of horrors we've all heard spoken of.'
'Much is spoken but little is truthed,' said Drake, eyeing the blades which still confronted him, and wondering if he dare risk a dash for safety.
'Man,' said Baltu to Arabin, entirely ignoring Drake. 'We can't run west. There's fearful danger there.'
Death, danger, fear. That was what they spoke of. But most of the damage was being done by cold, hunger, fatigue. A day of calm, a good sleep, a couple of hot meals, and they'd be new men. But – Arabin glanced at the wild horizons, and knew hope of such was not to be rewarded.
'Mayhap we run to danger,' said he. 'But choice is not in my gift. We find safety to west – or we sink and drown.'
'There's worse deaths than drowning,' said Baltu darkly.
'Aye,' said Meerkat. 'To be breathed on by a basilisk, that's one. That's murder. Why, the very look of its eyes will kill.'
'And there's crocodiles!' said Jez Glane. 'Logs which turn of sudden to dragons without wings! They eat you, man, gnaw your kneecaps then chew off your prick.'
'Is that so?' said Jon Arabin. 'Then you've got nothing to fear!'
This raised no laugh. Well, it had been worth a try. 'Boys,' said Jon Arabin, 'I'll level with you. We run with the weather for the west – or we sink. If the ship goes
down, we have to take to the boats. And how would you like that? A small boat, no shelter, no land for a horizon or more.'
'We'd live,' said Quin Baltu, staunchly. 'Danger known is better than unknown. Turn east, man! If the ship sinks, the boats will still get us to Narba. I love small boats. I could sail in such from here to the Teeth if I had to.'
'Man,' said Drake, grabbing a stay as the ship lurched in a truly horrible fashion, 'what's this nonsense about the unknown west? Man, there's been cruises there in plenty, and will be hence.'
'Aye,' said Jon Arabin, taking Drake's hint. 'Boys, my great-grandfather sailed these waters for year on year. Aye, and buried treasure on some westward island. That's family tradition.'
Hope, yes. That was what these men needed. Hope of an island, a landfall, a safe shore. Wasn't that the ultimate function of leadership? To give hope.
'You talk of an island,' said Baltu. 'But words are one thing, land's another. Will you swear your island?'
'Our island waits to west,' said Arabin. 'I swear it on my mother's honour.'
He apologized, secretly, to his mother's shade. Well, that wasn't the first of his misdeeds she'd had to put up with – and it probably wouldn't be the last.'He swears!' said Jez Glane.
Eager to believe it might be true. For Glane, unlike Baltu, was not fond of small boats.
'He swears, yes,' said Quin Baltu. 'So his great-grandad sailed these waters . . . but we can't trust such stories, generations old.''Then trust to fresher news,' said Drake.
'What do you know about it?' said Meerkat, whose sword was still ready to slice at a moment's notice.'Lots!' said Drake.
Verily, he knew the last thing he wanted was to be adrift in a cockleshell craft which might overturn and leave him floundering in the sea more than a horizon from shore.
Been there, done that! All very well for Quin Baku to talk with love and longing about adventures in small boats on the storm-tossed waves – but Drake would rather risk monsters.
'You claim, perhaps, to have been west yourself?' said Peg Suzilman.
'Nay, man,' said Drake. 'But my king has. King Tor, aye. A huge ogre, as wide as tall. Sits on an iron throne, eats frogs, drinks blood, gives out justice. He went there right enough, yes, but five years ago, chasing a vision of gold and diamonds. He found none such, but came home safe with news of goodly islands. Aye. Sweet water and fields of lilies.''How do you know of this?' said Peg Suzilman.
'My father sailed with the king,' said Drake. 'Aye, and on the shore he found a tower. Tall it was, with Guardian Machines within, great brutes of clattering metal which spat death and chased him up some stairs. There he was trapped by an invisible wall and-'
Drake proceeded to tell the story of the find of the magic amulets, the destruction of the machines at the top of the tower, and his father's escape on a rope woven from wires of weird manufacture.
He saw Glane, Suzilman and Meerkat were close to believing him. But Quin Baltu was not.
'Man,' sneered Quin Baltu, 'that's a right daft story. Little lockets which talk! You expect me to believe a nonsense like that?'
In answer, Drake hauled out one of the lockets in question. He had been wearing it next to his skin, for luck.
'Man,' said Drake, dangling the glossy black lozenge in front of Baltu, 'this is one of those lockets my father found. He gave it to me for luck.''I see a pretty trinket,' said Baltu. 'I hear no voice.''Then watch,' said Drake.
And he manipulated the seven silver stars built into one side of the amulet, and set the thing talking. The voice of the poet Saba Yavendar contended against that of the wind. While he spoke in the High Speech, which none on the
'Jon,' said Quin Baltu. 'We've been a long way together.''Aye,' said the Warwolf. 'Jon, I trust you.'
T trust you too,' said Jon Arabin. 'And I love you as a brother. Despite these moments. Go below, boys, and get yourself some soup.'
So the mutineers departed. And Arabin standing easy on the rolling deck, let his arms hang slack by his side, then made every muscle in his body shudder and shake in the exercise known as Five Horses Dancing. Then he did the Three Breaths and a single Focus, and felt stronger. He looked at Drake, who was tucking away his curious amulet. Right: teaching first. Then settle curiosity.
'What brought those men to the edge of mutiny?' said Arabin. 'Did they hate me? Or what?'
'Nay,' said Drake. 'It was despair which took us so close to death. Despair – that's the great sin, man. That makes all the others possible. But you – you gave them confidence. That's what makes you leader.''You think well,' said Arabin, surprised.
At Drake's age, Arabin (dreaming of future glory while he endured the infinite boredom of schooling) had thought of leadership in terms of machismo. One man – the ultimate killer – to brute it over lesser mortals by death-skills alone.
'We're taught to think on Stokos,' said Drake. 'Not that I can always see the use of it, since there's not much money in thinking. As to leadership – why, my uncle, Oleg Douay, he spoke of it often. For he was mixed up in wars and such in his youth.'
'Well,' said Jon Arabin, teaching done and curiosity still to be satisfied, 'tell me now, friend Drake. Whence came that trinket? From the west?'
'Nay, man,' said Drake. 'From the moon. My father flew there when he were but a boy, riding on the back of a great grey goose.'
'I see,' said Jon Arabin. 'Then how about you flying below to get me some soup?''Dragon soup or sawdust?'
'I'll take the seal soup,' said Arabin. 'It seems the least likely to kill.'
It was a long, uneasy day. Arabin worried incessantly. What if reefs and rocks infested these uncharted waters? What if he failed to find safe harbour to the west? An island, yes, that was what he needed. Not anything fancy. Any chunk of rock would do, so long as his ship could shelter in its lee.
Leadership is the science of hope. Yes. But if he found no landfall to the west, what good was hope?
By the time night came, heavy rain was falling. A solid, sullen downpour. Rain! In the Drangsturm Gulf, at the height of summer! Craziness . . .
What should he do? Heave to? Or strive blindly through the night? There were so many unknowns: the weather, the distance to shore, what depth of water they could count on. How much longer could the ship stand staunch against the seas before ripping in half?
Jon Arabin made a round of his ship, and decided he knew one thing for certain: his crew could take very little more of this.
'We run for the west tonight,' said Jon Arabin, with every appearance of confidence. 'I know just where we are, aye, from the taste of the spray. Come morning, we'll see land – I guarantee it.'
