Revenge of the Rose (7 page)

 
          
“Fixed
tenants they are called, and when I asked the same question I was told with a
somewhat humourless laugh that it was to feed the locusts. I have heard of
stranger practices. There is some tension with the gypsies, I gather. They will
not speak much of any of this but become unsettled. The realm’s called by them
Salish-Kwoonn, which, you’ll recall, is the name of the city in the Ivory Book.
An odd irony, that. I was amused.” And he turned his horse away from them as if
he escaped wholly into the abstract, his natural environment, and rode slowly
towards that distant depression, those hills of refuse, whose presence was
already marked on the horizon by crows and kites, by masses of flies swarming
like black smoke.

 
          
“A
scholar,” said Wheldrake, “if a little on the cryptic side. You understand him
better than do I, Prince Elric. But I wish he had traveled our way. What do you
make of the fellow?”

 
          
Elric
paused, choosing his words, fiddling with the buckle of his belt. Then he said:
“I am afraid of him. I fear him as I have never feared a human creature, mortal
or immortal. His doom is terrible, indeed, for he has known the Sanctuary of
the Balance, and that is what I yearn for. To have had it—and lost it …”

 
          
“Come,
now, sir. You must exaggerate. Odd, he was, to be sure. But affable, I thought.
Given his circumstances.”

 
          
Elric
shuddered, glad to see Prince Gaynor gone. “Yet I fear him as I fear nothing
else.”

 
          
“As
you fear yourself, maybe, sir?” And then Wheldrake looked with regret upon the
face of his new friend. “I beg you, sir, I did not wish to seem forward.”

 
          
“You
are too intelligent for me, Master Wheldrake. Your poet’s eye is perhaps
sharper than I would like.”

 
          
“Random
instinct, sir, I assure you. I understand nothing and say everything. That’s
my
doom, sir! Not as grand as some, no
doubt, but it gets me in and out of trouble in roughly equal proportions.”

 
          
And
with that Master Wheldrake assures himself of a dead fire, breaks down his spit
and buries it with regret, keeps hold of his snare, which he tucks in his
pocket with a volume which has lost its binding to reveal some vulgar marbling,
throws his frock-coat over his shoulder and plunges through the wheat in Elric’s
wake. “Did I recite my verse epic, sir, concerning the love and death of Sir
Tancred and Lady Mary? In the form of the Northumberland ballad, which was the
first poetry I ever heard. The family estates were remote, but I was not lonely
there.”

 
          
His
voice chirruping and trilling the cadences of a primitive dirge, the red-combed
scrivener skipped and scampered to keep up with the tall albino.

 
          
Four
hours later, they reached the broad, slow-flowing river and could see, rising
on picturesque cliffs above the water, the town Elric sought. Meanwhile
Wheldrake declaimed the ballad’s last resounding couplets and seemed as
relieved as Elric that his composition was concluded.

 
          
The
town appeared to have been carved by fanciful master masons from the glinting
limestone of the cliffs and was reached by a fairly narrow track, evidently of
artificial construction in places, which wound above the rocks and white water
some distance below, rising gradually before it blended with the town’s chief
street to wind again between tall, many-storeyed dwellings and warehouses,
fanciful public buildings and statuary, topiary and elaborate flower-gardens to
become lost among a maze of other thoroughfares and alleys which lay below an
ancient castle, itself covered in vines and flowering creepers, dominating both
the town and the thirteen-arched bridge which spanned the river at its
narrowest point and crossed to a smaller settlement beyond where, evidently,
the wealthy citizens had built their pale villas.

 
          
The
town had an air of contented prosperity and Elric became optimistic as he saw
it lacked any real walls and clearly had not needed to defend itself against
aggressors for many years. Now a few local people, in bright, much-embroidered
clothing, very different in style from Elric’s or, indeed, Wheldrake’s, greeted
them cheerfully and openly, like men and women who know considerable security
and are used to strangers.

 
          
“If
they welcomed Gaynor, Prince Elric,” said Wheldrake, “then I would guess we
would not seem especially alien to them! This place has a Frenchified air to
it, reminding me of certain settlements along the
Loire
, though it lacks the characteristic
cathedral. Is there any clue, do you perceive, to their form of religion?”

 
          
“Perhaps
they have none,” said Elric. “I have heard of such races.” But clearly
Wheldrake disbelieved him.

 
          
“Even
the French have religion!”

 
          
The
road took them past the first houses, perched on rocks and terraces above them
and all displaying the richest flower-gardens Elric remembered. A scent came
off them, mingling with the faint smells of paint and cooking, and both
travelers found themselves relaxing, smiling at those who hailed them, until
Elric stopped for a moment and enquired of a young woman in a white and red
smock the name of the town.

 
          
“Why,
this is Agnesh-Val, sir. And across the river is Agnesh-Nal. How came you here,
gentlemen? Was your boat wrecked at the
Forli
rapid? You should go to the Distressed
Travelers House in
Fivegroat Lane
, just below Salt Pie Alley. They’ll feed
you there, at least. Do you carry the medal of the Insurer’s Guild?”

 
          
“I
regret not, madam.”

 
          
“Sadly,
then, you will be entitled only to our hospitality.”

 
          
“Which
would seem more than generous, lady,” said Wheldrake, offering her a rather
inappropriate wink before skipping to catch up with his friend.

 
          
Eventually,
through the twists and turns of the old, cobbled streets, they reached the
Distressed Travelers House, a gabled building of considerable antiquity which
leaned at all angles, as if too drunk to stand without the support of the
houses on either side of it, and whose beams and walls bulged and warped in
ways Elric would have thought impossible for natural matter not touched by
Chaos.

 
          
Within
the doorway of this establishment, seeming entirely of a piece with it, both in
terms of posture and of age, leaned and sprawled, his limbs at every angle, his
head this way, his hat that, a tooth jutting one direction, his pipe another, a
creature of such profound thinness and gauntness and melancholy that Elric was
moved, obscurely, to apologize and enquire if he had come to the right place.

 
          
“It’s
the place that you face, sir, by Our Watcher’s Grace, my lord. Come for
charity, have you? For charity and some smart advice?”

 
          
“Hospitality,
sir, is what we were offered!” There was an edge to Wheldrake’s outraged chirrup.
“Not, sir, charity!” He resembled an angered grouse, his face almost as red as
his hair.

 
          
“I
care not what fancy words dress the action, my good lords,” and the creature
rose, folding and collapsing and extending itself in such a way as to bring
itself upright, “I call it
charity
!”
Tiny diamond-lights glittered from cavernous sockets and ill-fitting teeth
clacked in flaccid lips. “I care not what dangers you have faced, what
calamities have befallen you, what hideous losses you have sustained, what rich
men you were, what poor men you have become. Had you not considered these
risks, you would not have come this far and ventured across the Divide! Thus
you have yourselves alone to blame for your misfortunes.”

 
          
“We
were told we might find food at this house,” said Elric evenly. “Not
ill-tempered crowfrighters and discourtesy.”

 
          
“Hypocrites
that they are, they lied. The House is closed for redecoration. It is being
converted to a restaurant. With luck, it should soon turn a profit.”

 
          
“Well,
sir, we have put such narrow notions of accountability behind us in my world,”
said Wheldrake. “However, I apologize for disturbing you. We have been
misinformed, as you say.”

 
          
Elric,
unused to such behaviour and still a Melnibonéan noble, found that he had
gripped his sword-hilt without his realizing it. “Old man,” he said, “I am
discommoded by your insolence …” Then Wheldrake’s warning hand fell upon
the albino’s arm and he collected himself.

 
          
“The
old man lies! He lies! He lies!” From behind them, up the hill, a large key
ready in his hand, bustled a stocky fellow of fifty or so, his grey hair
bristling from beneath a velvet cap, his beard half-tangled, his robes and
suitings all awry, as if he had dressed in a hurry from some half-remembered
bed. “He lies, good sirs. He lies. (Be off with you, Reth’chat, to plague some
other institution!) The man is a relic, gentlemen, from an age most of us have
only read about. He would have us judged by our wealth and our martial glory
rather than our good will and tranquility of spirit. Good morrow, good morrow.
You’ve come to dine, I hope.”

 
          
“Cold
and tasteless is the bread of charity,” grumbled the Relic, scuttling down the
street towards a group of playing children and failing to scatter them with his
stick-insect arms. “Accountability and self-sufficiency! They will destroy the
family. We shall all perish. We shall serve at the marching boards, mark my
words!”

 
          
And
with that he turned the corner into Old Museum Gate and disappeared with a
final display of miraculous angularity into an arcade of shops.

 
          
The
genial middle-aged man waved his key before inserting it in the ancient door. “He
is an advertizement for himself only. You’ll find such blowhards in every town.
I take it that our gypsy friends exacted a ‘tax’ from you. What would you have
been bringing us?”

 
          
“Gold,
mostly,” said Elric, understanding at last the manners and ready lies of a
mercenary and a thief, “and precious jewels.”

 
          
“You
were brave to make the attempt. Did they find you this side of the Divide?”

 
          
“It
would seem so.”

 
          
“And
stripped you of everything. You are lucky to have your clothing and weapons.
And ’tis as well they did not catch you crossing the Divide.”

 
          
“We
waited a season before we were sure of our chance.” This from Wheldrake,
entering the spirit of it, as if in a childish game, a knowing grin upon his
broad lips.

 
          
“Aye.
Others have waited longer.” The door opened silently and they entered a passage
lit by glowing yellow lamps, its walls as twisted inside as they were without;
its staircases rising in unlikely places and going where none could guess, its
passages and chambers appearing suddenly and always of peculiar shapes and
angles, sometimes brilliant with candles, sometimes gloomy and musty, as their
host led them on, deeper and deeper into the house until they came at last to a
large, cheerful hall in the centre of which was a great oaken table, lined with
benches—enough space for two score of hungry travelers. There was, however,
only one other guest, already helping herself to the rich stew steaming in a
pot over the hearth. She was dressed in simple clothes of russet and green, a
slender sword on her hip, a dagger to balance it, a muscular, full-hipped
figure, broad shoulders and a face of brooding beauty beneath a mass of
red-gold hair. She nodded to them as she swung her legs back over the bench and
began to eat, clearly showing she did not wish to talk.

 
          
Their
host dropped his voice. “I understand your fellow traveler to have experienced
exceptional inconvenience to her person and her ambitions just recently. She
has expressed some wish not to engage in conversation today. You will find all
you need here, gentlemen. There is a servant about somewhere who will see to
any particular needs, and I will return in a couple of hours to see what other
aid we can supply. We do not discourage failed venturers in Agnesh-Val or we
should never trade! It is our policy to help the failed ones just as we profit
from the successful ones. This appears both fair and sane to us.”