Hugh Cook - The Walrus and the Warwolf

Drake, to his amazement, found himself believing Yot was truly sincerely sorry. Drake's news of the madness of Gouda Muck had knocked most of the religious nonsense out of Sully Yot. Near-death on the Gaunt Reefs also seemed to have changed the man. Maybe they could be true friends for the future. It was unlikely, but: Improbabilities are not impossibilities.

Three nights later, Drake was standing watch on a clear and cloudless night. The ship was heading south in an easy swell, airing along with all sail set and a light wind coming from the east.

The light winds meant their speed was less than dazzling. Even so, by Jon Arabin's calculations they were now entering the Drangsturm Gulf; Narba, or the ruins of Narba, should be somewhere out in the night, about fifty leagues to larboard.

Drake was steering. The weather was so steady he felt he could just about have lashed the wheel and left it. However, he had two youngsters on this watch, Zim and Krane, both sixteen years of age, and senseless. Drake was determined to set an example.These teenagers!

They were thoughtless, reckless, idle and irresponsible. What was worse, they thought they knew it all. And they were cheeky into the bargain! Unlike Drake, they had never had to man the rigging in a howling storm; they had never made a bluewater voyage to Hexagon and back; they had never been shipwrecked in the Penvash Channel.

What they needed was a hard master like Gouda Muck to kick them into shape. Yes. Perhaps he should talk it over with Jon Arabin. They could set up an apprenticeship to get these would-be pirates whipped into line.

Right now, Zim and Krane were sitting on the deck having a regular chin wag. Drake wondered what he could do to stir them up. Send them down to the kitchen, yes, to bring up some soup. Because-

Drake's train of thought was broken as the ship shuddered. They had struck something!'Rocks!' shouted Zim, grabbing for the wheel.

Drake hit him fast and hard with a rabbit punch, then gave him a push which sent him reeling away.

'Man,' said Drake, firm in control of the wheel once more, 'you grab stupid like that again, and I'll give you a leathering. I've the helm, aye, and the head to manage it.'

The ship was still running along nicely. The wind was the same, and the swells as regular as ever. Drake listened, but heard no sound of water breaking on rocks. Raising his voice to a shout, he hailed the crow's-nest:'What sign!'The reply came back:'Nothing!'

Which was what Drake had expected. There was, after all, no rock, reef, shallow, shoal, island, cay, cliff or shore within fifty leagues of them. Drake had that on the authority of Jon Arabin, who knew these waters as well as any man alive.'What was it?' said Krane.'Sharbly we grounded a whale,' said Drake.

Then remembered saying those very same words years ago, in the Penvash Channel. On that occasion, it had been a sea serpent they had tangled with.There was another thump.

'Krane!' said Drake. 'Take the lantern and go forward. See what you can see. Zim, look over the side.''Shall I go wake the bald-headed one?' said Zim.

'Nay, man,' said Drake. 'He'll wake himself if we hit again. And if we don't, what matter?''We might be holed,' said Zim.

'Nay,' said Drake, 'not from a teeny little bump like that. Go on, get moving the pair of you.'

Grief! What if Zim was right? If they were holed, they would probably be busy till dawn.The last thing Drake wanted to do right now was to fother a hole by night.'Zim!' called Drake. 'What do you see over the side?''Something,' said Zim, uncertainly.

'What? Is it big, small, still, moving, foaming, swirling? Is it light, creamy, dark, shadowy? Do the stars reflect off it? Is it a sea serpent? A whale? A kraken?''A log.'

'Blood of the moon,' said Drake. 'A log. Likely that was what we hit. I'd say-'

He didn't say, for at that moment there came a scream fit to scar the sky.

'Zim!' said Drake. 'Get your arse here! Quick quick quick! The wheel, man! Take it, take it! Steer steady, man, or I'll string you up from the yardarm by your lower bowel. Stay tight!'

With that said, Drake raced along the deck toward the lantern. He found it, and found Krane holding it, and looking most uncertain.'What was that scream?' said Krane.

'An owl, maybe,' said Drake. 'Or perhaps one of your whore-arsed friends just birthed a baby. Come, man, let's go check. Here, give me the lantern, you'll likely drop it if you shake much more.'

Drake took the lantern. It was a good one, with the light from a big bright candle shining out through windows of horn. He stepped out smartly, with Krane trailing in his wake. Then stopped, hearing footsteps up ahead. A man was coming towards them. Drunk, if the footsteps were anything to go by. Drake, lantern in one hand, filled the other with steel, just in case.

He had just done so when into the lamplight came a man who had lost his face. Blood ran thick in his beard, dripped down his jerkin and dribbled to his boots. He staggered. Then fell forward onto the deck.

By lantern-light, Drake saw a great chunk missing from the man's back. Bone gleamed white amidst seething blood.'Drake, there's-'T see it,' said Drake.

Something was skulking in the shadows. Something not in human form. Whatever it was, it was huge.

'Slaughterhouse!' screamed Drake, which was the ship's weapon-shout.

Again he screamed, and heard others take up the cry. Another thump shook the ship. As the creature in the shadows started to advance, Drake heard Krane's feet pounding along the deck as the boy fled.'Courage, man,' said Drake to Drake.He set down the lantern then backed away from it.'Into the shadows, now,' he whispered.

And took his own counsel as the creature – the monster! – stalked toward the lantern.

The monster had a carapace roughly like that of a crab. But, unlike a crab, it had not two eyes, but many. These eyes, each deep-set in a socket, shimmered in the lantern-light, glittered with spangles of reflected fire.And Drake thought: Run\ But did nothing.Terrified.Paralysed.And . . . fascinated.

The creature's carapace rode high above the deck on a dozen multi-jointed legs. Mounted on top of the carapace was what looked – at first glance – like a gigantic sea anemone. A seething array of writhing tentacles, of jointed hooks and coiled whips.

Drake, mesmerized by horror, watched as one of those whips uncoiled slowly, slowly, slowiy, and drifted down toward the deck to nuzzle the lantern. Gently. The candle-flame flickered as the lantern was tilted then released.

Then – suddenly! – the whip snapped back.

And the monster muscled toward Drake. Who stood staring, staring at its avanturine orbs, its oiled legs soothing toward him.

And he thought:

Nowl And raised his sword. And attacked. With a scream: 'Sharn!'

The creature slashed at him with half a dozen whips at once. His sword was knocked away. Whips slammed against him like knotted ropes. He fell sprawling to the deck. He screamed. Jerked out a boot-knife. And threw it. With no effect. Tentacles darted out, whipped around his ankles, and started to haul him off the deck.

Then the monster wailed, and reared up. An arrow had pierced one of its eyes. Another shaft slammed home. The creature fled, hauling Drake behind it. He bounced over the deck, grabbing for something, anything – help me! – and finding nothing.

Then the creature stopped. Abruptly. There was a hideous graunching, crunching, thumping sound. The tentacles which had been hauling Drake relaxed.He got to his feet.

Something huge bulked against the night. It loomed over the wreckage of the dead monster. Larger than anything human. Then it spoke:

'Man,' said Whale Mike. 'You got nice choice in friends. Or this your lover, perhaps?''No,' said Drake. 'That was my mother-in-law.''Well, she not good for much now. Sorry about that.'