Memoranda by Jeffrey Ford Read Free Book Online Page A

the sleeping disease.
    â€œYes,” he said, “I know.”
    â€œPlease. I must help those people,” I said. “Take me to him. Let me reason with him.”
    â€œCome, Cley,” he said.
    He waited for me to get out of my chair, then led me through the door, holding it open as I passed. We walked in silence down a long, door-lined corridor, and I marveled at this beast with a conscience. What struck me was that as depraved as Below was, he was somehow capable of raising a “child” who had a sense of morality. I thought I might be able to enlist the son as an ally.
    At the end of the corridor there was another door. As we approached it, Misrix reached out and put a hand on my shoulder, the claws curving down to point at my heart.
    â€œYou must promise that you will not hurt him,” he said.
    â€œMe, hurt Below?” I said. “I was hoping that you would protect me from his anger.”
    â€œThat won’t be necessary,” he said as he turned the knob and pulled back the door.
    The room was small and dimly lit by one candle. It took me a moment for my eyes to adjust, and in that time Misrix had entered and was standing beside me. The candle sat in a holder on a small table next to a large bed with an ornate headboard. Lying in the bed was Drachton Below, his eyes closed. His head was propped up on cream-colored pillows as though resting on a cloud bank, and he was dressed in blue silken pajamas. In the time since I had last seen him, he had grown a long mustache and beard, the same color as the pillows. His face was remarkably clear of wrinkles for one as old as he, but the thick hair that he had once worn in an impressive wave was now all but gone.
    Misrix walked over to the side of the bed and reached out to pat him lightly on the head. I approached and asked if I could awaken him.
    â€œI wish you could,” said the demon.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked. Before he could answer, though, I noticed the expression on Below’s face. He wore a subtle grin, the same I had seen back in Wenau on Roan and Jensen and the others who had succumbed to the disease.
    I turned to Misrix, and he simply nodded. “We were in the laboratory three days ago, and he was preparing one of his metal birds. He told me, ‘Another gift for my children at Wenau.’ There was a small beaker of steaming yellow liquid in his hand that he was preparing to pour into the mouth of the bird. He began to tell me something, and when he did, the beaker slipped from his fingers and crashed against the floor. I was on the other side of the laboratory, and I began to rush to his aid. By then a thick yellow smoke was rising around him. He spoke excrementally, and motioned for me not to come near him. I stayed at a distance, because he kept his finger pointed at me to remain. Then his eyes rolled back in his head. He said, ‘Good night,’ and fell onto the floor. I have not been able to wake him since.”
    I felt a tightening in my stomach. “Is there an antidote? Do you remember him mentioning or working on a cure for the yellow smoke?” I asked.
    The demon nodded his head sadly. “Yes. When he first created the smoke, he made an experiment using one of the werewolves. He put the creature to sleep and then after two days awakened it with a needle full of something.”
    â€œWhat was it?” I asked.
    â€œI never knew,” said Misrix, and I saw him begin to get upset.
    â€œThat’s fine,” I told him. “It’s not your fault.” I put my hand on his arm. “Do you know where he keeps it?”
    â€œYes,” he said.
    â€œWhere is it?” I asked.
    With the tip of a claw, he touched Below’s temple. “In there,” he said.

6
    I asked Misrix to take me to the laboratory, but he said it would be impossible until daybreak, when the werewolves would be sleeping. It was situated on the main floor of a partially intact building