Hugh Cook - The Walrus and the Warwolf

An anchor was fashioned from a net filled with ballast blocks. Divers were nominated and repair parties chosen. Hunters were put ashore to kill fresh meat – even parrots would be welcome. A boat went for fresh water, so the Warwolf would have ample supplies of such if she had to leave without warning. Suzilman volunteered himself as an expert on timber, and was given charge of forestry operations.

By noon, everyone was working at their tasks with confidence.

But Jon Arabin was desperately anxious. What was this place? An island or a peninsular? He had to know! He called together his three most expendable men: Harly Burpskin, Raggage Pouch and Drake Douay.

'Boys,' said Jon Arabin, 'I've got you together quietlike so we can talk in confidence. When my greatgrandfather sailed these waters, he was a fearsome pirate. Aye. And he buried great treasure on an island in these waters. Mayhap it was this one . . .'

And Arabin described the treasure-burial place. It was in a cave set in a headland on one side of a sandy bay. A cave lined with emeralds.

'The treasure sits in an iron box which is enchanted,' said Arabin. 'It cannot be moved unless you say the magic word: Ponk!'

'Ponk,' said Drake, savouring the word. Then: 'Is there another magic word needed to open this treasure chest?'

'There is,' said Arabin. 'But only I know that word. But … if you find the treasure, we'll split it. Equal shares.''What about the emeralds?' demanded Raggage Pouch.

'Ah, those,' said Arabin. 'Well. . . what you can hack out of the walls of the cave is yours to keep.''Why are we so privileged?' said Drake.

'Because the rest of my crew deserves no share of treasure,' said Arabin, 'for they have come far too close to mutiny. Aye. Whereas I never saw any of you in that mutinous mob.'

All three, in fact, had shouted against the hard labour of careening: but none of them confessed as much to Jon Arabin. Instead, they congratulated themselves on his trust, and began dreaming of how they would spend their share of the treasure.

Thus it was that Drake Douay, Raggage Pouch and Harly Burpskin provisioned one of the Warwolf 's boats and then, by oar and by sail, began to circumnavigate Island Tor.

Drake was intensely proud to have been chosen for this expedition. The honour confirmed his own high opinion of himself. All eagerness and expectation, he stared at the lush green shore, on the lookout for headlands and caves.

A few leagues south-east of Zanya Bay, the explorers came upon a U-shaped harbour perhaps two leagues wide and two deep. Drake saw at a glance that, compared with Zanya Bay, it offered infinitely better protection from hostile winds.

'Jon Arabin should know about this place,' said he. 'Let's turn back to tell him.'

'What fool's talk is this?' said Burpskin. 'Do you want to get rich, or what?'

'I want,' said Drake, 'to have a ship to go home in. This place would see the Warwolf safer than where she lies now.'

'Aagh,' sneered Raggage Pouch, and hawked, and spat. 'Talking like a ten-year salt-sea sailor, aren't we now? You're young, you're a landlubber, you know nothing of it.'

'I say let's look after us,' said Burpskin. 'That's the important thing. Who knows? The treasure could be hidden in this very harbour.'

'You're crazy,' said Drake, infuriated by such shortsighted selfishness. 'The ship's our survival. The ship comes first, aye, before wealth, food, sleep or leisure.'

'That's captain's talk,' said Pouch, with contempt. 'We've seen you sniffing round Jon Arabin, haven't we just? You're.thinking you want a career of command, perhaps? Well – why shoald we" risk our fortune to get you launched on such?'

'I'm thinking I want to stay alive,' said Drake, starting to get angry.

Thus began an argument which took so long that it was night before they finally beached their boat. They continued the argument round the campfire. It was not exactly an auspicious start to their journey.And things got worse rather than better.

They found bays, headlands and caves, but never the cave they were looking for. They argued further, of course; they forgot precisely what Jon Arabin had told them, and proceeded to invent the details.

Drake learned a considerable amount about getting along with disagreeable companions. He also learned the hard way – about winds, tides, and small boat management. And where to camp and where not to camp.And he suffered.

He was bitten by mosquitoes, stung by a scorpion, spiked by thorns and agonized by poison ivy. Food ran out. The three survived on seaweed, whore's eggs and rock-oysters. Then, when they thought they had almost circumnavigated the island, they wrecked their boat on its most northerly cape.

Jon Arabin had given Drake up for dead when the lad came staggering out of the forest one evening, thin, tired, ragged and footsore.'Where have you been?' said Arabin.

'Chasing a treasure that never was,' said Drake, in something like fury. 'Your great-grandfather never sailed these waters! Or if he did, he never left treasure here.'

'Yes,' said Arabin. 'But you should have known that much to start with.'

And Drake realized this was true. He had let greed overbalance judgment.'So why did you send me round the island?' said Drake.'To see what you're made of,' said Arabin.'Does this mean I get to be a sailor?'

'No, for you've obviously lost me a boat. And what have you done with Burpskin and Pouch? Have you eaten them?'

'Came close to it,' said Drake. 'They gave up. They're two days north – two days as the survivor stumbles.' 'Inland?' said Arabin.

'No. Shorebound, on a beach at the foot of the cliffs of a cape to the north of here. There was a way up the cliff, aye, easy climbing, but they were both too gutless to try it.''Then I'll send a boat,' said Arabin. And did.

Then settled down to interrogate Drake, for he wanted to learn as much as he possibly could about Island Tor. Who knows? He might someday be forced back here again.

As Drake ate parrot-meat and ironbread, and answered Arabin's questions, he became quite proud of his achievement. Yes. Despite all difficulty, he'd managed. He'd not like to do it again, but… it was worth doing once.

Jon Arabin tested me. Aye. Well, I hope he's happy. For lam.

Seventeen days after she had arrived at Zanya Bay, the Warwolf put to sea again. She had a new foremast made of roble cut from the forests of Tor. The worst of her leaks had been repaired. She had a cargo of summerpine, cedar and bamboo, also cut out of the hinterland. That should fetch a good price in Narba – and should help pay for the permanent repairs which were still needed to make the Warwolf truly seaworthy.

They sailed north, rounding the island's northernmost cape. Then the wind got up and attacked them. A howling wind from the east. Despite Arabin's best efforts, they were forced westward, coming closer and closer to the mountain heights dominating the mainland.

Rumour held that the white enamel of those fangs was water curdied by cold. The Galish termed such stuff 'muff. Jon Arabin, who was much-travelled, knew it well: Drake, on the other hand, reserved judgment, withholding belief until the day he could walk on it.If the wind kept up, that day might be soon.

Finally, when they were almost on the rocks, the wind died. Jez Glane claimed it was prayers to his god which had stopped it: and he converted three people to the worship of that god (the great white star-dragon Bel).

Drake was not interested in Glane's god.

He was, though, intensely interested in what he could see on the shore.'Look!' he cried. 'Something moving!'

There were many things moving on the narrow coastal plain between the waters of the Drangsturm Gulf and the heights of the Dreldragon Teeth. It was too far to make out details, but clearly they were bigger than buffalo. Some were as big as cottages.