Hugh Cook - The Walrus and the Warwolf

'No, not that kind of son. A true son. Flesh of the Demon's flesh. Spawn of his spawn. He came from the halls of hell to take your mother by night.'

Drake considered this intriguing notion for a few moments.

'I've never heard such nonsense in all my life,' said Drake. 'But supposing it was true, I'd take it as a compliment. To me, for my parentage. To my mother, for attracting such high-born attention. And to my childhood's father, for winning a woman the Demon himself would want.'

'But it means you're evil, don't you see? The Demon's the enemy of the Flame. That's why Gouda Muck sent us.''Sent you? '

'Yes. Fifty of us. All over the world. Looking for you. To – to – well. . .''To kill me?' asked Drake. 'Well, yes.'

At first Drake was incredulous. Then he remembered his last visit to Narba. Then an old face from Stokos, a past neighbour of Gouda Muck, had made a diligent attempt to knife Drake properly.

'Fifty looking for me!' said Drake. 'How many worshippers has the Flame claimed, then?'

'Well, half of Stokos, by now,' said Yot. 'The king himself has converted. There's talk of outlawing the temple.'

Drake felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. AH the wind was quite taken out of him. But once he had got over the shock he started to get angry.

'Now look here,' said Drake. 'This nonsense has to end, and here, and now. Recant! Renounce the Flame. Look, there's fire – the oil-lamp's wick. Piss on it, Yot, piss on it now, or I'll kill you!'

But Yot would not. He wept with fear, he begged, he pleaded, but even in the face of death he would not defile the Flame.'And you still think you have to kill me?' said Drake. 'I must! I must!' wept Yot.

Drake, seething with anger, roped Yot properly and put him on the market. Yot so disgusted him that Drake didn't want to be associated any further – not even for the time it would take to torture his captive to death.

'Ready meat waiting!' shouted Drake. 'Best stuff for fish bait, torture, raping!'

But interest was slack. Slaving Day had glutted most people's tastes, and the Bacchanal of the banquet had left just about the entire pirate population of Knock with a hangover.

Drake grew hoarse with shouting. He cooled his throat with an ale, then thought to ask:'You say King Tor has converted to – to-''To the Faith,' said Yot. 'To Goudanism.''Then does Tor believe that I'm-'

'Tor is a true believer!' said Yot. His voice was shrill with fear and hate. 'He knows you're the son of the Demon. He's ordered that you be handed over to Gouda Muck if you ever set foot on Stokos.''Then what?'

'Then our all-sacred Muck will have you skinned alive. That's just to start with! Oh, you'll wish you were dead! You'll scream for the privilege of dying! But Muck won't let you go that easily. He'll make you suffer.'

Drake felt all broken-up inside. This was really the end! He could never go home. Goodbye to his dreams of a place in the priesthood! Goodbye to his hopes for marriage to Tor's daughter and a claim to the throne of Stokos! Goodbye – ay yes, farewell forever! – to the high-breasted Zanya Kliedervaust.

'This is bad news, truly,' said Drake. 'I … I thought to go back to Stokos someday. Not least to see my lady.''And who's that?' said Yot.

'You wouldn't know her,' said Drake. 'She was red of skin and red of hair. She was aged about twenty or so. Tall, yes, mayhap a head higher than me. Breasts beautiful, high-riding like buoyant boats.'

'Are you talking about Zanya?' said Yot. 'Zanya Kliedervaust?''You know her!'

'Why, of course,' said Yot. 'She's one of Muck's favourite disciples.''Then she's – she's with Muck?'

'No,' said Yot. 'She's left Stokos entirely. Gone to do missionary work. To convert the world to Goudanism!''Where has she gone?' said Drake.

'Why should I tell you?' said Yot. 'You're the Demon-son! And a nasty stunted ugly runt!'And Yot spat in Drake's face.

Whereupon Drake grabbed him, intending to cut his throat on the spot.

'What's this?' said a jovial voice. 'Business or pleasure?'

Drake relaxed his grip on Yot. He looked around and saw that a rough-smelling pirate had happened along, an evil brute with a most unlovely bearded face, with pouches under bloodshot eyes, with lice scattered like dandruff through greasy locks, and with splashes of black blood from his most recent murder still splattered across his clothes.It was, of course, Andranovory.

'I came here intending to sell this – this thing,' said Drake. 'But it seems nobody wants to buy such rubbish. So I've decided to cut its throat to get rid of it. Would you hold it still? It's wriggling. Aye! And trying to bite!''Hold still!' barked Andranovory.And Yot ceased his struggles immediately.

'Why, An'vory, man,' said Drake, in reluctant admiration, 'You've sure got a way with your voice.'

Atsimo Andranovory made no immediate reply, but studied Yot carefully.

'You meant to sell this?' he said, after a pause, idling a finger across Yot's neck while the apostle of the Flame cringed and whimpered. 'For how much?'

'To you, he's free,' said Drake, who could think of no worse fate for Yot than sale to Andranovory.Andranovory laughed.'Done,' said Andranovory, and cut Yot's bonds. Then tossed the boy a knife.

Startled, Yot caught it by the hilt, and stood there looking most uncertain.

'You're my shipmate now,' said Andranovory. 'My bloodbrother true. My enemy's enemy is good enough for me. Come, man – I'll take you to meet our captain. Aye. The Walrus – Slagger Mulps himself. He'll be heartened by the sight of a fine young fellow like you.'

'How about a drink first?' said Yot, feeling he needed something to steady his nerves.

'Why, sure – that's an excellent idea,' said Andranovory.

Then Andranovory laughed again at the outrage on Drake's face, and went swaggering off to the nearest beer stand to celebrate his victory.

Name: Menator.

Birthplace: by the side of the Salt Road some seven leagues north of the Castle of Controlling Power.

Occupation: adventurer (and, previously, Galish merchant, horse thief, outlaw, and joint ruler of the kingdom of Talajar).

Status: warlord.

Description: a man as bald as Jon Arabin, nose broken, blue rose tattooed on left cheek.

Drake was sure Slagger Mulps would be too smart to want anything to do with a useless piece of wart-faced filth like Sully Yot. But, to Drake's disgust, Yot was aboard the Walrus when it set off on a raiding expedition the very next day.

He won't last, though. No. The first time he has to fight it out for real, blade against blade, he'll run screaming. Aye. This first voyage should finish him for piracy.

However, three days later the Walrus returned after a bloodless victory. Off the coast of Chorst, Slagger Mulps and his men had caught a trading ship. Rather than stand and fight, the crew of their quarry had set fire to their vessel and had then abandoned ship, making for the nearby shore.

Every man from the Walrus swore they had rescued treasure from the burning ship. As they did no extra

boozing, gambling or whoring, Drake guessed they were bluffing – but he had no way to prove it.After a two-day rest, the Walrus set sail again. One more chance for Yot to get himself killed, then.

But Drake could not help envying Yot. He was sick and tired of the Teeth, bored with fishing, sealing, and the routines of gambling. He found himself longing to be at sea again. Which was perverse, surely, for the sea was big and wet, cold and unfriendly, daunting and merciless.

But there's companionship there. Aye. The ship's life's one life shared. Yes.

How long would it be before Jon Arabin took them to sea again?