star-globe from its golden cup, thus closing the Circle.
Zanya Kliedervaust was there, of course. She was chaste, yet in love. Amongst so many men, she felt protected because of what she thought of as Drake's power. She longed for the day when they could begin to practise some moderation together. It would be marvellous to be
cherished, soothed, gentled and adored. An antidote, perhaps, to her memories of Ebrell, where she used to finish an important ceremony feeling as bruised and abused as a pigskin which has just survived five games of ruck in succession.
With them was the purple-skinned Oronoko, rescued from the Great Arena of Dalar ken Halvar when Zanya was. Language difficulties kept him largely silent; only Zanya spoke his native Frangoni, and she had scant time for anyone other than Drake.
Drake was now universally known, to Jon Arabin's delight, as Arabin lol Arabin. While he had not yet tasted the delights of Zanya's flesh, he was already learning that the poets, while extravagant, are not entirely untruthful. Love does indeed have its pleasures – such as waking beside a woman in the morning and not having to ask her what her name is.
In his world of rain and river and water, of mud and dirt and charred bear meat, Zanya was the brightest, most bubbling thing in the universe. And her smile was itself a flattery he had never had from any other woman.
Warwolf and Walrus had of course survived, as had the wart-faced Sully Yot, who followed Drake like a bad smell until Drake threatened to lib him.
'I just fancy some jungle oysters,' said Drake. 'So get out of here before I cut your goolies off.'
'When you die,' said Yot, 'the Flame will burn you forever. You're living in sin.'
'Aye,' said Drake, not caring to confess that he had yet to sin with Zanya, 'for that's the way I was born. And I'm proud of it.''I'll tell Zanya you're the Demon-son!'
'Do it!' said Drake. 'Go on, just do it! Then I'll shove your face in the fire and hold it there till your nose burns off. What's more, my father will tear you limb from limb once you're dead.''You mean . . . ?''I mean I am indeed the Demon-son,' said Drake, savagely, 'seed of Hagon, sent to bring evil to the world and destruction to prissy little spoil-sport shits like Sully Yot. So bugger off!'
Yot was an unpredictable factor.
He wanted, for a start, to survive. To get the hell out of Penvash – certainly the closest thing to hell he'd ever encountered. And he also wanted to renew Drake's faith in the Flame (if Drake was human, and not born of the Demon), or to kill Drake (if Drake was indeed, true to his boast, the Demon-son). During each day's march, Yot lagged far behind the others, having long, involved theological discussions with himself as he tried to sort truth from boast and right from wrong.
Apart from the above, the Penvash party included three men who only wanted to stride on downstream as soon as possible: Rolf Thelemite, Jon Disaster and Whale Mike.
Then there was the rape faction.
It was small, for it consisted of three men only. Simp Fiche was its inspiring spirit, but Ika Thole thought of himself as its leader – and the dangerous Ish Ulpin was the one most likely to actually start the action. Ish Ulpin was busy persuading Bucks Cat to his faction.
While Drake and Zanya slept together in all innocence, oblivious of the group dynamics which were rapidly developing a disaster for them, the members of the rape faction campaigned.
'The vomit-haired scrab should share and share alike,' said Simp Fiche. 'It's not fair to keep her for himself.'
'Aye,' said Ika Thole. 'She's a priestess of the Orgy God, that one. I tell you, on the Ebrells they don't hold themselves so special.'
T haven't had my balls cut off,' said Ish Ulpin. 'How about the rest of you? How about it, Mike?'
Whale Mike thought long and hard, then shook his head in a ponderous fashion and said:
'This like eating my little klude. One too small for many. You so hard up, man? Then you grab sleepy bear, nice one, we help hold it down for you.'
He slapped his knees and laughed, while Ish Ulpin scowled.
But the rape lobby won over Bucks Cat. Then set to work on Slagger Mulps. Simp Fiche did most of the work, nagging away steadily:
'Are you a pirate chief or what? . . . following after the Warwolf like a puppy behind a blue-tailed bitch . . . when did you last speak as a captain? . . . man, he's been laughing at you ever since we left the Teeth . . . changed the name of the ship on you, back at D'Waith, didn't he? And you took it like a dead fish takes the gutting knife. . .'
Fiche was not surprised when, a day later, at noon, when they had halted for lunch (cold bear meat and water weed, with a couple of earthworms apiece to add variety) Walrus said to Warwolf:
'Jon, I've been thinking. It's been a hard haul, Jon. Many leagues, much suffering. Yet no fun for the boys, Jon. Except for one.'
And he glanced at Drake. Who got to his feet, his fingers fists.'You want to argue, man?' said Drake. 'Sit!' said Jon Arabin, curtly. Reluctantly, Drake sat.
'Mulps me darling,' said Jon Arabin. 'We're through the worst, as you know as well as any. We'll make it to Estar for sure. There's whores there the same as anywhere, and beer to go with them.'
'Aye,' said Mulps. 'But what good's pleasure elsewhere? Man, there's pleasures for real in Selzirk palaces – and what profit do we get of such?'
'Man,' said Jon Arabin. 'One unwashed body with another on a stinking skin in the mud and the rain, I don't call that pleasure. That's children's games – and there's only the two children here, neither of them being you or me.'
'Fussy, is it?' said Mulps. 'Aye, Jon, you always were the gentleman. But I'm a pirate true and for real, and I'll take what's due to me by worth and rank. Rolf – give me your sword. Give it!' Rolf Thelemite hesitated.
'You're sworn to him,' said Jon Arabin. 'So give him your blade, if that's the way he wants to settle it.'
And the Warwolf released his own blade from the bindings which kept the slender thing from rattling around in the big bulky sheath which had once held a falchion.'Give me that!' said Drake, reaching for it.
Jon Arabin knocked him away with a back-handed blow. He had to win this one himself to save his leadership. He could not allow Drake to kill the Walrus – as well he might, for his shipboard training had shown him slick with a blade.
'Keep back,' said Arabin. 'This kill is mine. Sit! And be silent!'Drake, wiping a little blood from his nose, obeyed.
Rolf Thelemite yielded his sword to Slagger Mulps, but, seeking to buy a little time in which hot heads might still yet cool, said:
'What about the tinder-box? A good cut might rend it open.'
Jon Arabin shrugged, then detached his waterproof sea-pouch from his belt. He tossed it to Drake, who caught it neatly.
'Take good care of that,' said Jon Arabin. 'We'll need a fire soon enough, to cook up Walrus kidneys.'
Arabin tested his footwork, and, finding the star-globe was likely to interfere with his movements, took it from the deep thigh-pocket where it had been hiding. He looked at Drake, to throw it to him – but Drake had turned to kiss Zanya.
'Here,' said Jon Arabin, tossing the star-globe to Sully Yot.
Rolf Thelemite, standing by Yot, thought it was for him, and tried to field it. Thelemite and Yot collided – and the star-globe rolled down the bank to the river's edge. Yot slithered after it hastily, first because he was certain Thelemite was angry with him, second because he was afraid the beautiful thing would be eaten by the hungering waters. There it was.
Yot grabbed for it. His fingers closed on the smooth cold stone. But it weighed more than he had expected, and slipped from his grasp. Fell into knee-deep water. The current rolled it downstream. Yot lunged for it, slipped, fell face-first into the water, saw the ball, grabbed it.
For a moment he had the star-globe in his grasp. He struggled against the current, slipped, tried to stand up – and found himself floundering out of his depth in water suddenly deeper. As the river thrashed him away, the star-globe found freedom.
