Revenge of the Rose

by Michael Moorcock

  Murmuring that he still did not understand the significance of the prince’s title, Wheldrake subsided. “If we could help, sir, we would—”

  “Who are these women you seek?” Elric asked.

  “Three sisters, similar in looks and upon a quest or errand of some singular urgency to themselves. They are searching, I gather, for a lost countryman or perhaps even a brother and had asked hereabouts for the Gypsy Nation. When the people heard they sought the Nation they put them on their way but refused all further intercourse. My only advice to you would be to avoid the subject completely, unless it is raised by them! I have a suspicion, moreover, that once you encounter this band of nomads, you have precious little chance of leaving their ranks unscathed.”

  “I am grateful for your advice, Prince Gaynor,” said Elric. “And did you learn who grows so much wheat, and why?”

  “Fixed tenants they are called, and when I asked the same question I was told with a somewhat humourless laugh that it was to feed the locusts. I have heard of stranger practices. There is some tension with the gypsies, I gather. They will not speak much of any of this but become unsettled. The realm’s called by them Salish-Kwoonn, which, you’ll recall, is the name of the city in the Ivory Book. An odd irony, that. I was amused.” And he turned his horse away from them as if he escaped wholly into the abstract, his natural environment, and rode slowly towards that distant depression, those hills of refuse, whose presence was already marked on the horizon by crows and kites, by masses of flies swarming like black smoke.

  “A scholar,” said Wheldrake, “if a little on the cryptic side. You understand him better than do I, Prince Elric. But I wish he had traveled our way. What do you make of the fellow?”

  Elric paused, choosing his words, fiddling with the buckle of his belt. Then he said: “I am afraid of him. I fear him as I have never feared a human creature, mortal or immortal. His doom is terrible, indeed, for he has known the Sanctuary of the Balance, and that is what I yearn for. To have had it—and lost it …”

  “Come, now, sir. You must exaggerate. Odd, he was, to be sure. But affable, I thought. Given his circumstances.”

  Elric shuddered, glad to see Prince Gaynor gone. “Yet I fear him as I fear nothing else.”

  “As you fear yourself, maybe, sir?” And then Wheldrake looked with regret upon the face of his new friend. “I beg you, sir, I did not wish to seem forward.”

  “You are too intelligent for me, Master Wheldrake. Your poet’s eye is perhaps sharper than I would like.”

  “Random instinct, sir, I assure you. I understand nothing and say everything. That’s my doom, sir! Not as grand as some, no doubt, but it gets me in and out of trouble in roughly equal proportions.”

  And with that Master Wheldrake assures himself of a dead fire, breaks down his spit and buries it with regret, keeps hold of his snare, which he tucks in his pocket with a volume which has lost its binding to reveal some vulgar marbling, throws his frock-coat over his shoulder and plunges through the wheat in Elric’s wake. “Did I recite my verse epic, sir, concerning the love and death of Sir Tancred and Lady Mary? In the form of the Northumberland ballad, which was the first poetry I ever heard. The family estates were remote, but I was not lonely there.”

  His voice chirruping and trilling the cadences of a primitive dirge, the red-combed scrivener skipped and scampered to keep up with the tall albino.

  Four hours later, they reached the broad, slow-flowing river and could see, rising on picturesque cliffs above the water, the town Elric sought. Meanwhile Wheldrake declaimed the ballad’s last resounding couplets and seemed as relieved as Elric that his composition was concluded.

  The town appeared to have been carved by fanciful master masons from the glinting limestone of the cliffs and was reached by a fairly narrow track, evidently of artificial construction in places, which wound above the rocks and white water some distance below, rising gradually before it blended with the town’s chief street to wind again between tall, many-storeyed dwellings and warehouses, fanciful public buildings and statuary, topiary and elaborate flower-gardens to become lost among a maze of other thoroughfares and alleys which lay below an ancient castle, itself covered in vines and flowering creepers, dominating both the town and the thirteen-arched bridge which spanned the river at its narrowest point and crossed to a smaller settlement beyond where, evidently, the wealthy citizens had built their pale villas.

  The town had an air of contented prosperity and Elric became optimistic as he saw it lacked any real walls and clearly had not needed to defend itself against aggressors for many years. Now a few local people, in bright, much-embroidered clothing, very different in style from Elric’s or, indeed, Wheldrake’s, greeted them cheerfully and openly, like men and women who know considerable security and are used to strangers.

  “If they welcomed Gaynor, Prince Elric,” said Wheldrake, “then I would guess we would not seem especially alien to them! This place has a Frenchified air to it, reminding me of certain settlements along the Loire, though it lacks the characteristic cathedral. Is there any clue, do you perceive, to their form of religion?”

  “Perhaps they have none,” said Elric. “I have heard of such races.” But clearly Wheldrake disbelieved him.

  “Even the French have religion!”

  The road took them past the first houses, perched on rocks and terraces above them and all displaying the richest flower-gardens Elric remembered. A scent came off them, mingling with the faint smells of paint and cooking, and both travelers found themselves relaxing, smiling at those who hailed them, until Elric stopped for a moment and enquired of a young woman in a white and red smock the name of the town.

  “Why, this is Agnesh-Val, sir. And across the river is Agnesh-Nal. How came you here, gentlemen? Was your boat wrecked at the Forli rapid? You should go to the Distressed Travelers House in Fivegroat Lane, just below Salt Pie Alley. They’ll feed you there, at least. Do you carry the medal of the Insurer’s Guild?”

  “I regret not, madam.”

  “Sadly, then, you will be entitled only to our hospitality.”

  “Which would seem more than generous, lady,” said Wheldrake, offering her a rather inappropriate wink before skipping to catch up with his friend.

  Eventually, through the twists and turns of the old, cobbled streets, they reached the Distressed Travelers House, a gabled building of considerable antiquity which leaned at all angles, as if too drunk to stand without the support of the houses on either side of it, and whose beams and walls bulged and warped in ways Elric would have thought impossible for natural matter not touched by Chaos.

  Within the doorway of this establishment, seeming entirely of a piece with it, both in terms of posture and of age, leaned and sprawled, his limbs at every angle, his head this way, his hat that, a tooth jutting one direction, his pipe another, a creature of such profound thinness and gauntness and melancholy that Elric was moved, obscurely, to apologize and enquire if he had come to the right place.

  “It’s the place that you face, sir, by Our Watcher’s Grace, my lord. Come for charity, have you? For charity and some smart advice?”

  “Hospitality, sir, is what we were offered!” There was an edge to Wheldrake’s outraged chirrup. “Not, sir, charity!” He resembled an angered grouse, his face almost as red as his hair.

  “I care not what fancy words dress the action, my good lords,” and the creature rose, folding and collapsing and extending itself in such a way as to bring itself upright, “I call it charity!” Tiny diamond-lights glittered from cavernous sockets and ill-fitting teeth clacked in flaccid lips. “I care not what dangers you have faced, what calamities have befallen you, what hideous losses you have sustained, what rich men you were, what poor men you have become. Had you not considered these risks, you would not have come this far and ventured across the Divide! Thus you have yourselves alone to blame for your misfortunes.”

  “We were told we might find food at this house,” said Elric evenly. “No
t ill-tempered crowfrighters and discourtesy.”

  “Hypocrites that they are, they lied. The House is closed for redecoration. It is being converted to a restaurant. With luck, it should soon turn a profit.”

  “Well, sir, we have put such narrow notions of accountability behind us in my world,” said Wheldrake. “However, I apologize for disturbing you. We have been misinformed, as you say.”

  Elric, unused to such behaviour and still a Melnibonéan noble, found that he had gripped his sword-hilt without his realizing it. “Old man,” he said, “I am discommoded by your insolence …” Then Wheldrake’s warning hand fell upon the albino’s arm and he collected himself.

  “The old man lies! He lies! He lies!” From behind them, up the hill, a large key ready in his hand, bustled a stocky fellow of fifty or so, his grey hair bristling from beneath a velvet cap, his beard half-tangled, his robes and suitings all awry, as if he had dressed in a hurry from some half-remembered bed. “He lies, good sirs. He lies. (Be off with you, Reth’chat, to plague some other institution!) The man is a relic, gentlemen, from an age most of us have only read about. He would have us judged by our wealth and our martial glory rather than our good will and tranquility of spirit. Good morrow, good morrow. You’ve come to dine, I hope.”

  “Cold and tasteless is the bread of charity,” grumbled the Relic, scuttling down the street towards a group of playing children and failing to scatter them with his stick-insect arms. “Accountability and self-sufficiency! They will destroy the family. We shall all perish. We shall serve at the marching boards, mark my words!”

  And with that he turned the corner into Old Museum Gate and disappeared with a final display of miraculous angularity into an arcade of shops.

  The genial middle-aged man waved his key before inserting it in the ancient door. “He is an advertizement for himself only. You’ll find such blowhards in every town. I take it that our gypsy friends exacted a ‘tax’ from you. What would you have been bringing us?”

  “Gold, mostly,” said Elric, understanding at last the manners and ready lies of a mercenary and a thief, “and precious jewels.”

  “You were brave to make the attempt. Did they find you this side of the Divide?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “And stripped you of everything. You are lucky to have your clothing and weapons. And ’tis as well they did not catch you crossing the Divide.”

  “We waited a season before we were sure of our chance.” This from Wheldrake, entering the spirit of it, as if in a childish game, a knowing grin upon his broad lips.

  “Aye. Others have waited longer.” The door opened silently and they entered a passage lit by glowing yellow lamps, its walls as twisted inside as they were without; its staircases rising in unlikely places and going where none could guess, its passages and chambers appearing suddenly and always of peculiar shapes and angles, sometimes brilliant with candles, sometimes gloomy and musty, as their host led them on, deeper and deeper into the house until they came at last to a large, cheerful hall in the centre of which was a great oaken table, lined with benches—enough space for two score of hungry travelers. There was, however, only one other guest, already helping herself to the rich stew steaming in a pot over the hearth. She was dressed in simple clothes of russet and green, a slender sword on her hip, a dagger to balance it, a muscular, full-hipped figure, broad shoulders and a face of brooding beauty beneath a mass of red-gold hair. She nodded to them as she swung her legs back over the bench and began to eat, clearly showing she did not wish to talk.

  Their host dropped his voice. “I understand your fellow traveler to have experienced exceptional inconvenience to her person and her ambitions just recently. She has expressed some wish not to engage in conversation today. You will find all you need here, gentlemen. There is a servant about somewhere who will see to any particular needs, and I will return in a couple of hours to see what other aid we can supply. We do not discourage failed venturers in Agnesh-Val or we should never trade! It is our policy to help the failed ones just as we profit from the successful ones. This appears both fair and sane to us.”

  “And so it is, sir,” said Wheldrake with approval. “You are of the Liberal persuasion, evidently. One hears so much Toryism as one travels throughout the rea—that is, the world.”

  “We believe in enlightened self-interest, sir, as I think do all civilized peoples. It is in the interest of the community and that larger community beyond to ensure that all are courteously and properly enabled to make what they wish of themselves. Will you eat, sir? Will you eat?”

  Elric was aware of the woman’s moody eyes regarding them as they spoke together and remarked to himself that he had not seen a face more lovely and more determined since Cymoril had lived. Her wide blue eyes were steady and unselfconscious as she chewed slowly, her thoughts unreadable. And then, suddenly, she smiled once before she gave her full attention to her food, leaving Elric with more of a mystery than before.

  Having helped their deep plates to the stew, which gave off a delicious smell, they found themselves places at the table and ate for a while in silence until at last the woman spoke. There was unexpected warm humour in her voice and a certain heartiness which Elric found attractive. “What lie brought you this free meal, boys?”

  “A misunderstanding, lady, rather than a lie,” said Wheldrake diplomatically, licking his spoon and wondering whether to take a second trip to the cauldron.

  “You are no more traders than am I,” she said.

  “That was the chief misunderstanding. Apparently they can imagine no other kind of traveler here.”

  “Apparently so. And you are recently here in this realm. By the river, no doubt.”

  “I do not understand the means,” said Elric, still cautious.

  “But you both seek the three sisters, of course.”

  “It seems that everyone does that,” Elric told her, letting her believe whatever she wished. “I am Elric of Melniboné and this is my friend Master Wheldrake, the poet.”

  “Of Master Wheldrake I have heard.” There was perhaps some admiration in the lady’s voice. “But you, sir, I fear are unknown to me. I am called the Rose and my sword is called Swift Thorn while my dagger is called Little Thorn.” She spoke with pride and defiance and it was clear that she uttered some kind of warning, though what she feared from them Elric could not guess. “I travel the time streams in search of my revenge.” And she smiled down at her empty bowl, as if in self-mocking embarrassment at a shameful admission.

  “And what do the three sisters mean to you, madam?” asked Wheldrake, his little voice now a charming trill.

  “They mean everything. They have the means of leading me to the resolution of all I have lived for, since I swore my oath. They offer me the chance of satisfaction, Master Wheldrake. You are, are you not, that same Wheldrake who wrote The Orientalist’s Dream?”

  “Well, madam—” in some dismay—“I was but newly arrived in a new age. I needed to begin my reputation afresh. And the Orient was all the rage just then. However, as a mature work—”

  “It is exceptionally sentimental, Master Wheldrake. But it helped me through a bad hour or two. And I still enjoy it for what it is. After that comes The Song of Iananthe, which is of course your finest.”

  “But Heavens, madam, I have not yet written the work! It is sketched, that’s all, in Putney.”

  “It is excellent, sir. I’ll say no more of it.”

  “I’m obliged for that, madam. And—” he recovered himself—“also for your praise. I, too, have some affection for my Oriental period. Did you read, perhaps, the novel which was just lately published—Manfred; Or, the Gentleman Hoorii?”

  “Not part of your canon when I last was settled anywhere, sir.”

  And while the pair of them talked of poetry, Elric found himself leaning his head upon his arms and dozing until suddenly he heard Wheldrake say:

  “And how do these gypsies go about unpunished? Is there no authority to ke
ep them in check?”

  “I know only that they are a nation of travelers,” said the Rose quietly, “perhaps a large nomad horde of some description. They call themselves the Free Travelers or the People of the Road and there is no doubt that they are powerful enough for the local folk to fear. I have some suggestion that the sisters rode to join the Gypsy Nation. So I would join it, too.”

  And Elric remembered the wide causeway of beaten mud and wondered if that had any connection with the Gypsy Nation. Yet they would not league themselves, surely, with the supernatural? He became increasingly curious.

  “We are all three at a disadvantage,” said the Rose, “since we allowed our hosts to assume we were victims of the gypsies. This means we cannot pursue any direct enquiries but must understand elliptically what we can. Unless we were to admit our deception.”

  “I have a feeling this would make us somewhat more unpopular. These people are proud of their treatment of traders. But of non-traders, we have not learned. Perhaps their fate is less pleasant.” Elric sighed. “It matters not to me. But if you would have company, lady, we’ll join forces to seek these sisters.”

  “Aye, for the moment I see no harm in such an alliance.” She spoke sagely. “Have you heard anything of them?”

  “As much as have you,” said Elric, truthfully. Within him now a voice was speaking. He tried to quiet it but it would not be silent. It was his father’s voice. The sisters. Find them. They have the box. They have the box. The voice was fading now. Was it false? Was he deceived? He had no other course to follow, he decided, so he might as well follow this one and hope, ultimately, it might lead him to the rosewood box and his father’s stolen soul. Besides, there was something he enjoyed in this woman’s company that he felt he might never find again, an easy, measured understanding which made him, in spite of his careful resolve, wish to tell her all the secrets of his life, all the hopes and fears and aspirations he had known, all the losses; not to burden her, but to offer her something she might wish to share. For they had other qualities in common, he could tell.