Elric in the Dream Realms - Michael Moorcock [54]
Elric turned and to his surprise saw a small man whose sharp, merry features were shadowed by an enormous turban of yellow silk. This headdress, at least as wide as the man’s shoulders, was decorated with a pin containing a great green gem and from it sprouted several peacock’s feathers. He seemed to be wearing many layers of clothing, all highly coloured, of silk and linen, including an embroidered waistcoat and a long jacket of beautifully stitched blue patchwork, each shade subtly different from the one next to it. On his legs were baggy trousers of red silk and his feet sported curling slippers of green and yellow leather. The man was unarmed, but in his hands he held a startled black and white cat upon whose back were folded a pair of silky black wings.
The man bowed when he saw Elric. “Greetings, sir. You would be the incarnation of the Champion on this plane, I take it. I am—” he frowned as if he had for a second forgotten his own name. “I am something beginning with ‘J’ and something beginning with ‘C’. It will return to me in a moment. Or another name or event will occur, I’m sure. I am your—what?—amanuensis, eh?” He peered up into the sky. “Is this one of those sunless worlds? Are we to have no night at all?”
Elric looked to Oone, who did not seem wary of this apparition. “I did not ask for a secretary, sir,” he said to the small man. “Nor did I expect to be assigned one. My companion and I are on a quest in this world …”
“A quest, naturally. It is your role, as it is mine to accompany you. That’s in order, sir. My name is—” But again his own name eluded him. “Yours is?”
“I am Elric of Melniboné and this is Oone the Dreamthief.”
“Then this is the land the dreamthieves call Sadanor, I take it. Good, then I am called Jaspar Colinadous. And my cat’s name is Whiskers, as always.”
At this, the cat gave voice to a small, intelligent noise, to which its owner listened carefully and nodded.
“I recognize this land now,” he said. “You’ll be seeking the Marador Gate, eh? For the Land of Old Desires.”
“You are a dreamthief yourself, Sir Jaspar?” Oone asked in some surprise.
“I have relatives who are.”
“But how came you here?” Elric asked. “Through a medium? Did you use a mortal child, as we did?”
“Your words are mysterious to me, sir.” Jaspar Colinadous adjusted his turban, the little cat tucked carefully under one voluminous silk sleeve. “I travel between the worlds, apparently at random, usually at the behest of some force I do not understand, frequently to find myself guiding or accompanying venturers such as yourselves. Not,” he added feelingly, “always dressed appropriately for the realm or the moment of my arrival. I dreamed, I think, I was the sultan of some fabulous city, where I possessed the most astonishing variety of treasures. Where I was waited upon…” here he coloured and looked away from Oone. “Forgive me. It was a dream. I have awakened from it now. Unfortunately, the clothes followed me from the dream …”
Elric believed the man’s words were close to nonsense, but Oone had no difficulty with them. “You know a road, then, to the Marador Gate?”
“Surely, I must, if this is the Land of Dreams-in-Common.” Carefully, he placed his cat on his shoulder and then began to rummage in his sleeves, within his shirt, in the pockets of his several garments, producing all manner of scrolls and papers and little books, boxes, compacts, writing instruments, lengths of cord and reels of thread, until one of the rolled pieces of vellum caused him to cry out in relief. “Here it is, I think! Our map.” He replaced all the other items in exactly the places he had drawn them from and unrolled the parchment. “Indeed, indeed! This shows us the road through yonder mountains.”
“Offers of guidance …” began Elric.
“And beware the familiar,” said Oone softly. Then she made a dismissive gesture. “Here we have conflict already, you see, for what is unfamiliar to you is highly familiar to me. That is part of the nature of this land.” She turned to Jaspar Colinadous. “Sir?