The Walrus and the Warwolf

some more high-spirited wrestling.

Dour men watched jealously from evening shadows, and, that night, as Drake and Zanya slept (chastely enough) in each other's arms, some of those men had muttering conversations about the joy of rape.

Early the next morning, they all set off downstream again.

'Today,' said Drake to Zanya. 'You must marry me. I can't wait much longer.''You're not serious, are you?' she said. 'Of course I am.'

'But Gouda Muck wants us all to be celibate: he told me so himself.''Did he?'said Drake. 'Yes!''In his own words?' 'Of course!''Well,' said Drake. 'What difference does it make?

You've told me yourself you have strong doubts about the Flame.'

'About the Flame being the High God of All Gods, yes,' said Zanya. 'About Gouda Muck being the Flame in the flesh, yes. But not about the preachings of Gouda Muck.''How so?'

'Even if Muck isn't a god,' said Zanya, 'his doctrine still holds many truths.' 'Such as what?'

'Such as truths about physical relationships,' said Zanya.'They're evil!'

'Are they?' said Drake. 'How can we know that unless we try? It's an interesting theory, to be sure, but we have to investigate it before we can truth it.'

His inspiration for this declaration was the Inner Principles of the Old Science which he had been taught as an apprentice on Stokos. An unusual implement of seduction, to be sure – but Drake was willing to try anything.T have tried it,' said Zanya.

'What? Physical relationships? I bet there's things you haven't tried.''I bet there aren't,' she said.

So, in that competitive spirit, they had a long – very long – discussion.

Zanya remembered what Jon Arabin had told her in confidence: that Drake Douay was in truth a virgin. So she discounted his wild tales about being seduced by his sister at age thirteen, about selling his body and buying the flesh of others, about his seduction of the eldest daughter of Baron Farouk of Hexagon, and about a great many other adventures he claimed to have had. He was just a boy, a poor shy innocent boy, too timid for her to possibly be afraid of.

In reply to Drake's stories, Zanya told about her life as a priestess of the Orgy God. The details made his eyes bug.

'I've seen it all,' said Zanya. 'And I've seen the evil of it.'Then she told him about her family, destroyed by the horrors of venereal disease and alcoholism.

'Lust and drink,' said Zanya. 'That's what does the damage.'

'Well,' said Drake. 'Well . . . maybe you can have too much of a good thing.'

This concession represented, for him, a major intellectual advance.

'No,' said Zanya, 'they're not good things at all. Sex is poison. So is alcohol. I just told you I'd seen the proof of it.'

'Ah,' said Drake, 'but you're living proof that one can taste yet not necessarily be poisoned. Therefore it must be a matter of quantity. And . . . quality, perhaps.''But-'

'Nay, woman. The cities of the world are peopled with heads as numerous as seashore sands. For each of those heads, one act of fornication, minimum. There's a world of tasting there. But is the whole world poxed? No! Is the whole world poisoned? No!'

'Drake,' said Yot, coming over to them, 'can I ask you if you could-'

'You can't and I couldn't!' said Drake. 'Piss off before I knife you!' Yot vanished himself.

'Where were we?' asked Drake, his chain of thought broken.

'Oh, deep in the toils of the higher philosophy,' said Zanya. 'But you'll never persuade me that lust is good. As I'vetoldyou, I've tried everything. And what I tried I didn't like.'

Drake found that believable, since most of the things Zanya had tried as a priestess of the Orgy God seemed less than pleasant – for instance, being roughed over by twenty drunken men while wallowing in the guts of a whale.'So we must be chaste,' continued Zanya.

'Ah,' said Drake, his voice sly. 'But it would be an error to condemn your flesh to chastity before you tried just one last thing.''I tell you, I've tried everything!'

'I listened very very carefully,' said Drake, cunning as a Korugatu philosopher trying to get extended credit at his favourite wine bar. 'And I'm sure, beyond all doubts, that you've never ever tried moderation.'Zanya thought hard.

'Hmmm,' she said. 'You're right. I never have. But in any case, why would I want to practise moderation with you?''Because I love you,' said Drake simply.

'You mean, you'd rather have me than all the other women in the world put together? My charms would be sufficient for fifty lifetimes and the bright day after?'

'Well… I wouldn't go that far,' said Drake. 'I mean, not yet. After I'd tried all the women in the world once, then I'd be in a better position to decide.'She slapped him, which he deserved for being so crass.

'Hey!' he said. 'Can't you take a little joke? Of course I'd want you, just you, only you, dearest cony. I'm in love with you, yea, red skin, red hair, kisses and blisses. This is the real thing. True love!'

'You mean,' said Zanya, 'you hear music when you look at me, smell spring behind my tender ears?'Drake sniffed.

'On Investigation,' he reported, 'I smell, if anything, dead bear.'

Whereupon she slapped him a second time, for impertinence.

But he was a quick learner, and, twenty-three slaps later, was singing her praises as sweetly as any courtly swain in pursuit of a high-born damsel.

Delicately he kissed her, and lightly traced the outlines of her cheekbones, and the hand which fondled its way between her thighs was so gentle, so skilled, so courteous, that she could scarcely resist its claim on her desires.She had not had a man for three years.

Or a dog, or a woman, or a cucumber, or any other form of relief. Religion had even kept her from pleasuring her own flesh. But propinquity was steadily eroding her religious faith.However, fear still kept her chaste.For the time being.

For, if she took on Drake Douay, what then? She knew what men were like. She must stand staunch against all of them. For, if she gave in to one, the others would then be insulted by her refusal. She still had nightmares about serving lust en masse in the Ebrells. Even though that was years ago.

Therefore she – gently – removed that skilled and courteous hand from between her thighs. When it replaced itself, she – not so gently – tried to break one of its fingers. The hand got the message.

Thus Drake and Zanya, lying in each other's arms on the fur-side of a fresh-killed bearskin, practised not moderation but abstinence. And the art of the promise.

But Drake's comrades – men wise in the ways of the world – believed what it was only natural for them to suspect. And this increased the jealousy of some of them beyond all reason.

39

Name: Arabin lol Arabin (formerly Dreldragon Drakedon Douay, or, more simply, 'Drake').

Occupation: wilderness survivor, energetic creator of heresies, dedicated exponent of practical aspects of that congeries of delusions known as 'love'.

Status: in the eyes of his true love, his dearest kiss, the high-breasted red-skinned red-haired Zanya Kliedervaust (she who is sweeter then nectar, more tender than his foreskin, closer to his heart than his kidneys, and more valued than both of his great toes and the strength of his arches) his status is rising steadily.

Description: a fair-haired smiling fellow who whistles, sings, laughs; wears rather odd mixture of torn wool, battered sealskin, pungent uncured bearskin; looks totally absurd but more spritely by the moment.

There were thirteen in that downriver party. Guest Gulkan, the Pretender of Tameran whom they had met so briefly, was not amongst them, having failed to emerge from the Door by the time Jon Arabin finally snatched the