The White Wolf's Son (19 page)

“This child holds a secret which could lead us to these rebels,” said the naked one called Klosterheim. “The girl,” added
the masked Gaynor, “is related to a hero these people believe can defeat the Empire.”

At this Lord Olin chuckled. While rebellions might occasionally disrupt the Empire’s tranquility, the idea of Granbretan knowing
defeat was clearly ludicrous. They were the most powerful nation on earth. Nonetheless he took their warnings seriously. “I
will inform my deputy and tell him to give you all possible help in tracing this child,” he promised. “I have pressing business
which takes me to Londra. The child hides in the factory district, you say?”

“So it’s thought, my lord.”

“Well, do what you must. But do not slow down production.
If you do, it will be you who will take responsibility before the king-emperor.”

“We understand, my lord.”

“No disruption. I will emphasize that to my deputy, Sir Edwold Krier. You will report directly to him. I will speak to King
Huon about you. He will—”

“This business is secret, my lord. It concerns the Quay Savoy.”

“Of course. Nothing public. There is much to be concerned about. In the last nine months we have increased our ornithopter
and battle-engine production and trained operators for them. We have modified the Brazilian system, and our steam engines
are now considerably more efficient. We have one of our Granbretanian scientists working on a powerful bomb. These factories
are the most advanced in the world. We are also developing an aerial battle cruiser—a flying ironclad—together with new guns.
These models will be fully steam powered and considerably more accurate at long range. Mirenburg’s factories have become the
model for others which will spring up all over the Empire as our might spreads. Once our new ships take to the air, no rebel
will dare defy us. And the rest of the world shall tremble at the appearance of our fleets in their skies.”

“Perhaps the child is part of a plot to sabotage these factories, great lord,” suggested the gaunt Klosterheim.

Lord Olin found the naked man’s opinion unwelcome and ignored it, addressing the other, Gaynor of München. “I have business
to attend to. My deputy will give you the assistance you need.”

And with that he swept from the room. There was much to prepare. It would, he decided, be politic not to be in Mirenburg when
any rebellion occurred. His garrison
would easily put it down, but it would prove his point and show that without his controlling hand, Mirenburg’s factories were
in danger. Also, Sir Edwold could be blamed for any failures. Meanwhile he would be gathering a stronger force, bound to defeat
the rebellion and thus gaining him credit for success.

When he had gone, the two Germanians exchanged looks of triumph. Their story was believed. They had the run of the city as
well as the governor’s assistance in hunting down the dreamthief’s little granddaughter, Oonagh von Bek. It would be, they
were sure, but a matter of time before the girl and her elusive kinsman were within their power. Then they could perform the
final bloody deed, which must be completed if the power they sought was to come into their hands. The child’s life was the
key to control of the multiverse. To eternity.

The two old allies, who had given up so much of themselves to avert the fate they so feared, were determined that whatever
threatened their souls now should never threaten them again.

E
LRIC WAS AMUSED
by Yaroslaf Stredic’s astonishment at the success of his plan. Sir Edwold Krier remained entranced in his own castle, his
guards sent upon errands into the woods. He could wander where he liked but had been robbed of all his masks and most of his
clothes, as well as his memory and his identity. And now Lord Olin had taken Elric’s bait. He had left by the latest and swiftest
ornithopter, fresh from his own factories, for Londra. He had placed his supposed governor in control of the city. Elric had
plenty of time to find his granddaughter without interference.

“We’ll have every available guard looking for her,” said Elric. His helmet off, his witch-coloring remained intact. He bit
into a piece of fruit and looked out over the town. To the east was the smoke and sparks of great chimneys, showing the location
of the manufacturing district. To the west rose the domes and sloping roofs of covered markets, where traders displayed their
wares. To the north were the steeples of places of worship, where the people of Mirenburg were allowed to confer with any
strange gods as long as King Huon the Immortal commanded a shrine dedicated to him and the priests praised
him in their prayers. King Huon was not one to deny the conquered their comforting abstractions.

The people of Mirenburg were not especially devout, but more people now attended the temples than before the conquest. So
many spies were among the priests, priestesses and congregations that it was well known the temples were decidedly not places
of secret sedition. The most radical hopeful could not have said that Mirenburg seethed. Indeed, superficially, Mirenburg
was a city which, with the deaths and disappearances of its ancient families, had pragmatically accepted its return to provincial
status under the Empire. Even the kulaks, the landed peasants of the rural communities, seemed to have accepted Londra’s rule
with a certain philosophical air. Periodically their country was conquered. They judged their conquerors more on the levels
of taxes they charged than any other criterion. Granbretan had, in fact, eased taxes a little in the past year. They were
still high, of course, and the laws still strict, but a certain security prevailed within those parameters. As is true the
world over, the average kulak preferred authoritarian stability to the responsibility of freedom. Even when they had the opportunity
to vote, most of those farmers and villagers and tradesmen preferred bellicose displays of strength rather than representation
and intelligence in their leaders. Not so the industrial workers, however, who shunned the temples and spoke cryptically among
themselves, disguising their outrage and anger as a matter of honor.

Stredic told Elric that to the north lay the wealthier suburbs, whose inhabitants liked to complain about Londra but would
only support an uprising if one was thrust upon them. Elric was not particularly interested, however, in rebellion, in spite
of what he had told the lord
protector. If some action of his helped overturn Mirenburg’s conquerors, he would not be distressed, but his only real interest
was to rescue Oonagh and leave. If Yaroslaf Stredic chose to use this moment to organize resistance, so much the better. Confusion
would help him get her clear. It had cost him much exhausting sorcery to find her, and it would not be long before he began
to run out of the much needed serum he had purchased from an apothecary in Brookgate, for a large amount of gold, shortly
before embarking upon this expedition.

“We’ll initiate an intensive search,” he informed his companion. “And we’ll help lead it ourselves. The first man to find
her will be well rewarded, if not in money, then in whatever else he decides. But we do not have limitless time. Soon the
real Sir Edwold must wake from his trance and begin to remember at least a little of who he is, while Lord Olin could return
with specific orders from Londra—orders which might not suit our plans.”

Yaroslaf Stredic saw the sense of this. He meant to take advantage of every hour his strange new ally had bought him. He was
interested in the factories. He knew that the quietly angry slave workers were his most likely recruits. He could also recruit
the pilots and many of the auxiliaries to his cause. His planned rebellion would have men to fly the machines and mechanics
to maintain them. He coveted the ordnance as much as he wanted to free the workers. It had been these war engines that had
achieved Granbretan’s conquests, not the unquestioned ferocity of her commanders, or their lust for land and resources.

The same day that Lord Olin left for Londra, Elric of Melniboné, disguised by the vulpine helm stolen from the real Edwold
Krier, demanded a marshaling of the city’s entire garrison in the sprawling Square of the Salt
Traders. In ringing tones he informed the men of their duty.

“A great plot is being hatched beyond the mountains. Some of the intriguers are already here, amongst us. These terrorists
and rebels will do all they can to distract us from the nobility of our crusade. They hate us for the very security and freedom
we enjoy. They live for strife, while we serve the forces of serenity. They are evil creatures who must be rooted out and
destroyed. But we must not kill them. Any suspects must be taken to the dungeons of the Oranesians, the St. Maria and St.
Maria, and interrogated by my handpicked investigators. They will soon give us the information we seek. Meanwhile, be alert
for the child of whom I spoke. She must not be harmed. She must be brought to me at once, no matter what the time or what
else is told to you.”

“And what of the youth, my lord?” one captain wished to know.

“Youth?”

“The Germanians wish us to seek and capture a youth as well. They were clear on the matter. If any harm befalls him, or should
he escape, those responsible will be publicly tortured and killed.”

“The Germanians?” He had yet to meet these other newcomers. “It seems they exceed their orders, Captain. But if an albino
youth is found, you must let me know and bring him to me. Under no circumstances is he to be given up to them. They exceed
their authority!”

On dismissal the guards broke up into small groups, talking among themselves. Their tone was puzzled, even slightly confused.
But they had a feeling in their blood that great events were in preparation and that they would be involved in some historic
moment.

Watching this from their apartments in the nearby Martyr’s Tower, the two “Germanians,” Gaynor von Minct and Klosterheim,
glowered in rage. What right had this provincial upstart to countermand their orders when, only an hour before, they had been
congratulating themselves on the powerful help they had so easily secured with documents obtained by the expenditure of a
few shillings in the forger’s art and the aid of certain powerful plotters in Londra? The girl and the youth had been as good
as in their hands! Once the children were in the prison of St. Maria and St. Maria (the feared Oranesians), it would have
been relatively easy to get them out and carry them off to their ultimate destination. Now this fool had thwarted them!

“It seems we chose a poor moment for our little charade,” announced Gaynor, pouring a beaker of fresh wine.

And Herr Klosterheim, nodding slowly, permitted himself a small grimace.

The search of the factory district began the next morning. Soldiers of the Wolverine, Dog and Lynx clans went from tenement
to tenement rounding up every girl who remotely fitted Oonagh’s description, yet she could not be found. Mothers wailed and
fathers groaned as their children were ripped from their arms and inspected. Cupboards were smashed open, and anything hidden
in them not a girl-child was discarded, ignored. Floorboards were lifted, lofts were combed and basements disrupted. Overseen
by their grim leaders, the soldiers were unsubtle in their methods. Of course, the guards did not dare to harm any of the
girls. They had been warned how they would die if a drop of Oonagh’s blood was spilled. At the end of
five days, however, they were unable to bring the deputy protector any news.

Meanwhile the frustrated Germanians conducted their own secret searches and failed to be granted an audience with Sir Edwold,
who seemed singularly reluctant to see them. They were beginning to feel suspicious of this deputy commander.

Only when Gaynor, unable to restrain himself, demanded that a soldier hand over some poor, shivering blond-headed girl to
him, did Sir Edwold’s captain-of-the-day challenge him and, in exasperation, put both Germanians under guard. Elric, concerned
they might recognize him by his voice, was forced to confront them as they marched arrogantly into the interrogation chamber,
surrounded by a detachment of city soldiery and brandishing their documents.

Elric disguised his voice as best he could. He sat well back in his great chair, observing them through the eye slits of his
mask, his gloved, beringed hands tapping on the arms as if in impatience.

“What’s this? Treachery?” he growled.

Hearing him, Gaynor frowned for a moment, and Elric feared he would be discovered. Then von Minct spoke levelly, a note of
interrogation coloring his demands.

“My lord Protector, we carry letters from the Quay Savoy, which serves the emperor directly in all matters of homeland and
overseas security. In these letters you are requested”—he spoke with growing emphasis— “nay,
commanded
—to give us all aid we request in this matter. The children whom your soldiers seek are the same as those we came to find.
They are crucial to our imperial security, yet your men seem positively to be
hampering us. I would remind you, sir, that you challenge the emperor himself!”

“Commanded?”
Elric feigned anger. He was fairly certain that the documents could not be genuine. Why would Huon or his diplomatic police
send these two, who had no credentials as far as he knew?
“Commanded?”
He made as if to give orders to his men. He was acting out a dangerous charade, countering a similar attempt by von Minct
and Klosterheim, who might also be playacting.

Klosterheim, always more of a natural diplomat, stepped between them. “I assure you, my lord, that we acknowledge your station
and responsibilities. We have no intention—”

“Show me those documents!” Elric saw a glint of surprise in Klosterheim’s deep-set eyes. Had the Puritan recognized him? Discovery
at this stage would be extremely inconvenient …

“They are in our apartments, my lord.”

“Very well! Take these men to the St. Maria and St. Maria,” Elric ordered. “And search their rooms for these documents. Our
emperor would be seriously angered if we did not show due caution in this matter. Then bring the documents to me and I will
inspect them!”