Duke Elric - Michael Moorcock [100]
There is no doubt of the significance of the fantasy tale in terms of its often unconscious description of the unconscious mind. This is why it disturbs and terrifies—because we sense the uncontrollable forces which are acting upon us, forces which the writer may describe as supernatural but which are, in fact, entirely natural. They are the forces locked in our own skulls—and there is nothing we can do to exorcize them.
1. Everyman Library (2 Vols) Nos. 865—6
THE FLANEUR DES ARCADES DE L'OPERA
THE FLANEUR DES ARCADES DE L'OPERA
(2008)
CHAPTER ONE
In the Luxembourg Gardens
IN ALL THE many cases investigated by Sir Seaton Begg of the Home Office Metatemporal Investigative Agency, one of the most curious concerned his cooperation with his opposite number, Commissaire Lapointe of the Sûreté du Temps Perdu, involving not only the albino gentleman connected to a royal house whom we call “Monsieur Zenith,” but members of an infamous terrorist gang, a long dead enemy of Begg's German cousins and the well-known adventuress, Mrs. Una Persson. As Begg's friend, the pathologist Dr. “Taffy” Sinclair, remarked, “for a while it seemed that Chaos, in all its unchained wildness, had been let loose through every region of our vast and complex multiverse, so that even now we cannot be certain whether it was contained or whether we are merely experiencing a moment of relative harmony in a howling cacophony …”
“I cannot tell you, my old friend, how delighted I am that you should come over at such short notice.”
Lapointe, his assistant LeBec, Taffy and Begg were wandering through the pale gold autumn light of the Luxembourg Gardens. The chestnut trees were shedding dark reds and yellows, and the flower beds were full of beauty on the verge of succumbing to winter. Lapointe had thought it expedient for them to talk in the open air where there was less chance of being overheard.
“The train? Was it comfortable?”
In his light tweed sports jacket, white shirt and well pressed flannels, Lapointe had a bulky, stiff-necked, slightly professorial air, with a great wave of grey hair untidily arranged over his pale forehead. His deep, green eyes, angular features and heavy body gave him the air of à large amiable dinosaur. Begg knew his opposite number had one of the sharpest minds on the Continent. Singlehandedly Lapointe had captured the ex-police inspector turned crook: George Marsden Plummer (alias “Maigret” in France) who had once been Lapointe's chief. Lapointe had also been the one to bring “Fantômas” to book at last. Together he and Begg had tracked down “Jock Collyn,” otherwise known as The Master Mummer, and been instrumental in his lingering to this day on Devil's Island.
Inspector LeBec, on the other hand, had no spectacular record but was much admired at the Quai des Orfevriers for his methodology and his coolness under pressure. Small and dark, he seemed permanently and privately amused. He wore a buttoned-up three-piece grey suit and what was evidently an English school tie.
The two Home Office men had come from London via the recently opened Subchannel Excavation whose roads and railway lines now connected the two nations, a material addition to the decades-old Entente Cordiale, an alliance which had been cemented by the signing of a European-wide Mutual Co-operation Pact, which, with the Universal Civil Rights Act, united all the Great Powers, including the Confederated Forty-seven States of America, in one mighty alliance sharing common laws and goals.
“Perfectly, thank you,” said Begg, speaking excellent French. Lapointe had put the STP's private express at his disposal. The journey had taken less than an hour and a half from London to Paris. “I must say, Lapointe, that you French chaps have your priorities well in hand—rapid and comfortable transport and excellent