The Walrus and the Warwolf

ship canals.

Population: either 98,476 or 117,290, depending on which census one believes.

Rule: by elected City Fathers working within the General Terms of Alliance of the Consortium of Provincial Endergeneer.

Religion: Revised Atiniunism, Elchwade Transub-stantiation and the Reformed Rites of Devotional Quelochianism.

Location: on the Salt Road on western coast of Argan, north of Drangsturm and south of Stokos.

Drake leaned on the ship's siderail, watching the bullock teams at work. It was intensely pleasant to watch work being done, yet to know that one's labours were at an end.

'Tonight,' he said, dreamily, 'I'm going to have a hot meal, a woman with smooth thighs, and twenty-five beers. Not necessarily in that order.''Doubt it,' said Ika Thole, who was standing to his left.T can afford it,' said Drake.

'That's not the point,' said Jon Disaster, who was standing to Drake's right. 'Jon Arabin won't let us off the ship till all the work's done to his satisfaction.'

Drake remembered the near-mutiny at Zanya Bay. Arabin's authority had proved slim enough then. How

could a single ship's captain hold back a crewload of pirates who were hot for boozing and whoring?

T don't think,' said Drake, 'that Arabin will get one whit of work out of us till we've had our fill of pleasure.'

Thole and Disaster simply laughed.

When the Warwolf reached the Inner Dock, she was immediately boarded by fifty grim men in mail, armed with swords and halberds.'What's this?' said Drake, wide-eyed. 'Murder?'

'Nay, man,' said Jon Disaster, lazily. 'This is but the harbour guard, come to help our captain keep his authority.'

While most ports would have lynched them on arrival, Narba welcomed them. The Orfus pirates mostly preyed on ships sailing out of Runcorn, Cam and Androlmarphos. Narba merchants never invested in that north- trade, but financed, instead, ventures half a thousand leagues south-west to the Scattered Islands.

Narba profited from the Orfus connection, buying north-trade plunder, and selling everything from siege dust to lime for wormbags hung from each ship's bow to discourage ship-worms. But the good people of Narba had learnt long ago that no pirate captain could keep a lusty crew from temptation without ample armed assistance.

Drake, who had not worshipped the Demon for what seemed an age, was eager for religion. But shore leave was refused for twenty days – the time needed to finish repairs to the Warwolf The harbour guard maintained a watch by day and night, preventing a single pirate from stepping ashore till all the work was done.

Drake bitterly resented this labour, for he would never benefit from work on the Warwolf. He was quite determined that he would never sail another league on the ship. At least now they were in port they had fresh food. Hot meat dripping with red blood. Crisp crunching fresh vegetables. Fresh fruit. The dense red meat of plums, the quivering aroma of peaches . . .

Then at last the work was done. Arabin told the harbour guard he no longer needed their help. He set the crew at liberty for the day. And Drake was, for the moment, free.

Fully intending that moment to last a lifetime, he packed his treasure: pearls, magic amulets and gambling profits. All pearls but three went into his boots; the three shared pocket-space with coinage and magic amulets. For luck – he might need it in this foreign city – he still kept one amulet slung round his neck so that it lay next to his skin, close to his heart.

Turning his back on the Warwolf, Drake had no second thoughts whatsoever. He had stomached as much whale-oil cookery as he could bear. He was sick of damp gear, canting decks, sea-boils, bully-boy crewmen, wet ropes, wind, rain, sunburn, and all the other inconveniences of life at sea.

For a man with no prospects, piracy no doubt had its attractions. But Drake would likely enough find himself heir to the throne of Stokos, if he played his cards right. Aye. And owner of the high-breasted Zanya Kliedervaust. At the very least, he would be a priest of the temple of Hagon – which was in itself a very fine thing to be.

After his long captivity in Ling and his subsequent privations at sea, Drake found Narba to be an amazement of colours, smells, bustle and voices. And temptations.

First off, he bought himself a whore. Was he then unfaithful to his true love? No, for it was Zanya Kliedervaust he conjured into his mind to intensify his lust as he rode his woman.

'That was nice,' said Drake, exiting from the knocking shop. 'What next?'

Since he was young, and over-excited by growth hormones, what came next was another whore. Then, driven more by ego than desire, he bought himself a third. But his flesh failed him.

'Never mind,' she said. 'It happens to every man sooner or later.''Then what do I get for my money?' demanded Drake.'Something nice,' she said.

And gave him a rub-down, squeezed his blackheads and washed his hair, all the while talking about how strong and handsome he was. All of which combined to restore his flesh for a third endeavour.

After that, Drake, who was still as devout as when he had left Stokos, went looking for a bar so he could complete his worship of the Demon. He soon found a pleasant enough place, with sawdust on the floor, men sitting at rough-wood tables eating oysters, and a stack of ragged claws in the free lunch bowl. However, Drake thought the publican regarded him strangely when he walked in, so he said to the man:'I'm a pirate off the Warwolf. Any objection?''None,' said his host.

But peered again at a sketch kept hidden behind the bar, glanced back at Drake, and, after pulling a couple of mugs ('Set them up in twins, I don't want to be wasting my time'), sent a runner to an inn lying handy to most of the dockside bars.

Drake had only just started his fourth mug when into the bar, as if by coincidence, came Sudder Vemlouf, whom Drake knew from old times back on Stokos.

'Sudder, me old mate,' said Drake jovially. 'What are you doing here? Sit down, man, and have a mug. Bar! A couple of ales and a dash of cold potato.'

He was feeling generous, in part because the beers had warmed him nicely, yes, slurring the sharpness of the harder edges of the world.

'I was never any friend of yours,' said Sudder Vemlouf, as the drinks were served.

'Sure no, you were neighbour to old man Muck. And how is the scratchy old bastard, anyway?'

'The Blessed One is in good health,' said Vemlouf formally. 'And he is far from happy with you.'

'What? Upset about the mastersword, is he? Oh, I admit everything. Don't worry. When I'm home, I'll rich him up till his eyes pop. I've got the money now.'

'You have no need to travel home,' said Vemlouf, 'for justice has found you here.'And, so saying, Vemlouf suddenly drew a knife.

A professional killer would have gutted in quick and low, and would have been halfway to the door before anyone realized a man was dead. But Vemlouf raised his knife on high like a ham actor in a melodrama.'Die!' he screamed.

And, both hands clasping the hilt, he brought the blade down.

There was a certain ritual quality to the way he struck. He was slow, yes – but the beers had done their damage. Drake flung up a warding arm – too late! The steel bit through his sealskins, slammed into his chest – and skidded off the amulet.

'Get away with you!' said Drake, giving Vemlouf a shove which sent him staggering backwards.

Vemlouf glanced at his unblooded blade, and then, with horror, at Drake.'You – you live?'

'Bloody oath I live! Now get out of here, before I kick your ring through your breakfast!'

'Demon-son!' hissed Vemlouf, tightening his hold on the knife.

'Oh, jalk off!' said Drake, as Vemlouf stalked toward him.

Then, seeing the man seriously intended to kill him, Drake picked up a bar stool and defended himself. But Vemlouf managed to give him a nasty scratch on the back of his hand. Drake, rather put out by that, broke his arm, knocked him unconscious, then threw him to the floor and jumped on him.