'Because,' replied the Great One, who was standing beside him, 'he has the Power. He knew his father was returning today, so set himself forth to meet him.''He will, then, leave us.' 'Doubtless.'
'What then do you see for his future?' asked the elder. The Great One deliberated gravely, then said: 'I see him changed to a sail.' 'To a sail?'
'Why not?' said the Great One. 'We each of us start as a fish in the womb. Is it any more miraculous to be changed into a sail?''Well. . . what else do you see?'
'Monsters . . . many of them . . . and … a woman. Red skin. Red breasts. Her name – no, her name eludes me.'
'Is this woman then to be the mate of our noble visitor?
Or will he return here to honour us with his flesh?'
'The way is murky,' said the Great One. 'I see a time when he will be but a step away from a world of destinies. Much then will rely on his wisdom – and the strength of his swordarm.'
Thus ran the word of wisdom in the land of Ling.
10
One of the first things Drake saw when he got on board the Warwolf was Ika Thole, the Ebrell-born harpoon man. Seeing Thole's red hair and red skin, Drake was instantly reminded of his true love, Zanya Kliedervaust. Zanya of the honey-coloured voice! Zanya of the high-sprung breasts! Zanya the beautiful, the lush, the ultimately desirable!How long since he had been laid?Months!
He had an urgent desire to be back on Stokos, to be face to face with the fair Zanya, praising her with poetry, offering her flowers, stripping away her clothes.
'Zanya, no clothes can properly compliment your beauty-'
'What's that you're saying?' said Jon Arabin, coming up behind him.
Drake promptly turned and tried to punch him in the face. But Arabin caught Drake's fist, and laughed.'Easy, boy. Not so fierce.'
'You toad-buggering bastard!' said Drake. 'You sailed away and left me.'
'Aye, boy,' said Jon Arabin releasing Drake's fist and meeting his gaze without trouble. 'We knew you'd be safe enough.''Safe! Look at this!'
Drake pulled up his tattered shirt with such force that the frayed and faded fabric tore, thus exposing his scar. Arabin chuckled.
'Cut, were you? A fight over women, perhaps? Well, for the young, they're worth fighting for.'
'Fight!' said Drake. 'It was no such thing! They tied me down for torture! Slashed me with a knife then put a snake to the wound. A great monster, all blood and gold. It ate its way to my innards.'
'Aye, boy,' said Arabin, 'then they cut off your head, but you grew yourself another to be looking respectable.'
And he dug his fingers in deep under Drake's floating rib. Drake winced as the hard man probed and palpated.
'There's naught deep damage there,' said Arabin. 'Go any depth in there, and the man's dead. I'd say you got a wound, a fever with it, then some imaginings from the fever.'
In fact, the snake which had eaten into Drake's flesh was still there, deeply encysted. Nourished by Drake's own blood supply, it was slowly changing. Even now, a mass of eggs was slowly ripening in its belly. Once they hatched, birthing millions of baby worms . . .
Ah, but that lay in the future, and, for the moment, what Drake didn't know about didn't hurt him.But he was still angry.T hope I get a share of the profits,' he said.
'Aye, boy, that you will, what's left after clearing debt. Aye, and we'll be paying to overhaul the ship as well. And does she need it!''Well, does she?' said Drake.
'By the oath she does,' said Arabin, momentarily appalled at his ignorance. 'Go see Jon Disaster, he's in charge of our clothing chest. Tell him I've said you're to have new kit entire – you look rough enough to scare a scarecrow.'
'Thanks for the compliment,' said Drake bitterly. 'It wasn't my choice to live so far from a tailor's shop.'
'Once you're kitted out,' continued Jon Arabin, unperturbed, 'come along and watch the trading done. It's good to get to know the ropes.''Why so?' said Drake.'Why? Because we'll be back here two years from now.' 'Hrmph!' said Drake.
He got Disaster to give him new kit – boots, linens and a set of sealskins. All the clothing was damp, and smelt rather of mould. But, thus dressed, he felt a new man.
He went to watch the trading, and saw good pearls traded for a cargo Arabin had lately loaded at Narba - canoe timber, tarpaulins, canvas sails, fresh vegetables, rice, flour, hides, furs, bone-meal, fish-hooks, harpoons, cauldrons, glass beads, casks of salt pork, siege dust, bamboo, silk, cotton, awls, needles, calamanco, mandolins and ivory.
With the trading done, a dozen girls and an equal number of satin-skinned young men lined up to kiss Drake on his lips, to force pearls upon him, to weep at his feet, to stroke his haunches and fondle his hands, while the crew of the
'So much for torture chambers!' said Jon Arabin, as the last suitor quit the ship reluctantly. 'It must have been the fever-dreams you were remembering.'
And Drake, scratching his scar idly, was almost persuaded to agree.
Though he was glad to be back on board, he could not help noticing how cramped and dirty the ship was, and how it stank. And it was crowded, yes, after the comparative privacy he had enjoyed in the caves of the Ling.
He consoled himself with the thought that this was the last voyage of his life. Once they touched land, he would jump ship and buy a passage back to Stokos. Well – that would mean more sea, of course, but only briefly.
On reaching his homeland, he would buy himself out of his apprenticeship, pay whatever theft-fines he owed with respect to Muck's mastersword, and then buy himself a place in the priesthood of the demon Hagon. His wealth was certainly equal to his ambition.
Since it was midsummer, he was now seventeen years old plus a couple of months. In less than a year, King Tor would make a decision on his marriage prospects. Well. If he got Tor's daughter, he'd quit the temple and be prince (and, later, king). If he didn't get the daughter, he'd follow a career in the priesthood. But, either way, he'd have Zanya Kliedervaust as his pleasure-woman.His wealth would surely make certain of that.
Drake worked on the finer details of his plans as he helped raise the anchor, labouring round in a circle, throwing his weight against one of the twelve bars of the capstan. Even with this enormous amount of leverage, all were a muck of sweat by the time the brutal weight had been broken free and hauled up high and dry.
He was summoned below decks by the cook. As Drake helped hash up some unidentifiable gunk fried in whale oil, he imagined the beautiful meals which Zanya would cook when she was his pleasure-woman. His sweet daydreams blurred unfriendly verities; even the increasingly uneasy motion of the ship failed to trouble him.
They had rough weather for the start of their trip north. Then, when they had just cleared Cape Songala, a storm claimed them.
A ravaging wind blew from the west. After a two-day storm-fight, what little canvas they had dared carry was blown out entirely. Then the wind shifted to the north-west, threatening to drive them toward doom at
