The Mad God's Amulet
- Автор: Муркок Майкл
- Серия: The History of the Runestaff #2
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Фэнтези
Электронная книга - «The Mad God's Amulet». Краткое содержание книги:
"You blackmailed him!"
"He was blackmailed, though do not give me the credit. I merely heard of the plan during a conference in Londra between the various commanders who had been summoned by King Huon to inform him of developments in the campaigns we are waging in Europe."
Hawkmoon's brow furrowed. "But suppose Zhinaga was successful-somehow not managing to reach your people with Yisselda, being stopped on the way by the Mad God's men…"
D'Averc shook his head. "They would never range as far as southern France. We should have heard of them if they had."
"Then what is the explanation?"
"Let us ask this gentleman," D'Averc suggested, prodding at the madman, whose chuckles had died down now so that they were almost inaudible.
"Let us hope we can get sense from him," Oladahn said dubiously.
"Would pain do the trick, do you thing?" D'Averc asked.
"I doubt it," Hawkmoon said. "They know no fear. We must try another method." He looked in disgust at the madman. "We'll leave him for a while and hope he calms a little."
They went up on deck, closing the hatch cover.
The sun was beginning to set, and the coastline of Crimia was now in sight-black crags sharp against the purple sky. The water was calm and dappled with the fading sunlight, and the wind blew steadily northward.
"I'd best correct our course," D'Averc suggested.
"We seem to be sailing a little too far to the north."
He moved along the deck to unbind the wheel and spin it several points south.
Hawkmoon nodded absently, watching D'Averc, his great mask flung back from his head, expertly controlling the course of the ship.
"We'll have to anchor offshore tonight," Oladahn said, "and sail in in the morning."
Hawkmoon did not reply. His head was full of unanswered questions. The exertions of the past twentyfour hours had brought him close to exhaustion, and the fear in his mind threatened to drive him to a madness fully as dreadful as that of the man in the hold.
Later that night, by the light of lamps suspended from the ceiling, they studied the sleeping face of the man they had captured. The lamps swung as the ship rocked at anchor, casting shifting shadows on the sides of the hold and over the great piles of booty heaped everywhere. A rat chittered, but the men ignored the sound. They had all slept a little and felt more relaxed.
Hawkmoon knelt down beside the bound man and touched his face. Instantly the eyes opened, staring around dully, no longer mad. They even seemed a little puzzled.
"What is your name?" Hawkmoon asked.
"Coryanthum of Kerch-who are you? Where am I?"
"You should know," Oladahn said. "On board your own ship. Do you not remember? You and your fellows attacked our vessel. There was a fight. We escaped from you, and you swam after us and tried to kill us."
"I remember setting sail," Coryanthum said, his voice bewildered, "but nothing else." Then he tried to struggle up. "Why am I bound?"
"Because you are dangerous," D'Averc said lightly.
"You are mad."
Coryanthum laughed, a purely natural laugh. "I, -mad? Nonsense!"
The three looked at one another, puzzled. It was true that the man seemed to have no hint of madness about him now.
Understanding began to dawn on Hawkmoon's face. "What is the very last thing you remember?"
"The captain addressing us."
"What did he say?"
"That we were to take part in a ceremony-drinking a special drink… Nothing much more." Coryanthum frowned. "We drank the drink…"
"Describe your sail," Hawkmoon said.
"Our sail? Why?"
"Is there anything special about it?"
"Not that I remember. It's canvas-a dark blue.
That's all."
"You are a merchant seaman?" Hawkmoon asked.
"Aye."
"And this is your first voyage on this ship?"
"Aye."
"When did you sign on?"
Coryanthum looked impatient. "Last night, my friend-on the Day of the Horse by Kerch reckoning."
"And in universal reckoning?"
The sailor wrinkled his brow. "Oh-the eleventh of the third month."
"Three months ago," said D'Averc.
"Eh?" Coryanthum peered through the gloom at the Frenchman. "Three months? What d'you mean?"
"You were drugged," Hawkmoon explained.
"Drugged and then used to commit the foulest acts of piracy ever heard of. Do you know anything of the Cult of the Mad God?"
"A little. I heard that it is situated somewhere in Ukrania and that its adherents have been venturing out lately-even onto the high seas."
"Did you know that your sail now bears the sign of the Mad God? That a few hours ago, you raved and giggled in mad bloodlust? Look at your body…" Hawkmoon bent down to cut the bonds. "Feel your neck."
Coryanthum of Kerch stood up slowly, wondering at his own nakedness, his fingers going slowly to his neck and touching the collar there. "I-I don't understand. Is this a trick?"
"An evil trick, and one we did not commit," Oladahn said. "You were drugged until you went insane, then ordered to kill and collect all the loot you could.
Doubtless your 'merchant captain' was the only man who knew what would happen to you, and it's almost certain he's not aboard now. Do you remember anything? Any instructions about where you should go?"
"None."
"Without doubt the captain meant to rejoin the ship later and guide it to whatever port he uses," D'Averc said. "Maybe there is a ship in regular contact with the others, if they are all full of such fools as this one."
"There must be a large supply of the drug somewhere aboard," Oladahn said. "Doubtless they fed off it regularly. It was only because we bound this fellow that he did not get the chance to replenish himself."
"How do you feel?" Hawkmoon asked the sailor.
"Weak-drained of all life and feeling."
"Understandable," said Oladahn. "It's sure that drug kills you in the end. A monstrous plan! Take innocent men, feed them a drug that turns them mad and ultimately destroys them, use them to murder and loot, then collect the proceeds. I've heard of nothing like it before. I'd thought the Cult of the Mad God to be comprised of honest fanatics, but it seems a cooler intelligence controls it."
"On the seas, at any rate," Hawkmoon said. "However, I'd like to find the man responsible for all this.
He alone may know where Yisselda is."
"First, I'd suggest we take up the sail," D'Averc said. "We'll drift into the harbor on the tide. Our reception would not be pleasant if they saw our sail.
Also, we can make use of this treasure. Why, we are rich men!"
"You are still my prisoner, D'Averc," Hawkmoon reminded him. "But it is true we could dispose of some of the treasure, since the poor souls who owned it are all dead now, and give the rest into the safekeeping of some honest man, to compensate those who have lost relatives and fortunes at the hands of the mad sailors."
"Then what?" asked Oladahn.
"Then we set sail again-and wait for this ship's master to seek her out."
"Can we be sure he will? What if he hears of our visit to Simferopol?" Oladahn asked.
Hawkmoon smiled grimly. "Then doubtless he will still wish to seek us out."
Chapter Eight
MAD GOD'S MAN
AND So THE loot was sold in Simferopol, some of it used to provision the craft and buy new equipment and horses, and the rest given into the safekeeping of a merchant whom all recommended as the most honest in the whole of Crimia. Not much behind the captured ship, Smiling Girl limped in, and Hawkmoon hastily bought the captain's silence regarding the nature of the black-sailed ship. He recovered his possessions, including the saddlebag containing Rinal's gift, and, with Oladahn and D'Averc, reboarded the ship, sailing on the evening tide. They left Coryanthum with the merchant to recover.