Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [177]
A death’s head whirled round to confront him. The eyes were covered with thick, round tinted lenses, as if sensitive to the faintest light. Gauntly handsome features showed amusement as Begg struck a match to reveal his own face.
“The Messiaen had its moments, you know,” said the albino. “But the English play French music impossibly badly. Good evening, old neighbour. You see I’m back in my chambers. We last met in Mirenburg when you did me a great service.”
With a movement of his head Begg let his old adversary open the door. A small oriental man appeared and took their outer garments, showing them into a sparsely furnished Japanese sitting room.
“A drink, Sir Seaton?” The albino removed his dark glasses to reveal crimson orbs whose strange light threatened to reach into Begg’s very being.
“If you still keep that St. Odhran Armagnac, Count Ulrich, I would love some.” Begg’s own eyes held steady, meeting the albino’s.
“I’ll join you!” To his servant: “Bring the St. Odhran” and then to his friend, “Well, Sir Seaton Begg, explain this small-hours melodrama!”
“You know my interest in the histories of our family’s various branches and my special fascination with our common Central European ancestors. If you would spare me a little time, I would tell you a story?”
“Late as it is, Sir Seaton, I’m always glad to listen to your yarns. A detective tale, is it?”
“Nothing less. It concerns an event frequently recorded in poetry, plays, novels and films all across that part of Europe where Slav meets German. Perhaps you recognize this doggerel?
“A call to the Cautious, a Word to the Wise;
Tonight’s the Night when Crimson Eyes,
His face bone-white and his Mouth blood-red,
Disdains the Body, but tastes the Head.”
Count von Bek laughed easily. “Some Rauber und Ritter nonsense? It means nothing to me. I have never been, as you have, fascinated by the patois and folklore of the streets, Sir Seaton.”
“The poem’s from Mirenburg.” Accepting a glass from the servant, Begg paused to enjoy its aroma. “Your family’s real home for centuries. Until Wäldenstein was absorbed into Austria, then Germany and then Czechoslovakia, the Saxon von Beks played a pretty important part in local politics. The legend I know from German literature is ‘Karmesinangen.’ The French called him Le Loup Blanc. Your family is closely associated with that and several other enduring Middle European legends.
“A recurrence of albinism is said to manifest itself every two generations through the maternal line of Lady Rose Perrott, kinswoman to Anne Boleyn, who married Count Michael von Bek in 1560 in Mirenburg and gave birth to albino twins, Ulrich and Oona. The albino line is traced back, people believe, before Attila, before the Romans, but like the story of your family’s special affinity with the Holy Grail and a black sword carved with living runes, the tale is comparatively recent. The event on which the poem is based took place in 1895 when Mirenburg was terrorized by a sequence of appalling murders. The victims were slain by a sword making a singular wound and leaving horrified corpses oddly coloured. A group of Rosicrucian exiles had obtained a jeweled cup they claimed was the Holy Grail and summoned a demon to help celebrate an unholy ritual. The ‘demon,’ drawn some say from Hell itself, was none other than a revived Count Ulrich von Bek, otherwise known as ‘Crimson Eyes,’ whose life-span is far longer than a common mortal’s, thanks to his sword.
“Not a demon at all, but an avenging angel! It is the von Beks’ duty to defend the Grail at all costs. Mirenburg legends say the family has a destiny to achieve the resolution of God and Satan.” Begg savoured his St. Odhran.
“Old folk tales, Sir Seaton. How people love to chill their blood! So much more mysterious and romantic than the prosaic truth! Regrettably, we have little time to chat further. I’m off on my travels tomorrow.”
“I would imagine your business here is over,” agreed Begg. “There’s talk Barbican fled to the Caymans.”
“By coincidence, exactly where I’m bound, Sir Seaton.” The albino