make self pretty when cry. You nice. Want marry me? I like woman with soft arse.'
Zanya screamed, and hit him with all her strength. Which made very little impression on him.
'Mike,' said Jon Arabin, 'I've decided we're going to camp here. We'll wait. See if any of the others come downstream. So we'll need a shelter. Start getting branches together so we can build something.'
'That good thinking,'- said Whale Mike. 'You smart man, Jon. I do that.'And he got to work.
Then Jon Arabin took his time. He let the fire die down then cooked a small bit of meat on the red embers. Carefully.
'You don't have to eat this,' he said to Zanya. 'But you might feel better if you did.'As she ate, he built up the fire again.
'Now,' he said. 'You don't have to talk to me. You don't have to tell me anything. But if you want to, I'm here to listen.''Who are you?' she said.
For when Whale Mike and Jon Arabin had found her by the riverside, they had not explained themselves. Mike had just ordered her to ride, and she, faced with such threatening bulk, had hardly been in a position to resist.
'I am Jon Arabin,' said Jon Arabin. T was born on Ashmolea. Aye. That's east of Argan.'T know that,' said she.
'Of course you would, you being from Ebrell. Anyway. My mother was a calligrapher, my father a paper- maker. I was raised to be a scholar.''And now?''Now I'm an adventurer.''A pirate, perhaps,' said Zanya.
'That's a hard word,' said Jon Arabin. 'Often I've made an honest living. Aye, trading pearls and timber. Young Drake has helped me with that.''Drake?'
'Has he told you another name, perhaps? It's our angry young hunter I'm talking about.'
'Oh, him,' said Zanya. 'He told me he was Arabin lol Arabin.'
'Well,' said Arabin, proceeding cautiously because he was not sure what was afoot. 'He gives that name because he acknowledges me as a father. I'm Arabin, and, well, Arabin lol Arabin, that means I'm his father. Do you understand? I ask because you sound a stranger to the Galish.'
'I still have my problems with the Trading Tongue,' admitted Zanya. 'But you've explained the name all right. But how can – how can you be his father? I mean, the skins . . . '
'His mother was a gold-skinned woman from Ling,' said Arabin solemnly, 'and the mixing of black and gold gives bis cockroach colour.'
'Oh,' said Zanya. 'Now . . . tell me of these other names he calls himself. How many does he have?'
'Many,' said Arabin, sliding away from the unknown danger which he sensed within the question. 'Why, he's such a wild one I scarcely know myself what name he'll be playing from one day to the next. Wild, aye. No doubting it. Why, once he cooked me a meal of rats and cockroaches. To this day, he doesn't think I realize. But I know a rat from a rabbit, even if the Walrus doesn't!'
And he told Zanya the story of Drake's shipboard cookery, or as much as he knew of it. She had to laugh.
'But,' she said. 'Why did he play such an ugly trick on you?'
'Because he's wild, as I said,' declared Jon Arabin. 'Part of it comes with being less tall than he'd want to be. Short men must set themselves on stilts of some sort. That's the way of it. So I make allowances.''But why did you . . . why did you eat that meal?'
'Well, rat's okay, and cockroach isn't too bad. If it's cooked right, and if you can get your mind off what you're eating. Anyway, it was either eat it or betray him to the wrath of the Walrus. Would I betray my own son?'
'The thought of discipline must at least have tempted you,' said Zanya.'But I love him,' said Jon Arabin.
'You love?' said Zanya, shocked. 'Your own son? You love him?'
'Woman!' said Arabin. 'What a mind you've got! A man can love his son without lusting for his arsehole. And this boy of mine . . . well, he saved my ship once.''In truth?' said Zanya.'In truth,' said Arabin.
And told of Drake's part in a shipboard battle against a Neversh.
'Well . . .' said Zanya, T can see . . . yes, why a man would like a – a son like that. But for a woman . . .'
T know,' said Arabin, with sympathy which was not entirely pretended. 'He's rough. But there's a reason.''What reason?'
'Ah. He doesn't know that I know. So you must swear never to betray me to him.'
'I swear,' said Zanya, for curiosity had got the better of her.
'In truth,' said Jon Arabin. 'A truth I swear to on my mother's honour, young Drake is a virgin. He's never been had by a man. And he's never taken boy. or woman in lust. Ah, he'll boast with a swagger, but it's bluster talking. That's a sore hurt to his pride, that he's still a virgin. That's why he . . . why. . .'
'He doesn't really know how to talk to a woman,' said Zanya.
'Right,' said Arabin. 'He's scared, aye, shy and scared. Hence he talks tough and acts rough. To conceal his tenderness, which shames him. To hide his fear. In truth . . . you're a woman, and, though he'll not admit it, he's scared of you.'T see . . .' said Zanya.Not sure whether to believe all this.Jon Arabin and Zanya thereafter sat side by side in silence until Whale Mike had finished his work. He sat down by the fire with a sigh.'This good fire,' he said. 'Fire good friend.'
'Fire is sacred,' said Zanya. 'The Flame is the High God of All Gods.''Oh,' said Mike. 'You think like Drake.''You mean Arabin lol Arabin?' said Zanya.
'Yes,' said Jon Arabin. 'It's my son Mike means when he talks of Drake. But you won't be surprised if he fumbles the names at times.'
'No,' said Zanya, understanding that an obvious imbecile like Whale Mike could be expected to speak error as often as truth.
'Drake okay, whatever you call him,' said Mike amiably.'Does . . . does he worship the Flame?' said Zanya.
'He tell big story in Brennan,' said Mike. 'He say he priest of Flame. I think maybe joke. We drinking back then. But few days ago, Drake talk about Flame. He very serious. Well, Yot do most talking.''Yot?' said Zanya. 'Not the Favoured Disciple?''This Yot,' said Mike. 'He tall guy. Many warts.'
'That's him!' said Zanya. 'Muck's Favoured Disciple! We thought he was dead. What's he been doing? Has he been preaching the Flame?'
'He talk enough,' said Mike. 'Maybe too much. Ish Ulpin, he pissed off, not like to hear god-talk. He say Yot shut up or get eaten.'
'So Yot was with you,' said Zanya. 'And Drake . . . Drake is a priest of the Flame. That's very strange. But what's this business of Drake drinking? A priest of the Flame doesn't drink. Liquor is not pure.''Mike,' said Jon Arabin. 'How about you go hunting?'
'If you want, Jon,' said Mike. 'But I not got weapon. I had nice stick, strong stuff like steel, but that lost in river.'
'Never mind,' said Jon Arabin. 'I'm sure you'll manage.'
Obediently, Whale Mike took himself off into the forest. When he was gone, Jon Arabin told Zanya about how Drake had been cursed, and could never get drunk. How did Jon Arabin know?
The barman who had helped Drake learn about the curse had later told Arabin all about it.
Indeed, while Drake prided himself on having a great many important secrets which nobody knew anything about, he was virtually transparent to Jon Arabin – who, after all, had not become a ship's captain and a leader of men by accident.
'So you see,' concluded Jon Arabin, 'whether liquor is pure or otherwise makes no difference to my son, who drinks what he likes but never gets drunk. Hence has no pleasure in it.'
'Then he should be glad of what he calls a curse,' said Zanya. 'For it makes him pure without effort.''But takes away his free will,' said Jon Arabin.
'Why,' said Zanya, slowly. 'So it does. I can see why that would . . . that might be hard to take, at times . . .'
She sat back, thinking. So her lover, Arabin lol Arabin, was a priest of the Flame. Then why did he sometimes call himself Drake? The son of Hagon bore that ugly name. Surely a priest of the Flame would not call himself that. Unless . . .
T think you're lying,' said Zanya. 'I don't see how a priest of the Flame could live as a pirate. Our angry young hunter – he's Dreldragon Drakedon Douay, isn't he? The son of Hagon! The Evil One! The Demon's son!'
Her voice was hard, strident, rising in fear and anger. But Jon Arabin just laughed. It took some effort to
