The Werewolf and the Wormlord coaaod-8

by Hugh Cook

  But Alfric did not believe his own denials.

  He kept glancing sideways at his father, expecting to see some sign of a monstrous Change.

  As Alfric waited for the moment of disaster, Grendel said:

  ‘I want you to know something.’

  Alfric was about to ask ‘what’ when he realized his father was not speaking to Alfric but to the Wormlord. ‘Speak,’ said Tromso Scavenger.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Perhaps it was the water he had drunk, or perhaps it was the wounds inflicted by Her claws. Whatever the cause, Alfric was feverish long before he reached the Stanch Gates. And whatever his fever, such was the virulence of its onset that he collapsed in the muck scarcely a hundred paces from those Gates, and was picked up and taken to the city hospital by the gate guards.

  A hospital bed claimed him. The sheets of the bed were stiff with the blood of whoever had died in it last, but this did nothing whatsoever to discourage the lice and bedbugs.

  Alfric paid no heed to insectile assaults, for fever was the world in which he lived. He grappled with demons which strove to pulverize his liver with starhammers and dragon gongs. The dead came to him, and the unborn, their animating spirits stirring through the jaded air. Often he talked with them, or listened to politicking ghosts bickering in his nostrils, or to the worms which he imagined to be hollowing their way through his bones.

  In lucid moments, Alfric listened to his neighbour, a demented old man who, believing himself a historian of the ruling oligarchies of the universe, lectured the world at length on the cornerstones of time itself and the flamboyant mysteries of the sun.

  But always fever returned.

  Living in a world which owed more to hallucination than to anything else, Alfric began to believe that the air itself had turned to liquid fire, and he made frantic efforts to brush it away with his hands before it could flow into his lungs.

  But always the air got in, and the pain of breathing suggested the air was fire indeed. This agony was part of the ever-accumulating evidence which suggested to Alfric that he was going to die. His symptoms were so various that, in time, he accumulated encyclopedic evidence to that effect. His hands crabbed; his joints ached; his intestines writhed; his muscles cramped; and he had visions of Herself, Her flesh swollen to corpse-green yellow, and flickering fire kicking in dragon-spasms from her ears.

  In time, Alfric recovered, after a fashion. But he was still weak and slightly feverish when agents from the Bank arrived without warning and removed him from the hospital. Since Alfric was barely recovered from his hallucinations, he was too sick to argue against this abduction; and, lack of argument being taken as health sufficient, he was put aboard a cart and conveyed through the streets of Galsh Ebrek to the slopes of Mobius Kolb.

  Then up those slopes.

  Past the battlements of Saxo Pall.

  And to (then into) the Bank itself. Alfric did not know whether he was honoured guest or prisoner, valued employee or uncrowned king. However, when servitors started helping him into his robes, he supposed that he was being accepted back into the organization on some level. His fears of immediate execution faded, though he was still somewhat confused and disorientated.

  ‘Would you like a meal before your meeting?’

  ‘My meeting?’

  ‘Your meeting with Comptroller Xzu. Well? Would you like a meal?’

  ‘Just a cup of tea, thanks,’ said Alfric.

  So tea they brought him, jade tea imported from Obooloo by way of the Circle. It helped settle his stomach; and he felt calm and self-controlled by the time he had finished it.

  Then he was taken to see Comptroller Xzu.

  Before Alfric had marched against Herself, Xzu had asked him to delay that expedition for seven days. What had been the reason for that? Was Alfric going to find out? And would the Bank be pleased or displeased with the ultimate outcome of the expedition? And did it matter? Did Alfric need the Bank’s help, or could he make himself king without it?

  All these questions and more were confused together in Alfric’s head.

  (He had more questions? Yes, he had more indeed. He wondered what rate of interest he was getting on his call account with the Morgrim Bank of Chi’ash-lan, and how tea was faring on the commodities market, and whether there was an end to the drought in Tang; and, indeed, he wondered about half a thousand similar questions.)

  Then he was entering Comptroller Xzu’s office.

  ‘Ah, Alfric, Alfric,’ said Xzu. And then, correcting himself without prompting: ‘My dear Izdarbolskobidarbix, how nice it is to have you back in the fold.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re glad to have me back,’ said Alfric stiffly. ‘I’m aware that the Bank cautioned me not to dare myself against Herself. Now that I have, and now that She is dead, I trust that there will be no long-term repercussions as a result of this act of mine.’

  ‘You trust correctly,’ said Xzu. ‘The Bank does not engage in childish vengeance. One does not throw away a sharp knife merely because it has happened to take a nick out of one’s finger. While your disobedience disappoints us, your disobedience is not crucial in determining your fate. What matters is your overall performance. Overall, you have performed very well, and have proved an asset to the organization.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Alfric.

  ‘Furthermore,’ said Xzu, ‘please be assured that exemplary work always attracts recognition and reward. We are certainly possessed of no superabundance of talent, hence we do our best to encourage and retain the talented. In your case, the Bank sees fit to reward you for all the good work you have put in over the last few years. Accordingly, we hereby create you Banker Second Class.’

  ‘That is appreciated,’ said Alfric dryly. Then: ‘I will remember this courtesy once I have made myself king.’

  ‘Ah, my dear Izdarbolskobidarbix,’ said Banker Xzu. ‘As I remember it, the case was not one of you making yourself king. Rather, you were going to ally yourself with the Bank in a campaign for that position. There is a difference, you know.’

  ‘I am sensible of the fact that it would be difficult for me to obtain the throne without assistance from the Bank,’ said Alfric, doing his best to suppress his impatience. ‘I am grateful to know that the Bank supports me in this endeavour. ’

  ‘Good,’ said Banker Xzu. ‘That speaks of a very mature attitude on your part toward politics and its complexities. Since you are possessed of such an attitude, ^ou will surely not take it amiss if I remind you of the fact that, in politics, what seems an appropriate enterprise today may come to seem quite the opposite on the morrow.’

  ‘That I grant,’ said Alfric cautiously.

  Already, from the tenor of Banker Xzu’s speech, Alfric guessed that the Bank was not going to support him in his drive for the throne. Alfric’s promotion also suggested as much. After all, the Bank would scarcely have gone to the trouble to promote Alfric Danbrog to the rank of Banker Second Class if he were going to be king on the morrow. If the Bank truly expected him to be king, it would either not have bothered with the promotion, or else it would have promoted him straight to Banker First Class as a token of respect and esteem.

  So.

  After taking so much trouble to help Alfric complete his three quests, the Bank was finally withdrawing its support.

  But why?

  Why now?

  ‘As I have said,’ said Xzu, ‘today may think yesterday’s ambitions to be an error. In this case, the Bank’s ambition, which was to make you king, now seems to be such an error. The fault, of course, lies with the Bank itself, since the ambition was conceived by the Bank and was forced upon you against your will. We acknowledge that the error is ours, hence your promotion.’

  ‘I see,’ said Alfric. Then, delicately: ‘But I have always found clarity of vision to benefit from professional attentions. Would you care to serve as my oculist in this matter? To play the ogre to a half-blind Banker Second Class? To instruct me, in other words, in the actual reasons fo
r this change of heart on the Bank’s part?’

  Xzu sighed.

  ‘What you ask is very difficult,’ said Xzu. ‘Were I a glibly nimble master of fiction, I could conjure up a fetching lie for your delectation. However, the truth is that I am not in a position to elucidate the entanglements which constrain the actions of the Bank in this matter. While portentousness is not natural to my nature, I must confess that we have a very, very delicate stage in the existence of the Banking Circle itself, the intricacies of which I am not free to mention; and questions concerning the kingship of Wen Endex have a bearing on these intricacies.’

  Here an ambiguity.

  Exactly what was Banker Xzu trying to say? That Alfric did not possess a security clearance high enough to allow him to know exactly what ‘intricacies’ currently obsessed the Partnership Banks? Or that Comptroller Xzu himself had not been briefed, and so could not instruct his guest?

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Alfric. ‘All this would be much easier to accept if I knew more of what was going on. I appreciate the delicacy of all relationships concerning the Partnership Banks. I know the difficulty of maintaining good and workable relationships between our various and variegated worlds. However, I fail to see quite how the Circle comes to concern itself with the kingship of Wen Endex, a matter which, to the best of my knowledge, has never troubled the Circle before.’

  Xzu sighed again.

  Then:

  ‘Let me be frank,’ said Xzu. ‘The problem is not with the Banks of the Circle. Rather, the problem is with the Izdimir Empire. The Empire does not accept you as a suitable candidate for the throne. Instead, Obooloo demands that Ursula Major attain the throne. Aldarch the Third will not have it any other way. ’

  ‘I see,’ said Alfric.

  His tone made his displeasure plain. ‘Izdarbolskobidarbix, my friend, this is something you will have to endure. We none of us find ourselves living in a perfect world. We all have our little peeves and crotchets, our lists of things we would change were we given godly powers. But we none of us are gods, and so…’

  ‘It seems,’ said Alfric, ‘that we are giving in to the Izdimir Empire with remarkably little struggle.’

  ‘That is the nature of empires, is it not?’ said Xzu. ‘That they can terrorize minor powers by the most shadowy of threats? We know it would be difficult for the empire to make war upon Wen Endex. Nevertheless, it is by no means impossible. It might not be reasonable, but nobody has ever claimed Aldarch the Third to be a slave to reason. Alfric, we cannot afford to risk having our world plunged into war.’

  For a moment, Alfric was almost convinced.

  Then he wondered:

  Was it true?

  Was any of what Xzu was telling him actually true? Furthermore:

  Could it be true?

  Communications between Galsh Ebrek and Obooloo were slow and tortuous, for the Izdimir Empire had no use of the Door which was located in Obooloo. That Secret was guarded by the Bondsman’s Guild of Obooloo, which was at particular pains to protect its Secret now that Aldarch the Third ruled the Empire. Had Al’three known of the Circle of the Partnership Banks, those Doors which linked places as far apart as Stokos and Chi’ash-lan, he would doubtless have sought to launch himself upon a conquest of the world.

  ‘I find it hard,’ said Alfric, ‘to know how we can be in communication with Aldarch the Third, unless one is to presume that he has mastered the Secret of the Partnership Banks.’

  Xzu looked at him intently.

  Then:

  ‘Izdarbolskobidarbix, my friend,’ said Xzu, ‘I am going to tell you a great secret. The Partnership Banks have given Aldarch the Third limited use of communication facilities routed through the Doors of the Circle.’

  ‘What!?’

  Thus Alfric.

  Shocked.

  Appalled.

  This was the one thing which must never happen! No ruler of empire must ever learn of the existence of the Doors. Otherwise the world would be plunged into a terrifying war as imperial ambition strove to master the Circle.

  Xzu smiled.

  ‘Relax, Iz’bix. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Are you familiar with mediums? I mean, with those charlatans who pretend to communicate with the unborn and the dead at seances?’

  ‘I have never dabbled in such rubbish,’ said Alfric stiffly.

  ‘But Aldarch the Third does,’ said Xzu. ‘Through one of his most trusted mediums, he receives intelligence from spies in the World Beyond. He trusts this intelligence, because it regularly proves accurate, at least as far as events in Wen Endex are concerned.’

  Alfric frowned.

  ‘It seems,’ said Alfric, ‘that you are playing a very dangerous game.’

  ‘Dangerous, yes,’ said Xzu. ‘But very profitable. Aldarch the Third pays highly for the intelligence he receives. Furthermore, even if we wished to avoid the danger, we could not. The Bank in Obooloo came up with this idea, and that Bank has forced this idea upon us. We must co-operate. You know how things are.’

  The two men looked at each other.

  For a moment, Alfric was almost convinced.

  Then:

  ‘No,’ said Alfric. ‘I don’t believe what you’re telling me.’

  ‘You don’t? Believe me! It’s all true! Aldarch the Third really does have a medium. He really does believe!’ ‘Perhaps,’ said Alfric. ‘But basic logic tells me it makes no difference to Aldarch the Third whether I sit upon the throne of Wen Endex or whether Ursula Major rules. I am the Wormlord’s grandson. She is the Wormlord’s daughter. We are of the same blood, the same line. If Al’three thinks of us at all, he thinks of us equally as enemies. Surely. Therefore I deduce this to be no decision of the Izdimir Empire. Rather, it is the Bank’s decision. It is not Aldarch the Third who wants to deny me the throne. It is you!’

  Alfric had grown heated while making this accusation. But Xzu did not respond with any anger of his own. Instead, he smiled, somewhat sadly.

  Then:

  ‘Izdarbolskobidarbix,’ said Comptroller Xzu, ‘I’m disappointed with you. You are right, of course. Nevertheless, it would have been more diplomatic for you to have gone along with our little fiction. That would have preserved our good relationships, would it not?’

  ‘So you admit it,’ said Alfric. ‘It is the Bank which wants to deny me the throne.’

  ‘Is that not our privilege?’ said Xzu. ‘Are you not our creature? Did we not make you? Was it not the Bank which first urged you to quest for the three saga swords? Was it not the Bank which showed you how these swords might be won? Naturally you’re angry. But don’t fool yourself, friend Iz’bix. You didn’t make yourself into a contender for the throne. It was the Bank which made you that.’

  ‘Indubitably,’ said Alfric coldly. ‘But why the change of heart? Or was the whole thing an empty exercise right from the very beginning? Did you expect me to die on the quests?’

  ‘No, no, not at all. We did seriously consider making you king. We wanted you to succeed on those quests. But…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But, before allowing you to claim the throne itself, we had to be sure of you. Our decision was that we wanted to test your ability to manipulate the Knights, for such a skill is essential to a king. So we set you a two-fold task. You were first to rouse the Yudonic Knights to action and second to stop them carrying out the very action to which you had roused them.’

  ‘That put me in a very difficult position,’ said Alfric, struggling to control his temper.

  ‘Agreed,’ said Xzu. ‘A position which was almost impossible. That was part of the test. We wanted to measure your true loyalties. To the Bank? Or to your family? Unfortunately, you betrayed the Bank. We told you we needed a seven day delay. You denied it to us.’

  ‘But I killed Herself.’

  ‘That is neither here nor there,’ said Xzu. ‘The Bank never cared whether She lived or died. What mattered to the Bank was whether you would obey us when we commanded you. That was what the test was al
l about. As far as the Bank is concerned, you failed the test, for you proved disloyal and disobedient. Therefore we will not have you as king. That is our decision.’

  ‘The decision is not yours to make,’ said Alfric.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ said Comptroller Xzu.

  ‘The Bank does not make or break the kings of Wen Endex,’ said Alfric coldly.

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ said Xzu. ‘Is that what you really think?’

  ‘I think,’ said Alfric, ‘that I’m going to find out. One way or another.’

  Then he got to his feet and went to the door.

  ‘Iz’bix.’

  Alfric turned.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Iz’bix, are you formally resigning from the Bank?’ ‘Are you askin g me to?’ said Alfric.

  ‘Iz’bix, we’re happy to have you stay. We are disappointed with you. But, as I said before, the Bank is not given to childish vengeance. You do have talent. You can be of great use to us. Your promotion to Banker Second Class is good and valid. In time, you can rise further. But… Alfric… if you strive for the throne then… then we will have to reconsider our position.’

  Alfric paused.

  ‘May I… may I have time to think about it?’ ‘Certainly,’ said Xz u. ‘You’ve been mauled in battle, and you’ve been very ill. Go home, I z’bix. Rest. Sleep. Think it over. Then come back and tell us what you ’ve decided.’

  ‘I will,’ said Alfric.

  But he was lying.

  He had already decided that he would strive for the throne, regard less of the consequences.

  The only question was:

  How?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  She was dead.

  She would never again haunt the nights of Wen Endex.

  With Her death, the Yudonic Knights were no longer governed by their duty to command the night against Her depredations. They were free to reclaim the day.

  Butin honour of the fallen king, Ursula Major decreed that the Knights should continue to live by night until she commanded otherwise. Ursula Major further ruled that, as a token of respect to her dead father, no official business would be conducted in Galsh Ebrek until thee nights after the Wormlord’s funeral.