Hugh Cook - The Walrus and the Warwolf

Drake's horror-shock immediately abolished all worries about bowels and bladder. Jon Disaster's warnings flooded back to him. Chaotic images of skinned flesh, pulled fingernails, amputated organs and gouged-out eyes tumbled in that flood.

'Go away!' he said frantically. 'Go away, before someone finds us!' 'O-lee!' she said, in tones of protest.Drake picked up a handful of sand and threw it at her. 'Lee-o-me-nee!' she said.

Drake's dread doubled as another woman entered. Also naked. The two had a rapid conference in their strange, sing-song voices, then cornered Drake and did their best to strip him naked. He only managed to preserve his honour by the most vigorous resistance.

'Jon Arabin!' said Drake. 'I'll kill you when I get hold of you!'His outburst of anger scattered the women.'Saved,' said Drake. 'At least for the moment.'

And he sat down in a corner, sweating, trembling, breathing heavily. This business of being a hostage was obviously going to be – to say the least – demanding.

'It's my blond good looks,' said Drake. 'That's what does the damage. The women get one look at me, and they just can't keep their hands off. I suppose they don't often see a fellow as handsome as me, not this far south. Well – can I help my beauty?'

Drake knew there was nothing he could do about his natural sex appeal.'It's not my fault!' he said. 'I'm innocent!'

But his innocence would do him no good if he was caught embracing a nubile young female. Oh no. Likely as not, he would be discovered by some dour, ugly representative of the older generation, who would have him killed out of sheer jealousy, if for no other reason.

'I've got to pretend I'm a professional virgin,' said Drake. 'Or something.'

During the course of the next three days (in which he did, finally, after several blunders, manage to find the toilet), Drake was tempted by three dozen naked women. Young they were, and beautiful, faces so smooth they seemed to be wearing masks, their milk-white eyes adoring, their breasts high-sprung, their innards oiled and ready for his exertions.

Ready they were indeed, knowing their guest was Drake Arabin, oldest and much-loved son of Jon Arabin, and heir to all the Arabin dominions: the Greater Teeth, the Lesser Teeth, the larger part of three continents, and several kingdoms in the Land of the Dead besides. Yes, to Ling, Jon Arabin was a mighty king, a great warrior, a powerful wizard, a minor demigod, and the richest man in the world.

To Drake, Jon Arabin was something else altogether.

He stood at a high window staring down at Ling Bay, where the distant Warwolf 'lay, and said:

'Jon, you're a sly scheming son of an octopus. And if I don't get out of here in one piece – then you're going to be in big trouble, man.'

When the daughters of Ling reported the failure of their enticements, the elders consulted, then sent in their sons. By hook or by crook, they would see Drake Arabin committed in love to some flesh of their. flesh before his captivity ended.

But the sons reported as little success as the daughters. The elders conferred again, then decided to bring Drake into the presence of the Great One.

When the elders came for him, Drake Douay was practising a one-man kata with a wooden sword which he had whittled out of a broken paddle.

'O-oo-o-ooo,' sang one of the elders, then grabbed Drake by the elbow.

'You've come to take me back to the ship?' said Drake. 'Great! I thought it was just about time to be leaving.'

And he threw down his waster and allowed the elders to lead him through many cool tunnels until they came to the audience chamber where sat the Great One. She was the oldest and wisest woman of Ling, a bright-eyed matriarch whose skin, in her old age, was mottled with dusky patterns which reminded Drake of the wings of a great moth.

Drake looked around the audience chamber uneasily. It was a square-cut white room with upwards of fifty elders squatting on the rough brown matting which carpeted the floor. The Great One lay in state in a hammock of sharkskin. Drake, deducing her authority from her elevation, said:

'Good morning, ma'am, pleased to meet you.' 'O-layma-nooloo,' said the Great One, making a formal response.

'Really?' said Drake. 'Listen, if we're going to have a conversation, we'll need to get Jon Arabin in on this.' 'Jon Arabin,' said the Great One.'Aaaah!' wailed the elders. 'Jon Arabin!'

And they lent forward in unison and kissed their right hand kneecaps (or, if that was forbidden by arthritis, their right hand wrists). Drake was not at all sure what to make of this. In any case, he had little time to think about it, for the Ling had begun to speak between themselves in their high-pitched sing-song voices.

'Why does he refuse the flesh of our flesh?' asked the elders.

'Because,' said the Great One, 'the spirit of purity burns strong within him.''Is he then Worthy?' asked the elders.

The Great One laid her hand upon Drake's forehead. A wisp of a hand it was, too, more skin than flesh – as frail as an old leaf which has almost frayed through to its skeleton.

'Yes,' said the Great One, after a lengthy pause. 'He is Worthy.'Even Great Ones have their off days.'Shall we then initiate him?' asked the elders.

'We shall. Indeed, we must. For it would be a sin to let one of the Worthy depart to the Plague Lands without initiation.''It shall be done,' said the elders.

And Drake was roughed onto a bloodstained metal rack and tied down with thongs of sharkskin. A jabber of excited faces crowded around him. Drums pulsed, nose flutes whined, witch doctors rattled bones, and an evil old gentleman made stone sizzle across steel as he honed a knife which already looked far more sharp than was necessary.

'No!' screamed Drake, writhing against his bonds. T didn't do it! I never touched them! What have I done? Is it something I said? Is it something I didn't say? I'll do anything, anything, just let me loose! Don't hurt me! Is there anyone here who speaks Galish? Gaaa!''Why is he screaming?' asked the elders.'Because the Ecstasy has possessed him,' said the Great

One gravely. 'It is a good sign. He shall be truly blessed.''Here is the box,' said the elders.'Good,' said the Great One.

And took the implement of initiation from the box.

Drake howled with incoherent fear as the gloating old woman held up a snake. It was small, and very much alive. It hissed, opening its jaws, showing sharp teeth. Before he had time to admire the red and orange markings twisting down its back (markings reminiscent of the forging-patterns of Gouda Muck's mastersword) it whipped free from the Great One's hands and fell to the floor.

There was an uproar as heroes competed for the precious little monster. But the man who had been sharpening the knife stayed calm. Humming gently to himself, he leaned over Drake's body and cut once, neatly, making an incision under the floating rib on Drake's right-hand side.

Drake hissed, with fear, with anger, with pain. The old woman had regained the snake. She was fondling it. Stroking it. Crooning to it. Bringing it closer. She was – no!'No! No! No!' screamed Drake.

But she put the head of the snake to his open wound. He screamed again as it began gnawing into his vitals. It was like being stabbed repeatedly with a red-hot poker.

Then, strangely, the pain lessened. It became dull. Disappeared altogether. Yes. While teeth still tunnelled, he no longer cared. He was starting to float, hmmm, yes, drifting away on a river of deliciously warm milk.

The Great One leaned over him. He smiled up at her face, noting, for the first time, the red veins spiderwebbed in the milk white of her eyes. She kissed him, giving him her blessing for the Journey. He felt himself falling. Her face contracted to a point, then disappeared altogether. The last sounds hissed into silence.'Who am I?' he wondered.Idly.Then wondered no more, for he was unconscious. # # #