Part 28 (2/2)
”A goblet of wine might calm my nerves. Your devils are more horrid than ever. You must curb their truculence.”
Murgen made an indifferent gesture. ”They serve their purpose.”
”Far too well, in my opinion,” said s.h.i.+mrod. ”Should one of your honoured guests be late in arrival, do not be offended; it is likely that the devils have torn him to bits.”
”I entertain seldom,” said Murgen. ”Still, since you are so definite, I will suggest that Vus and Vuwas moderate their vigilance.”
A silver-haired sylph, barelegged, drifted into the hall. She carried a tray on which rested a blue gla.s.s flask and a pair of goblets, twisted and worked into quaint shapes. She placed the tray on the table, turned s.h.i.+mrod a quick sideglance and decanted two goblets of dark red wine. One of these she offered to s.h.i.+mrod, the other to Murgen, then drifted from the hall as silently as she had come.
For a moment the two drank wine from the blue gla.s.s goblets in silence. s.h.i.+mrod studied the suspended green-glowing globe. Black glittery beads in the small skull seemed to return his scrutiny. s.h.i.+mrod asked: ”Is it yet alive?”
Murgen looked over his shoulder. The black beads again appeared to s.h.i.+ft to meet Murgen's gaze. ”The dregs of Tamurello perhaps still exist: his tincture so to speak, or perhaps the verve of the green gas itself is responsible.”
”Why do you not destroy the globe, gas and all, and be done with it?”
Murgen made a sound of amus.e.m.e.nt. ”If I knew all there was to be known, I might do so. Or, on the other hand, I might not do so. Consequently, I delay. I am both wary and chary of disturbing what seems a stasis.”
”But it is not truly a stasis?”
”There is never a stasis.”
s.h.i.+mrod made no comment. Murgen continued. ”I am warned by my instincts. They tell me of movement, furtive and slow. Someone wishes to catch me as I drowse, complacent and bloated with power. The possibility is real; I cannot look in all directions at once.”
”But who has the will to work such a strategy? Surely not Tamurello!”
”Perhaps not Tamurello.”
”Who else, then?”
”There is a recurrent question which troubles me. At least once each day I ask myself: where is Desmei?”
”She disappeared, after creating Carfilhiot and Melancthe; that is the general understanding.”
Murgen's mouth took on a wry twist. ”Was it all so simple?
Did Desmei truly entrust her revenge to the likes of Carfilhiot and Melancthe-the one a monster, the other an unhappy dreamer?”
”Desmei's motives have always been a puzzle,” said s.h.i.+mrod. ”Admittedly, I have never studied them in depth.”
Murgen gazed into the fire. ”From nothing came much. Her malice was kindled by what seems a trivial impulse: Tamurello's rejection of her erotic urge. Why, then, the elaborations? Why did she not simply revenge herself upon Tamurello? Was Melancthe intended to serve as her instrument of vengeance? If so, her plans went awry. Carfilhiot ingested the green fume, while Melancthe barely sensed its odor.”
”Still, the memory seems to fascinate her,” said s.h.i.+mrod.
”It would seem a most seductive stuff. Tamurello consumed the green pearl; now he crouches in the globe, and the green suffusion surrounds him to a surfeit. He gives no evidence of Joy.”
”This in itself might be considered the vengeance of Desmei.”
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