Von Bek Anthology by Michael Moorcock & Michael Jonh Moorcock

Author:Michael Moorcock & Michael Jonh Moorcock [Moorcock, Michael & Moorcock, Michael Jonh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Anthologies, Religion, sf
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

In which I take a tankard of porter at the centre of the world. An ordinary taverner speaks his mind. An old friend is restored. A question of dreams and reality. Rules of the house.

THIS IS DEVILISH queer, thought I, hesitating with one hand playing upon my pommel, the other taking a firmer grip on my sabre’s hilt. I could see through the windows there was nothing overtly sinister about the place. It was full of plainly dressed fellows in honest homespun, in broad-skirted brown riding coats, moleskin breeches and jackboots, bewigged, like most Mirenburgers, after the fashion of a generation earlier than mine, with slouch hats or tricornes and rather more ribbons and buckles than was thought good taste by the demi-monde. But none was armed. None waited, with leering eye, for the Ritter Manfred von Bek to come strolling in. Indeed, all the people there, including the serving maids, were the healthiest I had seen in the whole city. The tavern had the air of a sanctuary rather than a trap. Yet all had agreed that the Red O’Dowd came there a score of years since, with bloody steel to carve a ruthless path to kingship of the Deeper City. A Hun, the Goat Queen had said, who killed for pleasure or merely to command the Centre. Were tavern licences so rarely granted in this Mirenburg?

I bent to pull up the flaps of my boots until they rose towards my thighs, pulled back my hair and tidied it in a fresh knot, adjusting my neck-cloth and dusting down the rest of me. I was not wholly satisfied by my outlook, but it was the best I could produce. Without further ado I pushed open the doors of The Friend Indeed and, with a ‘good evening to ye, gentlemen’, strode up to the counter and ordered from the barman a tankard of their best, black porter.

It was when I felt in my pockets for coin I sensed the worst danger thus far – the threat of ignominious dismissal from the premises! But luckily I at last discovered a few schillings – more than enough for a whole evening’s swilling – and was at my ease again, with the pot in my fist, going to sit in an empty booth furthest from the door and nearest the stair. It was not so warm there, and the spot was unpopular, but I felt comforted with my face to the whole assembly.

The only peculiarity about those men was that they were all of about my own age; there were no youths and few above forty. They were at dice or played cards or grew animated around the dominoes. While none evidently bore arms, I began to gain an impression of soldiers (or possibly thief-takers) off duty. Taverns everywhere were patronised by their like, so I saw no special significance in that, save that I appeared to be the only stranger. The Friend Indeed possessed some of the character of an informal garrison.

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