The White Wolf, page 90
“Then who was that monk at lunch yesterday? I’m pretty sure it was Gaynor.”
“I saw him, too,” she admitted. “But I didn’t assume it was Gaynor. Hmmm…” She sighed. “We must wait,” she said, almost to herself. “We must wait.”
“Oh, please!” I lost my cool altogether. “Why?”
“No spare flying machines, for a start,” she said. “Our best hope would be to get you and someone else onto an ornithopter already bound for Kamarg.”
“We haven’t time to see how the war goes,” said Prince Lobkowitz. “I’ve talked to people here. They say there are still battlecraft in the area. The Dark Empire makes raids. They’ve been driven out, but they’re not defeated. There’s every possibility of a flying machine being attacked. It would be too risky.”
“But my mum and dad will be worrying,” I said. “I don’t want to miss a chance of getting home.”
“I understand.” Oona looked so worried, I felt sorry for her. “Travelling to Kamarg, however, won’t necessarily get you all reunited sooner. It would just be a chance that Duke Dorian or one of his people could help. If, for instance, they have the crystal which gives them access to other dimensions, they could offer us real protection. While I can travel the moonbeam roads, I need to find a route through before I can try to find Elric or a way to your home that’s reasonably safe. If Mirenburg hadn’t been flooded by that fool’s spell…”
“I know you will do whatever you can,” I told her. “But if there’s any way of getting home…” I was repeating myself and stopped.
“Hawkmoon has his own concerns,” she said. “He won’t sacrifice them for our interests. Only if those interests coincide with his duty. Like us, he has enemies all around him. We have to stick together. Watch one another’s backs. That’s how we’ll survive until we get that chance you want.” Suddenly, affectionately, she had reached out to me. I realised how carefully she was guarding her emotions. I knew then how much she loved me. I knew she had to be my mother’s mother, no matter how impossible it seemed. I so badly wanted to ask her how she had kept so young, but I knew it wasn’t the time.
My emotions began to roller-coaster again. I forced myself to calm down. I felt suddenly better. Now all I could do was enter the safety of my grandmother’s embrace.
15
Next day I sat in my room trying to make conversation with Lieutenant Fromental, who had obviously been left on guard in case Klosterheim came looking for me. By now none of us was completely sure I had actually seen him.
Fromental was a kind, gentle giant who took his job seriously, but he wasn’t very good company. He knew a lot about French comics and American thrillers, especially the Jack Hammer mysteries, but we had almost nothing in common. We didn’t even like the same movies. He had been in the French Foreign Legion and had wandered into Mu-Ooria years ago while exploring in Morocco. There he’d met Prince Lobkowitz, but he didn’t like to talk of their adventures fighting what they called “the Lost Nazis.” I needed something to take my mind off everything, like a trip to the pictures. How did these people relax? I wasn’t as much worried about Klosterheim as they were. I was thinking of those pleasure gardens, wishing they had TV in this weird world and consoling myself that it would probably be totally weird TV anyway. There wasn’t even a book I could read. Some of them seemed to be written in English, but the spelling was all different, and I didn’t understand a lot of the words. I tried translating, with Lieutenant Fromental’s help, but he was puzzled, too. He thought some of the language was more like French than English. Even the books with pictures didn’t make much sense, so I asked Lieutenant Fromental if he felt like going to the fair. He was very serious when he apologised, spreading his huge hands.
“Little mademoiselle, we have to be sure no harm befalls you. If Klosterheim is in the city, you are in considerable danger. Considerable danger. I cannot impress on you enough how much danger…”
“I understand,” I said. “It’s dangerous. I know.” The problem was that the dreams were beginning to fade again. I knew I couldn’t put myself in peril and frighten my friends, and I wasn’t about to let boredom get to me, but I was also thinking of the person I’d seen in the tent who so resembled both the missing Monsieur Zodiac and the blind boy, Onric.
* * *
Another day dragged slowly by. And another. I waited eagerly for news of the war, hoping someone would tell us it was over. Everyone else went out whenever they wished. Once a week the whole Kakatanawa troop stayed with me. They had a game with beads and a large hollowed-out piece of wood which one of them told me was called the “canoe,” and I became obsessed with playing it for a while.
My friends had begun to think I had made a mistake about seeing Klosterheim in the palace. Prince Yaroslaf had clearly not invited him to Court. The prince remained adamant that he considered Klosterheim and von Minct enemies, who would serve themselves at every turn and serve the Dark Empire if it suited them. They had been seen elsewhere, however. One report placed them in Kamarg itself, fleeing shortly before Hawkmoon’s army retook the province. Another put them on the northern coast.
I think I eventually wore Oona down. She finally came to the conclusion that Klosterheim and von Minct had moved on, if indeed they had been here at all. I didn’t get my ornithopter ride, but she did allow me to go to the fairgrounds as long as all the Kakatanawa and Lord Renyard went with me. It was better than sitting inside.
Thus, in the company of twelve Americans and a gigantic fox, I found the tent where I had seen the boy, only this time I went in the front entrance. Bright yellow and black displays announced something translated into English, I assumed, as a “Cornucopia of Thespian Skills.” Lord Renyard paid for all our entrance tickets. None of us could read the rest of the sign, which was in a language about as far removed from the English I understood as Chaucer’s, but we were all pretty sure it was English. It reminded me that I was still puzzled about how people, admittedly with some very strange accents, seemed to know a more or less common language. Lord Renyard said it was the lingua franca of the multiverse, which, through a series of very peculiar circumstances, was spoken by people who could walk between the worlds.
Under the canvas, a medium-size pit had been dug into the ground. It was surrounded by long benches, and an old man was standing in the pit, telling a story whose point I missed entirely.
I waited patiently, hoping that the albino boy would be next to perform, but the old man was replaced by actors wearing animal masks and doing something called Adalf and Eeva, which made no sense at all. Lord Renyard, who seemed pretty bored, said they reminded him of Greek players. The scene went on for hours, it seemed to me, and in the end we had to leave. I didn’t see the boy anywhere. By the time Oona turned up to take us home I was actually looking forward to getting back to the Nun and Turtle.
Oona laughed at my expression and comforted me by saying how she and Prince Lobkowitz had been trying all day to find a way under ground. She was now pretty certain this version of the city didn’t have a mirror image, and she had decided that it was time for us to move on. In Munchein, Barkelon or Parye, she said, we might have better luck. But not here.
Everyone seemed a bit down. All of us there preferred action of almost any kind to no action at all. As we left the tent we found ourselves surrounded again by revellers in fanciful costumes dancing in a long line, their hands on the waist of the person ahead of them. People were laughing and singing, and some staggered a bit. We stuck together but couldn’t avoid getting caught up in the cheerful crowd enjoying the ritual dance.
And then, as we danced by a gap in the tents, I at last spotted the albino boy again: a young man with glittering red eyes staring straight out of hell and straight into mine. I tried to wrench myself free of the crowd and wave to him. I had a clear view of his face this time, and though they were clearly related, it was not Monsieur Zodiac. It was Onric!
I wriggled out of the mob and ran back to the tent to find him. All of my friends were shouting and following, but the youth had disappeared. I stopped running to let everyone catch up with me. But before they could do so, a figure wearing a papier mâché Red Riding Hood wolf mask darted from the crowd and grabbed me. I don’t think the black-clad man had any idea how strong I was as I kicked and bit him, clawing for his eyes and dislodging the mask to reveal the cadaverous face of Herr Klosterheim.
I had been right! I felt triumphant even as he tried to drag me away and Oona, Lord Renyard and the Kakatanawa converged on him. Uingasta, one of the Americans, got hold of Klosterheim, who had dropped me, but the man, abandoning his mask, slipped free and ran off into the crowd, pursued by everyone but Lord Renyard and me.
The dancing people seemed entranced as they re-formed their ranks and danced on, as the Kakatanawa and Oona straggled back, disappointed.
“So I wasn’t barmy, see?” I declared.
“You weren’t barmy, dear, that’s true.” Oona was out of breath. She kept her bow strung and an arrow nocked on it. “We’ve got to get you out of the city. He knows you’re here. He’s been waiting his chance. I’m sure he’s told von Minct, and one of them is sure to try this again. We can guard against him, of course. But what about those others? Klosterheim is bound to resort to supernatural aid at any moment, as soon as he can, and that will endanger the city and all of us—including what the city represents to those who oppose Granbretan.” She spoke in low, urgent tones. “We’ll leave as soon as we can. Come on. Let’s get back to the inn.”
I couldn’t work out why she was reacting like this. Had she never believed Klosterheim was here? Had she been humouring me? Perhaps she thought Klosterheim had lost the power to travel through the realms. Perhaps his desperate attempt to kidnap me indicated that something else was going on, that our enemies were becoming more desperate and therefore more dangerous.
Next morning we put our affairs in order and, with help from the palace, slipped out of the Nun and Turtle, through a private gate in the city, taking the Munchein road. Oona and Prince Lobkowitz had tried to get the use of some ornithopters, but none was available. Though they were producing new machines all the time, those factories were having to be moved and, wherever possible, hidden. They were the main target for any squadron the Dark Empire sent over. There was some chance Granbretan would be trying again to destroy the factories, perhaps in the next night or two, so we accepted his need and made other arrangements. Prince Yaroslaf, respecting our danger, sent some of his best guards with us. He did everything he could to accommodate us.
Oona and the Indians rode in carriages, because the Indians didn’t know much about horses. I sat inside with her part of the time, and the rest I had a pony I could ride, so long as I remained close to Prince Lobkowitz or Lieutenant Fromental. Lord Renyard, of course, also rode in the coaches.
While seated in the carriage with Oona I told her what I’d been thinking about the desperation of our enemies. She leaned over from the seat across from me and rumpled my hair. “You’re a smart young lady. Our enemies grow increasingly less subtle. That means there’s a clock ticking somewhere for them. You’re right; they’re losing time and patience and becoming more dangerous.”
“And yet you still have no idea what they want me for?”
“I’m getting a bit of an idea, but nothing too clear yet.” My granny’s ivory beauty continued to amaze me. She was like one of those stunning 1920s figurines fashioned in ivory and bronze. At night her skin had a faint, pale glow, and her red eyes carried an expression not entirely different from her father’s when he seemed troubled. In the light of early morning she was like a Greek statue come to life.
“I wonder where he is.” I spoke without thinking. “Your father—Monsieur Zodiac?”
“Elric? I fear he might be lost, or that people might even be deliberately misdirecting him. Somewhere in his own world where he was born, he’s suffering horribly. He’s the prisoner of a cruel enemy who would bring the unchecked reign of Chaos down upon them all. He has seen Chaos in all its aggressive variety, and he fights it, though he is also dependent upon it for his very life. Should he be killed in this, his dream, then he dies in his own world, too. Every action he or his enemies take in one realm, he takes in a million others, save that these selves, as substantial as you or me, are the creation of a particularly powerful form of dreaming. Every other world but his own is a dream to him. He hangs, dreaming even now, on the yardarm of a ship, desperate for that one thing which sustains him, which will free him.”
“Which is?”
“A sword,” said my grandmother with weary bitterness. “It has taken him a thousand years to earn that blade. And now, to save us, he risks everything, when salvation for him could be hours or days away.” And she fell into such a silence that I couldn’t bring myself to ask her another question.
Later she began talking again. Elric, she said, was clearly her father, as I’d guessed, and not just an average multiversal adventurer! His destiny was somehow linked to the destiny of every world he had touched in his thousand-year search for his sword. There was some trouble with the carriage, and we had to get out while someone saw to it. We were still less than half a mile from the city, and the walls remained in sight. Prince Lobkowitz brought up a pony for me to ride.
“What’s so special about my great-granddad’s sword?” I asked him.
He looked at me in complete bafflement. “Elric’s sword? Aha! The Black Sword. There is an aspect of it in every world I know, yet the sword itself, capable of generating hundreds of versions of itself, is elusive. Without it, our work can never be completed. Elric’s destiny in this complex equation is to use the sword to bring a halt to a multiversal phenomenon which has grown out of control.”
“Which is…?” My persistence made him smile. He guessed that this was all Oona would tell me.
“She knows how important it is for Elric to reach the end of his thousand-year dream with that sword in his hand. That has been the whole point of his dream. Yet so strong are his feelings for those he regards as his descendants that he is risking his own chance of salvation. A noble thing to do, but in the scheme of things, it is a very dangerous thing to do, putting many at risk. He does not, of course, know what he risks, save his own life and soul. Yet you are also important to him because you are his great-granddaughter, and Klosterheim and von Minct and those they represent would gain a great deal from diverting Elric and capturing you. I am beginning to guess that they deliberately led the albino on a wild-goose chase while going back to Mirenburg, perhaps knowing you would return. Yet,” he mused, “you also have something they desire. As has that boy.”
“So von Minct was the cowled man at the table?”
“We could presume so. But remember, there are many players in this game, and not all of them are fulfilling the roles they seem to have been assigned…” He laughed rather bitterly.
The carriage fixed, we were off again. My pony was used to a different kind of handling, I think. Every country has slightly modified habits of riding, so the pony and I took a while to adapt to each other. Still it was a pleasure to be riding again, even if there was no chance of a gallop or even a canter. We had to stick close together, said Prince Lobkowitz, especially at the moment. If we needed to scatter, then we could enjoy a gallop!
I think von Minct realised too late that we were leaving. Behind us I saw a single cowled figure which ran frantically in our wake before abandoning the chase. We had escaped the city just in time.
For the first fifty miles or so Prince Yaroslaf’s guards accompanied us until we were well into the mountains and on our way to Munchein. This whole country, they said, had been taken from the Granbretanners, who were still making attacks on Mirenburg’s factories from bases on Jarsee and elsewhere. Sometimes non-military parties would be attacked or bombed just because the enemy ornithopters failed to reach their targets and preferred to lighten their machines before returning home. Also some defeated groups of Dark Empire soldiers and their supporters lived now as bandits, preying on anyone who looked weak enough to attack safely.
I had asked Oona why we were taking these risks, but she had been too busy to answer. Now I had no opportunity. She assured me that we should be safe enough when we arrived in Munchein in two or three days’ time. The ancient city had sustained some damage in the fierce fight to free her, but her old spirit of defiance lived on.
During one of the spells I spent in the carriage we rode by towns which were in ruins, some from the recent battles and some from earlier conquests of the Dark Empire, whose policy was to attack from the air, killing anything that moved before landing its troops. I had only ever looked at scenes like these on the TV. And then it had always been our side making most of the ruins, and I’d felt differently about it—often angry, sometimes guilty, but not like this. This was a feeling of furious frustration and a deep hatred of the cowardly people who did this, flying out of the clouds to bring destruction to whole families. You could still smell the smoke and ash. There was something stale and disgusting about the way it clogged up your nostrils and lay on your skin. Oona put a scarf up to her mouth as we passed through a valley where the country people were doing their best to rebuild their villages, putting up frames and walls, re-slating their roofs. They waved to us as we went by, and appeared cheerful under the circumstances. They obviously assumed we were a war party, and cheered us on, urging us to give back to the Dark Empire the hell they had experienced themselves.
Once or twice an ornithopter bearing the black-and-red roundels of those opposing the Dark Empire flew low to take a look at us, but we flew the same banner on a long spear carried by Shatadaka, another of the American warriors. The ornithopters would rise, their pilots waving to us, and go on about their business. We were careful, however, not to wave our flag until we saw the aircraft’s markings first.
