The White Wolf's Son

by Michael Moorcock

  “Unless they possessed some enormous power which they were convinced could defeat us,” said Monsieur Zodiac. He seemed the most on edge of the men. He was constantly checking the watches he wore on both wrists.

  “And decided to employ it because they knew our numbers would never be weaker,” murmured Lieutenant Fromental.

  “You mean this is a trap that pair set for us?” Herr Lobkowitz put his head down, his hands behind his back, and began to pace. “Yet how could they have known the roads?”

  “We grow too used to conspiracy, gentlemen.” Monsieur Zodiac had recovered himself and leaned against the piano, lighting a cigarette and waving a dismissive hand. “They are here to spy on us. They travel in our wake.” He stepped to the French windows and flung them open. The air was warm, and his action had the effect of dispelling any anxieties entertained by his companions. He flicked his ash contemptuously out into the darkness. But he moved, I thought, with wary speed, ready to contain, with instant strategies, any attack on us. I was sure I heard the mumble of conversation beyond the tall garden wall. “They trace the detritus of our passing,” added the albino, addressing only the sweet-smelling garden. Then the mumbled voices stopped abruptly, and Monsieur Zodiac laughed under his breath. “If they have the power, they are saving it.”

  “What power? Saving for what?” I couldn’t help asking.

  “Power to tip us out of the world’s saucer!” As Colonel Bastable glared at him, the Chevalier St. Odhran burst into raucous laughter. “Well, Colonel, she might as well know these aren’t your usual child abductors. And with whatever small powers we have among us, we fight the forces of annihilation itself.”

  “No child should carry such burdens,” murmured Monsieur Zodiac, his voice suddenly soft.

  St. Odhran agreed. “But we have all known children who have borne such burdens well. True?”

  It was pretty clear to me that something had gone wrong. The way they exchanged glances and lowered their voices when they didn’t want me to hear was a bit of a clue. When St. Odhran began to speak rapidly in French, it was all I could do to keep up with him, though I could understand the Frenchmen when they replied to him. “They have selected their ground, then,” said Lieutenant Fromental. “They must feel pretty confident.”

  “No doubt. We have more than enough to keep them at bay.” Herr Lobkowitz sounded a bit on the grim side. “And there is much they must achieve, even after the ground has been taken and named. They were ahead of us there, I’ll grant you.”

  “Never try to be too subtle with these people,” said Monsieur Zodiac. “They are brutes. They should be disposed of like brutes.”

  Colonel Bastable and some of the others seemed a little embarrassed by this, as if Monsieur Zodiac’s ruthless remedies might be theirs, also.

  “We shall certainly take every precaution against them.” Herr Lobkowitz opened the French door and looked out into the night, sniffing the night-scented stock and jasmine. “Nothing here now.”

  His reassurance was enough for them. They relaxed at once. I was envious of any group of people who could trust one another so thoroughly.

  Mrs. Hawthornthwaite came in. She had evidently been counting sheets and towels and so on. “I’m sure it would be no problem to put you up for a few days, gents. We’ve had parties of cavers and campers and even a rock-and-roll band staying before now. I’ll have to wait and check with Oo’s parents when they get back, of course. They shouldn’t be long now. All they had to do was pick up some fish in Morecombe. Then they were on their way home. They’d have phoned if they had any other plans.”

  “Certainly not, dear lady.” The Chevalier St. Odhran shook his head vigorously. “Ingleton has more than one hostelry, I take it?”

  “Lots more,” I said.

  Mrs. Hawthornthwaite gave me a bit of a look. I realized then she really wanted to have the company of these men for more than just the kudos and pleasure of it. She was more anxious than she was letting on.

  “Quite a lot,” I said stupidly, realizing what I’d done.

  “Oh, yes, gentlemen,” she was forced to say gamely. “Ingleton’s a famous resort, or was. Though,” she added, “it’s possible there won’t be room for you all in the same place. And you’d want to stay together, I expect.”

  “We have my Bentley,” Colonel Bastable pointed out. “We can easily go over to Settle or some larger town. However, if you would allow us to telephone to Count and Countess von Bek to let them know we’re here…?”

  I hadn’t thought of phoning my granddad and granny at their London flat. They’d probably be there by now. If I’d had my computer working, I would have e-mailed them hours ago. I showed Colonel Bastable into the hall, where the telephone sat on a table covered in an old green velvet cloth. Beside it were two cutoff tree trunks—log seats. He tried to sit on one and then decided to make his call standing up. I felt a bit of an idiot for not thinking of this sooner. I gave him the London number.

  “I’ll be glad to pay for the call,” he told me as he dialed.

  I had become particularly fascinated by Colonel Bastable, who seemed to have stepped out of one of the old movies I loved to watch on the Turner channel. He even looked a bit like Ronald Colman. He certainly talked like him! He had an air of early-twentieth-century dignity about him, a way of speaking and moving which made me think of soldiers ready to die for empire, of Kipling and “the thin red line”; yet his eyes carried a knowledge, a sadness even, which denied the stereotype, as if all his experience and wisdom, perhaps even his self-knowledge, were exceptional.

  St. Odhran was the most cheerful of our visitors, and Monsieur Zodiac probably the saddest. Herr Lobkowitz had considerable gravity yet seemed the most ordinary, together with Lieutenant Fromental, who appeared awkwardly embarrassed to be here, as if he felt he should be out defending his fort from Tuareg freedom fighters. For all their differences, however, the men were a glamorous and substantial group, a little reluctant, in spite of my direct questions, to go into details about why they were here. My French was not good enough for me to be a very effective eavesdropper.

  When Colonel Bastable finally got through to London, it was only to leave a message on my granddad’s incredible old-fashioned answering machine, which he insisted on keeping purely on the strength that it had outlasted something like twenty-six generations of upgrades.

  At length, after several more telephone calls and conferences among themselves, our guests had made up their minds. To be on the safe side I phoned the Hill to tell them we’d be coming up for a ham supper.

  Thanking us for our hospitality, the visitors declared that Messrs. Lobkowitz and Fromental would stay at the Bridge, where there was room. St. Odhran would stay at Oakroyd’s in the village. Bastable would go on to a small hotel in Settle, some ten miles from Ingleton. I, of course, was disappointed they were not going to stay with us, though St. Odhran asked if he could leave his balloon in our unused stables. I asked if they were going to look for those men at the Bridge, and this seemed to reengage their attention. “No, but we’ll keep an eye on them while we’re staying there. If you don’t mind, Monsieur Zodiac will take your spare bed. We determined one of us would be needed here.” He paused. “If your parents agree, of course.”

  “Of course. Who exactly are those two men, Colonel Bastable?”

  “Two wrong ‘uns, dear young lady, as I said. So no invitations to come in, eh? And stay away from them when you’re outdoors,” insisted Bastable, glancing meaningfully at St. Odhran.

  “Well, we’ll be staying at the hotel tonight and will have our chance, no doubt, to get their measure.” Herr Lobkowitz exchanged a glance with Lieutenant Fromental. “But you must be ready for any trick here, mademoiselle. The man you met on the road today is sometimes known as Paul von Minct, sometimes as Prince Gaynor. The man he sought and found is Herr Klosterheim. A thoroughly bad egg. Together they defy both God and Satan and plot the end of the created universe, every world in it.”

  “Wh
y would they do that?” I wondered.

  “Because they hate our way of life,” said Colonel Bastable without any apparent irony.

  After a moment’s hesitation, St. Odhran and the others nodded.

  “Or perhaps just because they hate any form of life,” said Herr Lobkowitz.

  They began to talk among themselves again, and I missed most of what they said.

  Mrs. Hawthornthwaite and I were both very upset they weren’t all staying. I think she felt a bit abandoned after so much talk of danger, but I quickly realized they had not half abandoned us, as it had first seemed; but rather were repositioning themselves. I had a fair idea that Colonel Bastable wouldn’t be driving to Settle and, if he did, that he wouldn’t be looking for a good twelve hours’ sleep at some local hostelry. We were being protected very thoroughly, almost as if they wove a web around us. They created a shield against those who wished us ill. It was all that boring stuff I’d always heard from my mother. I thought I’d never really absorbed it, but now I was astonished at how quickly I was taking this knowledge for granted. I knew the danger in my bones. I had dreamed of it before. I knew how important it was to build all the defenses we were currently building. We were dealing with the threat of supernatural attack. And it wasn’t the kind Mrs. Hawthornthwaite kept away by remembering which kind of lilac was best put in the bowl on the threshold and if it was better or worse luck to use your left hand to pick up a fallen fork.

  I remembered something else from those early nightmares I’d had. I was experiencing the benign form of the power which had assaulted me. I recognized it now only because I had known its opposite. I knew that I couldn’t be safer than with Monsieur Zodiac.

  Naturally we had orders to contact people at their hotels should anything alarming happen, but I knew we were in perfect hands.

  Monsieur Zodiac seemed pleased with my obvious confidence in him. I felt a strange connection between myself and those pain-filled crimson eyes.

  Herr Lobkowitz patted my shoulder in a comradely fashion. “We’ll go now but will be back in time to meet Mr. and Mrs. Bek. Will you promise me you won’t let the bad ‘uns talk you into anything, no matter what crisis they will pretend you have initiated?”

  “Of course.” Again I was touched by his old-fashioned language and concern.

  “And we won’t let them cross the threshold of our house, no matter what arguments and sweet inducements they do offer.” Mrs. Hawthornthwaite indicated her husband, nodding beside her. “We’re used to witches and their ways in these parts, gentlemen.”

  This was news to me, but it was a kind of comfort, too. Mrs. Hawthornthwaite didn’t mean cackling old ladies in big pointed hats, sailing over your head on their broomsticks. Mrs. Hawthornthwaite meant an invasion of pure evil into the dale, an invasion you could almost feel like mist curling up from the bottoms of pits and riverbeds to spread itself through every street, every room of our village. And the only forces left to fight it were the unsuspecting, unimaginative folk the likes of Colonel Bastable represented: the honest, virtuous long-term inhabitants of these valleys.

  I felt absolutely safe in Ingleton. I wondered if this was, after all, the best strategy of our enemies, to attack here. Even with the deep caverns in the limestone below booming far away in the underground distance, I always felt safe at Tower House. She had no ghosts I feared.

  With Monsieur Zodiac I watched the six o’clock news. I was growing impatient, wanting Mum and Dad, Alf and Gertie, to come home in the expectation that our visitor would confide more in them. I might not be allowed to stay in the sitting room, but Tower House’s accoustics were so good that I’d be bound to hear the important bits of whatever was said, even if I kept out of sight on the landing which led to my room.

  But Monsieur Zodiac said little more to my parents when they came in. They seemed to know who he was and were very welcoming. Dad, who was almost as thin and wiry as our guest, picked me up and hugged me as if I’d been rescued from actual danger, and Mum told me I could stay up for supper at the Hill Inn. I felt slightly guilty for having invited everyone. At that point Mum didn’t actually know I’d done it. I knew she had planned on cooking haddock. She seemed genuinely grateful, however, for Monsieur Zodiac’s presence and was pleased to know that his friends would be coming with us for the meal. I was rather proud of her. She was dignified and gracious, like a queen.

  Messrs. Lobkowitz and Fromental came up from the Bridge after a while and waited with us for St. Odhran and Colonel Bastable. They hadn’t seen the two strangers there. Mum and Dad put out snacks and got drinks for all who wanted them. I helped Mum in the kitchen while my brother, Alfy, and my sister, Gertie, tried to persuade Monsieur Zodiac to open his case and show them his guitar. With good humor, he refused, saying he had no amplifier and refusing the offer of Alfy’s. “I fear my instrument would be a little too powerful, Mr. Bek.”

  “Alfred,” said Mum, looking up from our big Raeburn stove, “come in and help me with the nuts. Gertie and Dad can look after our guests.” Alfy came in reluctantly, his big blond head bowed in disappointment, his red cheeks ruddier than usual. I think Mum had made him feel a bit of an idiot. When I tried to be friendly he snatched away and started pouring out nuts, but I knew he wouldn’t stay in a bad mood for long. We heard the TV go on again. Both Mr. Zodiac and Dad seemed to be taking a keen interest in the news.

  “He reminds me of the Winter brothers,” said Mum. “Do you know who they are?”

  “Some old pop stars of yours and Dad’s?” I asked.

  “I used to love them when I was in college.” She pushed back her mop of brown, curly hair.

  “Bloody awful R and B.” Alf was being mean.

  “Don’t say ‘bloody,’ Alfy,” she remonstrated mildly. “Have you finished doing those nuts.”

  “I love blues,” I said. “Were they like Howling Wolf?”

  “A bit.” She grinned at me and winked. We both knew Alfy would regret his snit, as he did within five minutes, when Gert came in. She was as tall as Mum and skinny. I thought she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever known, much better looking than any of the pop stars or actresses I’d seen. She had Mum’s curly hair, but it was red, and she had big hazel eyes, full lips, and a fair skin, like Alf’s. She said there had been a series of earthquakes in the Middle East and another one on the American West Coast. “The worse for some time. I think that’s what Mr. Z wanted to hear about. He thought we might even feel a few shock waves here. Remember the last time?”

  I took some fizzy water in for Monsieur Zodiac. The others were having wine and whisky.

  Monsieur Zodiac and my dad were talking about the news. “Would that be why you and your friends have come here?” Dad was asking.

  “Well, sir, it has something to do with our expedition, I’ll grant you.”

  “And what of those others at the Bridge? Assuming they are still at the Bridge.”

  “A wicked pair, sir. They mean your family no good. But with luck we’ll see them off in a few days. We await only the arrival of the count and countess. We spoke to them on the telephone, and they are taking the early train home in the morning. They hoped you could pick them up at Lancaster Station.”

  “Of course. We’d better think in terms of an early night, I suppose.”

  “We’ll be ready to be off to the Hill, I think, as soon as everyone’s here. Your daughter did us the courtesy of booking supper.”

  Until then nobody had known I had already booked the Hill. “How thoughtful…,” said Dad with a bit of a grin.

  I had my fingers crossed everyone would be here in good time for the ham tea I anticipated. In the end there was no problem. All the men returned in time, and Colonel Bastable ferried quite a lot of us up in his Bentley while the others had to go in the old Lexus. It was a happy, busy night at the Hill. My parents didn’t know everything about their parents’ adventures, but they knew enough to understand that all these people turning up was a bit of an honor for us. Monsieur Zodiac wasn�
�t hungry, so I had most of his tea, too!

  Soon we were back at the house, and various people were saying good night. Monsieur Zodiac stayed with us while the others went their separate ways. Again I had that sense of people posting watch. Again I felt very secure.

  I drank my cocoa in front of the fire with the handsome albino. I’d heard the others speak of Monsieur Zodiac a little warily, as if he were very fierce and temperamental, but I found him very easy to get along with. I felt sort of sorry for him, I suppose. He bore his sadness, as Wheldrake says somewhere, like a steel sheath about him, so that not even the blade of his wit could strike and harm.

  Before I went up to bed, the albino patted my shoulder and looked down at me through his brooding crimson eyes. He made an attempt to smile. It was kindly meant, and I saw something very much like a parent’s love in his expression. I was surprised, but I smiled back.

  “Look after yourself, little mademoiselle,” he said.

  That night I woke up several times with bad dreams. They weren’t exactly nightmares, for I was always rescued before anything got close enough to me, but they left me weak and feeling unpleasant, so much so that when Dad got up early, even though the train didn’t arrive for a few hours, I got up, too. He wanted to go out for a walk, and I begged him to let me go with him. I think I persuaded him while he was still sleepy; otherwise he might have remembered the warnings of the night before. But I was used to testing my safety by the limits adults set on my freedom, so, because Dad let me go with him on his walk, I thought it was perfectly okay.

  It was another beautiful summer morning. As we climbed up the slopes and terraces above the house, we looked back. Tower House, all sparkling granite and glass windows, looked as magical as the limestone, with the hills rolling away behind it across to the distant, glaring sea. The North Yorkshire dales at their best.