Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [99]
“Go, tiger!” he said weakly as they began to run, still supporting him.
“How are we going to get down to the boats?” asked Miss Brunner when they had helped him round the side of the house facing the cliff edge.
Jerry didn’t care. “I suppose we’ll have to jump,” he murmured. “Hope the tide hasn’t dropped too low.”
“It’s a long way down, and I’m not so sure I can swim.” Mr. Smiles slowed his pace.
“You’ll have to try,” said Miss Brunner.
They stumbled across the rough turf and got to the edge. Far below, water still washed the cliff. Behind them a strong-minded guard had spotted them. They could tell this because his bullets had begun to whine past them.
“Are you fit enough, Mr. Cornelius?”
“I hope so, Miss Brunner.”
They jumped together and fell together towards the sea.
Mr. Smiles didn’t follow them. He looked back, saw the stroboscopes, and could not turn away again. A smile appeared on his lips. Mr. Smiles died smiling, at the hand of the strong-minded guard.
Jerry, now unaware of who or where he was, felt himself being dragged from the sea. Someone slapped his face. What, he wondered, was the nature of reality after all? Could all this be the result of mankind’s will—even his natural surroundings, the shape of the hand that slapped his face?
“You’re going to have to steer, I’m afraid, Mr. Cornelius. I can’t.”
He smiled. “Steer? Okay.” But what sort of place would he steer into? The world he had left? This world? Or another altogether. A world, perhaps, where killer girls roved metropolitan streets in bands, working for faceless tycoons who bought and sold hydrogen bombs on an international level, supplying the entire market with H—Hydrogen, Heroin, Heroines…
“Catherine,” he murmured. Miss Brunner was kindly helping him to the cabin, he realized.
Tired but happy, unconvinced by the reality of his hallucination, he started the boat and swung out to sea.
Hi-Fi, Holiness, a hope in hell…
He would never have a memory of what happened until he cried “Catherine!” and woke to find that he was in a very comfortable hospital bed.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” he said politely to the lemon-faced woman in uniform who entered after a while, “where would I be?”
“You’re in the Sunnydales Nursing Home, Mr. Cornelius, and you are much better. On the way to recovery, they say. A friend brought you here after your accident at that French funfair.”
“You know about that?”
“I know very little about it. Some trick gun went off the wrong way and shot you, I believe.”
“Is that what happened? Are all nursing homes called Sunnydales?”
“Most of them.”
“Am I receiving the very best medical attention?”
“You have had three specialists at your friend’s expense.”
“Who’s the friend?”
“I don’t know the name. The doctor might. A lady, I think.”
“Miss Brunner?”
“The name’s familiar.”
“Will there be any complications? When will I be fit enough to leave?”
“I don’t think any complications are expected. You will not leave until you are fit enough to do so.”
“You have my word of honour—I shan’t leave until I’m fit enough. My life’s all I’ve got.”
“Very wise. If there are any business matters you need arranging—any relatives?”
“I’m self-employed,” he said self-consciously.
The nurse said, “Try getting some sleep.”
“I don’t need any sleep.”
“You don’t, but it’s easier to run a hospital with all the patients sleeping. They’re less demanding. Now you can do me a favour. Groan, beg for medical details, complain about the lack of attention we give you and the inferior way we run the hospital, but don’t try to make me laugh.”
“I don’t think I could, could I?” said Jerry.
“It’s a waste of time,” she agreed.
“Then I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He felt fresh and relaxed and he wondered why he should, considering his recent activities. He’d probably have plenty of time in which to work it out. He knew he’d be fighting trauma on all fronts, and the long coma had equipped him to fight well.
As best he could, he began putting his mind in order. During the weeks in the