More Than Mortal (51 page)
Authors: Mick Farren
“Wha’ does he do right now, th’ Merlin, m’ lord? Is he passive? Is he liable t’ turn dangerous?”
“He eats, he drinks, and he learns. He stuffs his face and studies all there is to know about what came to pass while he slept. The Urshu is definitely catching up for lost time. In the matter of is he dangerous? That may well be what we’ve gathered here to discuss.”
Fenrior paused and glanced at Renquist long enough for all present to perceive the message. “Some here believe he is a danger already. Maybe from the very moment he awoke. That was certainly the conclusion of Dr. Morbius, who played a major role in the entire experiment. Unfortunately, Dr. Morbius cannot be with us to state his own case since he was just presently beheaded and stabbed through the heart.”
A number of Highlanders were instantly on their feet, ready to mete out honorable revenge at Fenrior’s slightest say-so. “Who did this thing, m’ lord?”
Marieko remained seated, but her voice was high and clear. “It was I who killed him, gentlemen. For those of you who don’t know me, I am Marieko Matsunaga, of
the Ravenkeep troika, formerly of the Yarabachi, and the kill was legal and with honor.”
the Ravenkeep troika, formerly of the Yarabachi, and the kill was legal and with honor.”
All eyes were suddenly on Marieko, and Renquist understood he was sitting in a very devious, even dangerous, poker game, where what was to be lost or won had yet to be defined. Already hands were on sword hilts and Highlanders were looking for the license to hack. Fenrior calmed things somewhat as he treated Marieko to a courtly smile, but Renquist knew, behind the greenhouse sunglasses, a brightly insidious mind was at work. “Please, Mistress Marieko, I did not intend to imply otherwise.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Renquist decided it was time to toss out his first card and take the pressure off Marieko. He now saw how deftly he and she had been physically separated, and at least they should close ranks tactically. Renquist let his voice and aura become almost languid, as thought it were a fine point, but one that needed clarification: “Perhaps it should be made clear, my lord, that Mistress Marieko was defending my life at the time.”
“So I understand.”
The Lady Gethsemany quietly interrupted. “Excuse me, my lord.”
“My dear?”
“There’s one thing I’m less than clear about. Why did Miss Matsunaga have the legal and honorable need to destroy Dr. Morbius in the first place? I don’t quite understand.”
Gethsemany glanced at Renquist. Beware the cold depths of those blue infinite eyes. The Lady Gethsemany had steered him to the seat at the head of the table, and now she seemed to be setting him up for Fenrior’s next play. Let it never be said the Lord and Lady of Fenrior didn’t hunt as a team. Now he needed to know if he was the quarry. “Perhaps I should answer that, my lord?”
“By all means, Victor.”
“Dr. Morbius was attempting to extinguish me with a steel spike.”
Gethsemany turned on her patrician smile. “But why should he do a thing like that? He knew you were our guest.”
Renquist decided to go for broke. “Dr. Morbius held the considered belief that I was in league with Taliesin against the Lord Fenrior.”
Murmuring began among the Highlanders as Gethsemany’s patrician smile grew even sweeter. Renquist had underestimated her. She wasn’t just a shill; Gethsemany was quite as devious as her lord, only she was happy to reveal her eyes because she knew they were one of her most powerful weapons. “And are you, Master Renquist?”
“Am I what, my lady?”
“Are you in league with Taliesin against the Lord Fenrior?”
The game was turning positively Elizabethan—robust and deadly twists of undead power brokerage, and hints of treason and plotting dedicated to keeping everyone off balance. Was Renquist being invited to place his head in the noose? “You make me feel as though I’m on trial here.” He gestured to the empty chair at the far end of the table. “Should I take the seat reserved for the one under interrogation?”
The Highlanders were exchanging glances. Fenrior could either calm them down or let Renquist become the villain of the piece. They were happy to go either way, but he could do very little about it. Fenrior pretended to consider the situation. “You volunteered the information.”
“Indeed I did, my lord. And I have had a number of conversations with the Merlin. Perhaps as many as you, my lord.”
“And your conclusions?”
“I made a number of observations, but I’d prefer to wait before I present them.”
“Wait?”
“I’m sure others have opinions to express. I’d rather hold off until we’ve heard from them. But, in answer to your lady’s question, I have sealed no secret compact with Taliesin. When you made me a guest in your domain, my lord, I pledged my sword to your service in this very hall, and nothing has happened to cause me to renege on that pledge. Victor Renquist does not go back on his word.”
The short speech seemed to have the right effect, in that it at least produced a silence, which was filled only when Cyrce surprised everyone by deciding to speak in public. Having eschewed one of her usual extreme finefetish outfits for a fashionable black evening dress that would have been acceptable at any cocktail party on the planet, she had so far spent the entire meeting writing notes in what looked to be a school exercise book. Now she half raised a hand to be recognized. Renquist, at least temporarily, was off the hook.
“My lord?” Her voice was a soprano purr that commanded all to listen closely.
“Cyrce?”
“Leaving the matter of Dr. Morbius and Master Renquist aside for a moment, I’d be interested to know how many of us have had our dreams invaded by this Urshu.”
“Have you experienced this?”
“If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be asking the question. My dreams have been violated by this thing, which I find both disturbing and offensive. As you, my lord, are well aware, I can create far more interesting scenarios for my dreamstate than being forced into gratuitous virtuals of fifth century England or the Nephilim occupation. As far as I’m concerned, this would indicate the Merlin intends us no good, and we should consider ridding ourselves of him. He is a boor and should be dispatched without delay. Of course, this may only be happening to Theda and myself, but somehow I doubt it. That’s why I ask again, have more of you had these invasive dreams?”
It was one of those situations where, despite much muttering and exchanging of looks, no one wanted to be the first to make a public admission. Theda, still in her gloved governess outfit, metaphorically cracked the whip on the assembly. “Perhaps we could have a show of hands on this?”
Finally Shaggy Lachlan himself owned up. “Aye, lassie. I hate t’ admit it, but th’ bastard’s been gettin’ inta mine, an’ no mistake.”
“An’ mine.”
“Mine too, fuck him.”
With Lachlan having broken the ice, other Highlanders felt able to make the same confession without showing weakness. After some delay, about half the assembled company raised their hands. Even Renquist was a little surprised. The Merlin appeared already to be deep into his game. Cyrce regarded Fenrior as if her point had been proved. “Thus we see the Urshu is making a bloody nuisance of himself all through the castle.”
One of the coven of Craft-workers—who were sitting together halfway down the left side of the table like a row of black crows on a branch—spoke in a hollow voice from inside her cowl. “The imparting of dreams would seem a small thing on which to condemn the Urshu out of hand.”
An elder Highlander grumbled. “M’ minds m’ own. No fuckin’ Kings Cross Station on a Saturday night.”
Up to this point, Destry and Julia had seemed to be contained in their own world of budding undead romance, but Destry suddenly and somewhat angrily detached herself and joined the meeting. “With all respect to the learned Craft-worker, how long will the invasion be confined to our dreams? Let’s not forget the total destruction of my troika companion, the late Columbine Dashwood, began with dreams. The worst catastrophes can start small, but they grow to be uncontrollable before anyone realizes.”
Shaggy Lachlan spat on the floor. “Not t’ speak ill o’
th’ dear departed, but th’ Dashwood lassie was bloody mad fra’ th’ get-go. Remember aw th’ trouble she caused before, an’ tha’ she had t’ be run oot of’ here wi’ her fancy tail between her fancy legs?”
th’ dear departed, but th’ Dashwood lassie was bloody mad fra’ th’ get-go. Remember aw th’ trouble she caused before, an’ tha’ she had t’ be run oot of’ here wi’ her fancy tail between her fancy legs?”
“And when she returned here, compelled by the Merlin, she was reduced to her fundamental ashes so the monster could wake.”
Shaggy Lachlan appealed to Fenrior. “Let’s be done wi’ i’ an’ kill th’ thing, m’ lord. Then we can aw fall t’ drinkin’.”
This brought a roar of relieved laughter, but also a good deal of agreement. Fenrior raised a hand. “Then you’ll be pleased to hear that before we gathered I placed a guard on the Urshu. Taliesin is now under close arrest.”
Renquist was careful not to show how he felt. With Gethsemany right next to him, he knew his every feeling was being monitored. Fenrior still had to be in denial of the true power of the Urshu. Lupo had walked through Fenrior’s Highlanders without any of them sensing him. How much more could an Urshu do? Posting some lads with pikes outside his door, even undead lads with pikes, would serve only to confirm for the Merlin that the wind had changed and he was no longer the honored guest. While Renquist gloomily hid his fuming, the Craft-worker nearest to the head of the table rose to her feet. One among the Highlanders muttered the word
witch
, but was ignored. Her voice was less hollow and more melodious than that of her companion, and since she sat nearest the head of the table, Renquist surmised she was the Mistress of the Coven, the Seventh of the Seven Stars who had sat on Fenrior’s right hand during the feast and the entertainment.
witch
, but was ignored. Her voice was less hollow and more melodious than that of her companion, and since she sat nearest the head of the table, Renquist surmised she was the Mistress of the Coven, the Seventh of the Seven Stars who had sat on Fenrior’s right hand during the feast and the entertainment.
“My instinct is to concur that, in allowing the Urshu to awaken in these confines, my lord, there is a strong possibility that you have unknowingly introduced a malignancy into your house and into the modern world. Such texts as have survived all led to the supposition of
a natural enmity and ill will between Urshu and nosferatu. The old accounts tell of battles fought and of struggles for the most conclusive of tools of power. The assumption among we of the craft has always been that conflict would inevitably follow an encounter between two creations of the Nephilim. If my lord recalls, we urged you long ago not to assist in the waking of the Urshu, but you were of another mind.”
a natural enmity and ill will between Urshu and nosferatu. The old accounts tell of battles fought and of struggles for the most conclusive of tools of power. The assumption among we of the craft has always been that conflict would inevitably follow an encounter between two creations of the Nephilim. If my lord recalls, we urged you long ago not to assist in the waking of the Urshu, but you were of another mind.”
Fenrior glared at the row of black cowls. “I do not need those of the Craft to remind me they told me so.”
“I’m sorry, my lord. Should I continue?”
“Yes, yes, go on. You may be irritating, Mistress of the Craft, but you’re also usually right.”
“Master Lachlan has counseled ‘kill the thing,’ and I would assume others here, perhaps even the majority, feel the same way. Before, however, passing a final judgment on anything, we needs must know whether we can in fact impose the penalty demanded of that judgment.”
“Could you put that a little more simply.”
“To be blunt, my lord, saying ‘kill the thing’ is all very well, but I’m not sure any of us have the means to kill it at our disposal. There may be no way of killing an Urshu. The death of one has never been recorded. The remains of one have never been unearthed.”
A Highlander was on his feet. “Aw things die if killed right. When we were human we slaughtered th’ English, an’ when we came t’ nosferatu estate, we slaughtered th’ humans. Who tells us we cann’a slaughter one Urshu?”
The Mistress of the Craft pressed on. “Remember the legend, my lord. In confrontation between Tezcatilpoca and Quetzalcoatl it’s recorded that Quetzalcoatl was driven out of Mexico, not that he was killed. It is possible the Urshu do not suffer death as we know it. It might seem impossible to us, who fear the sun and all the other fatal weaknesses that beset us, to conceive of a being to whom all forms of death are a mere abstraction—but
think of how the humans are unable to understand us, the nosferatu.”
think of how the humans are unable to understand us, the nosferatu.”
The Highlander hardly seemed impressed with the Craft-worker’s reasoning. “Hack i’ t’ pieces an’ spread it’s parts. Then burn i’. Tha’ seems t’ work f’ even th’ foulest o’ fiends.”
Gallowglass spoke for the first time, almost to himself. “Tha’ or we find th’ Green Kryptonite.”
A number of those present looked at him in puzzlement. “What are you talking about?”
Gallowglass glared at those who seemed to question his statement. “Green Kryptonite, ye ken? Do ye no read th’ comics, or watch th’ moving pictures on t’ telly? Green Kryptonite was th’ downfall of Superman, a rock fra’ his home planet tha’ caused him t’ lose his powers. Aw seemin‘ly invincible bein’s sooner or later reveal a weakness. Th’ Persians say perfection’s only wrought by God himself. Me? I obviously cann’a believe in God, but I believe th’ Persians. I know fra’ my readin’ and fra’ th’ tales told that Marduk Ra never wrought perfection i’ anythin’. Jus’ look a’ us. Th’ Urshu has a weakness, mark m’ words.”
Without rising from his seat, Lupo spoke next. “Shouldn’t we be asking ourselves if we have the time to go looking for a weakness in this thing? It already knows all of ours.”
Before Lupo was answered by anyone, another of the Craft-workers was on her feet. “Before we seek a weakness in the Urshu, shouldn’t we question our right to destroy it at all? It is not our food. It is not a kill. With the exception of Columbine Dashwood, it has not overtly harmed one of us. The moral burden of its destruction could prove a weighty one.”
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