Hugh Cook - The Walrus and the Warwolf

T won't take much of your time,' said Arabin. 'All I want is a little talk.'

'You're competing with diarrhoea,' said Drake, pulling down his pants. 'And you're losing!'

At that Jon Arabin retired. He would have plenty of chances in the future to convert Drake to the Creed of Anthus. There was, surely, no need to hurry.

That night, it was cold. That night, Zanya and Drake held each other close. For warmth. And, as far as Zanya was concerned, for safety. She mistrusted Drake's evil companions – Bucks Cat and Ish Ulpin in particular. She would have been terrified sleeping alone, without the protection of a fellow worshipper of the Flame.

Both woke in the deep dark, long after midnight. What had woken them? Mutual dreams of lust. Silently, they kissed. They kissed, and fingered. Then slept. And dreamt of taking their lust to its logical conclusion.

Come morning, Drake found both Yot and Arabin were onto him. Yot with lectures about purity, self-control, virtue, the teachings of Gouda Muck and the demands of the Flame. Arabin with a different message altogether, and news of the gods of the Creed of Anthus.

'Our religion teaches that we must father a man for each we kill,' said Arabin. 'Drake, my boy, you've got a lot of breeding to do. This woman is ideal!'

These intellectual assaults multiplied Drake's religious confusion.

Yot, by the very intensity of his belief, annoyed Drake beyond measure; the more Yot insisted on purity, the more Drake regretted ever having made any concessions in that direction. And Arabin, while he did not convert Drake to the Creed of Anthus, certainly managed to weaken Drake's uncertain belief in the Flame.

Zanya's own uncertainties about her faith did nothing whatsoever to bolster Drake's confidence in the Flame. Finally, he decided to reserve judgment on all religions for the time being. What was important at the moment was Zanya. And Zanya's love.

Both Drake and Zanya were well over the shocks of their recent encounters with doom, death and disaster. Their spirits were rising. Their true nature was asserting itself – and the teachings of Gouda Muck had precious little chance against that most notorious of all aphrodisiacs: prolonged propinquity.

T still don't understand,' said Zanya one evening.

'Never mind, my dear,' said Drake. 'Understanding is not essential in women.'

In answer to that she crammed a big greasy hunk of bear meat down the back of his neck, whereupon he attacked her. Once the two of them had sublimated a substantial fraction of their sexual energies by wrestling – she was a right proper handful, that one – she complained again: T still don't understand.'

Drake thought of another smart reply to that, but restrained himself. They were now several days downstream from the Old City. Hunting had been good, since Simp Fiche had shown an uncanny knack for sniffing out bears, and they had killed three already (Zanya claimed the poor creatures died of fright when they saw Whale Mike). Zanya still had plenty of bear meat on hand, and would doubtless use it unless Drake behaved himself.'What don't you understand?' said Drake.

'Why you ever use that ugly name Drake. Or Drel-dragon. Yes, I haven't forgotten – the people who adopted you on Stokos named you that. So you had no choice. But you've got a choice now. The Demon-son's name – every time I hear it, it makes me shudder.'

'It's not that bad, is it? Surely? Dreldragon Drakedon Douay. A good name, and common on Stokos – why, as common as two-headed seagulls and bird-eating rocks.''Common as what?' said Zanya.'Common as kisses,' said Drake, trying to give her one.She pushed him away.T hate the Demon-son,' she said.

'And so do I,' said Drake. 'Why, if I had him in front of me, I'd suck out his eyes then twist on his gizzard till his teeth popped out. He deserves to die. Why, just for stealing Muck's mastersword, he should die.'

'Dearest,' said Zanya, who could not follow Drake's quick-weaving pirate cant when it got into swing. 'Talk Galish slow and proper if you wish my understanding. Now – seriously. Why call yourself by that evil name when others are so much nicer? So much nicer, yet free for the taking.'

'Very well,' said Drake. 'By muckle or huckle I'll girth me loins with sunlight, eat two raw eggs then be Arabin lol Arabin forever.'

'Say what?' said Zanya, who had not understood.

So Drake said, slowly, enunciating his words carefully in his best formal Galish, the true Trading Tongue of the Salt Road instead of the pirate-garbled snatch-talk which ruled in the Greater Teeth: 'E'parg Arabin lol Arabin.'

Meaning, literally, 'I bear (carry) Arabin lol Arabin' – or, in translation, 'I am called Arabin lol Arabin.'

'I will henceforth be Arabin lol Arabin single and only,' said Drake. 'I formally keelhaul the name Drake. I execute it. With Dreldragon with it. Aye. And Drake Douay. And all those other things so close to swearing.'

'P'tosh, Arabin lol Arabin,' said Zanya, greeting him with what she was happy to think of as his true and proper name, the one his father had given him at birth.

'Yes,' said Drake. 'It's only Arabin lol Arabin I'll be, from now unto death. In other words, as long as we're married for.''I never said I'd marry you!' said Zanya.'But you will, darling,' said Drake, imperiously.And that led to some more high-spirited wrestling.

Dour men watched jealously from evening shadows, and, that night, as Drake and Zanya slept (chastely enough) in each other's arms, some of those men had muttering conversations about the joy of rape.

Early the next morning, they all set off downstream again.

'Today,' said Drake to Zanya. 'You must marry me. I can't wait much longer.''You're not serious, are you?' she said. 'Of course I am.'

'But Gouda Muck wants us all to be celibate: he told me so himself.''Did he?'said Drake. 'Yes!''In his own words?' 'Of course!''Well,' said Drake. 'What difference does it make?

You've told me yourself you have strong doubts about the Flame.'

'About the Flame being the High God of All Gods, yes,' said Zanya. 'About Gouda Muck being the Flame in the flesh, yes. But not about the preachings of Gouda Muck.''How so?'

'Even if Muck isn't a god,' said Zanya, 'his doctrine still holds many truths.' 'Such as what?'

'Such as truths about physical relationships,' said Zanya.'They're evil!'

'Are they?' said Drake. 'How can we know that unless we try? It's an interesting theory, to be sure, but we have to investigate it before we can truth it.'

His inspiration for this declaration was the Inner Principles of the Old Science which he had been taught as an apprentice on Stokos. An unusual implement of seduction, to be sure – but Drake was willing to try anything.T have tried it,' said Zanya.

'What? Physical relationships? I bet there's things you haven't tried.''I bet there aren't,' she said.

So, in that competitive spirit, they had a long – very long – discussion.

Zanya remembered what Jon Arabin had told her in confidence: that Drake Douay was in truth a virgin. So she discounted his wild tales about being seduced by his sister at age thirteen, about selling his body and buying the flesh of others, about his seduction of the eldest daughter of Baron Farouk of Hexagon, and about a great many other adventures he claimed to have had. He was just a boy, a poor shy innocent boy, too timid for her to possibly be afraid of.

In reply to Drake's stories, Zanya told about her life as a priestess of the Orgy God. The details made his eyes bug.

'I've seen it all,' said Zanya. 'And I've seen the evil of it.'Then she told him about her family, destroyed by the horrors of venereal disease and alcoholism.

'Lust and drink,' said Zanya. 'That's what does the damage.'

'Well,' said Drake. 'Well . . . maybe you can have too much of a good thing.'