Name: Dreldragon Drakedon Douay.
Alias: Drake (meaning, in the Ligin of Stokos, 'pumpkin').
Occupation: swordsmith's apprentice. Status: criminal on the run.
Description: a nuggety fair-haired beardless lad with hard hands and a blacksmith's muscles; he is shorter than fashion prefers, but not exactly stunted.
Prospects: if he survives to see his eighteenth birthday, he may be allowed to marry King Tor's daughter – which would bring him, in time, the throne of Stokos.
There was no nonsense about passengers on the good ship Flying Fish. They were battened down below decks for the passage to Androlmarphos, a run of about two hundred leagues as the aasvogel flies, but rather more as the ship tacks. The Flying Fish, which held several unofficial records for ultra-slow passages, generally made the voyage in six days.
Drake, being battened down below, was unable to hang over the stern rail waxing maudlin as the cliffs of Stokos receded into the distance. He hung over the side of his bunk instead, miserably seasick, and vomited into the pitching gloom. Fortunately, he was on the lowest bunk, with nobody below him. Unfortunately, there were three men in the tiers above, each as sick as he was . . .
By the time Drake had vomited up everything in his stomach, the anaesthetic effects of alcohol were beginning to wear off, and both his body and psyche were suffering. He tried to console himself by eating and drinking, but continued seasickness made both these enterprises counterproductive.
Bad weather stretched the voyage out. Once, the ship was almost wrecked on the shores of Hok, a mountainous coastal province of the Harvest Plains, lying due north of Stokos. Finally, nine full days after leaving Cam, the Flying Fish reached her destination.
It was a pale, unsteady youth who finally staggered down the gangplank to the dockside at Androlmarphos, the great trading city commanding the delta of the Velvet River. This was the first time Drake had set foot on the continent of Argan, fabled land of ruined cities, fallen empires, monsters, magic, sages, wizards and worse. He expected immediate amazements – but was swiftly disillusioned.
The bustling docks were much the same in 'Marphos as in Stokos. The ships looked no different; many, indeed, hehad seen before at Cam. And, while the place was a polyglot babble of foreign languages, the dominant argot was the Galish Trading Tongue, which he knew well enough already.
Since Androlmarphos recognized Bankers' Money, Drake had no need to find a money-changer. Anywhere inland, he would have been lesslucky:butin' Marphos a full half-dozen currencies mingled promiscuously. He could even have spent the jives and shangles minted by his own King Tor, had he had any to his name.
Drake bought a fish sandwich and, eating it slowly, watched men lose money to a quick-talking rogue who hid a peanut under one of three little cups, shuffled these, then asked his victims to guess its hiding place. Drake was too canny to risk cold cash on a sucker's game like that, but nevertheless found the sight heartening – it suggested the Demon was worshipped here in Androlmarphos, if not in name then at least in deed.He went to search for a bar.
Seventeen days later, when the last of his money was almost gone, someone tapped him on the shoulder and spoke his name. Turning, he saw it was Yot.
'Why, Sully Datelier Yot!' said Drake. 'What brings you here? Come to enjoy yourself, perhaps?''No,' said Yot, drawing a knife. 'I've come to-'
But Drake, waiting to hear no more, threw half a mug of beer into the boy's face, then grabbed his knifehand. Their struggle precipitated a general bar brawl – it was that kind of drinking establishment, the only kind which would have tolerated Drake's seventeen-day binge. In the end, the Watch broke up the fight.
Yot escaped, but Drake was caught and hauled before a judge. He heard, as others have in his predicament, many fulsome phrases about the need for personal responsibility and the shortcomings of the younger generation. Then heard his sentence:'Ship out or else.''Or else what?' asked Drake incautiously.
'Or else we'll chop off both your feet and sell them to raise funds for charity!' roared the judge, who, having tried three dozen identical cases that day, was losing his sense of proportion.
'I've got no money,' said Drake, who had been stripped of the last of his funds by the Watch.
'Then we'll help you earn some,' said the judge with a pleasant smile, which suggested that something particularly nasty was coming. He had till then been speaking in Galish, but lapsed momentarily into Legal Churl. There was a pause before the translation came:' Twenty days hard.''Hard?' said Drake, in bewilderment.It sounded thoroughly obscene to him.'Hard labour, fool!'
Drake then spent twenty days chained to the oar of a galley, rowing up and down the long sweaty river-leagues inland from Androlmarphos. The work was tough, the rations poor, and the view monotonous. His galley once went upstream as far as Selzirk itself, but docked in the magnificent capital of the Harvest Plains by night, and was gone again before dawn. That irked Drake as much as anything else.
At least those twenty days gave him plenty of time to plan for his future. He would go back to Stokos. Yes. He would throw himself on the mercy of King Tor. Or would he? No: he would come not with a plea but with a sword. He would offer himself to Tor as an executioner. A Suppressor of Unorthodox Religions.
Once Drake's eloquence had persuaded Tor of the danger posed by Gouda Muck's cult, surely the king would be only too glad to have a vigorous young man like Drake in charge of the suppression of Muck's outlandish heresies.Yes.
And once he had an official position, a fancy title, a sizeable income and a rainbow-coloured uniform designed to show off his muscles, he'd make another assault on Zanya Kliedervaust. But he would refine his tactics first. He might even try some of the things the wizard Miphon had suggested. Would he pledge his love with poetry? No, never – he'd feel ridiculous. But he might take her flowers. Well, one flower, anyway. And maybe he shouldn't be so direct about demanding her body. Maybe he should give her some time to get used to him. How long? Three days? No, two should do it. . .
After twenty days on the galley, Drake expected liberty. But got no such thing. Instead, he was battened down in the hold of the Gol-sa-danjerk, a foreign ship which gave him less air, less space and less light than the Flying Fish, and kept him on shorter commons besides. Where he was bound, he knew not; the other exiles imprisoned with him knew as little as he.
'With luck,' said Drake, 'we're being deported to Stokos.'
In fact, they had all been sold into slavery, and were being carried north-west toward a slaving port in the Ravlish Lands.
At last, after what seemed an age – but was really only seven half-days and a fingerlength – an unfamiliar voice of command ordered them up on deck. They scrambled up through a recently unbattened hatch to find their ship still at sea. Another vessel was connected to the Gol-sa-danjerk by grappling hooks. Copious quantities of blood on the deck suggested that the connection had not been entirely welcomed. Indeed, Drake observed that most of the crew had become corpses. Strangers dressed in sealskins were busy stripping those corpses.'Pirates,' said Drake to himself.This was a guess, but it was accurate.
'Which of you jerks can sail?' roared a pirate, in something approximating to Galish.All except Drake proclaimed themselves to be sailors.
'You,' said a pirate, pointing at him. 'You know the sea, or don't you?'
T know something better,' said Drake, with a metalworkers' conceit which marked him as a true son of Stokos. T know steel. Hammering, shaping, forging and sharpening. I'm a master craftsman, don't you know.'
Gouda Muck would have laughed bitterly to have heard that joke – though Drake did know some of the basics.
'You're a landlubber, then,' said a pirate, and knocked him to the deck.
Drake swiftly realized his mistake. The other prisoners swore themselves to be pirates, and were accepted into the fraternity of the sea-robbers. Drake, on the other hand, was looked on as near to useless.
A prize crew was left on the Gol-sa-danjerk, but Drake was dragged on board the pirate ship. Its sails, he saw, were black. It seemed strangely familiar. He was half-persuaded that this was the very same barque which he had seen anchored in the harbour of Cam the morning after his sixteenth birthday.'What ship be this?' he said.'The Walrus, friend,' said a voice.That voice sounded familiar. Indeed, it came from the mouth of Bucks Cat – one of the jeering boatmen who had forced Drake into the sea to drown a horizon away from Stokos. Even though that was more than half a year ago, the horrors of the occasion were, to say the least, vivid in Drake's memory.'You!' said Drake.'And me,' said another man.
A lean, pale man. Ish Ulpin!
'Come along, darling,' said Ish Ulpin. 'We're going to introduce you to the captain. He might like a nice young boy like you.'
So Drake was led along the deck of the Walrus. And an evil barque she was, too, a stinking tub of reeks and rats, with decks near as dirty as her bilges. Drake, however, had no time for detailed inspection, for he was shortly confronted with her captain, one Slagger Mulps. This man was knicknamed'the Walrus' – hence the name of his ship.A weird sight he was.
Slagger Mulps was very tall and very thin, and had a very long very sharp nose. But what first impressed was his beard and his hair, both of which were green.
'On your knees!' said Ish Ulpin, 'for you stand in the presence of our great captain, Slagger Mulps, the Walrus himself.'
Drake held his ground. Ish Ulpin drove hard, bony thumbs into pressure points in Drake's shoulders, forcing him down to his knees.'Who are you?' said Slagger Mulps.
His eyes, like his hair, were green – like those of the wizard Miphon. His arms were long, dangling right down to his knees. He had, Drake saw, two thumbs and three fingers on each hand.
'If you want me to talk,' said Drake, 'first find a human being for me to talk to.'Drake Douay had made a big mistake. He had said the worst of all possible things. For the Walrus was acutely conscious of his strangeness.
He had led the worst of childhoods imaginable – teased, bullied and rejected on account of his green hair and his multiple thumbs. The experience had marked him for life.
The Walrus stared at Drake, envying his perfect conformity (height apart) to the human norm.
T,' said the Walrus, 'am human. What's more, I'm likely the man who will kill you.'
'Lucky you don't have a mirror,' said Drake, 'or you'd likely kill yourself.'
The Walrus, who had seen himself mirrored in glass, metal and water often enough, was overcome with fury. Raising his voice, he shouted:'Who wants to play with this thing before I kill it?'T do,' said a rough, gruff voice.
And forward stepped a barrel-chested hairy brute in bloodstained sealskins, his coarse-featured face surrounded by shaggy black hair and a great big black beard. It was Andranovory.The Walrus immediately regretted having spoken.
Andranovory was the worst of his men – a drunken, murderous, argumentative bully, an untrustworthy sadist hated by at least half the crew. In the past, he had treated prisoners in ways which gave Mulps nightmares.
'There are others more worthy,' said the Walrus. T give the pleasure of playing with this – with this thing to Ish Ulpin.'
'And I,' said Ish Ulpin, 'yield that pleasure to my shipmate, Andranovory,'
That personage grinned at Drake, showing broken rot-brown teeth.
'Atsimo Andranovory,' he said, introducing himself. 'I believe we've met.''Oh, I don't think we have,' said Drake.
'You don't remember me?' said Andranovory. 'Well, you'll remember me hereafter. Give me a suck!'
And the raptor exposed his weapon to the cool sea breeze. His knob was crusted with festering sores.'Suck!' said Andranovory.
T'llnot playwoman,' said Drake, in a voice shaking with tension.
Mulps sympathized with the boy who did not want to play woman – not, at least, with so many men watching.
'Lazy little bugger!' said Andranovory, giving him an idle slap. 'But we can cure that. String him up by the ankles till he learns when he's well off.'
While Mulps did not approve of such tortures, he could scarcely intervene. If his crew ever learned the true nature of his sensitive, infinitely tender soul, they would surely lose faith in him as a captain. Mulps was aware that he was not much of a sailor, or much of a fighter, either – it was his thrift and financial acumen, more than anything, which had brought him control of the ship.
So Mulps could only stand back and watch helplessly as Ish Uplin and Bucks Cat, obedient to Andranovory's commands, tied Drake's hands behind his back then tied a rope to his ankles. The rope was slung over a yard-arm.
Drake lay on the hard deck, staring up at the blue sky. All around were unfriendly faces. He wished he had not given Andranovory those duff directions on the dockside of Cam, more than half a year ago. But, at the time, it had seemed such an innocent little trick.'Mike!' yelled Ish Ulpin. 'Come help us haul a rope!'
And something far too large to be human came trundling along the deck. It was twice the height of any man. It was as wide in the shoulders as a man's outstretched arms. It had no ears: only holes in the side of its head where ears should be.It was Whale Mike.
'Oh, you,' said Whale Mike, looking down at Drake in surprise.
'Yes, me,' said Drake, staring up at the yellow-faced monster.'What you down there for?' said Whale Mike.
'Because that toad-raping Atsimo Andranovory wants a suck,' said Drake. 'And I'll tell you this – he's not getting one from me!'
'Then you ask Walrus help you,' said Whale Mike. 'He our captain. He good joker.'
'Our young friend here isn't exactly Slagger Mulps' favourite person,' said Ish Ulpin. 'He more or less said our beautiful green-haired captain wasn't human.''Oh, that not very nice,' said Whale Mike.
And pulled on the rope which ran up from Drake's feet and over the yard-arm. Drake was lifted clear of the deck. His hair flopped down. Blood rushed to his head.'Heave ho!' said Bucks Cat.
And gave Drake a push which sent him swinging across the deck and out over the sea. He spun. He had a dizzy, giddy view of surging blue sea and dazzling sun. Then he was swinging back to where he had started from. Ish Ulpin was there to meet him. With a fist.
'That enough!' said Whale Mike, 'You stop. This my friend!'
'Oh, man,' said Bucks Cat, slapping Drake on the back. 'You're in luck! Whale Mike's your friend!' And he hooted with laughter.
It was such a good joke that even Ish Ulpin laughed. But Andranovory simply looked at Drake and said:'If you get off this rope alive, I'll be waiting for you.'
Drake, hanging upside down, dizzy, sore, sick, found it impossible to come up with a smart reply.
Whale Mike hauled Drake higher until their heads were level. Drake was well over twice his own height from the deck. A long way to fall. A lethal fall, if he landed on his head. Mike took a turn of rope around his fist, as if he meant to hold Drake there for some time.
'Great view,' said Drake, starting to sway with the motion of the swells that rocked the ship.
But all he could see at that moment was Whale Mike's swollen sallow yellow face and tiny imbecilic eyes. Mike hooked a couple of fingers into Drake's collar to stop him swaying.'We no meet long time,' said Mike. 'Too right,' said Drake.
'You do good swim,' said Mike. 'You smart joker. Tough, eh? If not tough, then drown. You make good pirate maybe.'
'Yeah, sure,' said Drake. 'Cut me down then I'll prove just how good.'
'Not that easy, my friend. First you make An'vory happy. You suck, that not hurt you any. Then maybe some joker rough you up, but I make sure it not go too far. I say good word for you to Walrus. He not bad joker. He okay.'
'No deal,' said Drake. 'I won't suck any filthy pirate cock. I'd rather die.'
'That not so smart,' said Whale Mike. 'Not much good being you when you dead. That not so? You take care An'vory, I take care you. You say nice things to Walrus, then he happy, you happy. You my friend.'
'My friend!?' shouted Drake. Stress, pain, nausea and disorientation suddenly yielded to an enormous outburst of hate, rage and anger. 'My friend? How do you reckon? Man, you helped force me into the sea to drown! You tried to kill me!''That little thing between friends,' said Whale Mike.Drake was staggered by this bland assertion.
'You're twigged, man!' he screamed. 'You've gone to rust! You can't make friends by drowning people!'
'That not so smart,' said Whale Mike. 'You need friend real bad. So you have long swim. So what? You not drowned. You not dead, so why worry?''You sound as if I should be grateful!' said Drake.
'You get good swim,' said Whale Mike. 'You get out of water, you feel real man. Real proud. You get good story, tell many times. Joker buy you beer, hear story. That not so? Not all bad, that swim. You get plenty beer.'
That was true, up to a point. Drake had told the story of his deep-sea survival many times. He had got many beers out of it. But that was hardly the point.'You're mad, you crazy bugger!' said Drake.'No, you mad,' said Whale Mike, sounding hurt. 'You not right in head. I your friend. I try help. You not want help. Maybe you die, but that your problem, not mine.'
And he unhooked his fingers from Drake's collar. Drake began to swing. And Mike hauled him up higher into the blue blue sky.'Investigate,' muttered Drake.
And did his very best to see how and where the rope was tied off. Whale Mike was fastening it to a cleat on the deck. Drake's life now depended on the safety of a knot tied by a moron. Grief!He closed his eyes and tried to endure.After a while, he found endurance impossible.
'All right!' he cried, with what voice was left to him. 'I'll do it! I'll do it! Anything and everything! An'vory, sure. Even the captain, yes! Every man in the ship! Just let me down from here!'But if anyone heard, nobody took any notice.
And Drake soon left off crying, for his throat was far too dry to continue.
All day he dangled, utterly helpless. He had no knife. Even if gymnastic flair and a touch of magic had allowed him to untie himself and get to the deck alive, he would have faced a shipload of pirates more than ready to hang him right up again – quite possibly by his testicles.The wind got up.The sea thickened.
It was, of course, sheer torture to be suspended there, swaying in sickening arcs as the ship rutted through the rolling seas. The weather worsened toward evening; by dayfall, they were in a regular storm. But Drake, by then, was only half-conscious.
When the ship struck, he heard the panic-stricken shouts of pirates only as another thread of violence in the nightmares of delirium. When the seas swirled up around him, he thought at first that his head was being shoved into a bucket of salt water.
Then realized he was afloat on the turbulent seas of night. Afloat? He was drowning! Feet tied together.
Hands tied behind back. A wave wrecked him under. He tried to jack-knife to the surface. Failed. Then the seas slacked away. He was afloat upon liquid ebony, staring at blindness. He gasped darkness, found part of it breathable.Something was pulling on his ankle-rope.
Moments later, Drake was hauled right up out of the water and seized by something huge: by a monster possessed of inexorable strength. Throat moistened by sea-water, Drake screamed.'Why you scream?' said a voice. 'You safe now.'Who could that be?Drake thought he could guess.
'You cuddle close,' said the voice. 'You shy? Not good be shy. Sea cold. Share heat.'
'Can't cuddle,' said Drake. 'Can't anything. Hands tied.''That no problem. Knife made for that.'
And Whale Mike cut the water-swollen ropes which bound Drake's wrists. Drake's first thought was to seize the knife and kill his enemy. But he could not see the knife in the night. And, in any case, his hands were – for the moment -near enough to useless.'Can't hold on,' said Drake. 'Too tired.'
'Easy, man,' said Whale Mike. 'You not fall. I hold. You good friend, I not let you fall.'
And Whale Mike cradled Drake in his arms. The night was full of sounds of seething sea, of wave-wreck and surf-shatter . But they could not drown out Mike' s voice. He had started singing! He was crooning a song in some strange, strange foreign language which Drake did not understand. But, without understanding the words, Drake was fairly sure the song was a lullaby.
Whale Mike was still singing a lifetime later when the shroud-pale dawn illuminated the masts and rigging of the wrecked ship, the ragged white surf breaking on nearby rocks, and a huddling of pirates barnacled on those spray-lashed rocks.'Look!' cried Ish Ulpin.
And everyone looked, and saw Whale Mike sitting where yard-arm joined mast, with Drake Douay on his lap.
'Hey, Mike!' yelled Bucks Cat from the rocks. 'How's your baby?'
'He all right!' yelled Whale Mike. 'We sing happy song!'Drake had never felt so humiliated in his life.
He tried to untie the ropes which still secured his feet. But all he managed to do was break two fingernails. He began to cry with fatigue and frustration. His tears ran hot down his cheeks.
'You want free from rope?' said Mike. 'That no problem. I just leave rope in case wave take you in dark. Rope for safety. I cut.'
And he pulled out his sheath knife – which was almost the size of a sword – and liberated Drake's feet.'What now?' said Drake.'This!' said Whale Mike.
And threw Drake into the water.
'Hey!' shouted Drake, floundering in the slathering sea.Mike laughed.
'Swim!' he said, waving in the direction of the nearby reef. 'Swim!'
Drake, having no option, swam towards the reef, where barking surf chased yelping waves and devoured them in crevices and rock-traps. Then Mike dived, and swam after him. When Drake gained the rocks, he jammed himself between two of the largest and coldest and hung on tight against the threat of the surf.'Bring your slut-hole here, darling,' said Andranovory.
But, to Drake's surprise, the order was not followed up by a prompt attack. Even Andranovory was too far gone to be lusting in more than thought.
Whale Mike wallowed through the seas like something out of a bad dream. He gained the rocks.'You all right?' called Mike to Drake.'Fine,' said Drake.'You want cuddle?' said Mike.'I've cuddled enough, thanks,' said Drake.'Never enough cuddle,' said Mike.
And, shortly, Whale Mike, Slagger Mulps, Ish Ulpin and Bucks Cat were cuddling together in a big body heap. Drake saw most of the other pirates had also huddled into body-warmth teams. He realized it would be smart to join them, for it was cold; wind and spray were sweeping the exposed rocks. But he was too scared.
He humbled down as best he could, trying to make himself invisible. A gull winged low above the slipshod surf. How long would it be before he was too weak to save his eyes from the seabirds? The slubbering sea throttled amongst the rocks, hungering for his hot blood and his long white bones; if the storm got up again, the sea would surely claim him before the birds did.
Finding thought so unproductive of pleasure, Drake stopped the practice, and shortly fell into a fitful half-sleep punctuated by dreams and the voices of hallucination.
Meanwhile, Slagger Mulps, luxuriating in the warmth of Whale Mike's armpit, stared out to sea. Shadows smudged the far-distant horizon; he knew those shadows to be the Greater Teeth. They were shipwrecked, without a doubt, on the Gaunt Reefs; there was at least an even chance that they would be rescued before too long by a raiding ship or a fishing boat.And almost an even chance that they would not.
'We sing!' shouted Whale Mike, with invincible cheerfulness. 'Everyone sing!'
This command woke everyone who had managed to drift away into the land of dreams – including Drake. He listened with astonishment as Whale Mike started a song.
All the pirates knew it, and joined in, but Drake could not follow the lyrics, for they were so full of sea-talk, arcane slang, and dialect words native to the Greater Teeth. But the chorus was easy enough to understand: everyone howled like a dog, crowed like a cock, screamed like a cat then barked like a seal. Then clapped hands against thighs.
Drake suddenly wanted to be part of it: part of the singing, the slapping, the body-huddles, the community. It all seemed, for a moment, positively jolly. But did not dare join in. His recent experiences had left him feeling as wrecked as the Walrus. He closed his eyes, and, eventually, slept.
Towards noon, Drake woke from muttering nightmares to hear excited talk amongst the pirates. They had sighted a ship. As it came closer, they saw it had green sails. Closer still, and they saw its dragon figurehead.Mulps spat, and swore.'It's the Warwolf,' said Mulps.
The masts and rigging of the Walrus advertised their presence, and it was soon clear to everyone except Drake that the Warwolf had sighted them. However, by the time the ship was bulking near the reefs, even he knew that rescue was at hand – not that the pirates seemed glad of it.
Keeping a prudent distance from the rocks, the Warwolf lowered three boats to investigate. Soon the castaways were sharing their reef with newcomers, a party of grim men tricked out with weapons and looking more than ready to use them. One was, to judge from his bearing, their leader.He carried himself like a king.
He was tall, lean, as black as Bucks Cat and as bald as a hazel nut. He was dressed in brown leather, and wore round his hips a great big leather belt from which hung a waterproof sea-pouch and assorted ironmongery. He looked dangerous. But he had come, nevertheless, to rescue them – so, at the sight of him, Drake perked up.
'Who's the bald old coot?' said Drake to anyone who might answer.
Nobody condescended to reply, but the bald old coot was in fact Jon Arabin, the Warwolf himself, an ascetic man with a taste for experiment and challenge. Arabin came onto the rocks like a conqueror. His eyes were a pale, sunwashed blue. Drake was startled to see such blue amidst such black. Steady eyes, yes, and a steady voice, which said:
'There's space afloat for any who'll swear loyal to me and mine. Even the Walrus. How about it, Mulps, me pretty fopling?'Mulps spat in reply.
'I'll take no murder on my ship,' continued Arabin, unperturbed. 'So you must swear loyal. Mulps, play the man: free the crew from their word.'
'Done,' said Mulps, nodding a little. 'Any rat in search of a sewer can run.'Nobody moved.
'Loyal is one thing,' said Arabin. 'Stupid is another.' Drake got to his feet. He felt thin, transparent, almost weightless.'I'll swear loyal,' he said.
'That's rape-meat from the last boarding!' said Andranovory. 'Take a swearing from him? He can't stand a deck, far less set sail.'
Arabin turned his stern gaze on Drake, who felt, for a moment, like dust being weighed against iron.'What can you do, boy?'
T know iron,' said Drake promptly, 'and I know steel. Yes, and rope. Climbing, splicing and knots. It's my father who learnt me ropes.'
'Aye, boy, and buggery perhaps,' said Arabin. 'But can you cut?''Cut?'
'Aye. Cut, gut, gralloch and gash. Go nose to nose with a cutlass and swim through smirking. How about it, boy? Come here!'
Drake reluctantly ventured down to the foam-smothered patch of rock where Jon Arabin stood, careless of the sea lathering his boots. As surf sucked back, Arabin tossed a dirk so it fell between them. Drake stared at the bald man's hard bones, the rough-torn boots, the ugly chunks of callus on the knuckles, the pale blue eyes as cold as the sea and as ruthless.
T can cut,' he said, and stooped, and grabbed, and jerked the dirk to the challenge.
Jon Arabin kicked him in the stomach, and he went down hard. Heart scrambling, Drake scuffled to his feet. Sick nausea staggered him, and he knew he was dead meat: but he squared back, panting, knife held tight, and stood ready.Arabin gave a little nod.
'Aye,' he said. 'You've got the makings. Get in the boat.'