Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [151]
The screen blanks.
The End
BLACK PETALS
BLACK PETALS
(2007)
CHAPTER ONE
The Apothecary in Horse Alley
FROM THE SEA the city of Nassea-Tiki was a mosaic of vivid colour, fluttering flags, gilded domes, red battlements, a busy market, tiny black figures. The harbour was vast, serving the trade of the entire South-Eastern continent. Foot forward in the prow of the Lormyrian cutter, peering ahead as the late afternoon sun set the great port on fire, Moonglum of Elwher remarked to his friend on the wealth of shining masts which stood at all angles, like the spears of embattled armies, casting a dozen reflections. The sails were furled for the most part, tightly rolled blues and loose-hung russets to match the gargoyles and grim seabulls decorating the hulls. These big ships were local. Others, such as their own, favouring black, dark red, white and silver, were from months away.
The ship’s captain came to join them, staring ahead. “What a sight!” He drew in a breath, as if inhaling the entire vision. “After Melniboné they say she’s the most beautiful city on four continents.”
He looked at Moonglum’s companion, as if for confirmation.
“After Melniboné,” the passenger agreed.
Throwing back his thick, green cloak Moonglum turned his head, hands around the pommels of his twin sabres. “Who would have thought we’d find such a rich place after all those half-civilized villages we’ve seen on the way here?” He looked back at his friend, whose blazing crimson eyes seemed to find reflection in the effects of the sun. Set in an intensely beautiful face the colour of bone, the eyes were slightly sloping, like the lobes of his ears. His lips were full. His long hair was like poured milk. His eyes stared into a past and a future of equal tragedy. Yet there was a kind of amusement there, too.
Moonglum’s own eyes were troubled as he contemplated his friend. Elric, last emperor of Melniboné, was breathing heavily, having difficulty moving along the edge of the deck, holding tight to the rail. He was hampered by the scabbard of a massive broadsword whose hilt was tightly wired to his belt.
Not for the first time, the Captain turned away, ostentatiously incurious.
“The drugs are ceasing to work, my friend,” whispered Moonglum. “Were they the last?”
The albino shook his head. “Almost,” he said.
Elric of Melniboné and his red-headed companion, refreshed to some degree, stepped towards the busy dock while over their heads swung goods of every description. Most eyes were on the cargoes rather than the passengers. Only a few noticed the two disembark, though most had no idea who they might be.
Nassea-Tiki was not merely busy. The vast port was in celebration. Her very palms seemed to dance. When the two adventurers stopped a passerby and enquired of the uproar seizing the city, the man said that the old system of peace-keeping had, on that very day, given way to the new. The two men were mystified until a passing ship’s captain, dressed up in crisp blue silk and black linen on his way to meet a prospective customer, told them the capital city’s notorious private, corrupt police force was being replaced by a trained band of municipal employees. These would be free from bribery and arbitrary brutality. “At least in theory,” said the Tarkeshite, whose first impression of the albino’s identity was now confused and who wanted to be on his way; a desire he indicated by glancing at the gigantic public hourglass of copper and greenish crystal dominating the busy quayside. A little amused, Moonglum wished him well and the two allowed him to continue.
Feeble as the young albino had become during his long, uncomfortable voyage, on Moonglum’s arm he was still able to stumble beneath the blazing brass timepiece of timber and glass and reach the inn recommended by Captain Calder Dulk, master of the Morog Bevonia, as somewhere to find clean lodgings at little risk of being robbed. As they pressed slowly through the narrow streets, full of men