golden brown of an oiled suntan, but the high-pitched glittering sheen of the noble metal itself.'Have they painted themselves?' said Drake.

  'Nay,' said Disaster. 'That's their natural colour. They're a strange folk, as I've said. Their eyes are milk-white entirely, but for the black of the pupil.''You've seen?' said Drake.

  'I've seen many things. Including the Ling stained red with blood, aye, blood from some poor fool they'd ripped asunder. They did it with fish-hooks.'

  Drake, fascinated, listened to the gory details of the outre tortures Disaster proceeded to describe.

  The Ling hailed the Warwolf, but not in Galish. Jon Arabin shouted back to them, and a regular palaver began in some lingo utterly alien to Drake – and, indeed, to most of the crew.

  'The females would fetch a good woman-price,' said

  Drake sagely, eyeing the distant bodies and wondering if their eyes really were all white.

  'Aye, and it'd be worth our lives to take them,' said Disaster.

  'They don't look very dangerous to me,' said Drake, with the sense of superiority which comes naturally to a big ship's sailor looking down on some little canoes.

  'Oh, they're regular fierce!' exclaimed Disaster. 'Haven't you been listening to what I've been saying?'

  'Oh, it made a nice story,' said Drake, 'but
no people could really be as cruel as you've said. Surely.'

  'Believe me!' said Disaster. 'They're straight out of a nightmare, this lot. Aye, and when it comes to women, that's when they're worst. Why, if you so much as look at one of their females, they'll cut your eyes out.''In truth?'

  'Aye, I've seen it myself. Fearfully bad it was. Our last trip, our bosun raped a lass in that sea-cave there, the big one where that canoe's just coming out. Well, he thought himself safe enough once back aboard, but they took him by night, believe me. We found him come morning, floating face-down in the water just off the stern. He'd been skinned alive, to start with. His prick had been – eh, look, they're coming in.'

  An agreement must have been reached, for the Ling canoes were closing with the ship. Drake saw Jon Arabin striding down the deck, smiling as he came.

  'Drake!' shouted Arabin. 'Good news! The Ling will trade with us, taking only one hostage.''And who's that?' called Drake.

  'My own dear son,' said Arabin, 'the light of my life, the sun of my sky, the moon of my heavens, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, as sweet to me as my mother's milk.'

  He was very close to them now, teeth shining as grinned.

  'I didn't know you had a son,' said Drake, puzzled. 'Ah,' said Arabin, 'but you know now.' And tousled his hair, and kissed him. And Drake, belatedly, understood.

  8

  Ling: an open bay on the coast of Argan some seventy-five leagues west of Castle of Controlling Power; lies west of Peninsular Quanat and south of Island Va and Island Ko.

  Ling: the inhabitants of Ling, a golden-skinned people with milk-white eyes; notable as pearl divers.

  Population of Ling: 4,261 (year Khmar 17).

  'You can't do this to me!' shouted Drake. He was shocked. Outraged. 'I trusted you!'

  'Then you can trust me still,' said Jon Arabin. 'Thisis but a little thing you're being asked to do. A few days ashore – why, that's nothing.''Days!' said Drake.

  'Oh yes. Now we've arrived, the Ling will want to make a special expedition to Ko for extra pearls. We'll wait here till they've finished.'