Hugh Cook - The Walrus and the Warwolf

And the gaoler waddled away, leaving Drake to think:

Me and my big mouth!

The gaoler returned later in the day.

'Well,' he said. 'There's some good news and some bad news.''I'll have the good news first.'

'The good news is that you've already been tortured to death. Legally, I mean. When it was your turn and we couldn't find you, the executioners put a dog on the table and made do with that. A legal fiction, you understand?'

'Yes,' said Drake, who thought he did even though he didn't. 'So can I go? Do I get out of here?'

'Well no. For that's the bad news. Legally, you're dead. I've sighted your death certificate meself. We can't have dead men walking round the city, can we?''So what happens now?'

'Why, me pretty little younker, you grows yourself older. Then in time you dies, thus matching reality with the paperwork. Till then, you sit there nice and happy, another breathing corpse for the auditors to count come Assessment Day.''What's Assessment Day?'

'Oh, that's technical, that's technical,' said the turnkey, who didn't rightly understand accounting practices but was unwilling to confess his ignorance.

So Drake was left to linger in his desolation of filth, squalor, dungeon darkness and perpetual hunger. Sometimes, he heard rumours of the outside world: that the sun had died, that a forest had marched west out of Chenameg, that a thousand dragons had ravaged Selzirk. All kinds of wildness circulated in the muttering gloom.

Old man Shix died, and his corpse was taken away. Shix had irritated Drake intensely, but now he longed to have his companion back. In fact, Drake got some of the old man back as part of his next dole of soup, but he did not know that, and thus gained no comfort from it.

Sometimes, he dreamed of Zanya, of her frank lust, of the tender joys of her warm body … of her smile, her laugh, her joy in kittens and ducklings and silks and roast chicken … of the brightness of her fingernails, which were the cleanest he had seen in his life … of her randy jokes and her wild tales about the temple of the Orgy God in the Ebrells … of her hair and her skin flaming red in aroom lit by a blood-warm sun, her thighs enveloping. . . Had he imagined her?

He was half-persuaded that he had. Aye, and the sun, moon, and sky, and all theother improbabilities of a world of earth, air, fire and water.

But all those things were real.

And, while Drake lay rotting in his filthy dungeon cell, Zanya Kliedervaust lay on her bed, stroking (in an absent-minded fashion) the sparse hair of Gouda Muck's head, which was busy between her thighs. Staring at the ceiling, she thought, with regret, of Drake. He was a brash sexist barbarian who needed to be taught good manners, and a lot of other things besides. But he had had so much promise! Why, when he had come bursting into her room, he had seemed to her, for a moment, like a regular demon lover, a true hero.

But obviously Drake did not truly value her. Otherwise, he would have returned. Instead, after he was chased away by Muck's men, he had never returned. She was insulted by the way he had abandoned his quest for her so easily. . .

Gouda Muck raised his head and removed one of Zanya's pubic hairs from his lips.

'Darling,' crooned Zanya, 'you're a marvellous man, really you are.''Then worship me,' said Muck.Which she did, in a very practical fashion.And the days passed.

And, meanwhile, History went on as usual, with its wars, riots, revolutions, law makings, law breakings, plantings, reapings, stocktakings, loves, lusts, joys, horrors, quests, herofeats, births, deaths, copulations, speeches, prize giv-ings, graduations, discoveries, despairs, hopes, philosophies, religious revelations undso weiter.

Until finally, as a consequence of one of the minor eddies of History, men came for Drake Douay, who was known in certain quarters to be physically alive, for all that he was legally dead.

He was seized. He was dragged from his cell, filthy and naked, breath foetid, eyes dull, hair and nails uncut, body swarming with vermin, a scrag of ginger beard on his chin. He was bathed, shaved, manicured, scraped, disinfected, deloused, then dressed in velvet trousers, a cotton shirt and black felt slippers.

'You look beautiful, darling boy,' said Plovey of the Regency.'Where did you come from?' demanded Drake.

'I came through the door, of course. Ah. Trousers, shirt, slippers – what more could you want?'

'A hat,' said Drake, promptly, always one to grab when the grabbing was good.So Plovey saw him kitted out with a pert blue bycoket.'Now food!' demanded Drake.

All he got was a bowl of broth and a single zakuska, but that was undoubtedly the most his half-starved stomach could have handled. Then he was led to a room which was far too bright for him and filled with far too many people, most of whom were talking simultaneously.

'A Certificate of Resurrection,' said a beak-nosed lawyer, shoving a piece of parchment into Drake's hands. 'You are now officially alive again. Here – take this. A full pardon for all crimes you've so far committed, both in and out of Selzirk. You are free to go.''But,' said Plovey, 'first hear our offer.'

'An offer I can't refuse, I suppose,' said Drake, clutching the parchments which had resurrected and pardoned him.

'Of course,' said Plovey. 'What other kind of offer is worth making? General Tream, the situation, if you please!'General Tream stepped forward.

'Listen up!' he bellowed, silencing the chatter in the room. 'Situation. A Rovac warrior by name of Elkor Alish has leagued with pirates and others to take the city of Androlmarphos. Alish holds that city now. Fortunately, the warrior Morgan Hearst has joined the army of Selzirk. He bears the deathstone. He will commit that weapon against both Alish and Androlmarphos unless the both surrender.'

Then Tream, assisted by others, started to explain the details. But it was all so confusing – the noise, the brightness, the unfamiliar wealth of food in Drake's stomach, the unaccustomed labour of standing – that in the end he fainted clean away.

After he had convalesced for three days, Plovey came to him alone, and explained things quietly.

They wanted Drake to carry documents to Alish in Androlmarphos. One was a threat: he and his captured city would be destroyed by the deathstone unless they surrendered. The other was an offer: of safe conduct and a massive bribe if Alish gave himself up.

'Once you've seen Alish and returned to Selzirk, we'll also pardon your Walrus and Warwolf.''They live?'

'They do. Their trials have not yet been commenced. After all, unlike you, they made no foolish confessions of piracy. So. See Alish in Androlmarphos. Give him our letters. Then return. And both Walrus and Warwolf will be set at liberty. But you must bring us proof that you've met with Alish in 'Marphos.''And what proof would that be?'

'Why, a document in Rovac runes drafted by the hand of Elkor Alish himself. Let him testify to the fact that you've seen him. Even if he wants nothing to do with our offers, I'm sure he'll give you proofs. For if he means to stand against us in defiance, he'll be as eager as you are to secure the release of two pirate captains. Useful men they'd make for him.''Then why are you prepared to let them go?'

'It's a small stake in a big game. What can we lose? Two prisoners. What can we win? Why, maybe the war. Bring proof! Our Morgan Hearst knows Alish's writing, so try no fakery.''This sounds a right weird scheme to me,' said Drake. 'Ah, darling boy,' said Plovey, 'your judgment is very sound. I don't myself think you'll get audience with Alish. Or return.''Then why are you letting me go?' said Drake.

'Ah. Because none of this is my idea. No, it's Watashi's idea. And Farfalla's son, dear boy, is a constant threat to the Regency which I serve. We must seize on every opportunity to discredit him. However … if you do return, well, no hard feelings. Indeed, if you do return, you must dine with me and my darling wife. I'm sure the family atmosphere would do you good.'