The Land Leviathan (A Nomad of the Time Streams Novel) by Michael Moorcock Read Free Book Online Page A

originally coming to find you and take you with us to the Valley of the Morning, but I could not afford to miss the chance of ambushing such a large number of the general’s troops.”
    “How did you know I sought the Valley of the Morning?”
    “I have known for at least a month. You have made many enquiries.”
    “Your name is familiar—where have I heard it...?” Slowly it dawned on me. “Bastable mentioned you! The woman on the airship—the revolutionist. Una Persson!”
    “I am an acquaintance of Captain Bastable.”
    My heart leapt. “Is he there? Is he in the Valley of the Morning as I suspected?”
    “He has been there,” she agreed. “And he has left something of himself behind.”
    “But Bastable? What of him? I am anxious to speak to him. Where is he now?”
    And then this mysterious woman made the most cryptic utterance she had made so far. She shrugged and gave a little, tired smile, pulling on her horse’s reins so that the beast began to move away. “Where indeed?” she said. “It is not a question easily answered, Mr. Moorcock, for we are all nomads of the time streams...”
    I stood there, puzzled, chilled, miserable and too weary to question her further. She rode to where Mr. Lu’s goods lay scattered about and beneath the corpses of men and horses. She dismounted and stooped to inspect one shattered figurine, dipped her finger into the hollow which had been revealed and lifted the finger to her nose. She nodded to herself as if confirming something she had already known. Then she began to give orders to her men in rapid Cantonese dialect which I could scarcely follow at all. Carefully, they gathered up both the fragments and the few figurines which were still unbroken. It did not take a particularly subtle intelligence to put two and two together. Now I knew why Mr. Lu had taken such an oddly circuitous route and why he had been eager to leave the troop train as soon as possible. Plainly, he was an opium smuggler. I found it hard to believe that such an apparently decent and well-educated man could indulge in so foul a trade, but the evidence was indisputable. For some reason I could not find it in my heart to loathe the dead man and I guessed that some sort of perverted idealism had led him to this means of making money. I also had an explanation of the general’s interest in Mr. Lu’s goods—doubtless the bandit chief had guessed the truth, which was why he had been so eager to “requisition” the articles.
    The booty was collected quickly and Una Persson mounted her sleek stallion without another glance at me, riding off through the rain. One of her silent warriors brought me a horse and signaled for me to climb into the saddle. I did so with eagerness, for I had no intention of becoming separated from the beautiful bandit leader—she was my first real link with Bastable and there was every chance she would take me to him. I felt no danger from these rascals and had an inkling that Una Persson was, if not sympathetic, at least neutral with regard to me.
    Thus, surrounded by her men, I followed behind her as we left that little vale of death and the remnants of Mr. Lu’s party and cantered along a narrow track which wound higher and higher into the mountains.
    I was hardly aware of the details of that journey, so eaten up was I with curiosity. A thousand questions seethed in my skull— how could a woman who had been described by Bastable as being young in the year 1973 be here, apparently just as young, in the year 1910? Once again I experienced that almost fearful frisson which I had experienced when listening to Bastable’s speculations on the paradoxes of Time.
    And would Democratic Dawn City—Chi’ng Che’eng Ta-Chia—that secret Utopian revolutionary citadel be there when we arrived in the Valley of the Morning?
    And why was Una Persson taking part in China’s internecine politics? Why did these tall, silent men follow her?
    I hoped that I would have at least some