The English Assassin by Michael Moorcock Read Free Book Online Page B

once faltered in its intensity. The fair-haired girl was being very polite to Elizabeth’s parents whom she was meeting for the first time. She had a low, calm, unaffected voice. Her name was Catherine Cornelius and she had turned from incest to lesbianism with a certain sense of relief. Elizabeth Nye was the third girl she had seduced but the only one with whom she had been able to sustain a relationship for very long.
    It was Catherine who had asked Elizabeth to get Major Nye to collect Jerry Cornelius from Cornwall and deliver him to Ironmaster House where her brother had been picked up by Sebastian Auchinek’s agents and transported to Dubrovnik. Catherine had come to know Sebastian Auchinek through Una Persson who had introduced Catherine to her first lover, Mary Greasby. Una Persson had once possessed mesmeric power over Catherine similar to that which Catherine now possessed over Elizabeth. Una Persson had convinced Catherine that Prinz Lobkowitz in Berlin would be able to cure Jerry of his hydrophilia and so Catherine had been deceived into providing the collateral (her brother) for the guns which had helped reduce Athens. She had also been instrumental in delivering Jerry into the hands of his old regimental commander, Colonel Pyat of the ‘Razin’ 11th Don Cossack Cavalry, who, for some time, had been obsessed with discovering the reason for Cornelius’s desertion. He desperately wanted, once he had proved Jerry authentic, to revive the assassin and question him.
    Catherine was only gradually becoming aware of her mistake. She had still not voiced the suspicion, even to herself, that Una Persson might have deceived her.
    “And how is the poor blighter?” asked Major Nye, dolefully watching the water fall through the overheated air and rolling himself a thin cigarette. “Hypothermia, wasn’t it?”
    “I’m not sure, major. I haven’t heard from Berlin yet. It’s confused, as you know.”
    “It beats me,” said Mrs Nye harshly, rising to collect the tea paraphernalia, “how your brother managed to get himself into that state. But then I suppose I’m behind the times.” Her wide, cruel mouth hardened. “Even the diseases have changed since I was a girl.” She gave her husband a sharp, accusing glare. She hated him for his ulcers. “You haven’t eaten your scone, dear.”
    “Old tummy…” he mumbled. “I’d better see to that weeding.” His wife knew how to whip him on.
    “The heat…” said Catherine Cornelius, and her bosom heaved. “Isn’t it a bit…?”
    “Used to the heat, my girl.” He squared his shoulders. A funny little smile appeared beneath his grey moustache. There was considerable pride in his stance. “Drilled in full dress uniform. India. Much worse than this. Like the heat.” He lit the cigarette he had rolled. “You’re the cream in my coffee, I’m the milk in your tea, pom-te-pomm-pom-pompom.” He smiled shyly and affectionately at her as he opened the door which led into the back garden. He gave her a comic, swaggering salute. “See you later, I hope.”
    Left alone, Elizabeth and Catherine looked longingly at each other across the real Jacobean table.
    “We should be getting back to Ladbroke Grove soon if we’re not to get caught in the traffic,” said Catherine glancing at the door through which Mrs Nye had passed with the tea things.
    “Yes,” said Elizabeth. “We shouldn’t leave it too late, should we?”

J.C.
    Jerry’s coffin was being rocked about quite a lot. The train carrying it stopped suddenly once again. It was about a mile outside Coventry. The awful smell always increased when the train was stationary. Was it the steam?
    Colonel Pyat got up from the dirty floor to peer through the little hole in the armour plating of his truck. The light was fading but he could see a grimy grey-green field and a pylon. On the horizon were rows of red-brick houses. He looked at his watch. It was nine o’clock in the evening; it had been exactly three