K Jeter: Morlock Night

I glanced across at Tafe and saw that even her eyes had widened a bit in surprise. "What was that," said I to Ambrose, "about getting Arthur out of the clinic?"

"Yes, well, quite frankly, it's going to be up to you and Tafe. That's the whole point of my enlisting you as my allies. It would be disastrous for me even to attempt to enter the clinic. The automatic result would be my death and an enormous increase in Merdenne's own power. The very building itself is a trap designed to leech off my spiritual power and transfer it to Merdenne. No, as I said, the task falls to you and Tafe – to enter the clinic, find both Arthur and Excalibur, and bring them both out again."

"But surely," I protested, "if Merdenne can devise a trap such as that for you, no doubt even worse pitfalls await lesser figures such as we two. What better chance would Tafe and I have in such a place."

"No chance at all," said Ambrose placidly. "The only exit you would make would be as cinders and ashes rising out of one of the clinic's chimneys, and the Morlock's invasion plans would continue apace. True enough are your forebodings – if Merdenne were to be aware of your having entered the clinic."

"And what's to prevent that? Surely the place is rigged with alarms enough to warn him of any surreptitious visitors."

"Indeed so, Hocker. You anticipate my every precaution. But alarms, effective as they might ordinarily be, are of little avail to someone who is, shall we say, too distracted to hear them."

"You propose, then, to divert Merdenne's attention while Tafe and I invade his stronghold and liberate Arthur? How, pray, do you intend to do that?" A touch of sarcasm entered my voice, increased by my anxiety over the whole project.

"That," said Ambrose, "is my concern. You needn't worry over it."

"And what should happen if your ploy fails and Merdenne discovers the invasion before we are quit of the premises? What then?"

"Then, Hocker, he will hideously murder you and Tafe, hide Arthur in some new place beyond my powers of discovery, and all will be lost. It is as simple as that."

"Oh." My cigar had gone out, and I pulled disconsolately at the dead stub.

"Well, Hocker?" said Ambrose after a moment's silence on all our parts. "I can't very well force you to help in a matter like this."

"I suppose not. Still – one never really plans on encountering this sort of thing."

"Show a little backbone," said Tafe. They were the first words she had spoken since we had entered the pub. "Things will get pretty rotten soon enough if you don't do anything at all. You saw what it'll be like. At least this way we've got a chance of preventing all that."

Shamed at this rebuke from a woman, I nodded. "When do we start?" I dropped the cigar stub to the littered floor and ground it beneath my boot heel.

"Capital," said Ambrose. "We haven't a moment to lose. Listen…"

Tafe and I leaned our heads closer toward him. I followed the outlines of his plan, while the cowardly portion of my heart turned away and fled.

"Ah, my dear… Merdenne. Mind if I join you?" His pale hand was already drawing back the chair on the other side of the table.

"Why, Ambrose – it's still Ambrose, isn't it? – of course not. Here, do try some of the Latour." The one called Mer denne took one of the unused wine glasses above his plate, poured the lustrous red vintage into it, and extended it across the restaurant's snowy-white damask.

"Thank you." Ambrose held the glass to the light, then brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply, then at last drank of it, rolling the wine on his tongue to savour it fully. "Quite pleasant," he said after a moment's reflection. "But the vintners really should, have asked for a priest's blessing on that old graveyard before they planted their vines in it. The unconsecrated bones in the soil leave, I fear, a bitter aftertaste in the mouth."

"Actually," said Merdenne with a thin smile, "that's the thing I like most about this wine."

Ambrose half-smiled back. " De gustibus non disputandum. Not your usual sort of refreshment anyway, is it? You were fond of a rather different intoxicant, I be lieve, when you were a counsellor to the great Suleiman."

Across the width of the restaurant, one waiter nudged another in the ribs and pointed at the two men. "Look at em," he whispered to his colleague. "Just as like as two eggs in the same nest!" The other nodded in sage acknowl edgment. "Those are what are called identicable twins," he pronounced with grave authority.

Merdenne took a swallow from his own glass. "One must conform," he said, "to the vices of the time and place one finds one's self in. I'm afraid this England of which you're so fond isn't quite civilised enough yet to view the open smoking of opium without at least a small measure of scandal. Though I imagine the scandal lies more in the lower class associations of the habit, rather than in any perceived peril in the drug itself. How tiresome these little minds are, with their endless preoccupations about classes, places and positions! Won't you be glad to see them all wiped away at last?"

"Twins or no," said the first waiter, "there's something about the sight of the two of em sitting together that fair makes me blood creep! What do you suppose they could ever be talking about?"

"They might," said Ambrose coolly, "not be wiped away as easily as you fancy."

"Come, come, Ambrose. Don't delude yourself. In the past, our conflicts have been like… like chess games, so to speak. Yes, exactly, games of chess. But in this one, your king is already forfeited to me. Check and mate. The game is over. Nothing is left but the clearing of the pieces from the board."

"Perhaps, perhaps… You speak of chess. I would imag ine you've found few opponents hereabouts worthy of your passion for that game!" Ambrose sipped at his wine, letting his eyes wander over the crowded restaurant. The noise of many conversations, the clink of silverware on china, all washed against the two of them.

"Damn, but you're right enough about that," said Mer denne fervently. "This is a nation of whist players, and other beastly card games which serve as nothing more than a pretext for polite gabbling at the opposite sex!"

"Not at all the sort of chess-playing opportunities you had when you were known as Ibrahim, I suppose."

"Nothing like," said Merdenne. "Even Suleiman himself was an avid player, though inclined not to value his pawns sufficiently. How I miss those days! Studying the chessboard through a haze of opium smoke, as if one were an eagle floating miles above the desert, scrutinising the affairs of men… master of all…" He lapsed into a silent reverie.

"See here, Merdenne. I'll stand you a game."

"Would you really?" His eyes brightened. "That's beastly good of you, Merlin – pardon, I mean Ambrose. Consider ing that you've lost just about everything on the outs."

Ambrose cleared the bottle of Latour and the wine glasses from the centre of the table. From his coat pocket he brought a little cube of enamelled wood that, with a click of springs and hinges, expanded into a small chess board. Thirty-two small figures in black and white spilled from felt-lined pockets on the board's underside.

"That's a clever item," said Merdenne admiringly. "Your own design?"

"Yes." Ambrose shuffled two of the pieces about in his hands, then extended his closed fists across the table. Mer denne hesitated before tapping one of his opponent's fists. "Just a game, right?" he said cautiously. "You won't win here what you've lost on the larger board – the world, that is."

Ambrose nodded. "Just a game." He opened the fist that Merdenne then tapped, revealing the White Queen. "Your move."

The pieces were quickly arranged in their places, and Merdenne pushed his queen's pawn forward. Ambrose met it with his own, but before Merdenne could con tinue his opening, a crash of dinnerware sounded beside the table.