Hugh Cook: The Walrus and the Warwolf

The Flame spoke often thereafter, bringing Faith to Gouda Muck; those gnawing spirochaetes had a lot to answer for. Muck listened to the Flame as he laboured in the forge; he heard it as he ate his meals or walked by the dockside; the Flame gave him fresh revelations in his dreams.

How long does it take to create a religion? Inspired by syphilis, Gouda Muck took precisely two days to lay down the foundations of his own faith.

The revelations of the Flame elevated Muck's personal quirks to the status of divine law: no drink, no gambling, no fighting and no loose women. What's more, thrift became an absolute virtue. Muck immediately began to help his apprentices be good by banking half their paltry wages into trust accounts managed by the Orsay Bank.

Drake had till then been happy enough as a sword-smith's devil, since all his hardships had been sweetened by the compensations of religion. With these denied to him – the confiscation of half his wages made certain of that – life went sour.'Endure,' said Drake to Drake.

He must live for the day when he was a master swordsmith, yes, with his own forge and apprentices.

'Muck,' said Drake, one evening. 'How about setting a definite date for me to start making my first sword?''Why should I do that?' said Muck.

'Because it will give me something to look forward to,' said Drake.

'You've got nothing to look forward to,' said Muck. 'You're a filthy little scag-bag stuffed with iniquity. You pollute the forge by your very presence. All you're good for is slave labour.''Oh, come now!' said Drake. 'A joke's a joke, but-'

'I'm not joking!' roared Muck. 'You'll never make a sword in this forge, no.'

'But,' said Drake, 'I have to make swords. Lots of them. So I can finish my apprenticeship.'

'Time will finish your apprenticeship nicely,' said Muck. 'But you won't be a swordsmith at the end of it, oh no. When I'm finished with you, we'll kick you back to the filthy coal cliffs you came from.'

Drake was staggered by this sudden turnaround. He really thought he'd finally come to terms with Gouda Muck. Now – what was he supposed to think? He could only suppose that he had grievously offended Muck in the last few days, though he couldn't for the life of him think of any really outrageous stunts he'd pulled.

Well, the situation was grim, that was for real. And . . . desperate situations called for desperate remedies. So . . .

'Man,' said Drake, T know we've cut each other up in the past, but that's over and done with. I respect you, man, I'll say that fair and square. You're the master. I'm but a child at your elbow. If I've done you wrong, I'm too much of a child to see what I can do to set things right. So – tell me, man. What have I done that's so terrible? What can I do to make amends?'

This display of humility really hurt him. He was intensely proud: he hated to grovel.What was worse, his humility did him no good.

'You can't make amends,' said Muck. 'You went too far years ago. So you'll sweat death and dream buckles till your bones splinter.''What?' said Drake, bewildered.'The vizier of Galsh Ebrek calls,' said Muck.Then left the forge without further explanation.

The syphilis which had begun to destroy Muck's brain was, of course, invisible, so Drake had precious few clues to the reason for Muck's bizarre behaviour. Was the man drunk? Worse: was he mad? Drake was reluctant to think so.Was Muck serious?

That was a more important question. For if Muck was serious, then Drake's life was in ruins. Drake, turning things over in his mind, could only presume that his master was setting him a weird sort of test.Yes.

A test to draw him out, to see how much initiative and determination he had. Maybe this was one of the secrets of the swordsmith's guild. Maybe every apprentice got set such a test, sooner or later, to see what he was really made of.

Accordingly, Drake set to work on a sword of his own. Yot, who had been shovelling coal into sacks outside, came in and asked what he was doing.'Never you mind,' said Drake.

'It looks to me,' said Yot, 'as if you're starting work on a sword. You can't do that! Not till Muck gives you permission.'

'I'll be the judge of what I can and can't do,' said Drake.

And laboured grimly until Muck returned at nightfall.'What are you doing?' said Muck.

'Man, I'm making a sword,' said Drake. 'For I've got to start learning the real stuff sooner or later.'

'I've told you already,' said Muck, 'your days of learning are finished. You're not human any longer, not as far as this forge is concerned. You're a piece of working meat, and nothing else.'

'Man,' said Drake, trying to keep himself from crying, 'you're not being fair. You've got to teach me! That's why I'm here! To learn!'

'You're here to repent,' said Muck. 'To purify yourself.''How do I do that?' said Drake.'By working yourself to death.'

'Right!' said Drake. 'If you won't teach me, then I'll not stay here to sweat it out for starvation wages.'

And, thirty days after his sixteenth birthday, Drake ran away. He fled to his parents' home in south-west Stokos. He was frightened, bitter, amazed at the sudden turn of events. A few days ago, everything had been going his way – and now? Disaster!

There was one bright spot on the horizon, of course: Drake's marriage prospects. But he could hardly rely too much on those, since King Tor might die any day, his demise destroying Drake's chances.

'Four years of my life!' sobbed Drake. 'Four years of my life gone to this lousy apprenticeship! And what do I get out of it? I get kicked around like a cat.'

The cat was the lowest form of life on the island of Stokos, for it was well known that the demon Hagon hated cats. They had it rough.

Drake had it rough, too, when he finally got home. He had only just finished explaining himself to his parents and to his brother Heth when agents from the sword-smith's guild arrived with a warrant, and whipped him back to Cam.

'We've a system for breaking people like you,' said Muck, when Drake was brought back to the forge, whip-wounds bleeding. 'We'll prove it out, if you try your nonsense a second time.''Man,' said Drake, 'you've flipped! You're mad!'

'Don't answer back,' said Muck. 'You're just work-meat. A slave.'

Well, there was no way Drake could take that in silence. So he did answer back, thus starting an argument, which Gouda Muck won by beating his apprentice into insensibility.

The next day, Drake went to complain to his uncle, Oleg Douay. He explained his problem.

'Muck says he won't teach me. He's going to work me like a piece of slave-rubbish till my apprenticeship runs out, then throw me on the slag heap.'

'Come, boy,' said Oleg, sure that Drake was exaggerating, 'you had a little spat with your master, but that's no reason to act as if the world's coming to an end.''He's serious!' said Drake.

'Oh, maybe he said a few words harder than he should have,' said Oleg, 'but don't take them to heart. I've known Gouda Muck for years. He's an honourable man. He'll do all right by you.'

Unsatisfied by such reassurances, Drake promptly absconded a second time. And was hunted again, caught again, whipped again, and threatened with castration if he repeated his performance. The swordsmiths' guild was enormously powerful. There was no way Drake could fight it – not since his uncle refused to help.

'Maybe Muck will come to his senses,' said Drake. 'Maybe it's something he's eaten. I'll give him three months, yes, and see if he starts talking sense.'

Meantime, Drake sought to console himself with some of the pleasures of religion. He swiftly spent what savings he had. What now? He could hardly afford much on the half-wage Muck was doling out weekly.T need more money,' said Drake.

He thought about robbing the Orsay Bank. Not a good idea! Many people had died that way, and nobody had yet succeeded. So he tried something more subtle – to borrow from the bank on the strength of the funds held in trust for him.