The White Wolf's Son by Michael Moorcock Page B

the courtyard, “this world of mine defeats all logic. Its terrors make me
     speculate whether or not I should believe in a deity, for it seems I am consigned to Hades. I am so sorryyou were frightened.” We were again in the bustle of the city. “I had only her message. She is known to be very accurate.
     Yet this time she was also mysterious. Do you have a brother here?”
    “No,” I said. “Nor an uncle. Not even a cousin I know about.”
    “Are you by any chance adopted?”
    “Of course not! I was just a bit of an afterthought, Mum said. Besides, there was the blood test we did before we went to
     India, which showed we were all related. Why?”
    “Just a foolish idea,” he apologized. He was still thinking hard. “The fires of industry she sees are no doubt the many factories
     on the far side of the river. It is possible that your friends also journey there.”
    “She said something about getting home. Could there be a way home on the other side of the river? Might it be safer for us
     there?”
    “I doubt it, my dear.”
    In deep thought we returned to Lord Renyard’s apartments.
    It seemed to me we were more confused than before we had left.
    I was beginning to get used to the miraculous, but it took a while for what I had just experienced to sink in. Lord Renyard
     wore an air of faint pride as we headed towards Raspazian’s. Mrs. House did not send for just anyone, he said. Although she
     had warned me, she hadn’t really told me much that I didn’t already know. I was curious, of course, about what she’d called
     “the Graal Staff,” and asked the fox several questions about it on the way back. He had heard of the Holy Grail, he said,
     andknew of the Black Sword, but he wasn’t sure he’d read more than a reference to a staff.
    “It could be that it has yet to be found, that you are the one destined to discover it. After all, powerful blood flows in
     your veins, eh?”
    This mystified me even more. When I tried to quiz him about it further, he merely put a paw to his snout in a knowing gesture
     and winked at me.
    To be honest, I was a bit alarmed by Mrs. House’s predictions, wondering if I hadn’t entered some kind of grand loony bin.
     It had to be a strain, as Lord Renyard had hinted, being so strange. I wondered if I wouldn’t be better off in what they called
     the “Shallow City,” where people seemed more normal.
    As we approached Raspazian’s faded sign, one of the swaggering, befeathered rogues who served the fox came towards us and,
     leering at me in a disturbing way, bowed to his master.
    “Well, Kushy?” said Lord Renyard.
    “Ye’ve a visitor, my lord. We’ve seen him before, if I’m not mistaken. Pale cove. Looks like death. Has a cold.”
    “His name?”
    “Didn’t mean much to me, your worship.” Kushy lapsed into the language I’d heard before.
    A brief conversation, and we were on our way again, with the fox frowning and looking down at me. Before we reached the tavern,
     he had further words with Kushy, who was off like a shot, coming back with a sizable hemp sack.
    “What’s that for?” I asked.
    “For you, my dear. I want you to climb into it.”
    “I’m not sure that seems like a good idea.”
    “I don’t want this Klosterheim to see you. This way I can get you past him and into my quarters without revealing your presence.”
    Reluctantly I agreed. The sack didn’t smell as bad as I expected it to. In fact it was rather sweet. It must have contained
     sugar or something similar. Kushy hoisted me onto his shoulders, groaning that I seemed precious heavy for a little girl,
     and I felt him carrying me into the tavern and setting me down inside the door while a voice I recognized announced itself
     as Klosterheim.
    “I remember you,” I heard Lord Renyard say. “You are a friend of Tom Rakehell’s—Manfred von Bek.”
    “The same, sir.” Klosterheim’s cold tones were also familiar to me. He was the man from the common, all right. “I