Hugh Cook: The Walrus and the Warwolf

'Come on, shark!' said Drake. 'Make an end of it, you ugly bugger!'

But the shark just circled, chirruping now and then. Another joined it. Two of them, then. No, three!

'A dinner party, is it?' said Drake. 'Man, sorry to show up for dinner with a bare arse.' It was time to fill the trousers again. Or drown.'Life is hope,' said Drake.

And manoeuvred himself off his trousers, meaning to slip them behind him to catch another load of air. But he was so weak that, as the last of that air-support left him, he slipped beneath the waves, losing his grip on the trousers. Which sank.Drake sank.Grabbing for the surface.

Something rose up beside him. He seized it. He found himself brought to the surface. By a shark. Too exhausted to scream, he lay there in the sea, lay with his cheek against the water-smooth flank of the shark, his arm over its great smooth back.

Then remembered that sharks are not smooth, for their skin has more teeth than their jaws. So this must be a dolphin, yes, he had heard of such, that accounted for the whistling and all, it was a dolphin, life answering to life just as the legends claimed. And Drake, unable to help himself, wept.And heard someone hail him:'Ahoy there! You with the fish!'

Now the dolphin is no fish, for its blood is warm, and, what's more, mother dolphins give birth to their young in a fashion close to human, then suckle their babies on milk. But Drake knew well enough that the voice was speaking to him.

'So it's true,' he said. 'The dead begin to speak to you as you die. Well, who'd have thought it?'

Then the voice called again. Turning his head, Drake saw a ship on the sea behind him. If he had looked around earlier, he would have seen it much sooner.

'Investigate,' said Drake. 'That's what I should have done.'Then the dolphin submerged, leaving him floundering in the swell. But hope gave him strength, and he kept himself afloat until the ship came alongside. It was a xebec with sails ofthepalest lilac, a hull painted gold and topsides of silver. It looked like something out of a dream.

Looking up, Drake saw a woman looking down. She was tall. She was luxurious. Her hair was red, her skin also; her mouth was broad, her breasts high-lofted.

'Are you all right?' she said anxiously, in Galish tinged with a foreign accent.

Drake floated there, gazing up at her. What a mouth! What a nose! What beautiful body-lines! Suddenly he remembered all the good resolutions he had made in the face of death: Go for what you want! Yield to nothing! Grab while the grabbing's good!Well,then. . .' Will you marry me?' said Drake.'What?' said the woman, her face showing alarm.'Marryme! I'minlove!''You're crazy,' she said.

Drake lacked the strength to protest. He floated, his hair – beautifully clean by now – floating around him in the easy seas. Then a capture net scooped him from the water, and he was hauled aboard like a bit of dead meat.

Shortly, he was lying on hard boards with a coarse woollen blanket draped over his nakedness. The tall red woman was bending over him, feeding him sips of water.

'Careful, now,' she said, supporting his head. 'Not all at once!'He seized her hand, and kissed it. 'Marry me,' he said.

'I'll learn you a rather hard lesson, if you talk on so foolish,' she said, a note of warning in her voice.

She was, he judged, about four years older than him, and a good head taller. He was in lust with her. Strenuously in lust. Or, to be more exact: he liked what he saw, and his ego compelled him to imagine that he had strength enough for lust, even after the trauma of his deep-sea survival exercise. It was that same ego which compelled him to pursue his suit:'Tell me,' said Drake, 'tell me at least your name.'

'Zanya,' shesaid. 'ZanyaKliedervaust, lately of the temple of the Orgy God on the Ebrells.'

'The Orgy God?' said Drake. 'That sounds like my kind of deity.'

'Mayhap,' said Zanya. 'But I have renounced the temple. Also the flesh it worships. I seek a higher calling. That I hope to find on Stokos.'

At that moment, they were interrupted by a tall, well-built man with violet eyes and purple skin. He wore a purple robe; heavy golden ear-rings dangled beside his cheeks.'Zanya,' he said. 'Faa n 'koto afa dree takaloka tee?'

'Gaa n'moto seki seki,' answered Zanya. 'Ka ta funofoonu ti.'

'Who are you?' said Drake, staring up at the big purple man.

'He speaks no Garish,' said Zanya. 'But his name is Oronoko. He's a prince from one of the provinces of Parengarenga.'

' Yakoto,' said Prince Oronoko, smiling as he put a hand to his heart. 'N'mo k'nozo Oronoko. Ka nafu-nafu.' 'Is this your boyfriend?' said Drake.

'He's a pilgrim,' said Zanya. 'He came to the Ebrells in a quest for purity. We've been questing together ever since.'

'I see,' said Drake. 'Questing for long enough to share a language between you.'

'Oh, I've known the speaking of Frangoni for years,' said Zanya. 'It's a language common enough on the Ebrells.'

Drake wanted to question her further, but first he had to deal with the ship's captain, a lean, anxious man who came bustling along the deck, peered at Drake with some misgivings, then asked, in a high-pitched voice scarcely half a tone away from hysteria:

'How came you to be in the water? What evil put you there? Witchcraft, perhaps?'

'Nay, man,' said Drake, improvising. 'I was on my uncle's fishing boat. Then up came a kraken! Ah, a brute of a thing it was! Terrible with tentacles. It drowned the boat. Ate all but me.'His eyes were bright, his voice frenzied.

'Say no more,' said the captain, his fears of the occult apparently appeased. 'Leisure back, boy. Rest. Sleep. We'll land in Stokos soon enough. That will be the time for you to make a settlement with your grief.'

All the way back to Stokos, Drake's resolution hardened. His flesh, for the moment, was too weak to harden with his resolution. But there was no doubt about it. He could have, would have, must have this big beautiful red-skinned Ebrell bitch.

But he was to be disappointed.

For, on reaching Stokos, Zanya quit the ship swiftly, in company with Oronoko, without even bothering to learn Drake's name.'Must follow,' muttered Drake to Drake.

And he gave chase.

But he had scarce taken a dozen steps when the ground snatched itself from under his feet and a sheet of stifling black tar rolled across the surface of the sun.

When Drake recovered consciousness, he found himself lying on a truckle-bed in the room which housed the skull collection which was the pride and joy of his uncle, Oleg Douay. When Drake called out, his uncle came to his bedside.'What happened?' said Drake.

'Why, the sea gods saved you, that's what happened,' said Oleg. 'I prayed to them mightily. My faith, as you see, is justified.'

'No,' said Drake. T mean down at the waterfront. What happened there?'

'You fainted, or so report would have it. Nothing to be ashamed of. After what you've been through, it's a wonder you could walk from the ship on your own two legs. Rest.'

'Man,' said Drake, 'a woman came off that ship. She-'

'Never you mind about women!' said Oleg. 'There'll be plenty of time for that later.'Shortly, Drake had a visitor: it was Sully Yot.'Five shangles,' said Yot, sticking out his hand.'Man!' said Drake. 'That's a fine form of greeting!''Pay up!' said Yot, obviously delighting in his triumph.

It occurred to Drake that, if the mischances of fate ever reduced him to slavery, then Yot was the very last person he would want as a master.

'Man, I'll pay all right, but only if you can find a woman for me.'

And Drake proceeded to name and describe Zanya Kliedervaust. By diligent inquiry, Yot found she had taken work in the leper colony on the outskirts of town. Drake paid over the five shangles, though the news gave him little joy.