Dark Foundations (17 page)

U
pon returning home, Merral retired to his room, saying that he had some work to do. There he sat with Vero's report on guerrilla warfare and tried to focus on what was in it. But he had not been there long when his mother knocked, entered, and closed the door crisply behind her.

“Merral dear,” she said in the lowest of voices. “I do hope you had a good meeting with Isabella. I won't ask what happened. That's
private
. But I wanted to say something about our decision. I'm so
sorry
we didn't consult you. I did think about it, but . . . well . . . your father was
desperately
keen.” She gave a rueful and disapproving shake of the head. “He really wants to see you settle
down
. He'd like grandchildren nearby. The
girls
are too far away. It's all
very
sad.”

As she ran her fingers through her hair, Merral could see a lot more silver there than there had been. “And, of course, I didn't want to
oppose
him. It would be quite wrong to publicly disagree with your spouse. But I'm sorry now, that I
didn't
take a stand. Very sorry.”

She made an excuse, then quietly left.

Merral sighed.
Now what?

Unable to return his mind to the report, he decided to sort out some of the things he wanted to take to Isterrane. He felt certain that he was not going to be back in Ynysmant for some time and there were things that he wanted with him. He picked up the silver egg of his castle tree simulation; he had invested too much time and energy on that to leave it behind. As he packed it into a travel bag, he realized how much he looked forward to spending time inside the simulation of the massive life form that he had created. “It's a simpler and saner world in there,” he said under his breath and was surprised—and a little alarmed—at his words.

As he packed some shirts into his travel case there was a quiet knock on the door. His father entered and closed the door softly behind him.

“Son, I need to say this to you, while she is busy.” He gestured down toward the kitchen.

“I'm sorry about Isabella,” he said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. “It was your mother's idea to agree with the Danols. She couldn't bear the idea of being made to look stupid. But please don't blame me.
Please.
It wasn't my idea.”

And before Merral could say anything, he had gone.

After a lunch in which Merral tried—and largely succeeded—in leading the conversation away from Isabella, he decided to take Lloyd to find Jorgio.

A diary call to Daoud, the old man's brother, revealed that the stable hand was now staying at the Planning Institute. Somewhat puzzled by this change of address, Merral walked with Lloyd over the causeway to the Institute. As they approached, Merral found himself mystified at the way the extensive complex was now crowded with men, animals, and machinery until it came to him that he was seeing the results of the sudden closure of Wilamall's Farm. Resisting the desire to visit his old office—what good would it do?—he made inquiries as to where he might find Jorgio. Eventually, they were directed up a flight of steps to an attic above the stables.

Merral peered through the open doorway. The long room was lined by rafters and beams and lit by shafts of dusty sunlight from four skylights.

Halfway along it, an older man with a twisted body sat on a battered sofa, unpacking crockery from a box.

Merral knocked. “Jorgio, my old friend!” he called out.

Jorgio looked up and rose awkwardly to greet them, bending to avoid a low wooden beam.

“Mr. Merral,” Jorgio replied, rubbing his rough hands on his faded green suit and shaking his head. “I might have known as it would be you.”

Merral was struck by an odd tone in his voice—a note of regret or even irritation.

“Why, I could almost imagine you weren't happy to see me,” Merral answered, aware of the noises and smells of animals drifting through the open door.

“Oh, I'm happy to see
you
,” Jorgio said, hugging him. “But there's more to you turning up than just
you
. Mr. Merral, I reckon as you bring more than a guest with you.”

“That's a riddle, my old friend. But this is Lloyd Enomoto. My aide.”

“An aide?” Jorgio asked, with a sharp glance at Merral as he shook hands with Lloyd. “That's a fancy word for a fighting man. And with something under his jacket.”

Merral and Lloyd looked at each other. “I should have warned you, Sergeant, that Jorgio is full of surprises. He will probably tell you your future.”

“
His
future?” Jorgio said with a troubled pout. “
Tut.
I reckon as I have enough bother with my own. But, Mr. Lloyd, take your jacket off. You'll be too hot. Come, both of you, and have some tea.”

Lloyd hung his jacket on a nail, revealing a bush knife handle protruding from an inside pocket, then helped Merral pull another old sofa closer.

Jorgio's mood and his ambivalent welcome had put Merral somewhat on edge. He looked around the room, noting a pot of red carnations, the half-opened trunk, stacked rolls of carpet, and dust motes drifting through the beams of light.

“So what are you doing here, my old friend?” Merral asked. “I thought you were staying with Daoud.”

As Jorgio turned to reply, Merral was suddenly struck anew by the way one amber eye was higher than the other.

“
Tut
. That was temporary that was. A great mercy too. Ynysmant is an odd town now. There were children making fun of me the other day.
That
never happened before.”

“I'm appalled,” Merral said, but realized that he was not surprised.
It is
just another symptom of the spiritual disease that has affected us.

“Anyway, when they moved all the animals down here last week they realized as they needed someone to look after them. So they found me. And then there was this attic, so I asked for it, and they said why not? So, here I am. It needs work—a bit of paint at least—and I'll need some heating for winter, but I reckon as it could be cozy. And there's a bit of a garden outside I can work on.”

“I'm delighted. So you are here to stay?”

A look of profound emotion crossed Jorgio's face as he rubbed a stubbly cheek with a finger. “Tea'll be brewed by now. Let me pour it and you can tell me about the fighting you were in. Then I'll tell you what's happened to me.”

So, as they drank tea, Merral recounted the tale of the battle of Fallambet Lake Five for the second time that day.
At least
with Jorgio I'm able to be a little more open about what happened
.

As Jorgio listened, he slurped his tea and made low
tut-tut
noises. When Merral described his encounter with the Krallen pack, the old man looked uneasy and his hands shook so much that tea slopped over the edge of his mug.

“Four legs, hard skin, and teeth, you say?” he interrupted, his eyes seeming to focus a long way away. “So what have we? Something a bit like lions or dogs?”

“A bit. Or big lizards. In a pack. But they were machines. . . . Why do you ask?”

“Never you mind. Not now, at least.”

Merral resumed his account. When he had finished, there was a hush.

“Well, thank you,” Jorgio said. “Thank you, indeed. I knew as there was a real nastiness on that ship, but I didn't know
what
. And I reckon there was more that went on there than you have said. But there's such a thing as privacy. Anyway the Lord, bless his name, was as gracious as ever.”

He gave a rough, enigmatic snort and looked at Merral with his strange eyes. “You do know as this isn't the end of the fighting?”

“Yes. We assume there will soon be other ships. Vero and the others are already making plans for the defense of Farholme. I will be taking charge the day after tomorrow.”

Jorgio nodded, sipped his tea noisily, and seemed to stare into a dark corner of the room for some time. Finally, he turned uneasy eyes to Merral. “That's good that is, because trouble is on its way.”

“What do you know?”

Jorgio put his mug down slowly. “See, Mr. Merral, I have been dreaming again. Not good dreams, they are.”

“What are they about?”

“Not much. Mostly just . . . well . . . shadows. Lots of them. All moving. It's all dark and I just hears footsteps.”

“Footsteps? You mean human footsteps?”

“No. Not human.” Jorgio screwed his face up. “Too small, too light, too many. I wasn't sure at first, as it was such a quiet sound. But I am now.”

“Two legs or four? Or even more?”

Jorgio's face twisted. “Four, I'd say. But there are so many of them. So very many.”

“Animals?”

“I don't know. I've worked with animals all my life and I don't reckon these are animals. Like them maybe. . . .”

“You think they might be these Krallen?”

Jorgio nodded stiffly. “I reckon.”

“What else?”

“Something big. Something that rattles when it moves. Something that brings night with it.”

“Rattles?”

“Like dry sticks.” His shoulders shuddered.

Jorgio is afraid,
Merral realized with a shock of alarm.

“Where are they from?” Merral asked. “The north?”

Jorgio rubbed his bent nose with a heavy finger. “No. It's like . . . I don't know. . . . It's like someone has opened a door beyond the stars and all these things have come out and are running across the roof of the world.” He made a grimace. “Like rats. And then I usually wake up and pray to the Lord of All Power and the noises go away. But then, the next night they come back, only this time, it's a bit noisier . . . as if they've got a bit nearer.”

“What makes the sounds?” Merral inquired softly, noticing that Lloyd's blue eyes were wide. “Can you see them?”

“No, it's all dark. But whatever they are there are so many of them that they blot out the stars.” Jorgio bared his irregular teeth and made a face. “And they are on their way here.” Another shiver passed through the big frame. “I don't mind saying, Mr. Merral—and you, Mr. Lloyd—I'm scared.”

“I understand. Any idea when they will get here?”

“Don't know. I really don't. I wish it weren't in my lifetime.” He looked at the roof as if trying to see the creatures. “But it will be.”

“I see. Weeks? A few months? Longer?”

“Weeks.” The word was no more than a rough whisper.

“Has anything else happened?”

“Yes.” There was a long pause. “I've been given a choice.”

“What sort of a choice?”

“I've had a conversation.”

“With who?”

“With the King.”

“Ah,” Merral said. “Is it private?”

“'Tis and 'tisn't.”

Jorgio tilted his big bald head, a gesture that seemed to make it even more distorted. “Two days ago. No, maybe it was three. First night I was here anyway. I was lying in my bed.” He waved a large hand toward a bed tucked under the eaves. “And I was just praising the Most High for him giving me this place when I was aware of him being with me.

“‘Jorgio Aneld Serter,' he says.

“‘Sir,' I answers back.

“‘Do you like this place?' he says, and I can see as he is looking around. He was standing there.”

Jorgio pointed to the floor in the center of the attic and continued. “‘It's
very
nice, Your Majesty,' I says. ‘Ideal for me. A bit of room, a patch of garden, the animals. Everything as I want and I'm very grateful, sir.' And then, because I reckon there's no harm in asking, I says, ‘I confess, sir, I'm hoping as I can keep it.'

“‘Are you?' he says, and he looks at me, and I can feel his eyes searching me through and through. ‘Well, I have come to tell you that you will soon face a choice. The great battle is beginning. I would like you to fight for me elsewhere.'

“‘Elsewhere?' I says, not liking the sound of that one bit.” He fell silent for a moment as if pondering something. “And then what he says is this: ‘Jorgio, there is a task I have in mind for you. If I asked you to leave Ynysmant, to travel and fight at the heart of the battle, what would you say?'

“‘I would say . . . ,' I says and then I stops. ‘I would say, sir, if I may, that I am no soldier. I'm an old man with a little strength, but no speed or skill.'

“‘Jorgio, I know my servants. I never ask them to do what they cannot. I do, however, often ask them to do what they do not want to do.'”

There was another pause and Merral sensed the old man grappling with what he had experienced.

“And then I says—I hope you two don't think badly of me for saying it as I don't have a lot of courage, least of all against the sort of thing as the enemy is. I says, ‘Indeed, to be honest, sir, I'm frightened by them.'