Hugh Cook - The Walrus and the Warwolf

And Lachish pointed at the chalice, saying, 'Behold, within is hemlock, which is evil by Tradition, just as the madness of drink, the coquetry of whores and the foolishness of wagering is evil.

'And I know the evil thereof, by Tradition, yea, as I know the evil of the other things which I have spoken of, though I have not tasted of the flesh of them.

'Verily verily I say unto you, if a man drink of evil he will perish, and a boy also. Wilt thou dispute that with the cup?'

And Arabin understood his meaning, and said unto him: 'I will.'

Then did Garimanthea try to restrain Arabin, but he was shaken off.

And Arabin advanced unto the chalice, and picked it up, and gazed upon the beauty of gold which was upon it, and on the liquid which was within it.

Then Arabin spoke, saying, 'Let the gods bear witness to the truth of my persuasions.'

23 And he drank, and did not suffer thereby.

Then Jarmuth Japhia Lachish seized the chalice with hands that were rough, for there was rage upon him.

And he addressed the gathering, saying, 'It's a trick! There's no hemlock in this!'

26 Then Jarmuth Lachish drank thereof.

And truly there was no hemlock within, but a mixture of wine and of that poison which is got from the seeds of nux vomica, and which is known as strychnine.

And the death of Jarmuth Lachish was terrible to behold.

Then those of the City Fathers who remained declared that they would take Emergency Executive Powers and have Arabin executed upon the spot.

30 Then was his need dire.

31 But one spoke, saying, 'Lo, behold me, for I am

Garimanthea the Mighty, barrister, solicitor and attorney at law, and I say unto you that your Order for Execution is null and void, and likewise your assumption of Emergency Executive Powers.'

32 And the City Fathers asked of him: 'Wherefore?'

33 Whereupon Garimanthea smiled a smile that was most terrible to see, saying unto them, 'Verily verily, I can count though a chicken cannot. How many heads do you need for a quorum?'

34 Then the City Fathers counted, and were dismayed.

35 For the death of Jarmuth Lachish had left them short of a quorum.

Therefore was the council automatically dissolved, and elections held.

And it happened that the glory of righteousness and the use of good gold brought Arabin lol Arabin and his team victory in those elections, and all power that was in the Free Port of Runcorn fell unto him.

38 And the rejoicing in the city was exceedingly great.

Gouda Muck: second-best swordsmith on Stokos; first suffered religious revelation in Khmar 16; announced the next year that he was the avatar of the Flame, the High God of All Gods; doctrines of thrift, abstinence, chastity and prudery found favour with neighbours whose health and wealth had suffered from compulsory indulgence in the delights of the temple of the demon Hagon; religion of Goudanism thereafter rapidly went from strength to strength.

Midsummer's Day inaugurated a year which was, by Collosnon reckoning, Celadric 1. If the Lord Emperor Khmar, master of Tameran, had survived, then it would have been the start of Khmar 20. But the ferocious horse-lord was dead, killed in the forests of Penvash during the confusion of mutiny, betrayal, clan-fights and feuding which had accompanied his invasion of Argan.

Drake heard many wild rumours about the lands north of Runcorn. They had seemed normal enough when he had marched through them with Zanya, scarcely half a year previously, but since then – why, what with Khmar's invasion, and the unleashing of the fury of dragons, and mad battles between wizards and warriors, the whole of the north seemed to have gone berserk.For Runcorn, this was very bad news.

Galish convoys were no longer travelling the Salt Road through Runcorn, Chorst, Dybra, Estar, Lake Armansis, Larbster Bay and D'Waith. Instead, those convoys, the

lifeblood of commerce, were shipping out of Androlmarphos to sail direct to the Ravlish Lands.Hence, economic downturn in Runcorn.

Shops closed, apprenticeships cancelled, shipbuilders silent, more beggars on the street, violence at night, brawls, burglary, rape, highway robbery, horse-stealing, outbreaks of graffiti-writing.

Drake could not read the graffiti (or anything else for that matter) but he was told much of it said uncomplimentary things about him.He was in trouble.Or, to use his own words:'I'm in deep shit.'

The City Treasurer had recently fled, allegedly to Selzirk, and a quick audit had shown that most of the contents of the city coffers had disappeared with him. Worse, his brother, who had been looking after revenues for Drake's temple, had also vanished – leaving the temple bankrupt.

Temple income had dropped to nearly nothing. The best girls had left for the flesh-pots of Selzirk. Rumours about the diseased state of those who remained were, unfortunately, true. Gambling brought in next to nothing now that Runcorn's docks were idle. Even the liquor business was in trouble – something Drake would not have thought possible.

What was worse, the temple enforcers were squeezing Drake. They wanted a pay rise. He could not afford to pay – he was twenty days behind with their wages as it was. Yet he had to pay, for his easily won popularity was swiftly turning sour.

Worse, his lawyer was into him for an enormous amount in legal fees. Garimanthea, the first truly ruthless man Drake had ever met, frightened him badly (for Drake, innocent of the deeper evils of civilization, had never met a lawyer until he came to Runcorn.)

'On Stokos,' said Drake, 'we didn't have these problems.'

And, now, he could see why. Because Stokos had coal, iron ore, metalworkers, banking, fishing and a healthy import-export trade, hence there were always profits to be skimmed off for the temple of the demon Hagon.

Whereas Runcorn had the import-export business alone, which had been destroyed by the troubles to the north.

Somehow, Drake had to rejuvenate the economy of Runcorn.

These days he spent a lot of time alone in his office in City Hall, thinking. He was there on that Midsummer's Day, the first day of Celadric 1, when he became aware of a disturbance outside.

At first he gave it no thought, but the noise became steadily louder. It had about it something of the humming of bees, something of the baying of wolves, and touches of the noise of a timberyard, a marketplace, a slave-auction and a full-pitched battle. It was, he realized, the noise of an angry crowd.

Drake drummed his fingers on the big desk he was sitting behind. A riot, was it? Well, no doubt the enforcers would break a few heads and set things right. . .

He was thinking thus when one of his enforcers entered, sweating, bleeding from a scalp wound, gasping and staggering. He stood in front of Drake, swaying.'Well? What is it, man? Spit it out!' said Drake.

And the enforcer spat out a little blood then dropped dead in front of the desk. An ocular Investigation revealed the probable cause of this lapse in etiquette – the enforcer had a throwing knife embedded in his back.

'Hmmm,' said Drake, rubbing one hand over the stubble of ginger beard which had lately begun to lay claim to his chin.

He was thinking – not about the dead enforcer, but about the architecture of City Hall.

It was a fortified building where every window was an arrow-slit. There was a sally port, of course – but it was unreachable, for the tunnel which led to it was used as an extension of the archives, and was blocked by generations' worth of paper, parchment, papyrus and clay tiles. The only other way out was through the front door.

'Boldness be my friend,' said Drake to himself, and, with pulses quickening, buckled on his best sword, equipped himself with a belt-knife, a boot-knife and a back-knife, pulled on his gauntlets, and went out to face the crowd.