Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [151]
The entire hall was full of men wearing identical costumes. They had black skull-caps, loose white blouses and trousers, black shoes. Their eyebrows were black in dead white faces, even paler than Elric’s and they had bright red lips.
“Aha,” whispered Werther, “the parrots are celebrating their victory. Soon they will be too drunk to know what is happening to them.”
“Parrots?” said Elric. “What is that word?”
“Pierrots, he means,” said the Duke of Queens. “Don’t you, Werther?” There were evidently certain words which did not translate easily into the High Speech of Melniboné.
“Shh,” said the Last Romantic, “they will capture us and torture us to death if they detect our presence.”
They worked their way around the castle. It was guarded at intervals by gigantic warriors whom Elric at first mistook for statues, save that, when he looked closely, he could see them breathing very slowly. They were unarmed, but their fists and feet were disproportionately large and could crush any intruder they detected.
“They are sluggish, by the look of them,” said Elric. “If we are quick, we can run beneath them and enter the castle before they realize it. Let me try first. If I succeed, you follow.”
Werther clapped his new comrade on the back. “Very well.”
Elric waited until the nearest guard halted and spread his huge feet apart, then he dashed forward, scuttling like an insect between the giant’s legs and flinging himself through a dimly lit window. He found himself in some sort of store-room. He had not been seen, though the guard cocked his ear for half a moment before resuming his pace.
Elric looked cautiously out and signaled to his companions. The Duke of Queens waited for the guard to stop again, then he, too, made for the window and joined Elric. He was panting and grinning. “This is wonderful,” he said.
Elric admired his spirit. There was no doubt that the guard could crush any of them to a pulp, even if (as still nagged at his brain) this was all some sort of complicated illusion.
Another dash, and Werther was with them.
Cautiously, Elric opened the door of the store-room. They looked onto a deserted landing. They crossed the landing and looked over a balustrade. They had expected to see another hall, but instead there was a miniature lake on which floated the most beautiful miniature ship, all mother-of-pearl, brass and ebony, with golden sails and silver masts. Surrounding this ship were mermaids and mermen bearing trays of exotic food (reminding Elric how hungry he still was) which they fed to the ship’s only passenger, Mistress Christia.
“She is under an enchantment,” said Elric. “They beguile her with illusions so that she will not wish to come with us even if we do rescue her. Do you know no counter-spells?”
Werther thought for a moment. Then he shook his head.
“You must be very minor Lords of Chaos,” said Elric, biting his lower lip.
From the lake, Mistress Christia giggled and drew one of the mermaids towards her. “Come here, my pretty piscine!”
“Mistress Christia!” hissed Werther de Goethe.
“Oh!” The captive widened her eyes (which were now both large and blue). “At last!”
“You wish to be rescued?” said Elric.
“Rescued? Only by you, most alluring of albinos!”
Elric hardened his features. “I am not the one who loves you, madam.”
“What? I am loved? By whom? By you, Duke of Queens?”
“Sshh,” said Elric. “The demons will hear us.”
“Oh, of course,” said Mistress Christia gravely, and fell silent for a second. “I’ll get rid of all this, shall I?”
And she touched one of her rings.
Ship, lake and merfolk were gone. She lay on silken cushions, attended by monkeys.
“Sorcery!” said Elric. “If she has such power, then why—?”
“It is limited,” explained Werther. “Merely to such tricks.”
“Quite,” said Mistress Christia.
Elric glared at them. “You surround me with illusions. You make me think I am aiding you, when really…”
“No, no!” cried Werther. “I assure you, Lord Elric, you have our greatest respect—well, mine at least—we are only attempting