The Walrus and the Warwolf

And threw Drake into the water.

'Hey!' shouted Drake, floundering in the slathering sea.Mike laughed.

'Swim!' he said, waving in the direction of the nearby reef. 'Swim!'

Drake, having no option, swam towards the reef, where barking surf chased yelping waves and devoured them in crevices and rock-traps. Then Mike dived, and swam after him. When Drake gained the rocks, he jammed himself between two of the largest and coldest and hung on tight against the threat of the surf.'Bring your slut-hole here, darling,' said Andranovory.

But, to Drake's surprise, the order was not followed up by a prompt attack. Even Andranovory was too far gone to be lusting in more than thought.

Whale Mike wallowed through the seas like something out of a bad dream. He gained the rocks.'You all right?' called Mike to Drake.'Fine,' said Drake.'You want cuddle?' said Mike.'I've cuddled enough, thanks,' said Drake.'Never enough cuddle,' said Mike.

And, shortly, Whale Mike, Slagger Mulps, Ish Ulpin and Bucks Cat were cuddling together in a big body heap. Drake saw most of the other pirates had also huddled into body-warmth teams. He realized it would be smart to join them, for it was cold; wind and spray were sweeping the exposed rocks. But he was too scared.

He humbled down as best he could, trying to make himself invisible. A gull winged low above the slipshod surf. How long would it be before he was too weak to save his eyes from the seabirds? The slubbering sea throttled amongst the rocks, hungering for his hot blood and his long white bones; if the storm got up again, the sea would surely claim him before the birds did.

Finding thought so unproductive of pleasure, Drake stopped the practice, and shortly fell into a fitful half- sleep punctuated by dreams and the voices of hallucination.

Meanwhile, Slagger Mulps, luxuriating in the warmth of Whale Mike's armpit, stared out to sea. Shadows smudged the far-distant horizon; he knew those shadows to be the Greater Teeth. They were shipwrecked, without a doubt, on the Gaunt Reefs; there was at least an even chance that they would be rescued before too long by a raiding ship or a fishing boat.And almost an even chance that they would not.

'We sing!' shouted Whale Mike, with invincible cheerfulness. 'Everyone sing!'

This command woke everyone who had managed to drift away into the land of dreams – including Drake. He listened with astonishment as Whale Mike started a song.

All the pirates knew it, and joined in, but Drake could not follow the lyrics, for they were so full of sea-talk, arcane slang, and dialect words native to the Greater Teeth. But the chorus was easy enough to understand: everyone howled like a dog, crowed like a cock, screamed like a cat then barked like a seal. Then clapped hands against thighs.

Drake suddenly wanted to be part of it: part of the singing, the slapping, the body-huddles, the community. It all seemed, for a moment, positively jolly. But did not dare join in. His recent experiences had left him feeling as wrecked as the Walrus. He closed his eyes, and, eventually, slept.

Towards noon, Drake woke from muttering nightmares to hear excited talk amongst the pirates. They had sighted a ship. As it came closer, they saw it had green sails. Closer still, and they saw its dragon figurehead.Mulps spat, and swore.'It's the Warwolf,' said Mulps.

The masts and rigging of the Walrus advertised their presence, and it was soon clear to everyone except Drake that the Warwolf had sighted them. However, by the time the ship was bulking near the reefs, even he knew that rescue was at hand – not that the pirates seemed glad of it.

Keeping a prudent distance from the rocks, the Warwolf lowered three boats to investigate. Soon the castaways were sharing their reef with newcomers, a party of grim men tricked out with weapons and looking more than ready to use them. One was, to judge from his bearing, their leader.He carried himself like a king.

He was tall, lean, as black as Bucks Cat and as bald as a hazel nut. He was dressed in brown leather, and wore round his hips a great big leather belt from which hung a waterproof sea-pouch and assorted ironmongery. He looked dangerous. But he had come, nevertheless, to rescue them – so, at the sight of him, Drake perked up.

'Who's the bald old coot?' said Drake to anyone who might answer.

Nobody condescended to reply, but the bald old coot was in fact Jon Arabin, the Warwolf himself, an ascetic man with a taste for experiment and challenge. Arabin came onto the rocks like a conqueror. His eyes were a pale, sunwashed blue. Drake was startled to see such blue amidst such black. Steady eyes, yes, and a steady voice, which said:

'There's space afloat for any who'll swear loyal to me and mine. Even the Walrus. How about it, Mulps, me pretty fopling?'Mulps spat in reply.

'I'll take no murder on my ship,' continued Arabin, unperturbed. 'So you must swear loyal. Mulps, play the man: free the crew from their word.'

'Done,' said Mulps, nodding a little. 'Any rat in search of a sewer can run.'Nobody moved.

'Loyal is one thing,' said Arabin. 'Stupid is another.' Drake got to his feet. He felt thin, transparent, almost weightless.'I'll swear loyal,' he said.

'That's rape-meat from the last boarding!' said Andranovory. 'Take a swearing from him? He can't stand a deck, far less set sail.'

Arabin turned his stern gaze on Drake, who felt, for a moment, like dust being weighed against iron.'What can you do, boy?'

T know iron,' said Drake promptly, 'and I know steel. Yes, and rope. Climbing, splicing and knots. It's my father who learnt me ropes.'

'Aye, boy, and buggery perhaps,' said Arabin. 'But can you cut?''Cut?'

'Aye. Cut, gut, gralloch and gash. Go nose to nose with a cutlass and swim through smirking. How about it, boy? Come here!'

Drake reluctantly ventured down to the foam-smothered patch of rock where Jon Arabin stood, careless of the sea lathering his boots. As surf sucked back, Arabin tossed a dirk so it fell between them. Drake stared at the bald man's hard bones, the rough-torn boots, the ugly chunks of callus on the knuckles, the pale blue eyes as cold as the sea and as ruthless.

T can cut,' he said, and stooped, and grabbed, and jerked the dirk to the challenge.

Jon Arabin kicked him in the stomach, and he went down hard. Heart scrambling, Drake scuffled to his feet. Sick nausea staggered him, and he knew he was dead meat: but he squared back, panting, knife held tight, and stood ready.Arabin gave a little nod.

'Aye,' he said. 'You've got the makings. Get in the boat.'

7

Name: Orfus pirates.

Description: league of sea-robbers based on islands of the Greater Teeth.

Language: a dialect of Galish.

Political organization: oligarchical rule through a limited franchise democracy.

History: dates back several centuries to the Summer of Three Comets, when the delinquent Harla clan of Galish traders set up as pirates on the island of Drum, a base later abandoned after a severe dispute with the local sea dragons.

Once back aboard the Warwolf, Jon Arabin ordered a raft to be cut loose and thrown overboard. He was obeyed.

'That's their chance,' said Jon Arabin, as the bamboo raft splashed into the sea. 'They can swim for it, if they wish.'

'Why give them a chance?' said one of his men. 'Are you in love with friend Walrus of sudden?'

'Nay, man,' said Arabin. 'But Whale Mike's on that reef. He gave me a chance once, aye, when the Walrus was set to drown me. I owe him the same in return.''What's with the boy?' said a man.

'New meat,' said Jon Arabin. 'Get him some soup. Then to bed.''We've no bunk spare.''Then he can sleep on