Hugh Cook - The Walrus and the Warwolf

Thinking such happy thoughts, Drake idled through bustling streets full of noise, music, crushing faces, sweating armpits, slap-trap sandals, iron-shod boots, kif, opium, dogshit, bananas brought in theScattered Islands, oranges from Hexagon, and whores from all nations.And what else?

Why, hawkers for a dozen contending faiths. Slaves, merchants, scribes, law clerks and letter-writers. Beggars, pimps, peddlars, and people wanting to sell him tin, copper, grain, silks, ceramics, or shares in the South Sea Company. All yelling, screaming, pushing, hustling, jostling, swearing, grinning, smirking, grabbing and grasping.

Drake was staggered by the impact of so many strangers. The jabbering crowds of foreigners irritated him so much that he finally raised his voice and bawled, in his native tongue:'Does anyone here speak Ligin?'

But he was ignored, for one shouting madman more or less meant nothing to Selzirk.

To his surprise, Drake saw many women with red skins on the streets, and red hair to match. He wondered why there were so many Ebrell islanders in Selzirk – not realizing that' these females were simply followers of a fashion in dye. Each, of course, reminded him bitterly of Zanya.

Enough seen. Time to start making inquiries. Accordingly, Drake grabbed a scholarly-looking fellow.'Hey, man,' said Drake. 'What news of Hok and all?' 'Blon glayV said the scholar, Startled. 'Alat onlenjin?'

'Don't you speak Galish?' said Drake. 'Aagh, I thought you an educated man and all!'

Drake released his Scholar and sought information elsewhere. After he drew a blank with another half-dozen people, he started scratching his head a bit. Surely Selzirk had to be teeming with people who spoke Galish. Where could they all be hiding?

Were plenty of people on the river spoke it, when I were slaving on that galley-thing. Aye, then. That's the answer. The river. Boats mean trade and trade means Galish. I'll find some ship-people to talk to me.

Drake soon found his way through Kesh to Jone, the dockland area. It was busy today, crowded with soldiers who were being ferried across the river to the further bank. Drake wandered around watching the soldiers, and watching fools lose money to a quick-talking rogue who hid a lima bean under one of three little cups, shuffled these then asked assembled suckers to guess its hiding place.

Strange! They still play that game? Well, I suppose they do. Fools never learn, do theyl

Drake heard one fool bemoaning his gambling losses in Galish to a comrade, who, having little time for sympathy, excused himself and left the loser friendless.

'Hey, man,' said Drake to the sucker, 'you speak Galish, isn't it?'

'I do, young sir,' said his chosen fool. 'Could you lend a poor man some money?'

'Nay,' said Drake, 'for I'm so poor myself that my head is mortgaged in half a dozen places.'

But Drake lent an ear to the man's sorrows, and that in itself was almost as welcome as cash. Then Drake asked why all of Selzirk was built on the northern bank of the river, and none on the southern.

'Why, young sir, for the southern bank is lower, hence floods in winter when the river runs high. So the soldiers have luck to be leaving now, otherwise they'd be wading to their waists in the mud.''Where go the soldiers?' said Drake.'Why, to Hok, of course.'

'To Hok!' said Drake, astonished and delighted. 'To aid King Tor, is it? To fight for the Rightful King against Sudder Vemlouf, priest of the Flame and Usurper of Stokos?'

'No no no!' said the sucker, near killing himself with laughter.'What's so funny?' said Drake, fierce and angry.

'Why, haven't you heard?' said the sucker. 'Our rulers have lost patience with the ogre-bandit at last.'

'The ogre-bandit!' said Drake, in outrage. 'That's a royal-born king you're talking of!'

'No ;' said the fool, 'it's a foreign outlaw, that's what it is. A dirty, stinking, cow-raping ogre. A bandit. A stinking foreign bandit who was run off Stokos for crimes against humanity.'

'Obviously you don't understand, and neither do your rulers,' said Drake, trying to keep his temper. 'If only King Tor had had an ambassador in Selzirk, you'd understand much better.'

'Oh, three men came from Hok a month ago, claiming to be his ambassadors,' said the sucker-fool. 'Which was adding insult to injury.'

'What injury?' said Drake. 'How does Tor injure Selzirk by fighting for the crown which is rightfully his?'

'He injures us, young fool,' said the fool, 'by running his rag-tag rabble through the mountains of Hok, which is a province of the Harvest Plains, in case you didn't know. That's invasion, isn't it? That's why the soldiers march forth – to push Tor out of our territory. To push him into the sea.'

Something must have gone terribly wrong. Clearly the ambassadors Tor sent to Selzirk had not been up to the job. Something had to be done, urgently, or the world would war to ruin for no purpose. Who could save the day? Why, Drake Douay, of course! He'd present himself to Tor's ambassadors, promptly. And offer to negotiate a deal with the rulers of Selzirk. For.a cut of the ambassadorial profits, of course.

'These ambassadors sent by Tor,' said Drake. 'Where do I find them? I have to speak to them. Urgently!'

'Too late,' said the sucker-fool. 'For the dogs have had their guts already.''Say what?' said Drake.

'They were hung, drawn and quartered yesterday,' said the sucker-fool, shoving his face hard up against Drake's. 'By order of our rulers, who'll have no truck with bandits. Which is why, I'm thinking, they'll pay a good price for you.'

So saying, the sucker-fool grabbed Drake by the collar.

Whereupon Drake slid his hand slick and swift between the sucker-fool's garments, grabbing him by the testicles. 'Wah!' said the fool, in alarm.

'Hush!' said Drake, squeezing slightly. 'Or I'll cripple you for life. Walk. Quiet like. Down that alleyway.'

Walking on tip-toe, the hapless fool obeyed. The alleyway opened onto a deserted mews. There Drake did his bit for international relations by teaching his Selzirk sucker-fool why he should respect King Tor and his hard-fisted minions.

After which Drake climbed onto the roof of a warehouse and sat there, brooding as he watched the ferrymen taking the soldiers across the broad reach of the river. So many soldiers! King Tor was done for. Drake was upset. Close, indeed, to crying. That morning, everything had looked so sweet. And now?

Man, this is rough.

What should he do? Three ambassadors had talked sweet for Tor, and had ended up getting torn to pieces for their troubles. Could Drake do better?

I'm smarter, surely. The fastest tongue this side of Chi'ash-lan, I reckon. If anyone could talk things right for Tor, it's me, surely. But the time for talk looks to have gone. Aye. But if I wanted to try?

If Drake chose to try talking things right for Tor, his first step would have to be to learn who the rulers of Selzirk were. But was it wise to ask questions?

Man, I can't question without risk. What happens if I'm named as Lord Dreldragon? Lord Dreldragon, beloved of Tor, heir to Stokos? Likely it'll be head-chopping time. Or I'll conceal my nobility, yet get killed anyway, as a common bandit.

It don't look too good, does it? Not now. But might look better if the army gets, a bloody nose. Aye. Army stuff, that's full of risk. Weather and such. Disease. Mutiny. Folks hot in temper don't talk too sweet. I reckon these – in Selzirk have got their blood up. Aye. Hot for the kill. But if their army gets pounded in Hok, they'll talk different then. Thus Drake came to a decision.

If the army of Selzirk returned from Hok defeated, mauled by Tor or decimated by the standard hazards of campaigning, then Drake would make discreet inquiries, with a view to determining whether it was safe for him to proclaim his royal status. Till then, he would have to shift for himself as best he could, hiding both his nationality and his nobility.