More Than Mortal (44 page)

BOOK: More Than Mortal

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When no longer naked, the Merlin had changed his tune and commenced to complain about the cumulative hunger of the past fifteen hundred years, and it was discovered that both his needs and tastes were so close to those of a human, the difference hardly deserved comment. Lacking anything that even approached a repast from Camelot in its prime, the larders of the darklost were ruthlessly raided, and Taliesin was presented with a tray of delicacies all of which were completely unfamiliar to him. In the matter of food, Columbine’s memory was of very little use to him, and he consumed canned sardines, picked pigs’ feet, angel cake, salami, jelly doughnuts, pork pies, all washed down with beer, Coca-Cola, and strong black coffee, with the complete lack of discrimination of the wholly ignorant. It was hard, though, for Renquist or any of the other nosferatu to know just how ignorant. Taliesin, after dressing, revealed no aura.

The challenge of finding a suitable outfit and acceptable victuals for Taliesin had caused the party to adjourn from the underground lab with its monster mechanisms to a spaciously elegant but windowless room in Fenrior’s private suite. Those invited to follow Fenrior and Taliesin were kept to a short list, just Renquist, Marieko, and Gallowglass. Morbius had again been excluded. The Lady Gethsemany joined them during the search for clothes, but remained for the ensuing discussion and proved herself the best read in the subject of England in the fifth and sixth century.

“So you retired to hibernate after the death of Arthur?”

The Merlin munched greedily on a Cadbury’s Chocolate Flake, an act that caused a certain queasiness on the part of some of those present. Some undead simply could not stand to watch a human eat. “That’s how it worked out, but the fall of Arthur wasn’t the direct
cause. My natural time was, of course, close. We Urshu do not just curl up and slumber for a few centuries because our plans have been reversed or the going is rough. I doubted I would survive the Rain of Western Fire and the Dark Skies.”

Fenrior frowned. “The what?”

The Merlin stared at the lord in amazement. “You ask what? The comet was probably the most important event of the entire millennium. More significant even than the fall of Rome.”

Comprehension dawned on Gethsemany. “The comet impact? The one that supposedly struck the Earth in A.D. 540 and compounded the darkness of the Dark Ages?”

“You do know about it?”

“Human archaeologists have only just presented the first evidence in support of the theory, and it’s still opposed by the majority of the archeological community.”

Marieko scowled. “That’s because the majority of the archaeological community is composed of individuals like William Campion.”

The Merlin looked puzzled. “I’m sorry, but who is William Campion?”

“He’s the one who started digging you up in the first place.”

“So what would this William Campion say about the comet impact?”

This time Gethsemany supplied the answer. “He would deny it happened because no factual record exists.”

“How could records be kept when there was no one to keep them?”

“Campion wouldn’t see it that way.”

Gethsemany leaned forward with the intensity of a true student of history. “So what did happen after the comet impact? What exactly were the Rain of Western Fire and the Dark Skies?”

The Merlin sampled a slice of salami, dipped it in orange marmalade, and leaned back in his chair. “You
have to realize that, after the fall of Rome, European civilization was shaky but still basically viable.”

As the Merlin spoke Renquist noted in passing how quickly the outlandish could become cozily urbane. Was it yet another paradox of nosferatu changeability, or did it go deeper? Was this what happened when the potentially immortal got together? One minute they would be issuing orders to cut each other to pieces with lasers, and the next, they were discussing European prehistory with extreme gentility. To say the company was an unparalleled mixture in an unprecedented environment was an understatement of apocalyptic proportions. Five nosferatu and a Urshu, all products of ancient alien genetic experiments, sitting in comfortable late Victorian leather furniture amid hanging lamps and art nouveau decor could never have happened anywhere or at any time previously. The scene had to be unique in infinity.

“Then the comet came, all remaining viability ceased. The humans called it the Rain of Western Fire. A dust cloud enveloped the Earth for a full seven years. That was the Dark Skies. Crops failed, wild and domestic animals died. Humanity was gripped by a paroxysm of kill or be killed. Famine and disease were all powerful. All across Europe and Asia, armed bands from starving and disintegrating armies roamed the countryside, preying on the weak and burning all that wasn’t edible. It was a time of unconcealed horror, when the worst excesses of desperation became the basics of survival. Cannibalism was rife, and it was then I decided to repair to the bolt-hole I’d prepared for myself at Morton Downs and wait for a less disastrous age.”

Marieko avoided looking at the Merlin as he followed the chocolate with a spoonful of Stilton. “Those were Columbine’s dreams. Were you sending them to her deliberately?”

The Merlin wiped crumbs of cheese from his mouth. “I may have been sending those memories, but not deliberately. My contact with the unfortunate Miss Dashwood
was purely random. She just happened to have been at hand.”

Marieko’s mouth became very small. “It’s that word again.
Unfortunate
.”

Renquist intervened before Marieko could start on Taliesin about the destruction of Columbine. “And I suppose you know nothing of what has transpired in the world since the sixth century?”

The Merlin nodded. “As I said, I have a great deal of history to learn before I can tell what my new purpose will be here on this planet.”

“Purpose? What do you mean purpose? We nosferatu have no purpose. We simply are. Humanity definitely has no purpose. In fact, recent models have suggested human behavior patterns here on Earth conformed more to those of a highly destructive virus than any ecologically integrated species. Why does an Urshu need a purpose?”

“We were designed by Marduk Ra as the guardians of humankind. Their shepherds, if you like. Back before I slept, I was restricted to working within the very narrow confines of the time. I was primarily concerned in supporting Arthur Pendragon against the invading Saxons and slowing the spread of Christianity by aiding the Druids. In this age of mass communication, I believe I can work on a much broader, a much more global canvas, as was first intended.”

Renquist began to grow irritated with the Merlin’s absolute certainty in the supposed infallibility of himself and Marduk Ra. “How can you be so sure such an intention is still valid? Marduk Ra made a great many mistakes, including coming to Earth in the first place. The ancestors of the nosferatu were such a grievous error, he attempted to eradicate them with every advanced weapon at his disposal. Human beings are a mess of defects. To say the least, the God King tended to fuck up.”

The Merlin’s face became prim, bordering on angry.
“In the case of the Urshu, Marduk Ra made no mistake.”

The nosferatu in the room exchanged significant glances, and Renquist felt that perhaps, if he’d been a little less sure of himself, Marduk Ra, and the manifest destiny of the Urshu, the Merlin might have taken the note of warning.

Aside from appearing somewhat shabby, the village of Fenrior was nothing out of the ordinary and, in the dead of night, showed no signs that it was under the absolute control of an undead overlord. The village pub, The Red Hand, seemed perfectly normal, as did the red phone box and the general store. Advertisements for cigarettes, soft drinks, frozen foods, and photographic film covered its frontage, and were only remarkable in that they seemed a trifle out of date. All that appeared to be missing were any of the usual signs for newspapers—the
Sun
, the
Mirror
, the
Glasgow Herald
, and the
Scotsman
—which ordinarily would be on sale in a village shop of this kind. Perhaps the laird discouraged too much news from the outside world. Destry glanced up at the roofs of the two-story terrace houses in the main street and saw no TV aerials or the small satellite dishes that now covered most of residential Britain. The village apparently existed in a state of enforced isolation.

The slow clop of Dormandu’s hooves echoed back from the silent walls of the buildings, and Destry looked round for any sign of movement at the curtained windows. “It’s so damned quiet.”

“I doubt Fenrior likes his thralls to be roaming the night.”

“It seems scarcely possible such a place could exist in this day and age.”

“It’s that very impossibility that allows it to survive. The truth is so fantastic, no human from the outside would ever believe it.” Julia softly grasped Destry’s hand. “Isn’t that what saves us all, my sweet?”

“I suppose so, but you have to admit this place is well
beyond the unconventional. Do you think they ever come here?”

“Who?”

“Humans from the outside. Tourists, travelers?”

“I’m sure they do, now and again. Every so often a busload of Japanese probably takes a wrong turn and finishes up here. They find the place quaint, take their inevitable photographs, and move on. They probably even take pictures of the castle, assuming it’s a picturesque abandoned ruin.”

“And what about mailmen, and government officials, and delivery drivers? What the hell do they think?”

“I’m sure Fenrior has all that under total control. In Los Angeles, we even live on a road that’s no longer marked on the maps. Victor is very clever about things like that, and I’m sure Fenrior is just the same. I sometimes think males make too much of secrecy and security. It’s been my experience humans will believe pretty much anything if you give them half a chance.”

Destry suddenly let go of Julia’s hand. “But I don’t believe this.”

On the final stretch of the main street of the village, with its pub and its shop sloped quite steeply down to the shore of the loch, and coming up the incline toward them was what could only be the Fenrior village constable. The man was fleshy and audibly out of breath, and wore a flat Scottish-style peaked cap with the checkered band rather than the English-style Victorian helmet, but he was pushing a bicycle, and his uniform looked to be fifty years out of date. At the sight of Destry, Julia, and Dormandu, he stopped dead in his tracks and stared at them in amazement. Destry leaned close to Julia. “Do you think he knows what we are?”

“I don’t think so. And he doesn’t need to know unless it’s positively to our advantage.”

The constable took almost a minute to recover from his initial shock and find his voice. “So what do we have
here, wandering about in the night? Are you lassies lost?”

Julia shook her head. “No, Officer, we’re not lost.”

“Is that an American accent?”

Julia wasn’t ready for this. “Is that a Scottish accent?”

The constable seemed to miss the slight mockery. “I’ve heard Americans talking at the picture show.”

The picture show? In what century did Fenrior keep his thralls? “Then you probably recognize us for what we are?”

Destry looked sharply at Julia. What was she up to?

“I’m sorry, miss, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Julia giggled, a parody of a flighty human. “We’re two gal-pals on a horseback vacation.”

“My best advice to you is to turn yourselves around and go back the way you came. This street goes to the water and stops. It’s a dead end here.”

“What about the castle? It was our intention to spend the day at the castle.”

“No, miss. No one goes to the castle. It’s not safe.”

“It will be safe for us.”

“Don’t make me have to take action, miss. No one goes anywhere near the castle. That’s the law.”

“The law doesn’t apply to us, Constable.”

“I’m warning you, miss, I don’t want to—”

Julia silently gave Destry the signal. “It’s time to let him have it.”

Destry and Julia revealed what they truly were. To the constable, their eyes would appear to glow a deadly and hellish scarlet. At the same time, Dormandu snorted and tossed his head. The constable didn’t fall to his knees, but, in every other way, he groveled. “I—I—I—I—”

“Yes, we know. You’re sorry and you’re scared, but we won’t harm you if you just get out of our way.”

“I—I—didn’t know.”

“Just let us pass, and we’ll say nothing to the lord.”

The constable scuttled to one side and then watched,
stunned, as Julia, Destry, and the huge black stallion walked past him, ignoring his very existence.

“Although we are in no position to dictate what you should do, I would strongly recommend you remain here as our guest for a time. At least until you’ve caught up with all the changes in human civilization.”

“You think there’s a great culture shock waiting for me out there?”

Fenrior nodded emphatically. “I do, indeed.”

BOOK: More Than Mortal

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