cave had been shifted – his bean bag, rocking chair, laundry basket, sea-chest, water cask, oil barrel, fishing tackle, harpoon rack and wardrobe. Had Yot been searching the cave? Or had some villain taken advantage of the banquet, and of Yot's deep sleep (or complaisant terror) to rummage the cave in search of Drake's fabled gambling treasure?
Drake was too tired to care either way. He knew Yot was no danger to him, for Drake was now the nearest thing to a friend that Yot had in all the Greater Teeth. And as for the gambling treasure – why, that was safely hidden in five separate places, and even at low tide the shallowest of those places demanded a three-fathom dive.
'We'll have to teach you to be a guard dog as well,' said Drake to King Tor, scratching that dignitary behind the ears. 'Or maybe I should start keeping geese.'
And, with that, he laid himself down on his pallet and pulled the blankets over himself, without bothering to undress or take off his boots. King Tor nosed his way under the blankets. Drake took the dog into his arms, and they cuddled together in an indiscriminate heap, sharing each other's fleas.
Very late at night, as Drake and dog lay snoring, Sully Datelier Yot roused his flesh to wakefulness and got to his feet. He extracted a shark-killing knife from the tangle of Drake's fishing tackle, raised the blade to his lips and kissed it. Then, shaking with fear but unshakable in his resolve, he bent over his sleeping enemy and struck with all his force.The knife went home.'Die, Demon-spawn!' screamed Yot.
And struck again, even as Drake heaved up from the bed. Drake rolled away, pulling a blanket with him. He swore viciously and whipped the blanket at Yot's knifehand. As wool entangled steel, Drake closed the distance.
They grappled, all knees, elbows and panting bones. Drake got a stranglehold. With hands that were wet with blood, he choked his enemy, squeezing his fingers deep and hard to the windpipe.
Once sure that Yot was dead, Drake threw the body outside, and hurled the bloody dog-corpse after it.
'Sleep with the man you murdered!' shouted Drake at the corpse. 'It's your one chance to sleep with your betters!'
Then stalked around his cave, kicking things until he had exhausted his anger. Then started to shake, as the shock of his brush with death set in. Then began to cry, first for poor King Tor, and then for his own exiled condition, and then simply because he was over-tired and heavily stressed.
Then he did the sensible thing, which his mother would have recommended had she been there, and went back to sleep for the rest of the night. Only his mother would have insisted that he take his boots off first.
When morning came, Drake was disgusted to find that Yot was still alive. He had thick black bruises on his throat, true, but could still walk and talk and breathe, eat and drink – he was, in short, a living demonstration of the difficulties attendant on killing a properly constructed human being.
Abject in fear, Yot knelt at Drake's feet, snivelling once more.
'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you,' roared Drake. 'Just one!'
'I had to kill you,' sobbed Yot. 'I had to. I didn't want to, but it was my duty. I like you, Drake, honestly, but you're – you're a son of the Demon.'
'By the oath I am!' said Drake. 'And proud of it! That's the way my father raised me, and that's how he'd have me be!'
'No, not that kind of son. A true son. Flesh of the Demon's flesh. Spawn of his spawn. He came from the halls of hell to take your mother by night.'
Drake considered this intriguing notion for a few moments.
'I've never heard such nonsense in all my life,' said Drake. 'But supposing it was true, I'd take it as a compliment. To me, for my parentage. To my mother, for attracting such high-born attention. And to my childhood's father, for winning a woman the Demon himself would want.'
'But it means you're evil, don't you see? The Demon's the enemy of the Flame. That's why Gouda Muck sent us.''Sent you? '
'Yes. Fifty of us. All over the world. Looking for you. To – to – well. . .''To kill me?' asked Drake. 'Well, yes.'
At first Drake was incredulous. Then he remembered his last visit to Narba. Then an old face from Stokos, a past neighbour of Gouda Muck, had made a diligent attempt to knife Drake properly.
'Fifty looking for me!' said Drake. 'How many worshippers has the Flame claimed, then?'
'Well, half of Stokos, by now,' said Yot. 'The king himself has converted. There's talk of outlawing the temple.'
Drake felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. AH the wind was quite taken out of him. But once he had got over the shock he started to get angry.
'Now look here,' said Drake. 'This nonsense has to end, and here, and now. Recant! Renounce the Flame. Look, there's fire – the oil-lamp's wick. Piss on it, Yot, piss on it now, or I'll kill you!'
But Yot would not. He wept with fear, he begged, he pleaded, but even in the face of death he would not defile the Flame.'And you still think you have to kill me?' said Drake. 'I must! I must!' wept Yot.
Drake, seething with anger, roped Yot properly and put him on the market. Yot so disgusted him that Drake didn't want to be associated any further – not even for the time it would take to torture his captive to death.
'Ready meat waiting!' shouted Drake. 'Best stuff for fish bait, torture, raping!'
But interest was slack. Slaving Day had glutted most people's tastes, and the Bacchanal of the banquet had left just about the entire pirate population of Knock with a hangover.
Drake grew hoarse with shouting. He cooled his throat with an ale, then thought to ask:'You say King Tor has converted to – to-''To the Faith,' said Yot. 'To Goudanism.''Then does Tor believe that I'm-'
'Tor is a true believer!' said Yot. His voice was shrill with fear and hate. 'He knows you're the son of the Demon. He's ordered that you be handed over to Gouda Muck if you ever set foot on Stokos.''Then what?'
'Then our all-sacred Muck will have you skinned alive. That's just to start with! Oh, you'll wish you were dead! You'll scream for the privilege of dying! But Muck won't let you go that easily. He'll make you suffer.'
Drake felt all broken-up inside. This was really the end! He could never go home. Goodbye to his dreams of a place in the priesthood! Goodbye to his hopes for marriage to Tor's daughter and a claim to the throne of Stokos! Goodbye – ay yes, farewell forever! – to the high-breasted Zanya Kliedervaust.
'This is bad news, truly,' said Drake. 'I … I thought to go back to Stokos someday. Not least to see my lady.''And who's that?' said Yot.
'You wouldn't know her,' said Drake. 'She was red of skin and red of hair. She was aged about twenty or so. Tall, yes, mayhap a head higher than me. Breasts beautiful, high-riding like buoyant boats.'
'Are you talking about Zanya?' said Yot. 'Zanya Kliedervaust?''You know her!'
'Why, of course,' said Yot. 'She's one of Muck's favourite disciples.''Then she's – she's with Muck?'
'No,' said Yot. 'She's left Stokos entirely. Gone to do missionary work. To convert the world to Goudanism!''Where has she gone?' said Drake.
'Why should I tell you?' said Yot. 'You're the Demon-son! And a nasty stunted ugly runt!'And Yot spat in Drake's face.
Whereupon Drake grabbed him, intending to cut his throat on the spot.
'What's this?' said a jovial voice. 'Business or pleasure?'
Drake relaxed his grip on Yot. He looked around and saw that a rough-smelling pirate had happened along, an evil brute with a most unlovely bearded face, with pouches under bloodshot eyes, with lice scattered like dandruff through greasy locks, and with splashes of black blood from his most recent murder still splattered across his clothes.It was, of course, Andranovory.
'I came here intending to sell this – this thing,' said Drake. 'But it seems nobody wants to buy such rubbish. So I've decided to cut its throat to get rid of it. Would you hold it still? It's wriggling. Aye! And trying to bite!''Hold still!' barked Andranovory.And Yot ceased his struggles immediately.
'Why, An'vory, man,' said Drake, in reluctant admiration, 'You've sure got a way with your voice.'
Atsimo Andranovory made no immediate reply, but studied Yot carefully.
'You meant to sell this?' he said, after a pause, idling a finger across Yot's neck while the apostle of the Flame cringed and whimpered. 'For how much?'
'To you, he's free,' said Drake, who could think of no worse fate for Yot than sale to Andranovory.Andranovory laughed.'Done,' said Andranovory, and cut Yot's bonds. Then tossed the boy a knife.
