The Walrus and the Warwolf

'This good,' said Whale Mike, throwing Drake a lump of fish.'Eat!'

'No,' said Drake. 'Raw fish is poison. Everyone knows that.' .'I eat, I not hurt,' said Whale Mike.'You're not human,' said Drake.

'Oh, I human enough,' said Whale Mike complacently. 'Come on, you try. That way find things out.'

'So it is,' said Drake, remembering what he had been taught in his theory classes about the experimental method.

But, even so, he was most reluctant to eat something which almost all of Stokos regarded as deadly poison. Finally, compelled by hunger, he tried some of the fish. It was not bad at all. And he got no harm from it.

'Well,' said Drake, 'they do say that travel broadens the mind.'

He was starting to feel quite comfortable in the boat. He had managed to convince himself that the crewmen would never force him into the sea. No, they were just indulging in a rather cruel joke. Sooner or later, they would admit as much. Then everyone on the brave boat Walrus would have a good laugh, and they would turn and row for shore. Once there, the crewmen might buy Drake a beer by way of apology. A beer? Two beers, minimum! They might buy him a woman, as well. Then Drake would go home and get a good night's sleep. And, bright and early in the morning, he would start on his first sword.

With such thoughts, Drake comforted himself. Until, toward sunset, when only a line of distant clouds marked the position of the shore, Ish Ulpin gave an order:'Ease oars!'

The Walrus wallowed in the greasy swells. What lay beneath the sea's surface? Immense depths of dark, of cold, of drifting seaweed and hunting sharks.'Sorry about this,' said Whale Mike.

'You mean . . .' said Drake. 'You mean you're really-'

'Did you think we were joking?' said Ish Ulpin.' Jump!' 'Yes,' said Bucks Cat. 'Before we cut your lips off.' 'This isn't fair!' said Drake. T never did anything to hurt you.'

'You lied to one of our friends,' said Ish Ulpin. 'You gave Atsimo Andranovory duff directions. Aye. You met him on the waterfront and-'

'But that's ridiculous!' said Drake. 'You can't kill me just because of that!'

'Ish Ulpin joking,' said Whale Mike. 'We not kill you because of that. We kill you because that our job. You better leave now.'

'Yes,' said Bucks Cat, jabbing at Drake with a harpoon. 'Leave now, if you want to leave with your liver.'

Bucks jabbed again. And Drake jumped. The oarsmen turned the good boat Walrus around and started rowing for the shore.

'This is a joke,' said Drake, swimming after them. 'It is a joke, isn't it? It could be, you know. I'll hold no grudge. I'll swear to you. Everything I own. My flesh, my body.'

'Keep your distance,' said Ish Ulpin, snatching the harpoon from Bucks Cat.Ish Ulpin was ready to kill. Yes. It was no joke.

Drake trod water, floundering around in the swell and the slop. He swore. He wailed in despair. Then he shouted:

'It's too late now!' he screamed. 'Too late for me to get to the palace by sunset! So I'll never marry the king's daughter! Your merchants have got what they want! They're safe! You've earnt your money! I'll never be king! Pick me up, for love of your mother!'

'I've no love for my mother,' called Ish Ulpin. 'In fact, I strangled the bitch to celebrate my fourteenth birthday.'And on rowed the boat.

Bucks Cat, holding the tiller, reclined like a lady of leisure. He trailed his free hand over the side, so water played around his fingers. He was safe. He was earning good money for this murder. He was happy. And he was letting Drake know just how good he felt.

Whereupon Drake was filled with seething anger, with outrage, with implacable hatred. He would not drown! He would live! He would get to shore then murder those boatmen, one by one! Hang them! Jugulate them! Smash them to pulp then jump up and down on their splattered bowels!

Drake forced himself out of his trousers. He lay on his back, kicking his feet to keep himself afloat. He knotted each trouser-leg at the ankle. Then held the trousers by the waistband, so the legs dangled limply in the water. Then, treading water, he brought the trousers sweeping in a sudden arc toward the sea.

Air shot into the trouser-legs. The waistband, widened to a circle by the inrush of air, hit the sea. Drake forced it down. The trouser-legs stuck up into the air. Drake laid himself across the crotch of the trousers, trapping the waistband beneath him.

He was now afloat on his trousers. Bit by bit, the air would surely leak out, but by repeating his trick he could refill them. He looked a right daft lunatic, floating on his trousers with his naked arse shimmering in the seas of sunset. But he would live, unless he died of cold, or was eaten by sharks, or was set upon by giant seabirds, or-Yes, probably he would die.'But I'm not dead yet,' said Drake.And floated.All grim determination.

Darkness came, bringing a night longer than all the wormholes that ever were, longer than every bit of spaghetti which has ever been made since the dawn of time.

Drake fell asleep often, experiencing just a flash of dreamtime hallucination before waking again to the cold everwash of the sea. The greasy wool which protected his torso helped keep him alive. But for the warmth of wool, Drake would have been dead long before dawn.

By the time dawn approached there was no determination left. Only a boy of sixteen, alone, lonely, exhausted almost beyond endurance, cold to the bone, nine parts dead, skin wrinkled by the sea.'It's lighter,' said Drake. 'A new day . . .'Life is hope.

The east was grey. Then sullen red. Then ginger. Then up came the sun, as bright and cheerful as ever. Blue shone the sky. Blue sky. White clouds.

'It is a good day to die,' said Drake, since that was the kind of thing heroes were supposed to say.

Maybe heroes convinced heroes. But Drake failed to convince Drake. As far as he could tell, no day was a good day to die.

But it didn't look like he had much choice in the matter, for, by the bright happy sunlight, he saw a fin sliding through the sea. An evil fin. Sleek. Cold. Polished as a knife. Then out from the water came a sleek and polished head, which whistled at him in a high and alien language.

'I see,' said Drake. 'A whistling shark. Well, nice to be eaten by a novelty, I suppose.'

The brute rolled on its side, then dived. Going under. Drake drew his knees to his belly. Where was it? Where was it?'Show yourself, bugger-breath!' he snarled.

And the monster did. It came out of the sea. It leaped right out of the water, described a fantastic arc, then plunged beneath the waves again. Then surfaced. Grinning. Yes! Its vicious beak of a mouth was grinning at him! There was no mistaking that expression. What next? Laughing, no doubt.

The smiling shark began to circle. The swells lifted Drake up then dropped him down. His trousers were almost empty of air: he was getting lower and lower in the water.

'Come on, shark!' said Drake. 'Make an end of it, you ugly bugger!'

But the shark just circled, chirruping now and then. Another joined it. Two of them, then. No, three!

'A dinner party, is it?' said Drake. 'Man, sorry to show up for dinner with a bare arse.' It was time to fill the trousers again. Or drown.'Life is hope,' said Drake.

And manoeuvred himself off his trousers, meaning to slip them behind him to catch another load of air. But he was so weak that, as the last of that air-support left him, he slipped beneath the waves, losing his grip on the trousers. Which sank.Drake sank.Grabbing for the surface.

Something rose up beside him. He seized it. He found himself brought to the surface. By a shark. Too exhausted to scream, he lay there in the sea, lay with his cheek against the water-smooth flank of the shark, his arm over its great smooth back.

Then remembered that sharks are not smooth, for their skin has more teeth than their jaws. So this must be a dolphin, yes, he had heard of such, that accounted for the whistling and all, it was a dolphin, life answering to life just as the legends claimed. And Drake, unable to help himself, wept.And heard someone hail him:'Ahoy there! You with the fish!'

Now the dolphin is no fish, for its blood is warm, and, what's more, mother dolphins give birth to their young in a fashion close to human, then suckle their babies on milk. But Drake knew well enough that the voice was speaking to him.

'So it's true,' he said. 'The dead begin to speak to you as you die. Well, who'd have thought it?'