Morlock Night Page 8

  "I think not," said Ambrose. "The net of intrigue that binds Merdenne's agents to his service is weakened by corrosive suspicion on all sides. 'Thieves fall out,' as the old saw has it. If Merdenne were to reveal to his accomplices that we had wrested both Arthur and one of the Excaliburs from his grasp, his entire organisation might abandon its allegiance to him. No, I think Merdenne is forced to play a lone hand against us in this matter."

  "But still," I said. "His cunning is now augmented with anger at having once been bested. He seems a more formidable opponent now than ever."

  "Are you afraid of him, Hocker?" said Ambrose quietly.

  My spine stiffened as his eyes, as well as Arthur's and Tafe's, focused upon me. "Of course I am," I replied with some heat. "If I'm to be the only prudent member of this little alliance, then so be it. I fancy I've acquitted myself as well as anyone here who considers himself absolutely fearless."

  "Well spoken, that." said Arthur approvingly. "On the battlefield all hearts tremble, but the courageous hand lifts its weapon nonetheless. Here – I'll drink to that." He lifted his beer again, swaying a little as he did so. In his weakened state, the alcohol was making a strong impact on him.

  "Actually, Hocker," said Ambrose, "you may not have to face Merdenne at all in order to acquire the other Excaliburs. I eliminated Merdenne from the scene before; I intend to do so again, leaving you a more open field in which to pursue your quest."

  "But how?" He had already told us of the stratagem he had employed when Tafe and I had gone into the clinic. "Surely he would not be deceived like that again!"

  "Though I always prefer deception to any other means, in this case it is not my plan," said Ambrose. "I intend to overpower Merdenne, to bring the full weight of my will and strength against him. As you say, there would be little hope of tricking him once more. I must follow a more dangerous course."

  "How do you mean?"

  He spread his pale hands out upon the table. "While you were in the clinic I had transposed Merdenne and myself into a future time when all London was empty of inhabitants. But I did not use my strength to attempt to hold Merdenne there. It would have been pointless, as his own strength would have been sufficient to elude my grasp and return to this Time. What I intend to do now is to forcibly transpose both Merdenne and myself into a point in Time so distant that neither one of us will be able to return by our own strength. We will be like those Arctic explorers who expend all their energy to push on toward the Pole, despite the knowledge that they lack the means of returning to warmth and comfort."

  "But this is insane!" I cried. "Why, you'd be lost forever in some dismal period of the future, trapped in the world's wreckage with your bitterest enemy! And what hope could we who are left behind, have of locating the other Excaliburs and restoring the weapon to its proper state? I can't see how our chances are much improved with this proposed gambit of yours."

  "Good old Hocker," said Ambrose, smiling, "with your quick, sceptical mind. To answer your first objection, I need not be trapped forever in the far future. All this mucking about with Time in which Merdenne and the Morlocks have engaged has frayed the fabric of the Cosmos to the ripping point. By restoring Excalibur and Arthur's strength thereby, and then destroying that cursed Time Machine, you will restore the natural order of the Universe. The three Excaliburs that Merdenne snatched from their proper points in history will be automatically restored to those points, and I will be fetched back to this time once more. To carry my Arctic analogy a little further, I shall be like that explorer who has gone beyond the point of no return, only to be happily rescued and brought back to civilization by others."

  "That is all well and good," said I, "but I fear you may yet find yourself stranded in Time's Arctic wastes. I still don't see how we, without your assistance, are to accomplish the task you have set us. Merdenne has no doubt hidden the swords in the farthest crannies of the Earth. And even if he hasn't revealed how he was tricked out of this one, his henchmen will still be on their guard against anyone who comes snooping after the swords."

  "True enough." Ambrose remained unruffled in the face of my many protests. "It will take great courage and guile on the parts of all of you to accomplish what must be done. And failure is more likely than not, no matter how valiantly you struggle. But you won't be merely casting about in the dark for the scattered Excaliburs. As I said earlier, I have suspected for a little while the nature of Merdenne's plotting. Many persons of both high and low rank, odd and conventional positions, are in my employ, for one reason or another. Some of them value the same ideals as I do, others are a little more mercenary. They have all been enlisted to locate the hidden Excaliburs, and have met with some success. The swords are objects of such power, even in their weakened state, that they cannot long be hidden from eyes that know what to look for. These agents of mine will assist you in your task."

  "How are we to contact them?" He drew a sealed envelope from his coat pocket and handed it across the table to me. "Here is the name and house number of the person whom I feel you should seek out first. It will soon be daylight. I would advise that the three of you retire to my residence and rest until this evening. Work of this kind, no matter how good its intentions, is best done under the cover of darkness, and you will need all your strength as well. In the meantime I will do that which I have set for myself. When you set out once more upon your errand, it will be in a world that holds no direct threat from Merdenne – or assistance from me."

  Arthur tapped the side of his empty glass. "A course lined with pitfalls," he mused. "But I can see no other."

  "We've done all right so far," said Tafe.

  I struck the palm of my hand with the envelope Ambrose had given me, while refraining from voicing the doubts that crept upward along my spine. What good would it do to say that none of us – not even Ambrose – accurately knew the true nature of the accomplices of Merdenne from whom we had to wrest the several Excaliburs? Indeed, how trustworthy were the cohorts of Ambrose into whose hands we were entrusting our lives and mission? Misgivings darker than these, perhaps even unnameable, moved within me.

  The sun's edge reddened the oily waters that lapped against the docks. I slipped the envelope that held the thread-end of our destiny into my breast pocket, just over my unquiet heart.

  6

  Seeking the Grand Tosh

  A dark place that resisted the ascending light of morning; to this came a figure whose pale face and hands contrasted with his dark cloak. He pushed open the narrow, craze-hinged door and entered, leaving behind him the cramped street where the buildings leaned together to provide pools of shadow for the tattered forms of men and women, London's human refuse, that loitered at the base of the dark walls.

  Candles guttered in the room, and shapes moved and watched beyond the yellow circles of light. Another face, so pale it seemed to shed its own ghastly radiance in the dark, turned away from its companion and up at the newcomer. "Dr. Ambrose." The voice was flat, unemotional. Only a narrowing of the eyes revealed the hate and loathing beneath.

  "You left a chess game unfinished," said the newcomer. "That's not like you, Merdenne."

  Pale also was the flesh of the other figure sitting at the table, but unhealthily so, like the belly of a rotting fish, damp and repellent to the imagined touch. A pair of blue glass lenses beneath the skull's fringe of fine white hair completed the face that followed the words of the two identical men.

  "I have larger amusements to pursue," said Merdenne levelly. "In fact, you have come upon me in the midst of discussing a point of strategy with my associate here." The sick-looking face with the blue glasses nodded in hollow politeness. "I fear I have no time for that smaller game."

  "No time?" Ambrose smiled. "I think otherwise." His hand darted forward and locked about the wrist of his double. The candles flicked out and the room was plunged into darkness. When the candle was lit again, the eyes behind the blue glasses saw a turned-over chair beside himself, and nothing else.

 
Ambrose painfully raised himself from the rubblestrewn ground. He touched his hand to the side of his face, looked and saw blood bright against his fingers. A ringing noise filled his ears.

  A few yards away, Merdenne staggered to his feet. He shook his head, then gazed about him at the vista of ruined masonry, the crumbling fragments of a once great city. His eyes shifted focus for a few seconds, as if looking beyond the scene's material aspect.

  "You fool!" He spun about on his heel and glared in fury at Ambrose. "You've trapped us here!"

  Wearily, Ambrose sat upon the base of a shattered marble column. "We're not trapped," he said, gazing at grey clouds moving across a grey sky. "Just removed from the game for a little while. Let our pawns play out the moves we've arranged for them." He gestured at the scene around them. "This will pass, one way or another, when the struggle is decided." With a sharp-pointed stone he began to scratch at the dirt in front of his boots.

  "What are you doing?" snapped Merdenne.

  A cross-hatch of sixty-four squares showed in the dust. Ambrose began picking through the small stones around him, sorting out the darkest and the lightest and arranging them on the squares. "This will do for a rook," he said. "And here's your king… I believe you had just castled when we left off, though I'll let you take that move back, if you wish." He glanced up at Merdenne's scowling face. "Come, come." he chided. "We have a little time here. Can you think of a better way to pass it?"

  Merdenne glared at him for a few more seconds, then without speaking sat down on the other side of the board inscribed in the dust.

  I drew the envelope from my pocket and once more read Ambrose's message – Tom Clagger can be trusted – followed by a house number in Rosemary Lane. As the three of us – Arthur, Tafe and myself – had set out from Ambrose's lodgings just as dusk was setting upon the city and had spent some time searching fruitlessly for the mysterious Mr. Clagger's residence, it had now gotten quite dark. The mazy streets and alleys of this poor section of London, packed tight with the most wretched of the urban refuse, seemed even denser and less penetrable at night. I pocketed the envelope again and turned to my companions.

  "I fear we have lost our way," said I. This, though we were not out of sight of some of the city's tallest landmarks! Such is the intricacy of these lesser explored urban parts. "Stay here and I shall seek directions." I crossed the narrow street and headed for a group of roughly clad men standing about the open door of an ale shop.

  My undertaking was accompanied by a little trepidation, for in an area such as this the possibility of violence for the sake of robbery or even mere amusement is always something to be reckoned with. Our little expeditionary party had tried to dress as plainly as possible, but our great-cloaks simply by their cleanliness attracted the sinister attention of the loiterers on the street. But the urgency of our mission propelled me on toward the men who were even now scowling at my approach.

  "Gentlemen," I said brazenly. "I'm looking for a Mr. Thomas Clagger. The price of a drink all around if you can direct me to him."

  "Clagger? Clagger?" muttered one of the rag-tag band. "Don't know of no damn Clagger." His blacknailed hand strayed toward his pocket.

  The others whispered among themselves until suddenly the face of one brightened. "Oh, you mean Rich Tom!" he called out. "Whyn't you say so?" His companions' faces took on less menacing expressions, as they now regarded me with some measure of respect. Clearly the name Clagger was one that carried a little weight in this district.

  "Yes, that's the one," I said, hoping it really was. "Do you know him?"

  "Everyone knows old Rich Tom. Why, he loaned me a crown when me wife was last confined and the nurses wouldn't give us the baby 'til we had paid a bit on the bill. Of course I know Rich Tom."

  I signalled for Tafe and Arthur to come across the street and join me. "Can you take us to him?" I said, turning back to my newfound informant.

  "I should think so," said he. "You're nowt but a few paces from his door where you're standing."

  "Splendid." I distributed coins to the other men, who touched their caps and mumbled thanks, then stepped into the ale shop to test their value. "Can we hurry along? We've got some important business with Mr. Clagger."

  "I'm on to you. Lord, I had no idea old Tom had such spiffy friends, but it makes as much sense as him having pots of money in the first place."

  He escorted us to the opening of a courtyard that we had passed by several times earlier. "You probably missed it," said our guide, "cause the lane takes a little jog in right here. See? There's 'nother building around the corner." We followed him under the low arch. "That's his door right there."

  In truth, we would have never found the well-hidden lodgings without the man's aid. I bestowed a coin of gratitude upon him and received a cheerful thanks.

  Arthur looked about the cramped, crumbling courtyard with distaste as I rapped upon the door. The old king was most likely filled with bitter reflections about the degradation of his land. On the other side of the door I could hear shuffling footsteps. "Coming!" cried a man's voice from inside.

  The door opened and a man's face peered out. He was not quite so old as Arthur, but well up in years, with a fringe of grey hair around the shining pink dome of his head. "Yes?" he inquired politely. "What is it?"

  "Mr. Clagger?" I asked. "Tom Clagger?"

  "That's right." He nodded happily, apparently quite pleased with being recognised.

  "We're friends of Dr. Ambrose–"

  "Ambrose!" he cried. "Well then, come in. Don't stand out there in that mucky courtyard." He ushered us into a small, well-lit parlour. The room was surprisingly clean and tidy in a fussy bachelor's manner, in contrast to the decaying neighbourhood surrounding it. It was comfortably, if not expensively furnished, with a few framed sporting prints on the walls above the time-worn chairs. An astonishing number of books lay about on the tables and tops of cupboards, and arranged in rows upon several sets of bookshelves. Most of them showed the marks of having been acquired at bargain pricescracked or mismatched bindings, water stains and the like. There were no cheap novels among them, but were all an impressively weighty collection of philosophy, history and similar topics. One that lay open on the arm of a chair bore in the margins the pencil marks of studious perusal.

  "And how is Dr. Ambrose?" said our host, gesturing for us to seat ourselves. His voice bore just a trace of the uncultured accent of the people in the nearby streets.

  "I'm afraid he may be in some danger." I sat down and studied the old man's expression. "There is, unfortunately, nothing we can do to aid him at this time."

  Clagger nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I imagine such could very well be the case. Dr. Ambrose is a man of powerful great learning, but– something more than that, too, as you might well know." His bright eyes peered sharply at me. "Mister… ahh…"

  "Hocker," said I. "Edwin Hocker. And this is, ah, Mr. Tafe, and Brigadier-General Morsmere."

  "Tut, tut," said Clagger reprovingly. "I'm at least a little ways into Ambrose's confidences. I'm honoured to have you in my home, my lord Arthur." He gravely inclined his head toward the king.

  Arthur lifted his hand. "Please. No formalities. I hold a man of learning such as you as my equal"

  "Yes, well, I'm not exactly what you'd call schooled, but as you can see I read a fair bit." Clagger waved a hand at his scattered library. "Quite famous for it in these parts, you know. Mr. Mayhew was the one who put me on to it."

  "Mayhew?" said I. "Not Henry Mayhew, I take it?"

  "Yes," said Clagger with obvious pride. "I've got a signed first edition of his London Labour and the London Poor somewhere around here. I was one of the people he interviewed in his research. Let's see – Lord, that was back in '49 or '50, I believe. How my heart broke when he died a few years back, for he'd become a true friend to me, and done me all the good in the world." He sniffed in sad remembrance of the great chronicler of London society.

  My eye darted to an object I had seen when we had f
irst entered the room, and had caused me a little wonder. Suspended on hooks over the fireplace was a pole some eight or nine feet in length with a curved hook on one end. His mention of Mayhew's book, which, like most educated Londoners, I knew to some degree, sparked my recognition of the singular object's function. "Why, you're a tosher!" I said. "A river-man, a sewer-hunter."

  "Retired," he corrected. "Though I miss me old trade like anything on a clear morning, when the sun's just tinting the river's water by the outlet grates, and that stew of smells comes wafting out of the sewers at low tide isn't that fine, though." He pointed to the long object over the fireplace. "You see I've kept me old probing pole – many's the time it's served to save me very life, I tell you! – and I've got me old lanterns and leather aprons tucked about somewhere as well. Ah, what a grand life has a sewer-hunter, there's no doubt about that."

  "I had no idea the calling enabled one to live as well as this," I said, gesturing about at his cozy residence.