The Werewolf and the Wormlord coaaod-8

by Hugh Cook

  ‘The Polta Door?’ said Alfric, who had never heard of any such thing.

  ‘A secret way,’ said Nappy. ‘A secret way in and out of Saxo Pall. My secret, sir, known to me and now to you. Not to anyone else.’

  ‘I’d rather leave by the main gate.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that,’ said Nappy. ‘They’re waiting for your body. Ursula Major, I mean. Oh, and Ciranoush Norn. They’re expecting it. They won’t come looking for it, not yet, they know my work’s not always quick. But they do want the body, oh yes, and they wouldn’t let it out of their gates, not if they had a choice in the matter.’ ‘So they want to kill me,’ said Alfric. ‘So how do I survive hereafter?’

  ‘I can’t help you there,’ said Nappy. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve done what I can, but the rest is up to you.’

  Nappy guided Alfric to the Polta Door and showed him out into the night. Then Nappy let the door close behind them.

  ‘Where did it go?’ said Alfric, staring at the rock walls of Saxo Pall. ‘It’s vanished!’

  ‘It’s closed, that’s all,’ said Nappy. ‘Here, young sir. Put your hand here. That’s right. And the other one there, just there. Now. Push inward and downward with the left hand, inward and upward with the right. See?’ What appeared to be solid rock gave beneath Alfric’s hands, and the Polta Door opened.

  ‘Finding the place,’ said Nappy, ‘that’s the thing. Finding the place. Landmarks, that’s the thing. Line up landmarks.’

  Alfric orientated himself. Looked up the slopes of Mobius Kolb to the walls of the Bank and to the moonshining Gloat on the heights beyond.

  ‘I can find the place again,’ said Alfric.

  ‘I hope you can, young sir,’ said Nappy calmly. ‘Because I won’t be here to help you.’

  Then Nappy said one final goodbye, went into Saxo Pall through the Polta Door, and let that secret portal close behind him.

  Alfric was left alone in the night, which was bitterly cold. The moon was null, but the uncanny light of the Oracle of Ob still shone bright and strong, serving as an acceptable substitute.

  But Alfric needed no substitute. Nor did he need the moon itself. Tonight, he knew. He was not the moon’s minion but the Commander of his own Powers, the Commander of the Power to Change. He could do so now, if he wished. Wrists thickening, hairs darkening, teeth lengthening, body girthing and strengthening.

  He had the choice.

  He could Change, and flee Galsh Ebrek, and live wild as a ravening enemy of the city, live wild in the forest, savaging and destroying at will.

  But:

  ‘That is not my choice.’

  So said Alfric Danbrog, then turned his back on the Oracle of Ob and started walking down Mobius Kolb, making for Varnvelten Street and his home.

  Of course, this was not the end of the matter. There would always be the moon, and the temptations of the moon. There would always be the memory of those three months in the Qinjoks when he had lived as a wolf, running wild and shameless through the wilderness.

  But…

  He had faced his great crisis and had survived it. While he was a shape-changer, he knew himself to be fit to live among humans. He had never been entirely sure of that till now. The great burden of his life had been the fear that the madness of the moon would one day overcome him; that his efforts to restrain himself would fail; that he would become one with the ravening beasts, gladly slaughtering any and all without thought for the consequences.

  Now he knew otherwise.

  He would never yield to such temptation, except by an act of untrammelled free will; and this knowledge of selfpossession compensated for whatever he had lost. Though he had been defeated in his efforts to win the throne of Galsh Ebrek, at least he had full possession of himself.

  ‘Besides,’ said Alfric, ‘the game is not yet played out.’

  He was still alive.

  And Ursula Major could not kill him openly, for she had granted him a pardon in the presence of many witnessing Yudonic Knights. When challenged to combat by the ork Morgenstem, Ursula had pardoned Alfric; and law and tradition did not allow such a mercy to be withdrawn.

  ‘She wants to kill me,’ said Alfric to himself, ‘but it must be done by stealth. Well. I have eyes and ears and hands and feet, and a sword to guard myself, and a stiletto, and a glass eye besides, so what fear have I of assassins?’

  He realized that, though he was speaking to himself, his voice was loud. He must be a little drunk.

  ‘What of it?’ said Alfric. ‘A man may have a little drink to celebrate a victory, may he not?’

  Then he went down Mobius Kolb, walking boldly through the night, careless of any danger he might encounter. He went directly to Varnvelten Street. As far as he was concerned, that was enough. His enemies thought Nappy to be killing him slowly in some secret place of screaming horror. They would not look for him in his home or elsewhere, not tonight.

  When Alfric got home, he found his house had been looted. Candles lit by the looters were still burning.

  ‘Robbers!’ said Alfric.

  And tried to work out exactly what had been stolen.

  Viola Vanaleta’s favourite chair. Viola Vanaleta’s favourite table. Vanaleta’s spare clothes. Vanaleta’s lantern, the special stained-glass lantern which had been a wedding gift from her grandmother.

  No, the house had not been burgled.

  Rather, Alfric’s wife had come and had removed all that belonged to her, together with all those items of jointly held property to which she had some special claim.

  ‘So this is it,’ muttered Alfric. ‘This is final. What next? Divorce papers, I suppose.’

  And he began to feel weary, very weary, so weary that he wondered if perhaps Nappy had poisoned him. Reeling with fatigue, he stumbled to his bed, and laid himself down without bothering to take off his boots. And when he woke it was morning, and sun was streaming in through a small glass window near his head, and at first he was puzzled by that light, for it was so long since he had seen the sun that he was almost ready to deny the reality of the sun’s existence.

  ‘A new day,’ said Alfric.

  Yes, a new day.

  And now he had his problems to attend to.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Alfric scavenged around for a meal, and was rewarded by the discovery of three small cakes of cooked oatmeal and a lump of dried fish. While he was taking breakfast, he schemed diligently. The game of power was not played out yet; but, if Alfric was going to survive to play much longer, he would have to make Ursula Major understand that she needed him.

  What did he have that she wanted? Or might be made to want? Of course! His knowledge of finance!

  Alfric had long observed that the government of Wen Endex was deficient in that it had no properly organized system of taxes. Given such a system, the streets of Galsh Ebrek could be properly paved; roads could be built across the nation; the swamps could be drained; and many other things equally as marvellous could be accomplished.

  Once Ursula Major understood that Alfric could arrange all this on her behalf, surely she would rather have him as an ally than as an enemy. And once installed in the power system, he could work to put himself on the throne.

  ‘It will work,’ said Alfric to himself.

  Then was startled by a knock on the door.

  Alfric feared this might signal the advent of Ciranoush Zaxilian Nom at the head of a gang of headhunters. But his visitors proved to be the orks, Cod and Morgenstem.

  ‘Hello,’said Alfric.

  ‘Hello Alfric,’ said Morgenstem.

  ‘May we come in?’ said Cod. ‘There’s something we’d like to talk about.’

  ‘I’m afraid,’ said Alfric, ‘that this isn’t a convenient moment for a talk.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Cod.

  ‘Because,’ said Alfric, ‘I’m going to Saxo Pall.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Morgenstem. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’

  ‘I don’t care if it’s wise or not,’ said Alfr
ic. ‘I’m going.’ ‘There’s things going on in that castle which aren’t really nice,’ said Morgenstem.

  ‘Such as what?’ said Alfric.

  ‘Such as people dying,’ said Morgenstem. ‘Nappy, for instance.’

  ‘What happened to him?’ said Alfric.

  ‘He died,’ said Morgenstem. ‘He died in his sleep last night.’

  Alfric knew what it meant ‘to die in one’s sleep’. Alfric could not help himself. He shuddered, imagining the wet bone, the shattered teeth, the eyes avulsed, the intestines spraddled across the room. ‘To die in your sleep’ — in Wen Endex, that denoted the most hideous of all possible deaths. Who had commanded such a death? The smooth-breasted Ursula Major? Or the female Thrug? Or had the execution been commanded by Ciranoush Zaxilian Nom?

  Whatever the truth, Nappy’s death served to increase Alfric’s sense of personal danger. Unless he could secure himself the protection of some kind of power base, he had best leave Wen Endex to preserve his own life.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about Nappy,’ said Alfric, ‘but it doesn’t change the facts. I’m still going. I’ve got a clear choice. Either I do a deal with Ursula Major or I flee the city.’

  ‘What kind of deal are you thinking of doing?’ said Cod.

  ‘I’m going to offer to run her inland revenue department,’ said Alfric.

  ‘But she doesn’t have an inland revenue department!’ said Cod.

  ‘A deficiency,’ said Alfric, ‘which I hope to remedy.’

  ‘Can we come with you?’ said Cod. ‘To Saxo Pall, I mean.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Alfric. ‘If you want to.’

  ‘Good,’ said Cod. ‘If they threaten you, we’ll say we’ve made you part of our diplomatic staff.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Alfric, genuinely touched to find the orks selflessly prepared to go to such efforts on his behalf.

  In company with the orks, Alfric went through the streets of Galsh Ebrek.

  It was hot.

  Hot?

  Yes, it was hot!

  The sun was high in the sky, for it was not morning at all, it was early afternoon. Which meant that Alfric had not just eaten breakfast. Rather, he had consumed lunch.

  Rooftop snow, slushed by sun, was melting fast. Already, flowers were unfolding, life ressurecting itself from the mud, pushing outward to the sun in a flamboyance of purple, a roseburst of red. Alfric saw no miracle in this, for he had lived in Wen Endex all his life, and was accustomed to the violence of the onset of spring. Nevertheless, he was pleased to find the cold weather broken, and the sun ruling in splendour in the heavens above.

  Up the slopes of Mobius Kolb went Alfric Danbrog, then into Saxo Pall went he with the orks Cod and Morgenstem in tow. Alfric demanded an audience with Ursula Major.

  ‘I’ll see what I can arrange,’ said a very nervous Guignol Grangalet.

  ‘You do that,’ said Cod the ork. ‘And make sure you don’t accidentally arrange Alfric’s death, because the ogre king wouldn’t like that at all, oh no, King Dimple-Dumpling would be very upset with you if you did a thing like that.’

  Guignol Grangalet looked more nervous than ever. ‘Go!’ said Cod. ‘ Don’t keep us waiting!’

  And the Chief of Protocol fled.

  Alfric and the orks were shortly shown into the Council Chamber. This was a big room dominated by a horseshoe table of polished oak. The windows of that room made no concession to the requirements of defence, for they were wide and tall. They had been unshuttered, so the sun splashed into the Council Chamber.

  Several people were sitting at the horseshoe table, but there was no sign of Ursula Major. Alfric turned to the person who sat in the Chair of Honour. That person was Justina Thrug, daughter of Lonstantine Thrug and sometime ruler of the distant island of Untunchilamon.

  ‘I have come here,’ said Alfric, ‘to see Ursula Major. Where is she?’

  Justina Thrug looked at him. A small smile played about her lips. The pet owl which sat upon Justina’s shoulder opened one eye — huge, orange, malevolent — and stared at Alfric for a moment before lidding its vision once more.

  ‘Ursula,’ said Justina, choosing her words carefully, ‘is sitting in the throneroom, playing at being king of Galsh Ebrek.’

  ‘I want to see her,’ said Alfric harshly.

  Ju?*ina smiled again.

  Sun shone bright on an ornamental bronze comb placed in her hair. Sun glinted from the heavy gold rings on her fingers, and dazzled from the cut diamonds which adorned those rings. Her father’s battle-shield was hung on the wall behind her, and the reflected glory of this aegis shone around her.

  ‘Izzy, my darling,’ said Justina. ‘I don’t think you really want to see little Ursula. I think you want to see the ruler of Galsh Ebrek.’

  ‘Which is?’ said Alfric.

  Justina Thrug smiled. Like a cat with cream. Alfric looked around the table. There sat Ciranoush Zaxilian Norn. And there sat the elderly Banker Eg. And there, Comptroller Xzu. And, besides, five Yudonic Knights from the greatest of the Families.

  Only then did Alfric remember how he had seen Justina Thrug in the precincts of the Bank shortly after his return from his latest visit to the Qinjoks. He had asked what she had been doing there. He had been told she had been arranging a loan. He had believed it. But now he knew differently. She had been playing politics, even then.

  This was the most devastating revelation Alfric had ever endured in his whole life.

  Never before had he felt so totally outclassed.

  He had thought himself to be right at the centre of the politics of Galsh Ebrek, whereas in fact he had been a peripheral figure on the fringes of political life. While he killed dragons, dared giants and dealt with vampires, he had imagined himself to be winning the throne of Wen Endex. In fact, the true power brokers had been wheeling and dealing right in the heart of Galsh Ebrek itself.

  So…

  Had the Bank ever truly intended Alfric to become Wormlord?

  He knew, now, that he would never know. More likely, the Bank had threatened from time to time to make Alfric king, using this threat for political leverage. Or…

  Alfric gave up.

  He would never work out all the intricacies of the power game which had been played in Galsh Ebrek.

  But one thing was for certain. He had thought himself the complete politician: but he had been as a child compared to these people.

  ‘Well, Izzy my darling,’ said Justina, breaking into Alfric’s long silence. ‘You’ve had time enough to think. Has your thinking proved profitable? Do you understand a little better now?’

  ‘I do,’ said Alfric thickly.

  The Thrug smiled, showing remarkably few teeth but a good deal of tongue and gum.

  ‘Well then, Izzy my darling,’ said she. ‘What can we do for you?’

  ‘I would like to have a word with Banker Xzu in private,’ said Alfric.

  ‘You may,’ said Justina. ‘Your orks can wait here.’

  ‘They’re not my orks,’ said Alfric. ‘They’re King Dimple-Dumpling’s orks.’

  ‘Relax,’ said Justina. ‘We know your orks to be ambassadors. We’re hardly going to kill diplomats for their blubber, are we now?’

  This comment was so shockingly offensive that it left Alfric wordless. So he made no further remarks as he accompanied Comptroller Xzu from the Council Chamber.

  Xzu led Alfric to a small office near the Council Chamber. As they seated themselves on either side of a rosewood desk, Alfric looked round the office, seeing abaci, foreign-language books and paperweights which he guessed to have been manufactured in Chi’ash-lan.

  Alfric guessed this to be Xzu’s private office. And judged, moreover, that the office had been long occupied.

  ‘Perhaps you think,’ said Xzu, ‘that this office bespeaks a very close relationship between Saxo Pall and the Flesh Traders’ Financial Association. If that is indeed what you think, then you are entirely correct. The relationship between the Bank and the thr
one is very close, much closer than low-ranked bankers imagine it to be. Tell me, Alfric, what did you come here for?’

  ‘I came here,’ said Alfric, ‘to suggest to Ursula Major that I be appointed head of her inland revenue department.’

  Xzu laughed.

  His laugh was mirthless.

  ‘A poor joke, Alfric,’ said Xzu. ‘If that’s what you really intended, I suggest you’ve taken leave of your senses. You know where you should be right now, Alfric?’

  ‘Where?’ said Alfric.

  ‘On your way to Port Domax, that’s where. Another city, another country, another continent. A new start. Take my advice, Alfric. Run. If you stay, you die. Nappy died last night.’

  ‘So I heard,’ said Alfric.

  ‘And?’ said Xzu. ‘Are you going to run? I can assist you with passage money if you’re short of cash.’

  ‘No thank you,’ said Alfric. ‘I’m not going. I want you to convene a formal meeting of the Governors of the Bank. I want to ask for the Bank’s support and protection.’

  ‘You won’t get it,’ said Xzu.

  ‘Even so,’ said Alfric, ‘I still want you to convene that meeting. I am a Banker Second Class. I have a right to be heard.’

  ‘Alfric,’ said Comptroller Xzu, ‘I have news for you. You’re not a banker of any class. The Bank has expelled you. Your place in the Flesh Traders’ Financial Association has been given to Ciranoush Zaxilian Nom.’

  Alfric stared at Xzu.

  ‘It’s true, Alfric,’ said Comptroller Xzu. ‘I’m not joking. You’re out. Nom is in.’

  ‘You — you must help me,’ said Alfric thickly. ‘You must help me to fight back. You must!’

  ‘Must?’ said Xzu. ‘I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.’

  ‘You must!’ said Alfric. ‘Or — or I’ll expose you.’ ‘Expose me?’ s aid Xzu.

  ‘Yes! I’ll tell them what you did!’

  ‘And What did I do?’ said Xzu.