To Rescue Tanelorn (28 page)

He put his hand on it and noticed that the heart wasn’t beating.

He had killed her.

In agony, he began to caress her stiff.

Meanwhile, Frank was also in agony, for he had been trapped by Miss Brunner and she was giving his genitals a cruel squeeze. They were in one of the rooms on the second floor. Dimitri and Mr. Smiles stood at his left and right, holding his arms.

Miss Brunner knelt on one knee in front of him. She squeezed again, and Frank grimaced.

“Look here,” he said. “I’ve got to get myself fixed up.”

“You get the fix when we get the microfilm,” snarled Miss Brunner, hoping he wouldn’t give in right away.

Smiles got the joke and laughed. Dimitri joined in, somewhat vacantly.

“This is serious,” said Miss Brunner, and she gave Frank another squeeze.

“I’ll tell you as soon as I’m fixed up.”

“Mr. Cornelius, we can’t allow that,” said Mr. Smiles. “Come along, let’s have the information.”

Mr. Smiles hit Frank clumsily on the face. Discovering a taste for it, he did it several more times. Frank didn’t seem to mind. He had other things to worry about.

“Pain doesn’t have much effect,” Miss Brunner said thoughtfully. “We’ll just have to wait and hope he doesn’t become too incoherent.”

“Look, he’s slavering.” Dimitri pointed in disgust. He let go of Frank’s arm.

Eyes unblinking, Frank wiped his grey mouth. A great shudder brought his body briefly to life. Then he was still again.

After a moment, while they watched in curiosity, he shuddered again.

“You know the microfilm is in the strongroom?” Frank said between shudders.

“He’s coming through!” Mr. Smiles smacked his leg.

Dimitri frowned.

“Only you can open the strongroom; is that right, Mr. Cornelius?” Miss Brunner sighed rather disappointedly.

“That’s right.”

“Will you take us there and open the strongroom? Then we will let you go and you can get your fix.”

“Yes, I will.”

Mr. Smiles bent Frank’s arm behind his back. “Lead the way,” he said firmly.

When they had reached the strongroom and Frank had opened it for them, Miss Brunner looked at the ranks of metal files lining the walls and said, “You can go now, Mr. Cornelius. We’ll find what we want.”

Frank skipped off, out of the littered room behind the strongroom and up the stairs.

“I think I’ll just pop after him and check he hasn’t got something up his sleeve,” Mr. Smiles said eagerly.

“We’ll be waiting.”

Dimitri helped Miss Brunner lift the files from their shelves and cart them into the room. When Mr. Smiles had disappeared, Miss Brunner began to stroke Dimitri. “We’ve done it, Dimitri!”

Dimitri had soon forgotten the boxes and had become totally absorbed in Miss Brunner.

Mr. Smiles came back a short time later, looking upset. “I was right,” he said. “He’s left the house and is talking to his guards. We should have kept him as a hostage. We’re not behaving very rationally, Miss Brunner.”

“This isn’t the time or place for that sort of thing,” she said as she searched through the box files.

“Where’s Mr. Cornelius?”

“Jerry Cornelius?” she murmured abstractedly.

“Yes.”

“We should have asked Frank. Silly of me.”

“Where’s Dimitri?”

“He gave up.”

“Gave himself up?” Mr. Smiles looked bemused. He glanced round the strongroom. On the floor, in a dark corner, lay a neatly folded Courrèges suit, a shirt, underpants, socks, shoes, tie, valuables.

“Well, he must have gone for an early-morning swim,” said Mr. Smiles, trembling and noticing how healthy Miss Brunner’s skin looked.

It was dawn as Jerry walked down the stairs. On the second floor he found Miss Brunner and Mr. Smiles going through the big metal box files. They were sitting on the carpet with the files between them, studying the papers and microfilm they had removed.

“I assumed you were dead,” said Miss Brunner. “We’re the only survivors, I’m afraid.”

“Where is Frank?”

“We let him go after he’d opened the strongroom for us. It was a mistake.” She looked petulantly at Mr. Smiles. “They aren’t here, are they?”

Mr. Smiles shook his head. “It doesn’t look like it, Miss Brunner. We’ve been fooled by young Frank. At the rate he was trembling and drooling, you’d have thought he was telling the truth. He’s more cunning than we guessed.”

“Instinctive,” said Miss Brunner, her lips pursed.

“What happened to Dimitri?” Jerry looked at Miss Brunner. For a moment, in the dawn light, he had half-mistaken her for the Greek.

“He disappeared,” said Mr. Smiles. “After I went to check on Frank. I didn’t realize the strength of character your brother had, Mr. Cornelius.”

“You shouldn’t have let him go.” Jerry kicked at the papers.

“You told us we mustn’t harm him.”

“Did I?” Jerry spoke listlessly now.

“I’m not sure he
was
lying,” said Miss Brunner to Mr. Smiles. She got up, dusting off her skirt as best she could. “He might really have believed the stuff was in there. Do you think it exists any more?”

“I was convinced. Convinced.” Mr. Smiles sighed. “A lot of time, energy, and money has been wasted, and we’re not even likely to survive now. This is a great disappointment.”

“Why not?” Jerry asked. “Likely to survive?”

“Outside, Mr. Cornelius, is the remainder of your brother’s private army. They’ve ringed the place and are ready to shoot us. Your brother commands them.”

“I must get to a doctor,” said Jerry.

“What’s the matter?” Miss Brunner’s voice wasn’t sympathetic.

“I’m wounded in a couple of places. One in the shoulder—not sure where the other one went in, but I think it must be very bad.”

“What about your sister?”

“My sister’s dead. I shot her.”

“Really, then you must—”

“I want to live!” Jerry stumbled towards the window and looked out into the cold morning. Men were waiting there, though Frank couldn’t be seen. The grey bushes seemed made of delicately carved granite, and grey gulls wheeled in a grey sky.

“By Christ, I want you to live, too!” Miss Brunner grasped him. “Can you think of a way we can all get out?”

“There is a chance.” He began to speak calmly. “The main control chamber wasn’t destroyed, was it?”

“No—perhaps we should have…”

“Let’s get down there. Come on, Mr. Smiles.”

Jerry sat limply in the chair by the control board. He checked first that the power was on; then he activated the monitors so that they had a view all round the house. He locked the monitors on the armed men who were waiting outside.

His hand reached for another bank of switches and flipped them over. “We’ll try the towers,” he said.

Green, red, and yellow lights went on above the board. “They’re working, anyway.” He stared carefully at the monitors. He felt very sick.

“Towers are spinning,” he said. “Look!”

The armed men were all gaping at the roof. They could not have had any sleep all night, which would help the process. They stood transfixed.

“Get going,” Jerry said as he got up and leaned on Mr. Smiles, pushing him towards the door. “But once out of the house, don’t look back or you’ll be turned into a pillar of salt.”

They helped him up the stairs. He was almost fainting now. Cautiously, they opened the front door.

“Go, tiger!” he said weakly as they began to run, still supporting him.

“How are we going to get down to the boats?” asked Miss Brunner when they had helped him round the side of the house facing the cliff edge.

Jerry didn’t care. “I suppose we’ll have to jump,” he murmured. “Hope the tide hasn’t dropped too low.”

“It’s a long way down, and I’m not so sure I can swim.” Mr. Smiles slowed his pace.

“You’ll have to try,” said Miss Brunner.

They stumbled across the rough turf and got to the edge. Far below, water still washed the cliff. Behind them a strong-minded guard had spotted them. They could tell this because his bullets had begun to whine past them.

“Are you fit enough, Mr. Cornelius?”

“I hope so, Miss Brunner.”

They jumped together and fell together towards the sea.

Mr. Smiles didn’t follow them. He looked back, saw the stroboscopes, and could not turn away again. A smile appeared on his lips. Mr. Smiles died smiling, at the hand of the strong-minded guard.

Jerry, now unaware of who or where he was, felt himself being dragged from the sea. Someone slapped his face. What, he wondered, was the nature of reality after all? Could all this be the result of mankind’s will—even his natural surroundings, the shape of the hand that slapped his face?

“You’re going to have to steer, I’m afraid, Mr. Cornelius. I can’t.”

He smiled. “Steer? Okay.” But what sort of place would he steer into? The world he had left? This world? Or another altogether. A world, perhaps, where killer girls roved metropolitan streets in bands, working for faceless tycoons who bought and sold hydrogen bombs on an international level, supplying the entire market with H—Hydrogen, Heroin, Heroines…

“Catherine,” he murmured. Miss Brunner was kindly helping him to the cabin, he realized.

Tired but happy, unconvinced by the reality of his hallucination, he started the boat and swung out to sea.

Hi-Fi, Holiness, a hope in hell…

He would never have a memory of what happened until he cried “Catherine!” and woke to find that he was in a very comfortable hospital bed.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” he said politely to the lemon-faced woman in uniform who entered after a while, “where would I be?”

“You’re in the Sunnydales Nursing Home, Mr. Cornelius, and you are much better. On the way to recovery, they say. A friend brought you here after your accident at that French funfair.”

“You know about that?”

“I know very little about it. Some trick gun went off the wrong way and shot you, I believe.”

“Is that what happened? Are all nursing homes called Sunnydales?”

“Most of them.”

“Am I receiving the very best medical attention?”

“You have had three specialists at your friend’s expense.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“I don’t know the name. The doctor might. A lady, I think.”

“Miss Brunner?”

“The name’s familiar.”

“Will there be any complications? When will I be fit enough to leave?”

“I don’t think any complications are expected. You will not leave until you are fit enough to do so.”

“You have my word of honour—I shan’t leave until I’m fit enough. My life’s all I’ve got.”

“Very wise. If there are any business matters you need arranging—any relatives?”

“I’m self-employed,” he said self-consciously.

The nurse said, “Try getting some sleep.”

“I don’t need any sleep.”

“You don’t, but it’s easier to run a hospital with all the patients sleeping. They’re less demanding. Now you can do me a favour. Groan, beg for medical details, complain about the lack of attention we give you and the inferior way we run the hospital, but don’t try to make me laugh.”

“I don’t think I could, could I?” said Jerry.

“It’s a waste of time,” she agreed.

“Then I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He felt fresh and relaxed and he wondered why he should, considering his recent activities. He’d probably have plenty of time in which to work it out. He knew he’d be fighting trauma on all fronts, and the long coma had equipped him to fight well.

As best he could, he began putting his mind in order. During the weeks in the hospital, all he asked for was a tape recorder, tape, and an earbead so that there would be no trouble when he turned up the sound in moments of heavy concentration.

THE SINGING CITADEL

THE SINGING CITADEL

(1967)

T
HE TURQUOISE SEA
was peaceful in the golden light of early evening, and the two men at the rail of the ship stood in silence, looking north to the misty horizon. One was tall and slim, wrapped in a heavy black cloak, its cowl flung back to reveal his long, milk-white hair; the other was short and red-headed.

“She was a fine woman and she loved you,” said the short man at length. “Why did you leave her so abruptly?”

“She was a fine woman,” the tall one replied, “but she would have loved me to her cost. Let her seek her own land and stay there. I have already slain one woman whom I loved, Moonglum. I would not slay another.”

Moonglum shrugged. “I sometimes wonder, Elric, if this grim destiny of yours is the figment of your own guilt-ridden mood.”

“Perhaps,” Elric replied carelessly. “But I do not care to test the theory. Let’s speak no more of this.”

The sea foamed and rushed by as the oars disrupted the surface, driving the ship swiftly towards the port of Dhakos, capital of Jharkor, one of the most powerful of the Young Kingdoms. Less than two years previously Jharkor’s king, Dharmit, had died in the ill-fated raid on Imrryr, and Elric had heard that the men of Jharkor blamed him for the king’s death, though this was not the case. He cared little whether they blamed him or not, for he was still disdainful of the greater part of mankind.

“Another hour will see nightfall, and it’s unlikely we’ll sail at night,” Moonglum said. “I’ll to bed, I think.”

Elric was about to reply when he was interrupted by a high-pitched shout from the crow’s nest.

“
Sail on larboard stern!
”

The lookout must have been half asleep, for the ship bearing down on them could easily be made out from the deck. Elric stepped aside as the captain, a dark-faced Tarkeshite, came running along the deck.

“What’s the ship, captain?” called Moonglum.

“A Pan Tang trireme—a warship. They’re on ramming course.” The captain ran on, yelling orders to the helm to turn the ship aside.

Elric and Moonglum crossed the deck to see the trireme better. She was a black-sailed ship, painted black and heavily gilded, with three rowers to an oar as against their two. She was big and yet elegant, with a high curving stern and a low prow. Now they could see the waters broken by her big, brass-sheathed ram. She had two lateen-rigged sails, and the wind was in her favour.

The rowers were in a panic as they sweated to turn the ship according to the helmsman’s orders. Oars rose and fell in confusion and Moonglum turned to Elric with a half-smile.

“They’ll never do it. Best ready your blade, friend.”

Pan Tang was an isle of sorcerers, fully human, who sought to emulate the old power of Melniboné. Their fleets were among the best in the Young Kingdoms and raided with little discrimination. The Theocrat of Pan Tang, chief of the priest-aristocracy, was Jagreen Lern, who was reputed to have a pact with the powers of Chaos and a plan to rule the world.

Elric regarded the men of Pan Tang as upstarts who could never hope to mirror the glory of his ancestors, but even he had to admit that this ship was impressive and would easily win a fight with the Tarkeshite galley.

Soon the great trireme was bearing down on them and captain and helmsman fell silent as they realized they could not evade the ram. With a harsh sound of crushed timbers, the ram connected with the stern, holing the galley beneath the waterline.

Elric stood immobile, watching as the trireme’s grappling irons hurtled towards their galley’s deck. Somewhat half-heartedly, knowing they were no match for the well-trained and well-armoured Pan Tang crew, the Tarkeshites ran towards the stern, preparing to resist the boarders.

Moonglum cried urgently: “Elric—we must help!”

Reluctantly Elric nodded. He was loath to draw the runesword from its scabbard at his side. Of late its power seemed to have increased.

Now the scarlet-armoured warriors were swinging towards the waiting Tarkeshites. The first wave, armed with broadswords and battle-axes, hit the sailors, driving them back.

Now Elric’s hand fell to the hilt of Stormbringer. As he gripped it and drew it, the blade gave an odd, disturbing moan, as if of anticipation, and a weird black radiance flickered along its length. Now it throbbed in Elric’s hand like something alive as the albino ran forward to aid the Tarkeshite sailors.

Already half the defenders had been hewed down and as the rest retreated, Elric, with Moonglum at his heels, moved forward. The scarlet-armoured warriors’ expressions changed from grim triumph to startlement as Elric’s great black blade shrieked up and down and clove through a man’s armour from shoulder to lower ribs.

Evidently they recognized him and the sword, for both were legendary. Though Moonglum was a skilled swordsman, they all but ignored him as they realized that they must concentrate all their strength on bringing Elric down if they were to survive.

The old, wild killing-lust of his ancestors now dominated Elric as the blade reaped souls. He and the sword became one and it was the sword, not Elric, that was in control. Men fell on all sides, screaming more in horror than in pain as they realized what the sword had drawn from them. Four came at him with axes whistling. He sliced off one’s head, cut a deep gash in another’s midriff, lopped off an arm, and drove the blade point first into the heart of the last. Now the Tarkeshites were cheering, following after Elric and Moonglum as they cleared the sinking galley’s decks of attackers.

Howling like a wolf, Elric grabbed a rope—part of the black and golden trireme’s rigging—and swung towards the enemy’s decks.

“Follow him!” Moonglum yelled. “This is our only chance—this ship’s doomed!”

The trireme had raised decks fore and aft. On the foredeck stood the captain, splendid in scarlet and blue, his face aghast at this turn of events. He had expected to get his prize effortlessly; now it seemed
he
was to be the prize!

Stormbringer sang a wailing song as Elric pressed towards the foredeck, a song that was at once triumphant and ecstatic. The remaining warriors no longer rushed at him, and concentrated on Moonglum, who was leading the Tarkeshite crew, leaving Elric’s path to the captain clear.

The captain, a member of the theocracy, would be harder to vanquish than his men. As Elric moved towards him, he noted that the man’s armour had a peculiar glow to it—it had been sorcerously treated.

The captain was typical of his kind—stocky, heavily-bearded, with malicious black eyes over a strong, hooked nose. His lips were thick and red and he was smiling a little as, with axe in one hand and sword in the other, he prepared to meet Elric, who was running up the steps.

Elric gripped Stormbringer in both hands and lunged for the captain’s stomach, but the man stepped sideways and parried with his sword, swinging the axe left-handed at Elric’s unprotected head. The albino had to sway to one side, staggered, and fell to the deck, rolling as the broadsword thudded into the deck, just missing his shoulder. Stormbringer seemed to rise of its own accord to block a further axe blow and then chopped upwards to shear off the head near the handle. The captain cursed and discarded the handle, gripped his broadsword in both hands and raised it. Again Stormbringer acted a fraction sooner than Elric’s own reactions. He drove the blade up towards the man’s heart. The magic-treated armour stopped it for a second; but then Stormbringer shrilled a chilling, wailing song, shuddered as if summoning more strength, slipped on the armour again. And then the magic armour split like a nutshell, leaving Elric’s opponent bare-chested, his arms still raised for the strike. His eyes widened. He backed away, his sword forgotten, his gaze fixed on the evil runeblade as it struck him under the breastbone and drove in. He grimaced, whimpered, and dropped his sword, clutching instead at the blade, which was sucking out his soul.

“By Chardros—not—not—aahhh!”

He died knowing that even his soul was not safe from the hellblade borne by the wolf-faced albino.

Elric wrenched Stormbringer from the corpse, feeling his own vitality increase as the sword passed on its stolen energy, refusing to consider the knowledge that the more he used the sword, the more he needed it.

On the deck of the trireme, only the galley-slaves were left alive. But the deck was tilting badly, for the trireme’s ram and grapples still tied it to the sinking Tarkeshite ship.

“Cut the grappling ropes and back water—quickly!” Elric yelled. Sailors, realizing what was happening, leapt forward to do as he ordered. The slaves backed water, and the ram came out with a groan of split wood. The grapples were cut and the doomed galley set adrift.

Elric counted the survivors. Less than half the crew were alive, and their captain had died in the first onslaught. He addressed the slaves.

“If you’d have your freedom, row well towards Dhakos,” he called. The sun was setting, but now that he was in command he decided to sail through the night by the stars.

Moonglum shouted incredulously: “Why offer them their freedom? We could sell them in Dhakos and thus be paid for today’s exertion!”

Elric shrugged. “I offer them freedom because I choose to, Moonglum.”

The redhead sighed and turned to supervise the throwing of the dead and wounded overboard. He would never understand the albino, he decided. It was probably for the best.

And that was how Elric came to enter Dhakos in some style, when he had originally intended to slip into the city without being recognized.

Leaving Moonglum to negotiate the sale of the trireme and divide the money between the crew and himself, Elric drew his hood over his head and pushed through the crowd which had collected, making for an inn he knew of by the west gate of the city.

Later that night, when Moonglum had gone to bed, Elric sat in the tavern room drinking. Even the most enthusiastic of the night’s roisterers had left when they had noticed with whom they shared the room; and now Elric sat alone, the only light coming from a guttering reed torch over the outside door.

Now the door opened and a richly dressed youth stood there, staring in.

“I seek the White Wolf,” he said, his head at a questioning angle. He could not see Elric clearly.

“I’m sometimes called that name in these parts,” Elric said calmly. “Do you seek Elric of Melniboné?”

“Aye. I have a message.” The youth came in, keeping his cloak wrapped about him, for the room was cold though Elric did not notice it.

“I am Count Yolan, deputy-commander of the city guard,” the youth said arrogantly, coming up to the table at which Elric sat and studying the albino rudely. “You are brave to come here so openly. Do you think the folk of Jharkor have such short memories they can forget that you led their king into a trap scarce two years since?”

Elric sipped his wine, then said from behind the rim of his cup: “This is rhetoric, Count Yolan. What is your message?”

Yolan’s assured manner left him; he made a rather weak gesture. “Rhetoric to you, perhaps—but I for one feel strongly on the matter. Would not King Dharmit be here today if you had not fled from the battle that broke the power of the sea-lords and your own folk? Did you not use your sorcery to aid you in your flight, instead of using it to aid the men who thought they were your comrades?”

Elric sighed. “I know your purpose here was not to bait me in this manner. Dharmit died on board his flagship during the first attack on Imrryr’s sea-maze, not in the subsequent battle.”

“You sneer at my questions and then proffer lame lies to cover your own cowardly deed,” Yolan said bitterly. “If I had my way you’d be fed to your hellblade there—I’ve heard what happened earlier.”

Elric rose slowly. “Your taunts tire me. When you feel ready to deliver your message, give it to the inn-keeper.”

He walked around the table, moving towards the stairs, but stopped as Yolan turned and plucked at his sleeve.

Elric’s corpse-white face stared down at the young noble. His crimson eyes flickered with a dangerous emotion. “I’m not used to such familiarity, young man.”

Yolan’s hand fell away. “Forgive me. I was self-indulgent and should not have let my emotions override diplomacy. I came on a matter of discretion—a message from Queen Yishana. She seeks your help.”

“I’m as disinclined to help others as I am to explain my actions,” Elric spoke impatiently. “In the past my help has not always been to the advantage of those who’ve sought it. Dharmit, your queen’s half-brother, discovered that.”

Yolan said sullenly: “You echo my own warnings to the queen, sir. For all that, she desires to see you in private—tonight…” he scowled and looked away. “I would point out that I could have you arrested should you refuse.”

“Perhaps.” Elric moved again towards the steps. “Tell Yishana that I stay the night here and move on at dawn. She may visit me if her request is so urgent.” He climbed the stairs, leaving a gape-mouthed Yolan sitting alone in the quiet of the tavern.