Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [154]
The door was almost immediately opened. A pink-skinned, bright-haired child of indeterminate gender opened its mouth in a question.
They gave their names. Moonglum asked for Master Nashatak. The child disappeared, then returned to hold out its hands to lead them through ill-lit halls and passages, up flights of crooked stairs. A mixture of smells struck their nostrils—chemicals, animal odours, a sweet stink reminiscent of rotten flesh. But, entering the room at the end of a long, twisting passage, they were impressed by its orderliness and the cleanliness of the relatively young man who rose to greet them. He was re-rolling a parchment and set this down as he opened his arms to them. “I have your letter, my lord. Let me tell you how honoured I am to receive one as learned as yourself. And, of course, you, too, are welcome, Master Moonglum.”
“Ah,” said Elric, embarrassed, “such learning was commonplace in my homeland where we absorbed it on our dream couches. I can make no claims for myself …”
“As you please, prince.” Master Nashatak’s lank fair hair was pulled back from his lugubrious dark brown face and secured by a fillet of copper. He wore a long velvet gown which had been recently washed but on which the stains remained. He looked curiously at Elric. “We have an acquaintance in common. Doctor Cerlat Vog …”
“Who sent you this letter.” The walk had tired him. Breathing with some difficulty, Elric reached into his purse and brought out a sealed packet.
“My old friend! Was he well?” Nashatak accepted the letter, breaking the seal. “His teeth?”
Moonglum answered. “They were little better when we left Noothar. But his feet showed some improvement. He enquired after the health of your wife.” Still enough of a Melnibonéan noble to find such pleasantries at conversation irritating, Elric disguised his impatience.
“She is well. I thank you, Master Moonglum. Visiting her mother on the other side of the river. This is our child.”
They still had no clue as to the little creature’s gender. Its large, hazel eyes continued to regard them from the shadows.
Master Nashatak read the letter carefully, holding it close to one of the lamps and occasionally nodding to himself. “So you’ve heard of the noibuluscus by its true name. In your original letter you spoke only of a black flower. And you’ve come seeking it in the right season of the right year. But I fear there’s another searching who has gone ahead of you. Do you know of Tilus Kreek, King of the Uyt?”
Moonglum shrugged. “We were told he died in Soom seeking a treasure.”
“He has not returned, that’s so. But I heard it from a friend that Tilus, too, sought the noibuluscus.”
Elric turned, hearing the child utter a deep, throaty chuckle.
“The flesh-eaters caught him and ate him,” it said. “And almost every one of his mercenary army was killed or captured.”
Moonglum swore. “Where did you get such intelligence?”
“The streets. It’s common knowledge.”
Elric laid his hand on his friend’s arm. “Nonetheless, I would go to Soom and find the Black Anemonë. Where can I employ a guide with a boat to take us upriver?”
“I suspect it will be difficult. There are other terrors, they say, in Soom.”
“We’ve dealt with fierce beasts and men in our time, Master Nashatak,” Moonglum told him gently. “And supernatural horrors, too.”
“I believe you have. You are evidently soldiers of great courage and resource. Indeed, this letter speaks of your bravery and wisdom. You performed Cerlat Vog a considerable service, I gather …”
Elric restrained his impatience. “If he says so. I must have that boat and a guide, sir. I have little time remaining.”
“If it’s true,” added Moonglum, “the black