Duke Elric - Michael Moorcock [110]
“I must admit I have heard it before only as a very distant echo,” replied the Frenchman. “Until now I have used mechanical means to negotiate the spaces between realities. We are issued with Roburian speedshells by the department. Naturally, old friend, I knew that you had not always taken advantage of such vehicles …”
“One learns,” the detective muttered to himself. “One learns.” His progress seemed erratic and without logic as he moved backwards and forwards, then side to side, keeping the sound constant at a certain distance, treading a trail which only he could perceive.
Suddenly a silvery light appeared ahead.
“Can it be possible that the Arcades de l'Opera lead directly to the roads between the worlds?”
Hearing this, Sinclair gave an involuntary shudder.
Above them the great arches grew taller and taller until they were impossibly high, no longer structures of human architecture but part of a natural vault which had become one with the night itself.
All four men gasped and stopped in their tracks as Begg's lantern revealed a long, twisting pathway which seemed to vanish into infinity. Above them, as well as below them, were myriad paths, crossing and recrossing. And on some could be distinguished tiny figures, not all of them human, walking back and forth along the causeways.
When Sir Seaton Begg turned to address his fellow detectives his eyes were glistening with tears.
“Gentlemen,” he whispered, dousing the lantern, “I believe we have discovered the roads between the worlds!”
Their eyes soon became accustomed to the light which emanated from the moonbeam roads themselves. Paths stretched in every possible direction. The legendary trails which led to all possible planes of the multiverse.
“I have dreamed of this discovery,” said Begg. “On occasion I have glimpsed these roads as I passed from one aspect of reality to another, but I never suspected I would ever discover access to them, particularly by accident. Just think: the gateway has existed in Paris since the beginning of time, their patterns perhaps unconsciously imitated by the architects who designed the city above. Our mythologies and folk-tales have hinted at this, of course, through sensational tales. Yet they hardly prepare one for the reality. Is this Zenith's and Mrs. Persson's secret, do you think?”
“And is it also Hitler's?” asked Lapointe grimly. “Are his ambitions greater than we ever expected?”
Dwarfed by the vast network of moonbeam roads, the detectives were frozen in their uncertainty. There were no maps, no evident routes to follow. They had made an extraordinary discovery!
“At least it is no longer a mystery as to how Zenith was able to evade our men. And Mrs. Persson also. How long have they known of this route?” LeBec wondered.
Begg shook his head slowly. “I believe Mrs. Persson has probably been using these roads for a very long time. Yet it is my guess that she did not come this far voluntarily.”
“How on earth can you make that supposition, Begg?” enquired Lapointe.
“Her cats,” said Begg. “I know she would never have left her cats unattended. She would have brought them with her, or she would have made arrangements for them to be looked after. No, gentlemen, if she was not faced with an overwhelming emergency, I believe Mrs. Persson was lured down here and then made a prisoner.”
“By Zenith?”
“Possibly.”
“If not by Zenith, then by whom?”
“By Hitler. Or one of his people.” Begg placed his foot firmly upon the road which led away into the darkness. There seemed nothing below them but more roads on which the tiny wayfarers came and went.
“How do you know she came this way, old man?” Taffy Sinclair wished to know.
“I have only instinct, Taffy. An instinct honed, I might say, by a lifetime spent traveling between the worlds.”
And steadily, still unseen, came the booming of that unearthly Balance.
CHAPTER FIVE
An Unexpected Newcomer
With the familiar world far behind them, Begg and his fellow detectives were by now crossing a long, sinuous path from which gleamed a faint silvery light.