The Walrus and the Warwolf

wide and two deep. Drake saw at a glance that, compared with Zanya Bay, it offered infinitely better protection from hostile winds.

'Jon Arabin should know about this place,' said he. 'Let's turn back to tell him.'

'What fool's talk is this?' said Burpskin. 'Do you want to get rich, or what?'

'I want,' said Drake, 'to have a ship to go home in. This place would see the Warwolf safer than where she lies now.'

'Aagh,' sneered Raggage Pouch, and hawked, and spat. 'Talking like a ten-year salt-sea sailor, aren't we now? You're young, you're a landlubber, you know nothing of it.'

'I say let's look after us,' said Burpskin. 'That's the important thing. Who knows? The treasure could be hidden in this very harbour.'

'You're crazy,' said Drake, infuriated by such shortsighted selfishness. 'The ship's our survival. The ship comes first, aye, before wealth, food, sleep or leisure.'

'That's captain's talk,' said Pouch, with contempt. 'We've seen you sniffing round Jon Arabin, haven't we just? You're.thinking you want a career of command, perhaps? Well – why shoald we' risk our fortune to get you launched on such?'

'I'm thinking I want to stay alive,' said Drake, starting to get angry.

Thus began an argument which took so long that it was night before they finally beached their boat. They continued the argument round the campfire. It was not exactly an auspicious start to their journey.And things got worse rather than better.

They found bays, headlands and caves, but never the cave they were looking for. They argued further, of course; they forgot precisely what Jon Arabin had told them, and proceeded to invent the details.

Drake learned a considerable amount about getting along with disagreeable companions. He also learned the hard way – about winds, tides, and small boat management. And where to camp and where not to camp.And he suffered.

He was bitten by mosquitoes, stung by a scorpion, spiked by thorns and agonized by poison ivy. Food ran out. The three survived on seaweed, whore's eggs and rock-oysters. Then, when they thought they had almost circumnavigated the island, they wrecked their boat on its most northerly cape.

Jon Arabin had given Drake up for dead when the lad came staggering out of the forest one evening, thin, tired, ragged and footsore.'Where have you been?' said Arabin.

'Chasing a treasure that never was,' said Drake, in something like fury. 'Your great-grandfather never sailed these waters! Or if he did, he never left treasure here.'

'Yes,' said Arabin. 'But you should have known that much to start with.'

And Drake realized this was true. He had let greed overbalance judgment.'So why did you send me round the island?' said Drake.'To see what you're made of,' said Arabin.'Does this mean I get to be a sailor?'

'No, for you've obviously lost me a boat. And what have you done with Burpskin and Pouch? Have you eaten them?'

'Came close to it,' said Drake. 'They gave up. They're two days north – two days as the survivor stumbles.' 'Inland?' said Arabin.

'No. Shorebound, on a beach at the foot of the cliffs of a cape to the north of here. There was a way up the cliff, aye, easy climbing, but they were both too gutless to try it.''Then I'll send a boat,' said Arabin. And did.

Then settled down to interrogate Drake, for he wanted to learn as much as he possibly could about Island Tor. Who knows? He might someday be forced back here again.

As Drake ate parrot-meat and ironbread, and answered Arabin's questions, he became quite proud of his achievement. Yes. Despite all difficulty, he'd managed. He'd not like to do it again, but… it was worth doing once.

Jon Arabin tested me. Aye. Well, I hope he's happy. For lam.

Seventeen days after she had arrived at Zanya Bay, the Warwolf put to sea again. She had a new foremast made of roble cut from the forests of Tor. The worst of her leaks had been repaired. She had a cargo of summerpine, cedar and bamboo, also cut out of the hinterland. That should fetch a good price in Narba – and should help pay for the permanent repairs which were still needed to make the Warwolf truly seaworthy.

They sailed north, rounding the island's northernmost cape. Then the wind got up and attacked them. A howling wind from the east. Despite Arabin's best efforts, they were forced westward, coming closer and closer to the mountain heights dominating the mainland.

Rumour held that the white enamel of those fangs was water curdied by cold. The Galish termed such stuff 'muff. Jon Arabin, who was much-travelled, knew it well: Drake, on the other hand, reserved judgment, withholding belief until the day he could walk on it.If the wind kept up, that day might be soon.

Finally, when they were almost on the rocks, the wind died. Jez Glane claimed it was prayers to his god which had stopped it: and he converted three people to the worship of that god (the great white star-dragon Bel).

Drake was not interested in Glane's god.

He was, though, intensely interested in what he could see on the shore.'Look!' he cried. 'Something moving!'

There were many things moving on the narrow coastal plain between the waters of the Drangsturm Gulf and the heights of the Dreldragon Teeth. It was too far to make out details, but clearly they were bigger than buffalo. Some were as big as cottages.

The entire western coast of the Drangsturm Gulf was, for as far as they could see, swarming with monsters of the Swarms.

Jon Arabin vowed that he would never come this way again. Not unless his life depended on it. His dreams of making a fortune from the timbers of Tor faded to nothing on the spot. Forget it! This place was far too dangerous!

Jon Arabin paced up and down the deck, waiting for the wind to get up again. But the ship floated in a deathly calm.'Right!' said Arabin. 'We'll drop anchor!'

The net filled with ballast blocks which served them as an anchor slid away into the sea. And, on hitting the bottom, tore apart.'Anch ench unchV said Jon Arabin.

Then apologized to his mother's shade, for he had once promised her he would never again use such obscenities.

A shadow flickered over the deck of the Warwolf. He looked up. Only a buzzard. But it could just as easily have been a Neversh.

'Lower the boats, boys!' roared Jon Arabin. 'We're going to sweat the ship out of here.'

Arabin gave Drake command on one of the smaller boats, to see how he would do.

'The ship's survival is our survival,' said Drake, to his boat's crew. 'So pull, boys, pull!'

And, on this occasion, nobody disputed his judgment.

Fingerlength by fingerlength, the Warwolf was hauled away from the shore. Hands blistered. Eyes burnt with sweat. Men cursed, strained and swore. But they put distance between them and the monsters.

Then, finally, the wind got up. From which direction? From the west!

'A miracle!' said Jez Glane. 'All power to the great god Bel!'

Jon Arabin, who had his own gods to worry about, paid no attention to Glane.

'Let's hope we're favoured fair to Narba,' said Arabin grimly, knowing – everyone aboard had reason to know by now – that the winds of this strange season were powerful weird and treacherous.

Fortunately, Arabin's wish was granted, and, four days later, a bullock team was hauling the Warwolf up the ship canal to the Inner Dock of Narba.

13

Place: Narba, a low-lying city connected to the Central Ocean by four leagues of