The Wordsmiths and the Warguild (22 page)

       
With a roar and a whoop,
the tavern emptied to the howling storm. Togura, only half understanding,
swilled down the last of his potenta in three and a half desperate gulps,
drained his tankard, then allowed himself to be carried along with the othrs.
As they staggered through the brawny weather, he saw that other buildings were
also emptying. The mob, a rough and raggedy beast if ever there was one,
slouched and stumbled through the storm, heading for the west.

Chapter 18

       
Togura Poulaan was once
more cold, wet and hungry. As he made his way back to the tavern, the thought
of its warmth, its drink and its food was increasingly appealing. Nevertheless,
he had his misgivings. It was dusk, and Togura did not think the tavern a good
place to be at nightfall, even though he was no longer alone.

       
Togura's new companion
was Gelzeda Zurdok, a merchant from Androlmarphos, which was a distant city in
the south of Argan, one of those fabulous foreign places which Sung knew only
by rumor. Togura and his new acquaintance made an odd couple, for Togura was
still in his barefoot rags, while Zurdok, on the other hand, was a mature,
bearded man, richly dressed from his swaggering seaboots upwards.

       
Whistling lightly,
Zurdok led the way. Togura was still unarmed, but Zurdok wore an ornate
swordbelt which sustained a cutlass, a throwing knife, a dirk and an apple
corer.

       
"Why did they let
you keep your weapons?" said Togura.

       
It was a question which
had only just occurred to him.

       
"I was on
parole," said Zurdok. "We merchants of Androlmarphos have the highest
reputation when it comes to probity. When I told the pirates I'd make no
trouble, they took me at my word."

       
"That was kind of
them."

       
"I'm rich. The
ransom was going to make their kindness worth their while. Believe me, they
knew it, too. Every pirate on the twenty-seven seas knows the wealth of Tezelja
Burnok."

       
"I thought you said
your name was Gelzeda Zurdok," said Togura.

       
"So it is, my son.
Gelzeda Zurdok. A good name, too, isn't it? My credit's good from Androlmarphos
to Selzirk. And beyond."

       
"But just now you
called yourself - "

       
"What?"

       
"I can't
remember."

       
"No, boy, I don't
think I called myself that. Gelzeda Zurdok's the name, always has been, always
will. If you start hearing different, was the wind out of your ears. That's the
tavern, I take it?"

       
"That's
right," said Togura. "That's the tavern."

       
Bending his steps toward
it, Zurdok resumed his whistling. The wind, which had weakened dramatically,
was blathering away in the background; thhe rain had eased to a drizzle, and
the sea to a sullen chop. Occasionally a wave larger than the rest sent a
little bit of water slouching up to the tavern walls, but it seemed the storm
was over.

       
As they neared the
tavern, picking their way with care between the boggier bits of ground, a
blue-feathered mocking gull, a bird of ill omen, went caterwauling overhead. Togura
spat, and made a warding gesture in the direction of the retreating gull, but
Zurdok did not seem to notice. Togura had already tried to dissuade Zurdok from
seeking refuge in the tavern. He had failed, but now he tried again.

       
"I don't know that
the tavern is quite the place for us," said Togura.

 
      
"Why
not?"

       
"It's full of
thieves, pimps, card sharps and drunks."

       
"Low types like
us," joked Zurdok. "They'll make us feel at home."

       
"They'll more
likely draw cuts for the privilege of slicing and dicing us. It was bad enough
by day. It's no place to venture at nightfall."

       
"It's not dark yet,
boy," said Zurdok. "So we'll risk a look at the place, at
least."

       
For a man who had
recently come close to death, Zurdok was in exceptionally high spirits, all
smiles and whistles. Then, as they approached the tavern from the blind side,
the whistling abruptly stopped. They heard hoarse shouting and a cry of pain. A
duel? A brawl?

       
"This may be one of
those times," said Togura, "when it's best to leave before arriving."

       
"Gather your
courage," said Zurdok. "And follow me."

       
They ducked round to the
doorway side of the tavern. The first thing Togura saw was a man lying dead on
the ground. The landlord was being held at bay by half a dozen masked men armed
with staves, flails and hatchets. He was armed with a whip and a pitchfork. His
horns were stained with bright fresh blood.

       
"Back, you
braggarts!" roared the landlord. "Back, before I scupper the lot of
you."

       
"You're the one
who's scuppered," shouted a bald man with golden roses tattooed on his
naked pate. "Here's reinforcement!" He appealed to Togura and Zurdok.
"Will you join us for the monster's gold? His death's a fortune for each
of us. Will you join us?"

       
"Yes," said Zurdok,
striding forward.

       
"Good," said
the man of the golden roses.

       
And Zurdok booted him in
the crutch then wrecked him with three well-placed blows too swift for Togura
to follow. As the others gasped alarm, Zurdok's fingers flickered. A man went
down with a throwing knife in his throat. The landlord hurled his pitchfork and
slashed away with his whip. Zurdok drew his cutlass and laid about him. Closing
with his nearest victim, the landlord gored him through the heart.

       
And suddenly there were
four men freshly dead and two men running for their lives. The action had been
so swift that Togura had scarcely had time to realise it had started. The
landlord shook himself free from the body of the man he had gored.

       
"You!" said the
landlord, in surprise.

       
"Me!" said
Zurdok.

       
And the two of them
embraced.

       
"I thought you'd
setsko and amanacain," said the landlord.

       
"Me? Log Jaris,
you'd fana-ma-skote."

       
There was a lot more of
this swift, jabbering argot, which Togura found impossible to follow. The
language the two men were speaking was basically Galish, but it was so full of
slang and foreign lingo that he found it incomprehensible.

       
"Well," said
the landlord at last, breaking off the conversation, "I'm sure we can bed
down a boy and a pirate. So come in, the two of you."

       
"Pirate?" said
Togura, looking around.

       
"He's the
pirate!" said the landlord, laughing as he pointed to Zurdok.

       
"He's no
pirate," protested Togura. "He's Gelzeda Zurdok, merchant of
Androlmarphos. He was being held prisoner on the pirate ship which was
wrecked."

       
"And you helped him
escape from the frenzied mob."

       
"Yes!" said
Togura, whho was proud of his effort, which had taken a lot of quick thinking
and a nimble bit of bluff.

       
"Well, well,"
said the landlord. "What a brave little boy. Come on, let's no more
linger. Inside!"

       
And in they went.

       
The landlord's woman,
she of the cat's paws, was standing behind the bar, mopping the counter. She
greeted them with a placid smile, then carried on sponging up the blood which
had been spilt so liberally on the counter. There were at least five sodden
bodies floating in the water.

       
"Love," said
the landlord to the woman. "Fetch us two bailing boys from the Nun's
Backside. And send a messenger to old Karold; tell him there's butcher's meat
here for the taking."

       
"Shall I set up
first for the evening trade?" asked the woman, her voice smooth and mellow.

       
"There'll be no
evening trade tonight," said the landlord. "They'll be whooping it up
at the wreck, burning their prisoners alive. Come, boys, let's have an ale."

       
The three sat themselves
down at a table with bread and tankards, then the landlord talked ninety to the
dozen with Gelzeda Zurdok. Togura, unable to follow their quick-weaving cant,
felt excluded and insulted. Finally he could stand it no more.

       
"What's that
language you're talking?" he demanded.

       
"Galish," said
the landlord easily. "Galish as she is spoke in the Greater Teeth."

       
"The Greater Teeth?
But only pirates live thee!"

       
"And what else
would we be? I told you already, the man you saved from the wreck is a pirate.
No - don't give me that merchant nonsense again. What merchant from
Androlmarphos would walk with a sea swagger as he does? Besides, boy, if you
knew your Androlmarphos you'd know that the men there have a fashion for clean
shaving. They walk their lives beardless - not like Draven here."

       
"Draven?" said
Togura, staring at the man he knew as Gelzeda Zurdok. He'd heard that name
before. The more notable sea bandits were known by name even in the households
of Keep. "Draven the Womanrider?"

       
"No, boy!"
shouted Gelzeda Zurdok, slamming the table with the flat of his hand. "Do
I look like him? Do I speak like him? Do I stink like him? No, and no, and
again no. Don't confuse me with the most notorious coward of the twenty-seven
seas. I'm not the Womanrider. I'm not Draven the leper, either, or Battleaxe
Draven. I'm Bluewater Draven, and you'd better remember it."

       
"Peace," said
the landlord, with a smile. "Peace, the pair of you."

       
"I wasn't
arguing!" said Togura.

       
"Then peace
regardless," said the landlord. "He tells the truth. An unusual
experience for him, but he tells it. He is, in truth, Bluewater Draven of the
Greater Teeth. His ship, which was wrecked today, was one of three on a passage
to Ork, an island far distant which you're not likely to have heard of. They
were on a mission which does not bear naming at this moment."

       
"How do you know
all this?" said Togura.

       
"We've been
talking, haven't we? Why so fierce, youngster?"

       
"Because I've been
cheated and tricked and lied to. Because I risked my life to save him and
because I thought him an honest stranger. Because he conned me and duped me and
gives me no thanks. Look at him smirking!"

       
"Thanks is not in
his nature," said the landlord, "but he can surely redeem his debt to
you all the same. As I was telling you, his ship was one of three. They had a
rendevous point for gathering in case they were separated in the Penvash
Channel - which is that body of water on our doorstep, in case you didn't
know."

      
 
"I know," said
Togura, who hadn't until that moment.

       
"If one or both
remaining ships survive, they'll search for Draven's vessel. In all
probability, they'll put a boat ashore to make discretions in D'Waith."

       
"Discretions?"

       
"They'll ask after
the lotch, but carefully," said the landlord patiently.

       
"The lotch?"

       
"The missing one,
the retarded one, the latecomer," said the landlord, supplying the meaning
of the cant word. "If they varry - "

       
"Varry?"

    
   
"Enough of this
language lesson!" said Draven impatiently. "Come on, let's pay off
the boy."

       
"I don't want to be
paid off," said Togura. "I want an apology."

       
"What an innocent
little mannikin," said the landlord, with a laugh which - and this was
unusual for him - had something of a jeer about it. "Apologies? From a
pirate? You'd be searching! There now, don't take it hard. You saved a life.
That's something for a day's work. You've got Bluewater Draven in your debt, so
take what's offering. Take his gold or his services. He can ship you to Ork, if
you're wanting."