'I do,' said Drake, with both truth and determination. 'I've decided to go all out for what I want. And what I want is to be a swordsmith, yes, the very best swordsmith on Stokos.'
'I'm impressed,' said Muck, who wasn't, but thought such an attitude deserved encouragement. 'Right. Go to theory class this afternoon, then tomorrow morning make your report.'
That night, Drake dreamed of the horrifying tortures which would claim Ish Ulpin, Bucks Cat and Whale Mike once King Tor was persuaded to punish them. He woke early, and, after a quick breakfast, hurried off to the Iron Palace to make his report.
4
Lust mixes but poorly with justice.
By the time Drake's pursuit of Zanya had been stalled by the discovery that his lover was working in a leper colony, the boatmen who had tried to murder Drake had fled Cam. Indeed, they had fled Stokos, for the wrath of King Tor would be terrible if he learned they had exceeded his instructions.
He did learn – for, obedient to Muck's instructions, Drake went and told him. And his wrath was indeed terrible.
'By royal decree,' said King Tor, in a voice which woke the gryphon sleeping at his feet, 'Bucks Cat, Ish Ulpin and Whale Mike are to be executed immediately if they ever again set foot on Stokos. Thus will justice be fulfilled.'
'Well,' said Drake, 'now we've done with justice, how about marrying me off to your daughter?'
'You failed the challenge I set you,' said King Tor. 'You failed to get back to my palace by sunset.'
'Be reasonable!' said Drake. T never had a chance! Anyway, I survived perils worse than anything you had in mind – as you've heard. That proves I've got a lot going for me.'
'This is true,' said King Tor, munching on a frog. 'But perhaps I was a little hasty to offer my daughter so casually. Come back in two years, when you finish your apprenticeship. We'll decide then.'
Well. That was better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick. Two years from now, he might be Prince Drake. No, probably the title would be more formal: Prince Dreldragon. Lord Dreldragon, maybe? Either way, it had a nice ring to it.
Meanwhile, there was still Zanya. Now was the time to chase her. If she became Drake's lover, she could still be his concubine when he married Tor's daughter. But Zanya was working with lepers! What if she got the disease herself? Drake thought about it. Lust confused his intellectual processes, such as they were: he decided Zanya was far, far too beautiful ever to get leprosy.
'She's too high-class for such a low-class disease,' he declared.
Then dared himself as far as the rough-and-ready paling which marked the perimeter of the leper colony.
He did not see Zanya Kliedervaust, but, through generous gaps in the fence, he did see diseased corpses writhing on a huge pyre. A big purple-skinned man wearing nothing but a loin-cloth was heaping fresh wood on the fire. It was Prince Oronoko, who had been with Zanya on the xebec. Drake was so jealous he wanted to spit.
Imagine! A stinking foreigner enjoying the company of the fair Zanya Kliedervaust. Her company? Oh, she had been slick enough with her weird-rare talk about purity, but Drake could guess what pleasures she shared with her uitlander prince. Oronoko's muscles, oiled with sweat, glistened in the hot sun. Drake wondered how he would fare against Oronoko in a fight.
'Hey! You!' cried Drake. 'Where are you keeping Zanya?'
Oronoko did not seem to hear. Belatedly, Drake remembered that the foreigner spoke no Galish. He spoke some kind of alien gibberish instead.
Purple-skinned Oronoko threw one last load of wood on the fire then went away, perhaps to get some more bodies. The flames hungered noisily. Stray bits of bamboo burst asunder in the heart of the blaze. Drake felt the heat of the fire amplifying the heat of the sun. A corpse, compelled by the inferno, sat up, its arms warping amidst the smoke in a parody of agony.
Then a shift of the wind sent smoke plunging in Drake's direction. Before he could flee, he was enveloped in thick choking smoke, in the stench of burning hair and charring flesh. He scrambled away, cursing, coughing, spluttering, eyes watering. He was stricken with terror. What if the smoke had contaminated him? What if he had caught leprosy from that filthy disposal fire?
He was no longer so sure that it would be safe to bed the fair Zanya Kliedervaust.
But he could not get her out of his mind.
Ten days after his ordeal at sea, Drake decided to discuss his problem with his sister.'I'm in love,' he said.
'Then demonstrate it,' she said tartly. 'Lean on your elbows! Stop dribbling!''I'm not in love with you, stupid,' said Drake.
'Watch your language,' said his sister, with danger in her voice, 'or I'll spit in your eye!'
And Drake thought;
'Well,' said his sister, shortly afterwards, 'who are you in love with?'
'A woman from Ebrell,' said Drake, dreamily, staring up at the ceiling. 'Red skin, red hair . . . she's gorgeous.' 'Is she a good lay?'
'I haven't been able to find out,' said Drake. And he explained.
'This is a hopeless case,' said his sister. 'You'd better see a pox doctor.' 'For what?'
'For a cure for love. We've got a pox doctor working in the temple now. He's quite nice.''Is he good in bed?' said Drake.
'He's a wizard, stupid. They don't go in for that kind of stuff.'
'Oh,' said Drake. 'Somehow . . . somehow I don't think a pox doctor would help me.'
But, that night, he endured grim dreams of blue leprosy. He dreamed of Zanya, of her body studded with blue sores, just as King Tor's leather clothing was studded with iron. He dreamed of Zanya suffering long, slow months of decay, eventually becoming ulcerated, blind, gangrenous. Then dead. He woke in a sweat.
And, that very morning, he fronted up to the temple for an interview with their pox doctor, who was a wizard of the order of Nin, one of the weakest of the eight orders of wizards. His name was Miphon. The temple of Hagon, hoping to end an unpleasant outbreak of gonorrhoea, had lately imported him to Stokos to advise on sexual hygiene. Miphon had given much valuable advice with respect to the use of condoms, and was almost ready to leave the island.
On being admitted to Miphon's presence, Drake saw the wizard was fairly old – maybe aged about thirty. He wore businesslike leathers and a broad-brimmed hat which sported a single feather. Being nervous, Drake started the interview by being rude.'Why are your eyes green?' he said.
Miphon was unsurprised by this brusque demand for information. Guessing at Drake's unease, Miphon made allowances for it.
