The White Wolf's Son by Michael Moorcock Read Free Book Online Page B

Lancaster
     Station.”
    “Of course. We’d better think in terms of an early night, I suppose.”
    “We’ll be ready to be off to the Hill, I think, as soon as everyone’s here. Your daughter did us the courtesy of booking supper.”
    Until then nobody had known I had already booked the Hill. “How thoughtful…,” said Dad with a bit of a grin.
    I had my fingers crossed everyone would be here in good time for the ham tea I anticipated. In the end there was no problem.
     All the men returned in time, and Colonel Bastable ferried quite a lot of us up in his Bentley while the others had to go
     in the old Lexus. It was a happy, busy night at the Hill. My parents didn’t know everything about
their
parents’ adventures, but they knew enough to understand that all these people turning up was a bit of an honor for us. Monsieur
     Zodiac wasn’t hungry, so I had most of his tea, too!
    Soon we were back at the house, and various people were saying good night. Monsieur Zodiac stayed with us while the others
     went their separate ways. Again I had that sense of people posting watch. Again I felt very secure.
    I drank my cocoa in front of the fire with the handsome albino. I’d heard the others speak of Monsieur Zodiac a little warily,
     as if he were very fierce and temperamental, but I found him very easy to get along with. I felt sort of sorry for him, I
     suppose. He bore his sadness, as Wheldrake says somewhere, like a steelsheath about him, so that not even the blade of his wit could strike and harm.
    Before I went up to bed, the albino patted my shoulder and looked down at me through his brooding crimson eyes. He made an
     attempt to smile. It was kindly meant, and I saw something very much like a parent’s love in his expression. I was surprised,
     but I smiled back.
    “Look after yourself, little mademoiselle,” he said.
    That night I woke up several times with bad dreams. They weren’t exactly nightmares, for I was always rescued before anything
     got close enough to me, but they left me weak and feeling unpleasant, so much so that when Dad got up early, even though the
     train didn’t arrive for a few hours, I got up, too. He wanted to go out for a walk, and I begged him to let me go with him.
     I think I persuaded him while he was still sleepy; otherwise he might have remembered the warnings of the night before. But
     I was used to testing my safety by the limits adults set on my freedom, so, because Dad let me go with him on his walk, I
     thought it was perfectly okay.
    It was another beautiful summer morning. As we climbed up the slopes and terraces above the house, we looked back. Tower House,
     all sparkling granite and glass windows, looked as magical as the limestone, with the hills rolling away behind it across
     to the distant, glaring sea. The North Yorkshire dales at their best.
    We climbed over a stile and were soon in the fields, with a long drystone wall below us in a shallow valley and a small flock
     of shaggy sheep grazing above. We paused to enjoy the view again.
    Dad and I had often gone on this walk. It was one of our favorites. This morning we had to cut it short, because Dad needed
     to get back and make the long drive toLancaster along the twisting lanes which crossed the border from Yorkshire to Lancashire. There are still people on that border
     who fight those Wars of the Roses, at least verbally, and usually in the pub.
    We were back safe and sound and ate breakfast before anyone else was up. Only when I had finished did I realize that Monsieur
     Zodiac must have left while we were on our walk. He clearly planned to come back, said Mum, scruffy as ever in her old dressing
     gown, because his door was open and his bag and clothes were still in his room, although his long, black instrument case was
     gone. Mum, who wasn’t at her best in the morning, wondered where he could be taking his guitar at this time.
    “He couldn’t have a gig around here. Not even a rehearsal. Could he, do