Revenge of the Rose (19 page)

 
          
The
faceless creature flung back its steel-shod head, the colours behind the metal
quivering and flaring, and laughed at this. “I fear you, Elric, because you are
damned yet continue to behave as if you were not …”

 
          
“I
have made no bargains such as yours, prince.”

 
          
“Your
whole race has made a bargain! And now it is paying the price—somewhere, not
far from here, in a realm you will call home, the last of your people are being
marshaled to march in the armies of Chaos. The time for that last great fight
is not yet. But we are preparing for it. Would you survive it, Elric? Or would
you be blasted to non-existence, not even your memory remaining—less enduring,
say, than one of Master Wheldrake’s verses—”

 
          
“I
say, sir! You have already proved yourself an unmitigated villain! Pray,
remember at least that you are a gentleman!” Then Wheldrake’s eye returned to
his beloved.

 
          
“Can
you bear the prospect of everlasting death, Elric? You, who love life as much
as I hate it. We could both have our deepest desire …”

 
          
“I
think you fear me, Prince Gaynor, because I refuse that final compromise,” said
Elric. “I fear you because you belong wholly to Chaos. But you fear me because
I do not.”

 
          
A
querulous noise issued from within the helm, almost like the snuffling of some
cosmic pig. Then in came three sailors with a tambourine, a pipe and a musical
sword, to play some mournful shanty, and who were swiftly dismissed by Gaynor,
to the relief of all.

 
          
“Very
well, sir,” said Gaynor, all his equilibrium recovered, it seemed. “Then can I
put a modest suggestion to you?”

 
          
“If
you wish to join forces to seek the three sisters, I will consider your
proposals,” said Elric. “Otherwise I see little left to discuss between us.”

 
          
“But
that is just what I would discuss, Elric. We all desire something different, I
suspect, of those sisters, and the reason why so much upheaval flings us this
way and that through the multiverse is because there are several interests and
several Lords of the Higher Worlds involved. You accept that, gentlemen?” Now
he included Wheldrake. Charion Phatt sat back in her chair, evidently already
privy to her ally’s plan.

 
          
They
nodded their agreement.

 
          
“In
some ways we are all at odds,” Gaynor continued, “but in others we have no
battle between us. And I see you agree. Well, then, so let us search for the
sisters, as well as the Family Phatt—or what remains of it—together. At least
until such time as our interests are no longer the same.”

 
          
And
thus did Elric of Melniboné and Master Ernest Wheldrake accept the logic of the
damned prince’s compromise and agreed to sail with him when his ship left
harbour the next morning, as soon as they had selected another sailor or two
from the braver or more desperate seadogs of Ulshinir.

 
          
“But,”
said Elric, as they made to return ashore, while a scuffling and shifting went
on, together with the occasional light pounding, overhead, “you have not yet
discussed your destination, Prince Gaynor. Do we trust you in that or will you
tell us the name of the island the three sisters have reached?”

 
          
“
Island
?” Gaynor’s helm grew dark, almost in
puzzlement, and blues and blacks swirled across its smooth, sometimes opaque,
surface. “
Island
, sir? We do not go to any island.”

 
          
“Then
where are the three sisters?”

 
          
“Where
we
journey, sir, though they are lost
to any immediate meeting between us, I fear.”

 
          
“And
where,” said Wheldrake with a certain justified impatience, “do
we
journey, sir?”

 
          
Again
the helm tilted a little as if in amusement and the musical voice sounded the
words with considerable relish:

 
          
“Why,
sir, I thought you’d guessed. Tomorrow we set sail into the
Heavy
Sea
.”

 
          
Unusual
Methods of Sea Travel; Disappointments of Piracy. A Hellblade Misplaced
.

 
          
It
was not until Ulshinir was well below the horizon and the reefs still invisible
ahead that Gaynor the Damned gave the order to “let some light on the poor toad”
and the sailors obeyed with perhaps a touch of reluctance, drawing off and
rolling up the black canvas to reveal the iron bars of a large cage from which,
blinking, appeared two enormous green-lidded eyes set in a gnarled reptilian
head whose nostrils flared and whose long scarlet mouth opened to reveal a
pink, flickering tongue, while the extraordinarily dense weight of scaly flesh
was supported on massive webbed feet, limbs as thick as elm-trunks, the whole
thing shuddering and rippling with the effort of its breathing.

 
          
The
eyes, like dark, semi-precious stones, sought Gaynor and fixed on him where he
stood below, looking up at the cage. The red, spongy lips opened and closed and
deep, groaning sounds issued from the monster. It was only after a moment of
listening that Elric realized the reptile was speaking.

 
          
“
I am discontented, master. I am hungry.
”

 
          
“Soon
you will be allowed to feed, my pretty one. Very soon.” Gaynor chuckled as he
climbed the companionway and gripped the bars of the cage with his gauntleted
hands and peered at the gigantic toad which was five times his size and weight,
at least.

 
          
Wheldrake
had no wish, himself, to get closer. He hung back as Charion Phatt, laughing at
his hesitation, went to the toad which responded to her cluckings and cooings
with more grumblings and shufflings.

 
          
“It’s
a self-pitying creature,” said Elric, staring at the thing with a certain
sympathy. “Where did you find it? Is it a gift of Count Mashabak’s, something
even Chaos will not suffer?”

 
          
“Khorghakh
is a native of a nearby realm, Prince Elric.” Gaynor was amused. “He will help
us to cross the
Heavy
Sea
.”

 
          
“And
what lies beyond?” Elric asked, watching as Charion Phatt took her sword and
scratched the toad’s belly, making him grunt with a certain pleasure and seem
to relax a little, though he still insisted he was hungry.

 
          
“Khorghakh
is a denizen of the
Heavy
Sea
?”

 
          
“Not
exactly,” said Gaynor, “a denizen. But he is familiar with that singular ocean,
or so I have been reassured. After three years of seeking him I acquired
Khorghakh from some adventurers we encountered. They were coasting the islands
looking for Ulshinir …”

 
          
“Looking
for you,” said Charion. “I knew you were here. It was only later that I sensed
the presence of the three sisters. I had thought they were following you. Yet
you sensed them, also. I did not know you were clairvoyant.”

 
          
“I
am not,” said Elric. “At least, not in the way you imply. I had no choice in my
destination. For you, as I can see, some years have passed. For me, very little
has occurred since the moment I followed you all into the Chaos pit. Wheldrake
has had at least a year of wandering. It suggests that even if we should find
the three sisters or, indeed, your family, they could be children or wizened
oldsters by the time we reach them.”

 
          
“I
like not this randomness at all,” says Wheldrake. “Chaos was never to my taste,
though my critics did not believe that. I was raised to accept that there were
certain universal laws obeyed by all. To discover that this hyper-reality has
only a few fundamental rules which, on occasions, may also be changed, is
disturbing to me.”

 
          
“It
disturbed my uncle, also,” said Charion. “It was why he elected to lead a life
of quiet domesticity. Of course, he was not allowed that choice, after all. He
lost my mother, his brother and his wife to the machinations of Chaos. For my
part, I have accepted the inevitable. I am aware that I live in the multiverse
which, though it follows certain courses and measures, though, as I have been
told, it obeys a great and inviolable logic, is so vast, so variable, so
varied, that it appears to be ruled by Chance alone. So I will accept that my
life is subject not to the consistency offered by Law but the uncertainty
promised by Chaos.”

 
          
“A
pessimistic view, sweet lady.” Wheldrake restrained his own feelings on the
matter. “Is it not better to live as if there were some abiding logic to our
existence?”

 
          
“Make
no mistake, Master Wheldrake.” She touched him with a certain affection. “I
have accepted the abiding logic—and it is the logic of power and conquest …”

 
          
“So
decided my own ancestors,” said Elric quietly. “They perceived a multiverse
that was all but random, and they conceived a philosophy to formalize what they
saw. Since their world was controlled by the random whims of the Lords of the
Higher Worlds, they argued, then the only way of ensuring their survival was to
gain as much power as they could—power at least as great as that of certain
minor deities. Power enough, at least, to make Chaos bargain with them, rather
than threaten and destroy. But what did that power gain them in the end? Less,
I suspect, than your uncle gained by his decision …”

 
          
“My
uncle had no sense,” said Charion, bringing an end to the conversation. She
turned her attention back to the toad, who had settled again and, while she
scratched its vast back with her blade, stared moodily towards the horizon
where dark ridges had begun to appear, the first sight of the reefs separating,
according to the folk of Ulshinir, the inhabitable world from the
uninhabitable.

 
          
They
could hear surf now, could see it spuming against the volcanic rocks so that
they gleamed with an unwelcoming blackness.

 
          
“
I am discontented, mistress. I am hungry.
”
The toad turned its eyes upon Charion, and Wheldrake understood that he had a
rival. He enjoyed the peculiar experience of being amused, jealous and
profoundly terrified all at the same time.

 
          
Elric,
too, had witnessed the toad’s expression when it looked at Charion and he
frowned. Some instinct informed him but was not, as yet, a conscious thought.
He was content to wait until the instinct had matured, found words, had
confirmation and become an idea. Meanwhile he smiled at Wheldrake’s discomfort.
“Fear not, friend Wheldrake! If you lack that fellow’s beauty and perhaps even
his specific charm, you almost certainly have the superior wit.”

 
          
“Oh,
indeed, sir,” said Wheldrake, mocking himself a little, “and I know that wit
usually counts for nothing in the game of love! There is no verse form invented
that could easily carry such a tale—of a poet whose rival is a reptile! The
heartache of it! The uncertainty! The folly!”

 
          
And
he paused suddenly, eyeing the monstrous toad as it returned his attention,
glaring at him as if it had understood every word.

 
          
Then
it opened its lips and spoke slowly.

 
          
“
Thou shalt not have mine egg
 …”

 
          
“Exactly,
sir. Exactly what I was remarking to my friend here.” With a bow so theatrical
and elaborate even Elric was unsure what, at certain times, the poet was
performing, Wheldrake went off for a while to concern himself with some
business in the stern.

 
          
From
the crow’s nest came the cry of the lookout and this brought Gaynor round from
where he had been staring apparently out to sea, almost as if he slept, or as
if his soul had left his body. “What? Ah, yes. The navigator. Fetch up the
navigator!”

 
          
And
now, up from the starboard lower deck, comes a grey man—a man whose skin has
been tanned by rain and wind but never by the sun, a man whose eyes are hurt by
the light, yet grateful for it, also. He rubs at wrists which, by the chafing
on them, have lately been tied. He sniffs at the salty wind and he grins to
himself, in memory.

 
          
“Navigator.
Here’s your means of earning your freedom,” says Gaynor, signaling him up
towards the prow which rises and falls with graceful speed as the wind takes
the sail and the rocky shores of a dozen islands lie ahead—black, wicked teeth
in mouths of roaring foam.

 
          
“Or
killing us all and taking everyone to hell with me,” says the navigator
carelessly. He is a man of about forty-five, his light beard grey-brown as his
shaggy hair and with grey-green eyes so piercing and strange that it is clear
he has learned to keep them hooded, for now he squints as if against strong
sun, though the sun lies behind him, and, with lithe movements of a man glad to
be active again, he springs to the foredeck, squeezes around the toad’s cage as
though he encounters such beasts every day, and joins Gaynor in the prow. “You’d
better haul in that sail as soon as you can,” says the navigator, raising his
voice above the gaining wind, “or turn about completely and take another
approach. A couple of minutes and nothing will save us from those rocks!”

 
          
Gaynor
turned shouting to his crew and Elric admired the skill with which the sailors
went to their work, turning the ship just enough so that the sail hung limp on
the mast, then hauling it in before the wind could find it again. The navigator
shouted out encouragement, sending the men to their oars, for this was the only
way to navigate the reefs at the edge of the world.

 
          
Slowly
now the black-and-yellow ship moved through the tugging currents of the reef—a
few inches this way, a few that, sometimes touching a rock so lightly there was
the barest whisper of friction, sometimes seeming to squeeze between pillars of
basalt and obsidian, while the wind yelled and the surf crashed and the whole
world seemed once more to be given up to Chaos. It was noon before they had
negotiated the first line of reefs and lay at anchor in the calm waters between
themselves and the second line. Now the navigator gave instructions for the
crew to eat well and to rest. They would not attempt the next line until the
following day.

 
          
Next
day they plunged again into cacophony and wave-tossed confusion as the
navigator called out first one direction and then another, sometimes running
back along the ship to take the wheel, sometimes clambering to the crow’s nest
to remind himself of what lay ahead, for it was clear he had navigated these
reefs more than once.

 
          
Another
river of clear, blue ocean running over pale sand; another patch of calm water—and
the navigator made them rest another day.

 
          
Twelve
days it took them to reach the farthest reef and look with unpleasant emotions
upon the black surf pouring like oily smoke onto the massive natural barrier
created by the last line of islands, onto beaches of smooth, fused obsidian.
The Heavy Sea moved with extreme precision, the waves rising and falling with
agonizing slowness, and the deep sounds it made hinted at this sea having a
voice largely inaudible to the human ear, for a peculiar silence existed over
its dark, slow waters.