Drake (formally Dreldragon Drakedon Douay): sword-smith's apprentice on Stokos until ran from his master, Gouda Muck; took passage to Androlmarphos; shipped out of 'Marphos as slave; captured by Slagger Mulps, aka the Walrus; rescued from Gaunt Reefs by Jon Arabin, the Warwolf; sailed with Arabin, sojourning in Ling as a hostage; became immune to disease and poisons after protective organism introduced into his body by people of Ling; sailed with Walrus to Burntos and with Warwolf to Hexagon, then joined embassy which failed to reach Menator's brother (Ohio of Ork) because of disaster at sea; with survivors of subsequent capture by Collosnon, began north-to-south crossing of Penvash.
They exited from the tunnel at dawn. What day it was, they could not say. They had crossed half a dozen streams deep underground; they had slept at each, sometimes briefly, sometimes for longer.
No door barred their exit from the tunnel. A door did exist, but lay half-buried amongst evergreen trees fifty paces away. Someone or something had torn it in half then thrown it there.
Past the tunnelmouth ran a large stream. A very generous cartographer might have called it a small river. The pirates themselves thought of it as a river, since on the Teeth they seldom saw more fresh water at once than a whore needs to wash a pizzle.
Autumn snow whispered out of a sky of indeterminate
height. It snuffed out as it hit the water; the swirling stream ran on regardless. The ground was yet black-brown; the evergreen trees stood green; but both might soon concede their colour to snow.
Jon Arabin waited till all his men reached the tunnel-mouth. The last stragglers took a long time to arrive. How many days were they good for? Few.'Boys,' said Jon Arabin, 'we're through the mountains.'
Jez Glane, fearing a speech, sat down, closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep. Others followed suit.
'It's all downhill from here,' said Arabin. 'And, boys, there's beer in Estar, I'll be telling you that – I've been there before now, to taste it.'
Simp Fiche picked something from his nose. Saw it was good. Ate it. Drake picked muck from beneath his fingernails with a little twig. Rolf Thelemite unlaced his boots so he could massage his feet, as he always did on a halt.
'Boys,' said Arabin, 'it's us against the weather now. And the further south we go, the warmer.'
'Aye,' said Mulps, getting to his feet. 'And by the time we reach Estar it'll be haymaking summer, if we sit listening to much more in speeches. Let' s get moving.'Moving they got.
That night, Arabin took his tinder box from his sea-pouch to conjure up fire for them. As they sat round the flames, Tiki Slooze told stories of the Old City which allegedly lay to the south: tales of ghosts with red eyes, of walking bones and living fire, of screaming water and music which killed, of flesh-tearing birds as large as ships, of strangling trees which ate men in the dark, and of rats the size of dragons.
Arabin let him talk, feeling the tales were too fantastic to be believed. Anyway, men busy with thoughts of the south would spent less time lamenting their empty bellies.
Jon Arabin did not believe in the Old City. But then, he had never believed in dragons, either – until he had come face-to-face with one on an adventure from which very few of his comrades had returned alive.
Next day, the stream broadened steadily. About noon, they came upon a stone phallus standing by its banks. The stone was an impervious, translucent green, filled with stars of many different colours.
'This is real solid to be sure,' said Bucks Cat, giving the phallus a familiar pat. 'As big as my uncle Habby.'Simp Fiche embraced it. Then, slyly, licked it.
'There must be a woman-one to go with it,' said Jez Glane. 'That's what I'm interested in!'
He danced a little jig – but was too far gone to keep it up for more than a few steps. And the outburst of horseplay a find like this would normally have triggered did not eventuate: nobody had that much spirit left.'Come on,' said Jon Arabin. 'Let's be moving.'But:
'Eh hey!' said Whale Mike, reaching into the undergrowth.
He pulled out something small, round and brown. It was a ball of spikes. It sat on the palm of his huge hand looking evil and alien.
'What is it?' asked Drake, alarmed by this strange thing.
'He's a klude,' said Whale Mike happily. 'You bake him deep in a mud-jacket, he eats you good.'
'So that's a klude!' said Drake, who had heard of the Galish word before. 'I always thought it was a kind of rat. How does it move around? It rolls, I suppose.'
'Oh no,' said Whale Mike. 'He got four feet, he just roll up now, later roll out, but not this time for we cook him, clay around then leave in the fire, bake good.'
'How many of us will that feed?' demanded Ika Thole. 'Not more than three, I'll be sure.'
He said 'three' because that was the biggest number he knew, mathematics not being his strong suit.
'Oh, there be one, there be more,' said Whale Mike, a big grin on his face. 'They not run fast, not more fast than blood run along a deck when you cut some joker open, no, they be here, we catch them.''Maybe,' said Jon Arabin, doubtfully.
But Whale Mike decided the issue by shoving the little klude deep into the front pocket of his big leather apron.
'This one mine,' said Whale Mike. T share bite and bite about if no others, but only with those who hunt some. No hunt, no eat.'
'I suppose you can't say fairer than that,' said Jon Arabin. 'Let's spread out and look.'
Once they started hunting in earnest, really looking hard at what lay around them, it was amazing what they found. Soon, Drake had personally caught (and eaten) three spiders, a little beetle-thing, a snail which had glued itself to a tree, and a slug.'Holes here!' cried Peg Suzilman.
'What? And the women to go with them?' asked Simp Fiche.
'Nay, man,' said Suzilman. 'Gwiff holes, by the looks of them.'
The pirates gathered in, to find Suzilman standing guard by a low bank. Half a dozen earthy holes, too small for a man to crawl into, tunnelled straight into the bank.
'Holes for gwiff,' said Suzilman. T seen them in the Ravlish Lands, aye.'
'What's this gwiff, man?' asked Mulps. 'A great big snake? Or what?'
'No,' said Suzilman, scratching his head, thinking. 'The gwiff, he's a bit like a pig yet a bit like a ferret, if you know what I mean. A long snout with stripes running nose to tail, some white, the rest black. He's got claws on him like a crocodile, if you ever seen such. Teeth like a rat, go through steel no trouble. Eats kludes with 'em.''What about men?' asked Jon Arabin.
'Well, I never seen him fight no men, only dogs, in a pit, for sport. A mess he made of them dogs, too, I'll be telling you. But men, no, I don't think so.'
'We don't want to be finding out the hard way now, do we?' said Jez Glane.'This gwiff-thing,' said Whale Mike with a grin.
'Maybe he eat men, maybe not – but I don't think he eat me!'
Indeed, it was doubtful anything living in a hole so small would have the nerve to tackle Whale Mike. Not unless it was extremely aggressive. Or very, very stupid.'We'll do it,' said Arabin, decisively.
'Not that we've any weapons, of course,' said Ika Thole.
'This will serve,' said Arabin, hefting a branch. 'Dig, boys, dig!'
Much later, filthy with earth and mud, sweating despite a light fall of snow dusting out of the sky, they broke through into an underground chamber.'How big is it?' asked Arabin.
'Unknown,' said Thole, thrusting a stick into the darkness.Something below squealed with rage.'Huh! A griff!' said Bucks Cat.'Gwiff,' said Peg Suzilman, by way of correction.
But before they could argue about it, several dog-sized creatures came swarming out of the wreckage of the barrow, trying to escape.'Stop them!' shouted Arabin.
There was a brief, desperate fight. Sticks rose and fell. Boots swung. There was a crackl of shattering bone as Whale Mike fisted something.'Knives!' screamed Fiche. 'They're armed!'
He threw up his right arm, a bloody cut running a third of its length.
'Peace, man,' said Arabin, who had just brained a knife-armed assailant. 'Armed or not, they're only a kind of dog.'
But Fiche still screamed and shouted as if seriously wounded. Then Bucks Cat cuffed him round the earhole, which shut him up promptly (and permanently damaged the hearing in his left-hand ear).
The fight was over almost as soon as it had begun. Most of the creatures had escaped, but two had been killed.
They were the size of knee-high dogs. They had reddish-brown fur. The tops of their skulls were bald bone. Their forepaws looked like hands. They wore no proper clothes, but had belts with sheaths, bottles and boxes attached.
Two knives were recovered, curious pieces of finely wrought bronze. The hilt of one was in the form of the head of a dragon; the hilt of the other was fashioned to resemble a dolphin.
'Bloody uncomfortable to hold,' muttered Jon Arabin, who had claimed one of the knives. 'Made for show, not for use.'
'Aye,' said Meerkat, who had gained the other blade. 'But someone's put an edge to this one, sharp enough.'
'Let's dig down,' said Jon Arabin. 'Mayhap there's more metal below.'
They started digging. Promptly, three more creatures, which had been lying dog in the dark, tried to break out. This time the men moved faster. All three died.
What the men found underground was a chamber big enough to have held twenty barrels of wine or water. What it actually held was several nests of leaves and straw, some crude wooden fishing spears, nets for catching birds and fish, and a treasury of ancient objects in gold, glass and bronze.
While others pushed, shoved, slapped and bit, contending for the gold (and breaking the glass in the process) Drake secured himself a sword. Bronze was the sheath and bronze was the blade, both built for business and bare of ornament. Drake, as a steelworker, had always thought bronze soft stuff useless for weaponry. But this seemed stout enough. It was, in fact, copper alloyed with 10 per cent tin, which gives a bronze truly rugged enough for the rigours of war.
By the time the fighting had finished, Rolf Thelemite had a similar sword of bronze, as did Ish Ulpin, Ika Thole and Jon Disaster. They had secured these prizes easily while others contended for wealth – but now there was a clamour for a redistribution of weapons.
'Our swprdsmen have chosen themselves,' said Arabin. 'Aye, while you others greeded for gold like pigs at truffles. Look at me! Empty-handed! And why? Because I was kept so busy keeping the rest of you from killing each other.'
The protests died down and the dead creatures were skinned, roasted and eaten. But the little klude which Whale Mike had caught was neither cooked nor eaten, for the big man crept away from his companions, took the klude from his apron pocket, kissed it gently, thanked it for bringing him luck, then set it loose to run away happily into the wilderness.
That evening, Drake and Yot approached Whale Mike, who sat by himself feeding a little fire with twigs and broken branches. Everyone had enjoyed a decent meal, so it was time to try to convert Whale Mike to Goudanism. Drake was dreading it. Fortunately, he had a present to sweeten Mike's temper. After everyone else had finished investigating the animal burrow they had broken into, Drake had dug up the floor of that burrow, searching for buried treasure. He had found along, slim, immensely strong rod of what he thought was steel.
'What you got there?' said Mike, catching sight of the rod as Drake and Yot came near.
'A present for you,' said Drake. 'It's a giant's crowbar, by the looks of it.'
In fact the rod – which was made of titanium – was an axle from a Raflanderk IV All-Terrain Assault Vehicle. But Whale Mike was happy to have it regardless.'It's steel,' said Drake.
'This too light for steel,' said Whale Mike, hefting it. 'Also no rust. That strange.' He tested it. 'But strong. That nice. Good stuff.'Drake and Yot settled themselves by the fire.'Mike,' said Yot, 'do you like fire?'
'Sure,' said Mike. 'Fire good friend. Him got bad temper sometimes, but we all friends, we understand.'
'Well,' said Yot, taking a deep breath, 'I'm here to tell you about a special kind of fire. We call it the Flame. This Flame is a god. Not any god, but the Lord God of All Gods. Do you hear me?'
T got no ears,' said Mike. 'But I hear okay. You joker with god to share. But I not into that stuff. If some god so great, then him make us believe by god-magic. Not need thin boy with warts running round saying what what.'
'You don't understand,' said Yot earnestly. 'If our god forced us to believe in him, we'd have no free will. Our god works by giving us preachers to bring us the revealed truth. Gouda Muck is one of those preachers.'
'This not new thing,' said Mike. 'Many preacher talk god, say god most important. You know what most important? Woman with soft arse. That best thing. I get woman some day, nice woman, make baby. We have kids. That nice thing, you know?'
'Theology is more important than sex,' said Yot coldly. 'We have the truth. We have proofs. The Flame reveals itself everywhere through fire. The nature of god is to transform one thing to another, for creation is the essence of divinity, and transformation is the essence of creation.'
'Creation means making,' said Drake, who had picked up some of this religious lingo while walking the tunnel with Sully Yot. 'Transformation means change. Divinity means god, more or less.'
'You not dnly one speak Galish,' said Whale Mike. 'You got long word but not make much sense. Your god god because change things. That make something god? Man, my belly change things. Food to shit.'And Whale Mike laughed.
'Food to shit,' he repeated. 'That interesting. You look next time you cut some joker open. You have good look, poke around inside.It don't hurt him, he dead by then, so you look. Man, I spend two days once with some joker's belly. That good thing. Food come down to stomach, see, then-'It was a long explanation. Yot listened, then said:
'It's not really the same thing. You see, we change food to – to something not food because, well, we're alive. But fire isn't alive. Fire changes only because god is in the fire, demonstrating divinity. You understand? Animals are alive, plants are alive, but fire isn't.'
Yot repeated this in three different ways, trying to get the facts into Whale Mike's head. When Yot was finished, Mike sat for a while staring at the fire with his tiny, imbecilic eyes. He looked puzzled. Then his fat, stupid face split into a grin.
'Now I understand what you getting at,' said Whale Mike. 'You think maybe fire not alive. Then maybe fire god.'
'You're getting nearer the truth,' said Yot. 'That's good! I'm glad you're starting to believe.'
'Man,' said Mike, 'I hear, that one thing. Believe, that something else. You real fancy speaker, but you got no more sense than rabbit fart. You not get upset now, we good friends, but I got to say this. You think fire not alive, but him alive all right. Him good friend, that what.''Fire-'
'No, you fart later. Now listen. Fire, him alive because he need feed, otherwise die out. Him born just like us, live strong, die grey. You put him under water, you find out how much god you got there. He die under water, you try some time.'
Yot did his best, arguing his thesis remorselessly. But whatever he tried Mike countered. Finally, Yot and Drake withdrew, leaving Mike to tend his fire in peace.
'He's too stupid!' said Yot angrily. 'He can't understand! All he can think about is a woman with a soft arse!'
'Well, that's understandable,' said Drake. T can identify with that.'
'Oh, you would! No, Mike was the wrong choice. He's not really human. He's – he's a filthy stupid animal. We should try someone else. Someone smarter.''Like the Walrus, perhaps?' said Drake.'Well. . .'
'It's pretty late,' said Drake. 'We'd better be getting some sleep. What say – what say we leave conversions until our next good meal? Okay?''Okay,' said Yot.
Even religious fanatics need to go to bed sooner or later.