Hugh Cook - The Walrus and the Warwolf

'That's all right,' said Drake. 'We never got on very well anyway.'

Moving stiffly, he walked back to the lantern light and recovered his sword. The lantern was burning as steadily as ever, but Drake became aware that all around was alarm, panic and chaotic confusion, as three hundred pirates roused themselves out to face danger.

Here and there, fighting was in progress. Something inhuman screamed as it died. Drake sheathed his sword. His right elbow hurt like hell. He rubbed it, which failed to improve matters. Blackwood walked from the shadows, bow in hand.'You shoot well,' said Drake.'I've had practice,' said Blackwood.

Drake listened to the noise. From the sound of it, the pirates were winning control of the ship, though there were clearly at least half a dozen monsters aboard. But something was wrong. What? Yes, that was it – the wind had died. The ship was wallowing helplessly in the regular ocean swells.

'I'd better go report to Jon Arabin,' said Drake, 'since I was on watch when the trouble started.'

He found Jon Arabin shortly. The bald-headed one was leading a hunting party of men armed with weapons and lanterns. They had cornered a strange creature which looked like a crawling net, richly strung with floats. It was as wide as a dinghy, as long as a horse, and no higher off the ground than a badger-dog. Legs, claws, feelers and tiny eyes on stalks protruded from every float.'What's this?' said Drake.

'It's a bowl of spaghetti which mated with a whore's-egg,' said Jon Arabin. 'You should be able to see that for yourself.'

Upon which Ika Thole hurled a harpoon, skewering one of the floats to the deck. The net-creature screamed like a rabid rat, thrashed madly, tore itself free, and escaped to the dark leaving part of its body behind.

Thole knelt to examine the skewered portion which remained – and a claw leaped out of it and slashed at his hand.'Pox and bitches!' he said, jumping back.

'Club it to a pulp,' said Jon Arabin, curtly. Then, to Drake: 'How did this happen?'

'There are logs in the sea,' said Drake, working more by guess than by the results of Investigation. 'The creatures were on them. We rammed the logs, they jumped aboard.'

Shortly, Jon Arabin and Drake were at the ship's side with a lantern on a rope. They lowered it until its light shone clear on the water. They saw a log afloat on the swells. On the log, three monsters, just like the one which had hauled Drake along the deck.

'Those are stalkers,' said Miphon quietly; he had come up alongside them without being noticed.

Jon Arabin walked along, illuminating a different patch of sea. Another log. Another net creature.

'That's a glarz,' said Miphon, 'that thing which looks like a portcullis made out of rope and decorated with water-melons.''The net creature?' said Drake.

'That's the one. And look, over there – two more glarz! And there's a keflo!'

'The sea is full of logs,' said Jon Arabin, hauling up the lantern. 'Have you ever heard of such a thing?'

'In the Long War,' said Miphon, 'the Skull of the Deep South launched many such armadas.'

'Maybe they're near to death,' said Drake. 'They're just sitting there.'

'AH these creatures of the Swarms,' said Miphon, 'they're fairly quiet by night.'

'Aye,' said Drake. 'I remember. Man, when I went past Selzirk . . . yes, there were many, making as if they were asleep. But they were huge! These ones are only little.'

'So,' said Jon Arabin, 'we're in luck. We've only a batch of babies to contend with.'

He spoke in jest; he knew how serious the situation was.'What now?' said Drake.

'We arm ourselves properly,' said Jon Arabin. 'And we wait for dawn. And we pray for wind.''Ballast blocks,' said Drake, apropos of nothing. 'What?' said Jon Arabin.

'Ballast blocks, man. Bring them up from below. Sitting targets. Knock those turkeys off their logs. Do it by dark, they'll be much more trouble by day.''Aye,' said Jon Arabin. 'That's thinking!'

Much later, they had killed every creature of the Swarms within throwing distance of the ship. Meanwhile, the sky had begun to lighten.'Dawn is coming,' said Zim.'Tell me something I don't know,' said Drake.

'Sorry,' said Zim, 'but I don't know your father's name either.'And dodged away from a half-hearted cuff.

As dawn approached, sullen clouds rolled across the sky, driven by high-level winds. Down at sea-level, a deadly stillness persisted. By the growing light, they could see logs upon logs stretching away for leagues, patterning the sea so densely they were almost touching.On every log, a monster.

There must have been thousands of them. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. A million, maybe. Drake, unable to make an exact estimate, knew this much for sure: the odds were lousy.

To his amazement, Drake realized that someone had got up on his hind legs and was making a speech. It was the soldier Scouse. Probably the man had been infected with heroism from associating with Morgan Hearst. This was what he was saying:

'Let's sell our lives dear, friends! Let's show them what we're made of! Now is our chance to meet the ancient enemy fist to fist, our chance to warray-''Screw speeches!' yelled Zim. 'How about some food?'

'Yes,' said Jon Arabin, loudly, cutting across Scouse's speech. 'Young Zim's spoken sense – albeit for the very first time in his life. Aye. Let's eat. The monsters will be stirring properly soon enough. Food in the gut, that's the story.'

The night's activities had thrown out the ship's routine so badly that no breakfast had been cooked. But hardtack was issued out, plus some oldish bread – hard stuff with a little green and grey mould starting to colonize it. And there was good stuff to wash it down: for every man, a dole of rum and black drop.

The darkening clouds had entirely covered the sky. But the Swarms knew it was dawn. The monsters were moving from log to log, converging on the good ship Dragon. Some lost their footing and drowned swiftly. But there were thousands more where those came from.

'Why so near-begaun with the liquor?' said Slagger Mulps, his voice loud in the sullen air. 'Drunk will serve us as well as sober.'

Jon Arabin was not so ready to abandon hope. But he judged that the battle would be joined before his crew had a chance to get drunk. So, rather than argue, he said:

'Aye, friend Walrus. You go below and organize us some more liquor.'Drake, meanwhile, went quietly to Miphon:'Can we use the death-stone?' he said.

'We could,' said Miphon. 'But what good would a stone ship do us?'

'Have you any other magic?' said Drake. 'Powers, spells, amulets and such?'

'None,' said Miphon. 'I was never very powerful as wizards go, and I lost most of my powers in – in an accident. But what difference would it make? The Swarms are many.'

'In very deed they're many,' said Drake, faking the reckless gaiety of suicidal courage. 'But are we not men?'

Some of them were, some were just boys. All knew they would most likely soon be dead.

Jon Arabin, for his part, did some mental arithmetic. The last year had been kind to him. He was five births in credit. A margin slim enough, but sufficient to satisfy his gods, who asked only that a man father as many people as he killed.And that a man plant a tree for every one he cut down.

It occurred to Jon Arabin that, somehow, he had never managed to get round to as much tree-planting as he should have. But surely that was of no importance.

The men had finished breakfast. They were waiting for the attack, and the waiting was hard. Jon Arabin decided to make a speech of his own to ease the silence. He wished he had the skill to produce some iron-worded oratory which would ring down through the ages, an inspiration to all who followed afterwards, and a monument to his own death.