Alfric was left alone in the night, which was bitterly cold. The moon was null, but the uncanny light of the Oracle of Ob still shone bright and strong, serving as an acceptable substitute.
But Alfric needed no substitute. Nor did he need the moon itself. Tonight, he knew. He was not the moon’s minion but the Commander of his own Powers, the Commander of the Power to Change. He could do so now, if he wished. Wrists thickening, hairs darkening, teeth lengthening, body girthing and strengthening.
He had the choice.
He could Change, and flee Galsh Ebrek, and live wild as a ravening enemy of the city, live wild in the forest, savaging and destroying at will.
But:
‘That is not my choice.’
So said Alfric Danbrog, then turned his back on the Oracle of Ob and started walking down Mobius Kolb, making for Varnvelten Street and his home.
Of course, this was not the end of the matter. There would always be the moon, and the temptations of the moon. There would always be the memory of those three months in the Qinjoks when he had lived as a wolf, running wild and shameless through the wilderness.
But…
He had faced his great crisis and had survived it. While he was a shape-changer, he knew himself to be fit to live among humans. He had never been entirely sure of that till now. The great burden of his life had been the fear that the madness of the moon would one day overcome him; that his efforts to restrain himself would fail; that he would become one with the ravening beasts, gladly slaughtering any and all without thought for the consequences.
Now he knew otherwise.
He would never yield to such temptation, except by an act of untrammelled free will; and this knowledge of selfpossession compensated for whatever he had lost. Though he had been defeated in his efforts to win the throne of Galsh Ebrek, at least he had full possession of himself.
‘Besides,’ said Alfric, ‘the game is not yet played out.’
He was still alive.
And Ursula Major could not kill him openly, for she had granted him a pardon in the presence of many witnessing Yudonic Knights. When challenged to combat by the ork Morgenstem, Ursula had pardoned Alfric; and law and tradition did not allow such a mercy to be withdrawn.
‘She wants to kill me,’ said Alfric to himself, ‘but it must be done by stealth. Well. I have eyes and ears and hands and feet, and a sword to guard myself, and a stiletto, and a glass eye besides, so what fear have I of assassins?’
He realized that, though he was speaking to himself, his voice was loud. He must be a little drunk.
‘What of it?’ said Alfric. ‘A man may have a little drink to celebrate a victory, may he not?’
Then he went down Mobius Kolb, walking boldly through the night, careless of any danger he might encounter. He went directly to Varnvelten Street. As far as he was concerned, that was enough. His enemies thought Nappy to be killing him slowly in some secret place of screaming horror. They would not look for him in his home or elsewhere, not tonight.
When Alfric got home, he found his house had been looted. Candles lit by the looters were still burning.
‘Robbers!’ said Alfric.
And tried to work out exactly what had been stolen.
Viola Vanaleta’s favourite chair. Viola Vanaleta’s favourite table. Vanaleta’s spare clothes. Vanaleta’s lantern, the special stained-glass lantern which had been a wedding gift from her grandmother.
No, the house had not been burgled.
Rather, Alfric’s wife had come and had removed all that belonged to her, together with all those items of jointly held property to which she had some special claim.
‘So this is it,’ muttered Alfric. ‘This is final. What next? Divorce papers, I suppose.’
And he began to feel weary, very weary, so weary that he wondered if perhaps Nappy had poisoned him. Reeling with fatigue, he stumbled to his bed, and laid himself down without bothering to take off his boots. And when he woke it was morning, and sun was streaming in through a small glass window near his head, and at first he was puzzled by that light, for it was so long since he had seen the sun that he was almost ready to deny the reality of the sun’s existence.
‘A new day,’ said Alfric.
Yes, a new day.
And now he had his problems to attend to.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Alfric scavenged around for a meal, and was rewarded by the discovery of three small cakes of cooked oatmeal and a lump of dried fish. While he was taking breakfast, he schemed diligently. The game of power was not played out yet; but, if Alfric was going to survive to play much longer, he would have to make Ursula Major understand that she needed him.
What did he have that she wanted? Or might be made to want? Of course! His knowledge of finance!
Alfric had long observed that the government of Wen Endex was deficient in that it had no properly organized system of taxes. Given such a system, the streets of Galsh Ebrek could be properly paved; roads could be built across the nation; the swamps could be drained; and many other things equally as marvellous could be accomplished.
Once Ursula Major understood that Alfric could arrange all this on her behalf, surely she would rather have him as an ally than as an enemy. And once installed in the power system, he could work to put himself on the throne.
‘It will work,’ said Alfric to himself.
Then was startled by a knock on the door.
Alfric feared this might signal the advent of Ciranoush Zaxilian Nom at the head of a gang of headhunters. But his visitors proved to be the orks, Cod and Morgenstem.
‘Hello,’said Alfric.
‘Hello Alfric,’ said Morgenstem.
‘May we come in?’ said Cod. ‘There’s something we’d like to talk about.’
‘I’m afraid,’ said Alfric, ‘that this isn’t a convenient moment for a talk.’
‘Why not?’ said Cod.
‘Because,’ said Alfric, ‘I’m going to Saxo Pall.’
‘Oh,’ said Morgenstem. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’
‘I don’t care if it’s wise or not,’ said Alfric. ‘I’m going.’ ‘There’s things going on in that castle which aren’t really nice,’ said Morgenstem.
‘Such as what?’ said Alfric.
‘Such as people dying,’ said Morgenstem. ‘Nappy, for instance.’
‘What happened to him?’ said Alfric.
‘He died,’ said Morgenstem. ‘He died in his sleep last night.’
Alfric knew what it meant ‘to die in one’s sleep’. Alfric could not help himself. He shuddered, imagining the wet bone, the shattered teeth, the eyes avulsed, the intestines spraddled across the room. ‘To die in your sleep’ — in Wen Endex, that denoted the most hideous of all possible deaths. Who had commanded such a death? The smooth-breasted Ursula Major? Or the female Thrug? Or had the execution been commanded by Ciranoush Zaxilian Nom?
Whatever the truth, Nappy’s death served to increase Alfric’s sense of personal danger. Unless he could secure himself the protection of some kind of power base, he had best leave Wen Endex to preserve his own life.
‘I’m sorry to hear about Nappy,’ said Alfric, ‘but it doesn’t change the facts. I’m still going. I’ve got a clear choice. Either I do a deal with Ursula Major or I flee the city.’
‘What kind of deal are you thinking of doing?’ said Cod.
‘I’m going to offer to run her inland revenue department,’ said Alfric.
‘But she doesn’t have an inland revenue department!’ said Cod.
‘A deficiency,’ said Alfric, ‘which I hope to remedy.’
‘Can we come with you?’ said Cod. ‘To Saxo Pall, I mean.’
‘Of course,’ said Alfric. ‘If you want to.’
‘Good,’ said Cod. ‘If they threaten you, we’ll say we’ve made you part of our diplomatic staff.’
‘Thank you,’ said Alfric, genuinely touched to find the orks selflessly prepared to go to such efforts on his behalf.
In company with the orks, Alfric went through the streets of Galsh Ebrek.