by KW Jeter
"Looks bad," said Tafe in her usual laconic manner. Her face betrayed no sign of tension, yet I knew that her thoughts were on the problem as frantically as mine were.
"Even if we were lucky enough to gather together all the other Excaliburs," I mused aloud, "it would do no good without this one that's lost to us now. And bloody well lost it is, too. The Morlocks have the only Time Machine, and thus the only access to that sword, and we have no hope of winning past the Morlocks without Excalibur restored to its true power and in the hands of Arthur again." I fell silent, the rigid obstinacy of the conundrum before us paralysing my means of speech. The darkness was spreading through my heart, the darkness that would soon swell, fester and cover the Earth if no spark of light could be found in this blackest of times.
All my recent efforts and exertions were catching up with me now, as though all along the poisons of fatigue and weariness had been draining into this low point and I had at last stumbled into the bottomless pool they formed. Perhaps an Arthur, a true hero, could battle on and on without rest or respite but a mere human such as I would feel the effects sooner or later. My very bones felt tired, limp from the pervasive damp and chill. It's one thing to face great odds, but even the smallest struggle, if undertaken without hope, looms and swells with the fatal poisons of despair.
I could tell that Tafe felt the same way, though she had intimated nothing like this aloud. She sat in a corner of the chamber, empty now except for the two of us, gazing at the drained goblet in her hands without seeing it.
Idly, I reached and drew the cloth-wrapped bundle across the table toward me. Felknap had brought our poor Excalibur from out of safekeeping and left it with us while he put the exhausted Clagger to bed. What the old professor's motives were in doing so was unclear to me. I lifted the bundle in my hands, the wrapping stiff and darkened from immersion in the dirty waters of the sewers. The cords that bound it slipped off easily and the cloths fell away, leaving the blade exposed to the chamber's flickering torchlight.
What an unholy conjunction of science and magic had weakened the ancient weapon! Even in its diminished state, its rightful power leeched away by its cruelly distant duplicates, it was still an impressive vision. The gleaming metal of the blade shone red as blood in the torchlight, and the jewelled eyes of the twin serpents that coiled about the hilt sparked with the same fire. Enough could be made of the obscured runic engraving on the blade to catch-the mind as one's fingers ran along the fiat of the weapon. An evil work was that which had clouded over these sacred letters. When would they be read again, and understood by the eyes for which they were meant? The hand that by ancient right should be holding this weapon might even now be clutching at the failing heart that staggered in an old man's chest.
I was aware of Tafe watching me as I gripped the sword's haft and held it out before me, the cutting edge uppermost. So much seemed to balance on that fine line slicing without moving through the thick noisome air. Not the least of the things poised on the blade's edge was myself. Which was it to be? I could set the blade down and creep away ashamed, to die here or back on the surface, no matter which. Or on the sword's other side lay more pain and effort and perhaps even a crueller death at the end of it all, with not even the faintest glimmer of hope that the trials would accomplish anything at all. Nothing to sustain us in the battle but our will and a faith so blind as not even to see how dark the valley was through which it passed.
Though treacherous cunning had made the sword only a quarter of its true weight, its burden was still heavy in my outstretched hand, and my arm began to ache from holding it out before me. I gazed down its gleaming length for what must have been an even longer time, then lowered it carefully down onto the wrappings spread out on the table. As I retied the cloths about the sword, I looked over at Tafe's waiting face.
"An idea has occurred to me," I said almost casually, though my heart was beating wildly in my chest at the closeness of the decision between life and living death. "A plan, perhaps," I went on. "Tell me what you think of it…"
9
Morlock Hospitality
"Go straight down this tunnel," said Professor Felknap, his gnarled hand trembling as it pointed the way. "It'll be quite a distance, and a good deal fallen down toward the last part. Just pick your way over the rubble until you come to a T, then go right. If the rats give you any trouble – they're bigger in these parts – just wave your torch at them and they'll back off. You'll see the lights of the Morlocks' encampment, if they don't come upon you first."
I nodded as I lifted Excalibur, now wrapped in fresh cloths and bound with leather straps onto my back. The familiar weight of the sword felt encouraging across my shoulder blades. "Very well," I said. "Turn right at the T. I doubt that we'll have any trouble finding them."
"It might be better for you if you did get lost on the way." The professor's lean face lengthened as though weighted down by his forebodings. "This plan of yours strikes me as being little more than a short walk to your deaths."
"Have you some other plan to propose?"
"No," he said. "You know I don't. Maybe if I thought about it more…"
"There's no time for that," I said. "Who knows how many days or hours we have left? Either Tafe and I take our chances with this scheme, or we can all creep back into the lowest hole of the Lost Coin World and wait for death to come."
"Go, then." Felknap clasped my hand for a moment. "It's better to risk it on your feet then stay back here with two such tired old men as Clagger and myself."
"When he's recovered his strength," I said, "send him back up to the surface to look after Arthur. I have no idea how much time our little adventure will take before we can return to the king."
"Yes, of course I'll send Clagger. And I'll have watch kept for you here – when you come back this way."
"Let's go," said Tafe impatiently. She lifted her torch to the opening of the tunnel.
"Good luck," called Felknap after us. We were only a little ways into the tunnel and I could see its circular opening behind us, and no longer the old professor's worried face.
A pair of small red eyes appeared near my feet, then disappeared with an angry chittering noise and a scrabble of claws as I waved my torch at them. Tafe walked on before me, leading the way to our rendezvous with the Morlocks.
In my mind I reviewed the scanty details of our plan. It held no carefully mapped-out course of action for us. Little more than an opening gambit it seemed, which would thrust us into a game with fatal consequences for the smallest error.
The reasoning behind my plan was this – Dr. Ambrose had not reappeared upon the scene, as he surely would have if he were able to. There was every indication that he knew his way around these depths below London. So his continued absence could mean either that his plot to keep Merdenne bottled up was still in effect, or a grim thought – Merdenne had somehow managed to overpower Ambrose, dispose of him for good, and return to an unhindered career of master minding the Morlocks' invasion. If the latter were true, then there would indeed be no hope of achieving our goal, for what chance would we have against Merdenne, forewarned and beyond any interference by Ambrose?
But if both of these powerful figures were still absent, then there was a small thread of hope which we could perhaps follow to success. For with Merdenne suddenly gone, surely a state of some small confusion had arisen among the Morlocks. Not enough to prevent their invasion of England and the world beyond – that would still undoubtedly go off after only a small delay. However, the retrieving of the Excalibur duplicate from its original hiding place in the Grand Tosh indicated – at least I hoped it did – that a degree of uncertainty had crept into the Morlocks' knowledge of the situation.
Our enemy had no way of knowing that a plot was underway to reunite the scattered Excaliburs, as Merdenne would not have revealed his setback at our hands to his confederates. Now that the schemer was not about to contradict us, it was my intention to present Tafe and myself to our enemies the Morlocks, a
nd claim for ourselves the distinction of being Merdenne's lieutenants. A lie as audacious as that held some chance of succeeding, if only by the sheer magnitude of it. We also had one of the Excaliburs to back up our claim. How, I intended to ask of the Morlocks, could we have gotten possession of such an object unless we were indeed important associates of Merdenne?
A simple reversal of facts would suffice to explain the sudden departure of Merdenne from the scene: to prevent Ambrose from interfering, Merdenne had worked a spell to keep them both trapped in a distant time. In his absence, Tafe and I were acting as conductors of his orders to the Morlocks.
From there onward our course would have to be played by ear, so to speak. It would be useless to anticipate the twists and turns our lies would have to take in order to succeed in winning the confidence of the Morlocks. If we managed to do so, we would then invent some pretext for reuniting our Excalibur with the one in their possession, and then somehow attempt to get away from them with it. Two more duplicates of the sword were hidden somewhere else in the world! I put these out of my mind, so as not to have my heart quail at the enormity of the task that lay before us.
Our easy progress down the tunnel soon came to an end. Small fragments of rubble grated beneath our bootsoles and we held ourselves carefully as the footing became even more precarious. Soon the rubble mounted into great banks filling the tunnel from side to side. Over these we crawled, holding our torches before us as well we could. One pile of shards was so high as to leave only a foot or so of space between it and the roof of the tunnel. We slithered through the gap on our stomachs. Something in the darkness behind us nipped at my ankle as I went through, but I shook it loose and was gratefully on the other side.
A pool of stagnant muck had collected against the opposite wall of this dam, and it was through this we waded knee deep hoping no pitfall was concealed beneath the slimy surface. So inured had I become to the foul conditions of the universe that these sewers and passageways formed, that I was scarcely aware of the ordinarily nauseating odour that was emitted by the decaying matter in the water. A portion of my mind, though, ticked steadily away, longing for a hot bath and a cologne-scented Turkish towel. With one hand I touched the swaddled Excalibur on my back, and pressed on.
The passageway came to an end. On either side similar tunnels branched off. This was the T section to which Felknap had directed us. Tafe gestured with her torch to the passageway to the right, and I followed behind her.
Evidence of some kind of directed activity was apparent as we went. The floor of the tunnel had been drained, with small gutters dug along the sides to carry off any water that did collect. What rubble there was had been carefully swept from the centre of the passageway.
Tafe stopped suddenly and held up her hand. "I hear something," she whispered, turning her ear to the tunnel's far end.
After a few seconds of silence, the sounds were noticeable to me as well. Mechanical noises as of engines, combined with scraping and sliding. Supplies being moved about, perhaps? Voices as well, shouting out orders and directions, though I could hear those only faintly. In the sewers' odd acoustics it was impossible to tell how close we were to the Morlocks' subterranean beachhead.
We resumed our progress. On one hand, we wished to proceed as cautiously as possible in order to see as much of the situation as we could before entering into it. However, we also wished to present as confident an aspect as possible to any of our enemy that chanced upon us. A show of timidity would seal our fate as securely as an outright admission of our true identities and plans.
The noises grew steadily louder as we neared them. I could make out the harsh gutturals of the Morlocks quite distinctly, the sound of their bestial voices raising a tremor of loathing along the skin of my arms. I fought the feeling down, reminding myself that I had to present myself as a friend to these creatures.
The tunnel turned to one side. From around the corner we could see a dim bluish light seeping. This illumination, I surmised, was probably that which the Morlocks found least painful to their sensitive eyes. We were almost upon them in their covert stronghold. I braced my backbone and positioned myself at Tafe's side as we walked toward the light of our enemies.
No sooner had we turned the corner than a chorus of basso shouts sounded all about us. Figures leapt out of their hiding places in the passageway behind us and brandished their weapons at our backs. A similar horde of Morlocks, outfitted in the same type of drab military uniforms as the others of their breed I had seen, arranged themselves in a semi-circle before us. Even if we had wished to, there was no possibility of escape from them.
The ugly band, their squat-fingered hands shading their eyes from our torches, jabbered at each other and growled at Tafe and myself. The sight of so many of their loathsome, death-pale faces swimming around me aroused the keenest nausea in the base of my stomach. The feeling was not relieved when the largest of the Morlocks, with a wrinkled face, presumably from age, resembling the bottom of an unbaked loaf, pressed the point of his bayoneted rifle against my abdomen.
I drew myself as erect as possible and glared at my captors. "See here!" I blustered, injecting as much fire and steel into my voice as I could. "What the bloody hell is the meaning of this! Get that rude pigsticker out of my gut this instant or I'll have you cleaning out every sordid privy between here and the abyss. Do you hear me!"
The Morlock's eyes grew even more saucer-like as he goggled at me. Under the onslaught of my barking he drew back the point of his bayonet and stood in mute befuddlement. His startled companions had fallen silent as well.
"The same goes for you, horse's ass," said Tafe to the one who had brought his bayonet up against her stomach. "Put it away or get ready to eat it." Her threat seemed clear to him despite his lack of English. With a much deflated expression on his pasty face, he took away his weapon and turned to the leader of his little troop for further orders or simple reassurance.
Standing in front of me, the wrinkle-faced one looked me over dubiously. Clearly we were not any of the men from the Lost Coin World. Who then, he was obviously wondering, could we be? And our behaviour was equally puzzling to him. Not only were we not visibly afraid, we were doing our best to seem imperious and disdainful of the whole ugly lot of them.
The mental effort proved to be too much for the leader of the Morlock patrol. I almost felt sorry for the creature as, with a frankly bewildered expression, he dispatched one of the group toward the light and noise farther along the tunnel's length.
"Very good, my repulsive friend." I nodded approvingly at the Morlock. "I trust the superior for which you sent has a greater command of English than you do."
"Ghrah?" He made the little beseeching noise deep in his wattled throat.
"That's right. You keep telling yourself that and everything will turn out fine."
"Look at this little toad over here," said Tafe. "Isn't he a beauty?"
"Lovely." The face of the one in question swung toward me as I spoke. "Reminds me of a Pekingese my maiden aunt once had."
Several minutes passed as we discussed the varied features of the motley crew surrounding us. We made no move to get past them, as Tafe and I agreed that such an attempt might cause panicky defensive measures on the Morlocks' parts. Better to wait and confront the personage for whom the wrinkled sergeant had sent.
As the time lengthened, though, doubts began gnawing my confidence from within. What if the band's superior refused to come and see, but simply issued an order to dispatch the unknown intruders? What if Merdenne had indeed escaped from Ambrose's trap and was here, already aware of our every intention? These and a host of vaguer fears moved through my thoughts. If the Morlocks managed to perceive them, our little confidence game would be over.
At last, footsteps and voices sounded from down the tunnel The Morlock who had been sent reappeared, jabbering excitedly as he trotted along at the side of a much taller, striding figure.
As this new entity approached us, I could see that Ambros
e's information about there being different types of Morlocks was correct. This one, being taller, lacked the squat, toadlike body shape of the others. The same flaxen hair flowed down the neck, but the death-pale face had a higher forehead and thinner lips and nose. A marked degree of intelligence showed in the great round eyes as they flicked from my face to Tafe's and back again. Clearly this was a member of some intellectually superior variety of Morlock, fit for directing the activities of his brethren less gifted in mental capacity. As befitted his position of command, various insignia were displayed upon the shoulders and breast of a finely tailored uniform.
"About time you got here," I said sharply to the figure as the circle of Morlocks parted at his arrival. He stood in front of Tafe and me, his jack-booted legs spread wide as be looked us over.
I lowered my brows and returned his stare, curling my lips into a haughty expression of disdain. His eyes met mine and held for several seconds as his pale forehead furrowed in puzzlement over the enigma we presented to him.