Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [43]
“Thus by deep injustice is that Unjust State upheld;
Thus by gags of deedless piety old Albion’s voice is still’d.”
intoned the little poet, rather mournful himself. “Is there no luxury that is not the creation of someone else’s misery?” he wondered. “Was there ever a world where all were equal?”
“Oh, indeed,” said the Rose with some alacrity. “Indeed, there was. My own!” And then she hesitated, thought better of her outburst, and fell silent over her porridge, leaving the others at something of a loss for conversation.
“Why, I wonder, are we discouraged from leaving this paradise?” said Elric at last. “How does the Gypsy Nation justify its strictures?”
“By one of a thousand similar arguments, friend Elric, I’m sure. Something circular, no doubt. And singularly apt, all in all. One is never short of metaphors as one travels the multiverse.”
“I suppose not, Master Wheldrake. But perhaps that circular argument is the only means by which any of us rationalizes their existence?”
“Indeed, sir. Quite likely.”
And now the Rose was joining in with sotto voce reminders to Wheldrake that they were not here as Detectives of the Abstract but were searching with some urgency for the three sisters, who carried with them certain objects of power—or, at least, a key to the discovery of those objects. Wheldrake, knowing his own weakness for such tempting trains of thought, apologized. But before they could resume the subject of leaving Trollon and somehow gaining access to Duntrollin the outer doors of the room swung inwards to reveal a magnificent figure, all ballooning silks and lace, a mighty wig staggering on his head and his exquisite face painted with all the subtlety of a Jharkorian concubine.
“Forgive my interrupting your breakfast. My name is Vailadez Rench, at your service. I am here, dear friends, to offer you a choice of accommodation, so that you may begin to fit in with our community as quickly as possible. I gather you have the means of taking quarters of the better type?”
Having no choice for the moment, unless they were to arouse the Trollonian’s suspicions, they followed meekly in Vailadez Rench’s wake as the tall exquisite led them through the tidy and rather over-polished lanes of his picturesque little town. And still, inch by inch, the Gypsy Nation rolled on along the road it had beaten for centuries, creating a momentum that must be maintained above all other considerations. And forever returning to the identical point of arrival and departure.
They were shown a house upon the edge of the platform, looking out over the walls towards the distant walkers and the other snail-crawling settlements. They were shown apartments in quaint old gabled houses or converted from warehouses or stores, and eventually they were led by Vailadez Rench, whose sole conversation revolved, like some tight-wrought fugue, about the subject of Property, its desirability and its value, to a little house with a patch of garden outside it, the walls covered in climbing tea-roses and brilliant nunshabit, all glowing purples and golds, the windows glittering and framed by lace, and smelling sweet and fresh as spring from the herb-beds and the flowers; the Rose clapped her hands and for a moment it was clear she was tempted by the house, with its crooked roof and time-black gables. Something within her longed for such ordinary beauty and comfort. And Elric saw her expression change and she looked away. “It’s pretty, this house,” she said. “Perhaps it could be shared by all of us?”
“Oh, yes. It has a family, you see. Quite large. But they had their tragedies, you know, and must leave.” Vailadez Rench sighed, then grinned and wagged a finger at her. “You’ve chosen the most expensive, yet! You have taste, dear lady.”
Wheldrake, who had taken a gloomy dislike of this Paladin of Property, made some graceless remark which was ignored by everyone,