Hugh Cook: The Walrus and the Warwolf

Back and forth went Miphon and Whale Mike. Each time they ventured into the bottle, they took with them more men and more materials. Blackwood stood stolidly on the deck, arms folded, sometimes giving a timely order to organize the chaos all around.

The sudden promise of physical salvation by means of the red bottle amazed most pirates not a jot. For – was not their leader Jon Arabin? They'd all secretly expected him to come up with something fancy. And this fitted the bill precisely.

While some of the crew had been gathering materials and venturing to the bottle, others had been holding the line against the Swarms, and others had been setting fire to the ship. Smoke curdled in the air. It spread in choking

clouds. The Swarms wavered as the smoke spread amongst them – then began to fall back.

'They hate smoke!' yelled Arabin. 'They're running! We're winning!'

Meanwhile, the flames leaped through the still and sullen air, swift as a band of lunatic red-jacketed monkeys driven on by a throng of rabid slave-masters wielding razor-tipped whips by way of encouragement. As the fire took hold, flames swung from sail to sail so fast the canvas seemed almost to explode. And the Swarms were truly on the run, retreating from the heat, the smoke, the crackling fury of the conflagration. Many of the monsters plunged overboard, there to drown.

Burning rope and canvas fell amongst the work parties, who swore and shouted and laboured all the harder. Some were weeping, some laughing, some dancing on the spot as they waited for Miphon to transport them inside the red bottle. They were wild, crazy, manic, joyful. They had hope! They were going to live!

'General retreat!' yelled Jon Arabin. 'Retreat to me! We're quitting the ship! Move your backsides!'

From the daze of heat, smoke and crackling flame came the last of the ship's defenders. Sweating. Bleeding. Gasping. Grinning. Miphon took them into the bottle, group by group.Finally, only these stood on the burning deck:

Blackwood, the bottle roped to his waist; Miphon, bearing the ring; Jon Arabin; Drake; Zanya; Whale Mike.Jon Arabin drew his falchion.'Give the bottle to my man Drake,' said Jon Arabin.

Upon which Whale Mike grabbed both Blackwood and Miphon. One hand round each neck. He could have killed them just by squeezing.

Blackwood unknotted the red bottle and passed it to Drake, who swiftly tied it to his own waist. Jon Arabin glanced around quickly. The air was trembling with heat. He was sweating. Somewhere, burning wood broke with a sharp crack. Beyond the flames he could see a handful of hell-creatures writhing in death.

'Now, the death-stone,' said Jon Arabin. 'Give it to me!''No,' said Miphon.'I'll kill you!' said Jon Arabin.

'Blackwood,' said Miphon. 'Blackwood has the death-stone.''This is true?'said Jon Arabin.Blackwood nodded.'Then give it to me!' said Arabin.

'Jon,' said Drake. 'It's no good grabbing the death-stone. I've tried that. There's writing on it. The writing gives a spell which commands the death-stone. You have to hold the death-stone, then say the spell.'

Jon Arabin was literate. But he knew well that any wizard-spell would be written in the High Speech, which he could neither speak nor read.'The spell!' demanded Jon Arabin.

'The spell,' said Miphon, promptly, 'is jonmarakaralarajodo, enakonazavnetzyltrakolii, zeq-telejenzeq.'

Miphon was lying. These words had no power whatsoever: they simply meant, in the High Speech of wizards: stochastic, phenomenological, epistemological.

'Run that past me again,' said Jon Arabin, a puzzled look on his face.Miphon did so.

But it was no good: such long words could never be learnt in moments.

A burning spar crashed to the deck, scattering blazing coals. A wave of heat washed across their sweating faces. The air filled momentarily with choking smoke, then cleared, leaving them coughing, eyes watering.

'Mr Wizard,' said Jon Arabin, deciding. 'We'll learn the ways of the death-stone later. For the moment, you'll give Blackwood the ring. Blackwood will take us inside the red bottle. You'll stay within with me, as a hostage. Then

Blackwood will return to the deck to command the death-stone against the Swarms.'

Reluctantly, Miphon gave Blackwood the ring which commanded the red bottle,'Let's go,' said Jon Arabin.

And grabbed Zanya. Then took hold of Whale Mike, who had still not released either Miphon or Blackwood. Then Blackwood turned the ring on his finger – and all five were sucked into the red bottle which was now tied to Drake's belt.

As they vanished, air rushed in to occupy vacuum. With the air came smoke, ash, intolerable heat. Drake, alone on the deck, crouched low to avoid the smoke. Another spar shook the deck as it fell, scattering more burning coals. One skittled along the deck, finishing right under Drake's nose.

'Come on come on come on!' said Drake. 'What's keeping you?'Were they fighting inside the bottle?

'Come on, Blackwood!' screamed Drake. 'Come on, you crazy ganch!'

He struck at the red bottle tied to his belt. Then saw – smoke? A ghost? No: Blackwood, materializing on the deck.

Everyone but Blackwood and Drake was now in the red bottle.'Do it!' said Drake. 'Use the death-stone! Quick!'

Blackwood proved to be wearing the death-stone in a leather bag slung round his neck beneath his clothing. He took it out. Held it high. Then shouted Words. They were long, tangled things in the High Speech, said so fast they were almost a gabble. Drake thought he caught a snatch of the spell – 'tabanagijish' – but even that he might have got wrong.'Stand closer!' shouted Blackwood.So Drake, to be safe, crouched at Blackwood's feet.

The sea was roaring. Or was it the sea? No, it was the sky. Grating, grinding. The flames – the flames were turning grey. The very air was grey. A red-hot coal flickered, flashed green, then went out. Still Blackwood stood there, arm raised, death-stone in hand.

There was a crash.An enormous crash.

Chunks of rock flew across the deck, narrowly missing the two men. The mast had turned to stone, and the mast, falling, had shattered.

Drake heard a crackling sound, as if an intense fire was burning somewhere. But the fire on the ship seemed to be out. Where was the sound coming from? It was a skin of rock, forming on the surface of the sea, then breaking up with the action of the swells.Drake peered into the grey distance.

Saw monsters of the Swarms writhing, freezing, falling. Saw a Neversh fall, turned to stone in flight. Saw logs submerge, sink, vanish – turned to stone.

This was a Cause with Effect indeed!

At last, the air cleared, and was no longer grey. But it was dry, yes, dry, and harsh on the throat. Drake heard, very clearly, swells slapping against the side of their stone ship. And an ugly grating sound as that ship began to crack open.But, for the moment, the ship was still floating. 'She's starting to settle,' said Drake. 'What?' said Blackwood.

'The ship. She's getting lower in the water. Hey, man – up there! Neversh!'

There was indeed a Neversh still in the sky.

'The death-stone kills nothing which is more than two leagues away,' said Blackwood in a sombre voice, putting that stone back into its leather bag, which he then tucked away out of sight.

The ship was much lower in the water. It was going down fast. Drake went to the side.'Better we jump, man, and swim clear,' he said.

Then suited actions to words. Water shot up his nose. The sea was cold!'Come on, Blackwood!' yelled Drake. And Blackwood followed.

They floundered away through the regular swells, gasping, striving, encumbered with boots and with clothes. Then they were sucked back as the ship went down -sucked back, pulled under, whirled round, coming to the surface at last breathless and chilled.