Hugh Cook - The Walrus and the Warwolf

'Well/ said Yot, doubtfully, 'I suppose doctrine must bend to circumstance!''Indeed it must,' said Drake.

Thus the pair discovered the true philosophical basis of conventional religion.

'Gouda Muck has a new convert,' said Drake. 'That should make him happy, when he hears about it.'

But Drake was not a true convert to the fanatical faith of Goudanism, and Yot was no longer a true follower.They were both heretics.

Did Drake's lust for Zanya Kliedervaust have something to do with his new-found faith in the Flame?

Yot soon began to suspect that it did, for Drake began inquiring about missionary work, and his chances of maybe teaming up with someone who had gone to make converts in foreign parts.

'Wait till you've mastered doctrine before talking of missionary work,' said Yot.

To help win Yot's confidence, and to show trust, Drake shared with him the story of the meal of rats and cockroaches he had once cooked for Mulps and Arabin. But Yot did not soften. In fact, his attitude hardened: he again raised the question of making converts.

'I'll do a deal with you,' said Drake. 'If you wait till we all get some decent food in our bellies, I'll guard your flank when you first try preaching to one of this mob. We'd better try Whale Mike first.''Why?'said Yot.

'Because he's a nice guy,' said Drake. 'He'll take it the right way.'

'And he owes you, right?' said Yot. 'Because of the food you shared in the pit.'

Drake frankly thought he was owed nothing for that. If he had not been so selfish to start with, they would all have eaten much sooner.

What Drake really thought was that Whale Mike was too stupid to possibly understand anything Yot said about the Flame, therefore couldn't possibly be offended by it.In truth, what did Drake believe?Did he believe in the Flame?

Well, sometimes he did and sometimes he didn't. His belief was at a very delicate state, and it would take very little to tip the balance of belief either one way or the other.

Drake (formally Dreldragon Drakedon Douay): sword-smith's apprentice on Stokos until ran from his master, Gouda Muck; took passage to Androlmarphos; shipped out of 'Marphos as slave; captured by Slagger Mulps, aka the Walrus; rescued from Gaunt Reefs by Jon Arabin, the Warwolf; sailed with Arabin, sojourning in Ling as a hostage; became immune to disease and poisons after protective organism introduced into his body by people of Ling; sailed with Walrus to Burntos and with Warwolf to Hexagon, then joined embassy which failed to reach Menator's brother (Ohio of Ork) because of disaster at sea; with survivors of subsequent capture by Collosnon, began north-to-south crossing of Penvash.

They exited from the tunnel at dawn. What day it was, they could not say. They had crossed half a dozen streams deep underground; they had slept at each, sometimes briefly, sometimes for longer.

No door barred their exit from the tunnel. A door did exist, but lay half-buried amongst evergreen trees fifty paces away. Someone or something had torn it in half then thrown it there.

Past the tunnelmouth ran a large stream. A very generous cartographer might have called it a small river. The pirates themselves thought of it as a river, since on the Teeth they seldom saw more fresh water at once than a whore needs to wash a pizzle.

Autumn snow whispered out of a sky of indeterminate

height. It snuffed out as it hit the water; the swirling stream ran on regardless. The ground was yet black-brown; the evergreen trees stood green; but both might soon concede their colour to snow.

Jon Arabin waited till all his men reached the tunnel-mouth. The last stragglers took a long time to arrive. How many days were they good for? Few.'Boys,' said Jon Arabin, 'we're through the mountains.'

Jez Glane, fearing a speech, sat down, closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep. Others followed suit.

'It's all downhill from here,' said Arabin. 'And, boys, there's beer in Estar, I'll be telling you that – I've been there before now, to taste it.'

Simp Fiche picked something from his nose. Saw it was good. Ate it. Drake picked muck from beneath his fingernails with a little twig. Rolf Thelemite unlaced his boots so he could massage his feet, as he always did on a halt.

'Boys,' said Arabin, 'it's us against the weather now. And the further south we go, the warmer.'

'Aye,' said Mulps, getting to his feet. 'And by the time we reach Estar it'll be haymaking summer, if we sit listening to much more in speeches. Let' s get moving.'Moving they got.

That night, Arabin took his tinder box from his sea-pouch to conjure up fire for them. As they sat round the flames, Tiki Slooze told stories of the Old City which allegedly lay to the south: tales of ghosts with red eyes, of walking bones and living fire, of screaming water and music which killed, of flesh-tearing birds as large as ships, of strangling trees which ate men in the dark, and of rats the size of dragons.

Arabin let him talk, feeling the tales were too fantastic to be believed. Anyway, men busy with thoughts of the south would spent less time lamenting their empty bellies.

Jon Arabin did not believe in the Old City. But then, he had never believed in dragons, either – until he had come face-to-face with one on an adventure from which very few of his comrades had returned alive.

Next day, the stream broadened steadily. About noon, they came upon a stone phallus standing by its banks. The stone was an impervious, translucent green, filled with stars of many different colours.

'This is real solid to be sure,' said Bucks Cat, giving the phallus a familiar pat. 'As big as my uncle Habby.'Simp Fiche embraced it. Then, slyly, licked it.

'There must be a woman-one to go with it,' said Jez Glane. 'That's what I'm interested in!'

He danced a little jig – but was too far gone to keep it up for more than a few steps. And the outburst of horseplay a find like this would normally have triggered did not eventuate: nobody had that much spirit left.'Come on,' said Jon Arabin. 'Let's be moving.'But:

'Eh hey!' said Whale Mike, reaching into the undergrowth.

He pulled out something small, round and brown. It was a ball of spikes. It sat on the palm of his huge hand looking evil and alien.

'What is it?' asked Drake, alarmed by this strange thing.

'He's a klude,' said Whale Mike happily. 'You bake him deep in a mud-jacket, he eats you good.'

'So that's a klude!' said Drake, who had heard of the Galish word before. 'I always thought it was a kind of rat. How does it move around? It rolls, I suppose.'

'Oh no,' said Whale Mike. 'He got four feet, he just roll up now, later roll out, but not this time for we cook him, clay around then leave in the fire, bake good.'

'How many of us will that feed?' demanded Ika Thole. 'Not more than three, I'll be sure.'

He said 'three' because that was the biggest number he knew, mathematics not being his strong suit.

'Oh, there be one, there be more,' said Whale Mike, a big grin on his face. 'They not run fast, not more fast than blood run along a deck when you cut some joker open, no, they be here, we catch them.''Maybe,' said Jon Arabin, doubtfully.

But Whale Mike decided the issue by shoving the little klude deep into the front pocket of his big leather apron.

'This one mine,' said Whale Mike. T share bite and bite about if no others, but only with those who hunt some. No hunt, no eat.'

'I suppose you can't say fairer than that,' said Jon Arabin. 'Let's spread out and look.'

Once they started hunting in earnest, really looking hard at what lay around them, it was amazing what they found. Soon, Drake had personally caught (and eaten) three spiders, a little beetle-thing, a snail which had glued itself to a tree, and a slug.'Holes here!' cried Peg Suzilman.