Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [28]
“Which would seem more than generous, lady,” said Wheldrake, offering her a rather inappropriate wink before skipping to catch up with his friend.
Eventually, through the twists and turns of the old, cobbled streets, they reached the Distressed Travelers House, a gabled building of considerable antiquity which leaned at all angles, as if too drunk to stand without the support of the houses on either side of it, and whose beams and walls bulged and warped in ways Elric would have thought impossible for natural matter not touched by Chaos.
Within the doorway of this establishment, seeming entirely of a piece with it, both in terms of posture and of age, leaned and sprawled, his limbs at every angle, his head this way, his hat that, a tooth jutting one direction, his pipe another, a creature of such profound thinness and gauntness and melancholy that Elric was moved, obscurely, to apologize and enquire if he had come to the right place.
“It’s the place that you face, sir, by Our Watcher’s Grace, my lord. Come for charity, have you? For charity and some smart advice?”
“Hospitality, sir, is what we were offered!” There was an edge to Wheldrake’s outraged chirrup. “Not, sir, charity!” He resembled an angered grouse, his face almost as red as his hair.
“I care not what fancy words dress the action, my good lords,” and the creature rose, folding and collapsing and extending itself in such a way as to bring itself upright, “I call it charity!” Tiny diamond-lights glittered from cavernous sockets and ill-fitting teeth clacked in flaccid lips. “I care not what dangers you have faced, what calamities have befallen you, what hideous losses you have sustained, what rich men you were, what poor men you have become. Had you not considered these risks, you would not have come this far and ventured across the Divide! Thus you have yourselves alone to blame for your misfortunes.”
“We were told we might find food at this house,” said Elric evenly. “Not ill-tempered crowfrighters and discourtesy.”
“Hypocrites that they are, they lied. The House is closed for redecoration. It is being converted to a restaurant. With luck, it should soon turn a profit.”
“Well, sir, we have put such narrow notions of accountability behind us in my world,” said Wheldrake. “However, I apologize for disturbing you. We have been misinformed, as you say.”
Elric, unused to such behaviour and still a Melnibonéan noble, found that he had gripped his sword-hilt without his realizing it. “Old man,” he said, “I am discommoded by your insolence …” Then Wheldrake’s warning hand fell upon the albino’s arm and he collected himself.
“The old man lies! He lies! He lies!” From behind them, up the hill, a large key ready in his hand, bustled a stocky fellow of fifty or so, his grey hair bristling from beneath a velvet cap, his beard half-tangled, his robes and suitings all awry, as if he had dressed in a hurry from some half-remembered bed. “He lies, good sirs. He lies. (Be off with you, Reth’chat, to plague some other institution!) The man is a relic, gentlemen, from an age most of us have only read about. He would have us judged by our wealth and our martial glory rather than our good will and tranquility of spirit. Good morrow, good morrow. You’ve come to dine, I hope.”
“Cold and tasteless is the bread of charity,” grumbled the Relic, scuttling down the street towards a group of playing children and failing to scatter them with his stick-insect arms. “Accountability and self-sufficiency! They will destroy the family. We shall all perish. We shall serve at the marching boards, mark my words!”
And with that he turned the corner into Old Museum Gate and disappeared with a final display of miraculous angularity into an arcade of shops.
The genial middle-aged man waved his key before inserting it in the ancient door. “He is an advertizement for himself only. You’ll find such blowhards in every town. I take it that our gypsy friends exacted a ‘tax’ from you. What would you have been bringing us?”
“Gold, mostly,” said Elric, understanding at last the manners and ready