Hugh Cook: The Wordsmiths and the Warguild

Baron Chan Poulaan had already determined that his son Togura would marry the king's daughter. He had come to a private agreement with Skan Askander, and had already informed Togura that he would soon be betrothed to Slerma.

Watching Togura and Day, Baron Poulaan noted how closely they held each other when the dance came to a clinch, and frowned.

The banquet was in full swing. Buoyant with drink and excitement, Day and Togura danced to the skirl of the skavamareen. In the clinch, he brushed against her soft breasts, which flushed out against her light woollen chemise. Her sly little fingers dared his hard-fleshed buttons, then stopped because:

"Your father's watching us."

"I love you," said Togura.

"No, really, he's watching us," said Day. "He doesn't look happy."

"Kiss me. Kiss me quick!"

"Not here!"

As the music ended, she pulled away from him. He pursued her through the crowded hall. He chased her out through the main doors, and then, giggling, she allowed him to catch her.

They kissed.

His mouth was warm and yielding. His embrace savoured the curves of her back and her buttocks. Moths danced around the doorway lanterns. The night was cool but he was hot, his lust shafting hard within his trews. He smelt her hair, her skin, her perfume.

He burped.

"Really!" said Day, breaking away.

She poked him in the belly, provoking another burp. She poked him again, teasing him with cunning jabs which he was helpless to resist. As he flinched, she giggled.

Then kissed him.

Seriously.

"Your father was watching us," said Day, breaking the kiss. "He wasn't happy at all."

"He can shunk his cho and scavenge it," said Togura, using the local gutter argot.

"Togura Poulaan!" said Day severely.

From inside the banqueting hall came a rowdy burst of laughter which rose above the general hubbub. What had so amused the banquet guests? Togura, knowing his people well, guessed that probably someone had been debagged, or that a helpless drunk had vomited over someone of high importance.

The laughter died down and the music started up again. A drone joined the wail of the skavamareen while a sklunk back-thumped and a chanter whined.

"My lady," said Togura, with a formal bow. "Shall we dance?"

"Talatashee," she said, assenting.

They danced the vigorous kola-ka-skee, kicking their heels and whirling on the changes, inventing partners for the passages known as the romance and the flora – for the kola-ka-skee, of course, is a foursome.

While they were dancing, an old man tottered into the lamplight. They danced on, until, disturbed by his silent scrutiny, they broke apart and turned to face him. He was a tattered vagrant with a ravaged face and a dirty grey beard.

"It is night," said the old man in a thin, querulous voice.

"No," said Day smartly, "It's day."

"Do you mean to make fun of me, little smut?" said the old man.

"Talatashee," said Day.

"Talatashee? Now what's that, young lady? Yes or no?"

He was clearly a foreigner.

"Who are you, old man?" said Togura.

The old man, leaning on his shepherd's crook, was about to answer when the music escalated to a stormburst crescendo. A thrum began to gallop, a kloo honked harshly, a krymbol crashed and scattered, a skittling nook began to campaign against the skavamareen and a plea whistle hooted.

"What," said the old man, "is that appalling noise?"

"Music," said Day. "Don't you like it?"

The old man sniffed.

"The miscreants perpetrating that dismal cacophony should be fed to the dragon pits," he said.

Togura could not figure him out. His manner was bold, and had, indeed, a hint of lordliness about it. Yet he was clearly a tramp of one kind or another. He was wearing a roughwork patchwork skirt, which finished above his knees, and a battered short-cut weather cloak of the type favoured by fishermen. His boots were coming apart at the toes, exposing his feet.

"What are you doing on my father's estates, old man?" said Togura.

"Child, I had the misfortune to be shipwrecked here," replied the ancient.

"Shipwrecked?" said Togura.

Day giggled.

"Don't laugh, gamos," said the old man, naming Day with the Galish word for a female horse, which was unpardonably vulgar.

"Why, you – "

"No, Tog," said Day, holding him back.

"Did you hear what he called you?" said Togura, burning with anger.

"She heard me, boy," said the old man, in his stilted, strangely accented Galish, so unlike the smooth-flowing local patois. "How about some hospitality for a shipwrecked mariner now?"

"If you find yourself afloat, then hard liquor's to answer, not the sea," said Togura. "In case you didn't notice before you started drinking yourself silly, you're up in the mountains, not down by the coast."

"I know that," said the old man steadily. "Now have pity on poor old Pitilkin and show him a bed for the night. I've sailed from Chi'ash-lan, and that's a hearty journey, my boy. Chi'ash-lan to Quartermain, that's a fair old step."

"You're not in Quartermain," said Togura. "You're in Sung."

"Ah!" said the old man, eyes bright with revelation. "That explains everything! The barbarities inflicted on the human ear in the name of music. The provincial manners of the local peasants. The – "

"Are you calling me – "

"Tog," said Day. "Don't argue, you're only encouraging him. He's a poor harmless old man. Why not have the servants show me to a garrow for the night? Alternatively – "

At that moment a rowdy party came barrelling out of the banquet hall – seven or eight reeling drunks laughing and jostling as they staggered out into the fresh night air. Amongst them was Cromarty, Togura's hefty half-brother, who was three years his senior.

"Why, hey!" said Cromarty. "It's Spunk Togura and little girl Day. Hitting the eiderdown tonight, chids? Getting in some of the old kerna tamerna?" His cronies guffawed and ribbed each other. Then Cromarty saw the stranger. "This is new, boys, hey hey? What ho! I say, grandad, past your bedtime, isn't it? Shall we put him to bed, boys? Hey what?"

"You can help me fix my ship if you would," said the ancient mariner. "If not, I'll do it by daylight once I've slept."

"A ship, hey. Boys, this we have to see. Snaffle the lantern, Lanks. Nids, you salvage the other." On Cromarty's orders, the two lanterns guarding the banqueting hall's entrance were snaffled and salvaged. "Come along, grandad," said Cromarty. "Show us your ship. Coming for a sail, Day? Come along now!"

Cromarty's bounders seized her.

"Let her go!" said Togura.

He waded into them, flailing wildly, but he was grossly outnumbered. The scungers grabbed him, and he was frog-marched into the night. As they swaggered along with lanterns swinging wildly, the drunks roared out the Kanover drinking song.

"Where now, grandad?" said Cromarty.

"This way," said the ancient mariner. "This way!"

Gaining a small knoll, the drunks dropped Togura face-first into the long rough grass. This, of course, was dew-damp and appeared to contain more than the usual quota of gorse.

"What ho!" said Cromarty. "The ship, hey?"

Getting to his feet, Togura saw, by lantern-light, a clutter of sticks which looked like a gargantuan parody of a crow's nest. Cromarty hefted one of the heavier sticks.

"Careful with that, boy," said the old man sharply. "That's the rudder."

"Rudder, hey? Then this is the jakes, suppose, suppose."

And Cromarty hauled out his penis and began to piss on the sticks. The old man swiped at his buttocks with his shepherd's crook. Cromarty, startled, lost control of his shlong, and pissed all over his pants.

"You klech!" shouted Cromarty, tucking away his shmuck. "You ornskwun vig of a hellock!"