The Dragon in the Sword by Michael Moorcock Read Free Book Online

Mopher’s shout the massive gate was raised and we passed through. The hall was more elaborately decorated and moreover I now realised that the portcullis was covered in fine gauze. Very little of the ash had actually permeated this part of the ship.
    Now a trumpet sounded (a somewhat unpleasant squawk) and from a dimly lit gallery above our heads a voice cried:
    “Hail to our honoured guests. Let them feast tonight with the Baron Captain and keep passage with us until the Massing.”
    We could see little of the speaker, but apparently he was simply a herald. Now down a wide open staircase on the other side of the hall bustled a short, stocky individual with the face of a prizefighter and the demeanour of an aggressive man who seeks to control a normally short temper.
    He held a skull-cap across a chest covered in the most elaborate red, gold and blue brocade and on his thick legs were flaring breeches weighted at the bottoms with heavy balls of differently coloured felt. On his head was one of the strangest hats I had ever seen in all my rangings through the multiverse, and it was no wonder he did not choose to use this for the ritualistic covering of the heart. The hat was at least a yard high, very much like an old-fashioned stovepipe but with a narrower brim. I guessed that it was stiffened from inside, yet nonetheless it tended to lean wildly in more than one direction and it was coloured a garish mustard yellow so bright I feared it would blind me.
    The owner of this costume plainly felt it to be not only perfectly congruous but rather impressive. As he reached the bottom of the stairs he paused, made a small gesture to acknowledge us, then turned to Mopher Gorb. “You’re dismissed, Binkeeper. And as I’m sure you’ll be aware you’ll be responsible for stocking no more bins this tour. It was poor judgment to mistake our guests for marsh vermin. And you lost good hands as a result.”
    Mopher Gorb bowed low. “I accept this, Baron Captain.”
    The ship suddenly shuddered and seemed to moan and complain deep within itself. For a few moments we all clutched for whatever support was available until the motion calmed. Then Mopher Gorb continued. “I give over my bins to the one who would succeed me and pray that they catch good vermin for our boilers.”
    Although only dimly aware of what he meant I found myself again close to vomiting.
    Mopher Gorb slunk back through the portcullis which was wound down rapidly behind him and the Baron Captain strutted towards us, his great hat nodding on his head.
    “I am Armiad-naam-Sliforg-ig-Vortan, Baron Captain of this hull, accountant to The Clutching Hand. I am deeply honoured to welcome you and your friend.” He was addressing me directly, a somewhat unpleasantly placatory note in his voice. I was evidently surprised by his response and he smiled. “Know you, sir, that the names you gave my Binkeeper were but a few of your titles, as I understand, for you would not demean yourself to offer your true name and rank to such as he. However, as a Baron Captain I am permitted, am I not, to address you by the name known best by us, at least, in this our Maaschanheem.”
    “You know my name, Baron Captain?”
    “Oh, of course, your highness. I recognise your face from our own literature. All have read of your exploits against the Tynur raiders. Your quest for the Old Hound and her child. The mystery you solved concerning the Wild City. And many, many more. You are quite as much a hero amongst the Maaschanheemers, your highness, as you are amongst your own Draachenheemers. I cannot tell you how deeply glad I am to be able to entertain you, without any wish for publicity for this hull or myself. I would like this clear that we are only too honoured to have you aboard.”
    I could barely control my smile at this unpleasant little man’s awkward and somewhat disgusting attempts at good manners. I decided to take a haughty tone, since he expected it of me.
    “Then how, sir, do