Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [30]
“And what do the three sisters mean to you, madam?” asked Wheldrake, his little voice now a charming trill.
“They mean everything. They have the means of leading me to the resolution of all I have lived for, since I swore my oath. They offer me the chance of satisfaction, Master Wheldrake. You are, are you not, that same Wheldrake who wrote The Orientalist’s Dream?”
“Well, madam—” in some dismay—“I was but newly arrived in a new age. I needed to begin my reputation afresh. And the Orient was all the rage just then. However, as a mature work—”
“It is exceptionally sentimental, Master Wheldrake. But it helped me through a bad hour or two. And I still enjoy it for what it is. After that comes The Song of Iananthe, which is of course your finest.”
“But Heavens, madam, I have not yet written the work! It is sketched, that’s all, in Putney.”
“It is excellent, sir. I’ll say no more of it.”
“I’m obliged for that, madam. And—” he recovered himself—“also for your praise. I, too, have some affection for my Oriental period. Did you read, perhaps, the novel which was just lately published—Manfred; Or, the Gentleman Hoorii?”
“Not part of your canon when I last was settled anywhere, sir.”
And while the pair of them talked of poetry, Elric found himself leaning his head upon his arms and dozing until suddenly he heard Wheldrake say:
“And how do these gypsies go about unpunished? Is there no authority to keep them in check?”
“I know only that they are a nation of travelers,” said the Rose quietly, “perhaps a large nomad horde of some description. They call themselves the Free Travelers or the People of the Road and there is no doubt that they are powerful enough for the local folk to fear. I have some suggestion that the sisters rode to join the Gypsy Nation. So I would join it, too.”
And Elric remembered the wide causeway of beaten mud and wondered if that had any connection with the Gypsy Nation. Yet they would not league themselves, surely, with the supernatural? He became increasingly curious.
“We are all three at a disadvantage,” said the Rose, “since we allowed our hosts to assume we were victims of the gypsies. This means we cannot pursue any direct enquiries but must understand elliptically what we can. Unless we were to admit our deception.”
“I have a feeling this would make us somewhat more unpopular. These people are proud of their treatment of traders. But of non-traders, we have not learned. Perhaps their fate is less pleasant.” Elric sighed. “It matters not to me. But if you would have company, lady, we’ll join forces to seek these sisters.”
“Aye, for the moment I see no harm in such an alliance.” She spoke sagely. “Have you heard anything of them?”
“As much as have you,” said Elric, truthfully. Within him now a voice was speaking. He tried to quiet it but it would not be silent. It was his father’s voice. The sisters. Find them. They have the box. They have the box. The voice was fading now. Was it false? Was he deceived? He had no other course to follow, he decided, so he might as well follow this one and hope, ultimately, it might lead him to the rosewood box and his father’s stolen soul. Besides, there was something he enjoyed in this woman’s company that he felt he might never find again, an easy, measured understanding which made him, in spite of his careful resolve, wish to tell her all the secrets of his life, all the hopes and fears and aspirations he had known, all the losses; not to burden her, but to offer her something she might wish to share. For they had other qualities in common, he could tell.
He felt, in short, that