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

answers to these questions when we arrived in the Valley of the Morning, but, as it emerged, I was to be in several ways disappointed.
    It was after dark by the time that we reached Una Persson’s camp and the rain had fallen ceaselessly, so that it was still difficult to make out details, but it was obvious that this was no City of the Future—merely the ruins of a small Chinese township with a few houses still inhabitable. For the most part, however, the soldiers and their women and children lived in makeshift shelters erected in the ruins, while others had set up tents or temporary huts similar to the Mongolian yurt. Cooking-fires guttered here and there amongst the fallen masonry and half-burned timbers which spoke of some disaster having befallen the town fairly recently. Much of the ground had been churned to mud and was made even more treacherous by the arrival of our horses. As I dismounted, Una Persson rode up and pointed with a riding-crop at one of the still-standing houses.
    “You’ll be my guest for supper, I hope, Mr. Moorcock.”
    “You are kind, madam,” I replied. “But I fear I am not properly dressed to take supper with such a beautiful hostess...”
    She grinned at the compliment. “You are picking up Chinese habits of speech, I see. Your clothes were rescued. You’ll find them in your room. San Chui here will show you where it is. You’ll be able to wash there, too. Until later, then.” She saluted me with the crop and rode off to supervise the unloading of her spoils (which also consisted of most of the weapons which had a short while ago belonged to Mr. Lu’s and the general’s men). I had an opportunity to see one of the machine-guns I had initially only heard and was astonished that it was so light and yet so capable of dealing out death with extraordinary efficiency. This, too, was of a completely unfamiliar pattern. Indeed, it was the sort of weapon I might have expected to find in a city of the future!
    San Chui, impassive as his comrades, bowed and led the way into the house, which was carpeted in luxurious style throughout but was otherwise of a somewhat Spartan appearance. In a room near the top of the house I found my baggage and my spare suit already laid out on my sleeping-mat (there was no bed). Shortly afterwards another soldier, who had changed into a smock and trousers of blue linen, brought me a bowl of hot water and I was able to get the worst of the mud and dust off my person, find a reasonably uncrumpled shirt, don the fresh suit and walk down to supper safe in the conviction that I was able to make at least an approximate appearance of civilized demeanour!
    I was to dine alone, it seemed, with my hostess. She herself had changed into a simple gown of midnight-blue silk, trimmed with scarlet in the Chinese fashion. With her short hair and her oval face she looked, in the light of the candles burning on the dining-table, almost Chinese. She wore no ornament and there was no trace of paint on her face, yet she looked even more beautiful than the first time I had seen her. When I bowed it was instinctively, in homage to that beauty. The ground-floor room held the minimum of furniture—a couple of chests against the walls and a low Chinese table at which one sat cross-legged on cushions to eat.
    Without enquiry, she handed me a glass of Madeira and I thanked her. Sipping the wine, I found it to be amongst the very best of its kind and I complimented her on it.
    She smiled. “Don’t praise my taste, Mr. Moorcock. Praise that of the French missionary who ordered it in Shanghai—and who is still, I suppose, wondering what has become of it!”
    I was surprised by her easy (even shameless) admission of her banditry, but said nothing. Never having been a great supporter of the established Church, I continued to sip the missionary’s wine with relish, however, and found myself relaxing for the first time since I had left civilization. Although I had so many questions to ask her,