by K. W. Jeter
Evidence of some kind of directed activity was apparent as we went. The floor of the tunnel had been drained, with small gutters dug along the sides to carry off any water that did collect. What rubble there was had been carefully swept from the centre of the passageway.
Tafe stopped suddenly and held up her hand. "I hear something," she whispered, turning her ear to the tunnel's far end.
After a few seconds of silence, the sounds were noticeable to me as well. Mechanical noises as of engines, combined with scraping and sliding. Supplies being moved about, perhaps? Voices as well, shouting out orders and directions, though I could hear those only faintly. In the sewers' odd acoustics it was impossible to tell how close we were to the Morlocks' subterranean beachhead.
We resumed our progress. On one hand, we wished to proceed as cautiously as possible in order to see as much of the situation as we could before entering into it. However, we also wished to present as confident an aspect as possible to any of our enemy that chanced upon us. A show of timidity would seal our fate as securely as an outright admission of our true identities and plans.
The noises grew steadily louder as we neared them. I could make out the harsh gutturals of the Morlocks quite distinctly, the sound of their bestial voices raising a tremor of loathing along the skin of my arms. I fought the feeling down, reminding myself that I had to present myself as a friend to these creatures.
The tunnel turned to one side. From around the corner we could see a dim bluish light seeping. This illumination, I surmised, was probably that which the Morlocks found least painful to their sensitive eyes. We were almost upon them in their covert stronghold. I braced my backbone and positioned myself at Tafe's side as we walked toward the light of our enemies.
No sooner had we turned the corner than a chorus of basso shouts sounded all about us. Figures leapt out of their hiding places in the passageway behind us and brandished their weapons at our backs. A similar horde of Morlocks, outfitted in the same type of drab military uniforms as the others of their breed I had seen, arranged themselves in a semi-circle before us. Even if we had wished to, there was no possibility of escape from them.
The ugly band, their squat-fingered hands shading their eyes from our torches, jabbered at each other and growled at Tafe and myself. The sight of so many of their loathsome, death-pale faces swimming around me aroused the keenest nausea in the base of my stomach. The feeling was not relieved when the largest of the Morlocks, with a wrinkled face, presumably from age, resembling the bottom of an unbaked loaf, pressed the point of his bayoneted rifle against my abdomen.
I drew myself as erect as possible and glared at my captors. "See here!" I blustered, injecting as much fire and steel into my voice as I could. "What the bloody hell is the meaning of this! Get that rude pigsticker out of my gut this instant or I'll have you cleaning out every sordid privy between here and the abyss. Do you hear me!"
The Morlock's eyes grew even more saucer-like as he goggled at me. Under the onslaught of my barking he drew back the point of his bayonet and stood in mute befuddlement. His startled companions had fallen silent as well.
"The same goes for you, horse's ass," said Tafe to the one who had brought his bayonet up against her stomach. "Put it away or get ready to eat it." Her threat seemed clear to him despite his lack of English. With a much deflated expression on his pasty face, he took away his weapon and turned to the leader of his little troop for further orders or simple reassurance.
Standing in front of me, the wrinkle-faced one looked me over dubiously. Clearly we were not any of the men from the Lost Coin World. Who then, he was obviously wondering, could we be? And our behaviour was equally puzzling to him. Not only were we not visibly afraid, we were doing our best to seem imperious and disdainful of the whole ugly lot of them.
The mental effort proved to be too much for the leader of the Morlock patrol. I almost felt sorry for the creature as, with a frankly bewildered expression, he dispatched one of the group toward the light and noise farther along the tunnel's length.
"Very good, my repulsive friend." I nodded approvingly at the Morlock. "I trust the superior for which you sent has a greater command of English than you do."
"Ghrah?" He made the little beseeching noise deep in his wattled throat.
"That's right. You keep telling yourself that and everything will turn out fine."
"Look at this little toad over here," said Tafe. "Isn't he a beauty?"
"Lovely." The face of the one in question swung toward me as I spoke. "Reminds me of a Pekingese my maiden aunt once had."
Several minutes passed as we discussed the varied features of the motley crew surrounding us. We made no move to get past them, as Tafe and I agreed that such an attempt might cause panicky defensive measures on the Morlocks' parts. Better to wait and confront the personage for whom the wrinkled sergeant had sent.
As the time lengthened, though, doubts began gnawing my confidence from within. What if the band's superior refused to come and see, but simply issued an order to dispatch the unknown intruders? What if Merdenne had indeed escaped from Ambrose's trap and was here, already aware of our every intention? These and a host of vaguer fears moved through my thoughts. If the Morlocks managed to perceive them, our little confidence game would be over.
At last, footsteps and voices sounded from down the tunnel The Morlock who had been sent reappeared, jabbering excitedly as he trotted along at the side of a much taller, striding figure.
As this new entity approached us, I could see that Ambrose's information about there being different types of Morlocks was correct. This one, being taller, lacked the squat, toadlike body shape of the others. The same flaxen hair flowed down the neck, but the death-pale face had a higher forehead and thinner lips and nose. A marked degree of intelligence showed in the great round eyes as they flicked from my face to Tafe's and back again. Clearly this was a member of some intellectually superior variety of Morlock, fit for directing the activities of his brethren less gifted in mental capacity. As befitted his position of command, various insignia were displayed upon the shoulders and breast of a finely tailored uniform.
"About time you got here," I said sharply to the figure as the circle of Morlocks parted at his arrival. He stood in front of Tafe and me, his jack-booted legs spread wide as be looked us over.
I lowered my brows and returned his stare, curling my lips into a haughty expression of disdain. His eyes met mine and held for several seconds as his pale forehead furrowed in puzzlement over the enigma we presented to him.
At last he spoke. "Who are, you?" he snapped. "What are you doing here?" There was a heavy accent to his deep pitched voice, as though the inflections of our English were unsuited to his vocal mechanism.
"Come, come," I said in feigned exasperation. "Merdenne told me you people ran a slipshod operation down here, but this surpasses all my expectations. You mean to tell me you've made no preparations for our arrival?"
The Morlock's suspicious manner did not dissi pate. "You had best explain yourself," he said in his slow, grating voice.
"Of all the-" I shook my head and sighed in disgust. "Merdenne told you nothing of our coming here?"
"What do you know about Merdenne?"
"Apparently more than you, my good man. I am in possession of his latest instructions concerning your little, ah, manoeuvres down here, shall we say? And if you value your rank you'll bloody well pay attention to what we've come here for. There's quite a genuine little crisis going on, if you're not aware of it yet, and it's going to take some unusual measures to ward off disaster for us all. Do you understand my words?"
The procession of thoughts behind the Morlock's eyes was almost painfully obvious. He at last decided to fish for more information. "Please explain," he said in a slightly more polite manner, "what it is to which you are referring."
"My dear fellow," I said, "I'm not about to stand here surrounded by your little hooligans with their rusty pikestaffs, and try to explain a very comp
licated situation to you. My colleague and I have already tramped through miles of loathsome wet sewers to reach your wretched little camp. I'm not acquainted with the amenities of your colony, but we would both like large containers of hot water, soap if you have it, though that seems doubtful from the aroma of your platoon here, and as decent a hot meal as you can provide. I'm not expecting every refinement but damn it all, man, this invasion is a civilised business, and we should conduct ourselves accordingly, don't you think." I lifted my chin and gazed down my nose at him.
The word invasion evoked a noticeable response from him. For a moment the large circular eyes goggled a fraction of an inch larger at me. It was now clear to him that we were privy to the purpose of the Morlock's presence here beneath London. Were we indeed allies of whom he had heretofore been ignorant? Or simply well-informed adversaries? The possibilities moiled around behind his eyes.
"Well, come on then," I said impatiently. "When Merdenne gets back he won't be very pleased to hear of these uncalled-for difficulties you've put us through." A scrap of doubt was still visible in the Morlock's face. "Very well. I don't much care for waving this about among a crowd of underlings, but if there's no other way of convincing you…"
I unstrapped the bundle from my back, brought it in front of me and undid the cloths. The mob of lesser Morlocks stood on tiptoe to see, pummelling each other into silence. Across my outstretched hands lay the sword Excalibur, an awesome sight even in its weakened condition. The blade reflected the available light, gleaming like dark glass over the deepest fires of the Earth.
The Morlocks, after several moments of gorging their saucerish eyes, stepped back a respectful distance from Tafe and myself – all except the tall, commanding one. He stood facing us, a new element having entered the calculations running through his head. "How did you come to have that?" he said, after a few seconds.
I began wrapping up the sword again. "Well, well," I said, "now just how do you suppose it came into my possession? Do you think I'd have it if I wasn't very well supposed to have it? Merdenne put it into my keeping, obviously." I tucked the bundle under my arm and glared at our interrogator.
"Why did he do that?"
"See here," I ground out, my face rigid with anger. "I'm damn well sick and tired of your infernal timewasting inquisition. There's a bloody good reason for my having this thing, and it's going to be on your head if all our plans are fouled up. So just you trot along and lead us to the things I requested. There's a lot to be done."
The last shred of his scepticism wavered in the face of my onslaught, then was gone. He nodded respectfully, turned and snapped out orders in his guttural native tongue to all the other Morlocks. They scurried down the passage toward the dim blue light ahead of us.
"This way, sir," said the now obsequious Morlock. He pivoted on his heel and led the way. Tafe caught my eye and delivered a large wink over her triumphant grin. The gambit's initial moves had succeeded – but what of the rest that remained to be played?
The Morlocks, as it turned out, were already anticipating the comforts they would derive from the conquest of the England far above their heads. The Morlock officers – for they were entirely organised on a military basis – enjoyed a great many comforts that Merdenne had arranged to be sent down in devious ways from the better London shops. The regular Morlock soldiers, of course, lived in the same rude fashion as common fighting men through all times and places do, and expect to.
In the apartment of Colonel Nalga, the Morlock officer whose confidence we had won, I luxuriated in a steaming hot tub, soaking away the accumulated filth and grime from our long sojourn in the London sewers. A decanter of Fortnum and Mason's best port lay near to hand. I lavished the cake of Pears over myself, forgetting for a moment our precarious situation as I wallowed in the sheer animal pleasure of hot water and soap. Adventures, I reflected, are all very fine but a certain amount of civilised comfort forms the true kernel of our desires.
At last I emerged from the bath, my heart considerably cheered and rededicated to the preservation of our English values.
A patented safety razor still in its box lay on the wash stand, and with it I tidied the edges of my beard. When my toilet was completed the face that peered back at me from the looking glass was undoubtedly my own, but changed somehow. The nearness of death, which even now was hovering close at hand, had burnt away the juvenility of my face, exposing the hard, decisive bones beneath. Or so I fancied – others simply might have thought that I hadn't been eating on a regular basis, and been right, too.
During my bath my clothes had been sponged, mended and pressed by the colonel's valet. Not a bad job of it, either. Very likely the Morlocks had had time enough to learn how to handle stains from the sewer's effluences. I dressed and sauntered out, sighing and drawing upon one of the fine Havana cigars the valet had placed in the breast pocket of my coat.
Tafe and Col. Nalga were waiting for me in the drawing room of his quarters. "Mr. Hocker," said the Morlock officer, smiling and fingering one of the insignia on the front of his uniform. "Your colleague Mr. Tafe and I were just discussing the – what is the word? – details of your journey down to our little encampment. I feel I must apologise for the inconvenience of our location."
"Think nothing of it," I said magnanimously, waving the fumourous end of my cigar in a grand gesture. "Hardships are only natural in time of war, what? Soon enough we'll be conducting our business from inside the House of Lords itself! A bright future awaits us, Colonel." I spotted the wrapped Excalibur lying on a sideboard. Picking it up, I saw that the distinctive knots with which I had bound it were still intact. I had been a little uneasy at first in trusting it to the Morlock, but had finally done so in order not to appear suspicious. Apparently my decision had turned out for the best.
"Let us hope so, Mr. Hocker," said Col. Nalga. "The preparations continue even as we stand here and talk. The unexplained disappearance of Merdenne has caused some confusion but we have maintained our efforts. We are even a few days ahead of the original time schedule that was set up for the invasion, and the assurances that you have given us that nothing is amiss with our trusted ally Merdenne will be a further boost to the morale of the lower ranks. As you say, things will soon be very different." His ghastly pale face split into a smile like that the Mongol invader must have worn when he first spied the unspoiled fields of Europe.
"Quite commendable indeed," I said heartily, although my spirit was chilled by his words. Ahead of schedule – how much time then was left? I immediately regretted the slothful half-hour that I had spent soaking in my enemy's bathtub while a whole green world ran down the drainpipe. "I'm sure," I continued, addressing the Morlock, "that the work of individuals such as yourself will not go lightly rewarded."
He returned my courteous half-bow. "Living space for my people is all the reward I desire to see. In the far future this globe is under our entire dominion. It is merely our destiny to rule it through all the past and present as well. I'm glad that there are a few individuals of your breed who have the foresight to recognise this."
"Indeed." The scope of the creature's ambition, presumably shared by all the members of his race, touched a cold base in my spine. Here was our enemy's face nakedly exposed. "My fears are, however," I said, "that all this elaborate preparation will be of little value if the current crisis facing us is not speedily resolved. Merdenne, the guiding hand of so much of our efforts, is already engaged in turning back the attempts of certain forces who wish to hinder our plans. Of one of them you may have heard – the one called Dr. Ambrose. If there were more time available to us I would explain the nature of Merdenne's present struggle to you. Suffice it to say that his presence is needed elsewhere. So sudden was the onslaught of our foes' machinations that there was, as you have noted, no time to inform his allies here of the need for his absence."
"It sounds like a grim situation," said Col. Nalga with rumbling graveness. "What can we do to assist him here?"
"Unfortunat
ely, very little. The success or failure of Merdenne's fight against our enemies depends almost entirely upon his own powers. There are certain things he needs, though, and Mr. Tafe here and I have been dispatched by him on the errand of fetching those items out of hiding and bringing them back to him. Without them there is little chance of his winning the day against our foes; with them his victory and later ours is assured. Quite a simple matter really." I puffed on the cigar, adding tobacco smoke to the verbal haze I had created in the room.
"And, Mr. Hocker, what are these items?" said Col. Nalga.
"This is one of them, right here," I said and lifted Excalibur in its wrappings. "The three other copies of this sword that were produced through the agency of the Time Machine are now needed as well by Merdenne. That is the errand Mr. Tafe and I have come upon."
"I see," said Col. Nalga, sombrely. "Doubtless Merdenne needs the swords for some magical purpose?"
"Correct. At first he believed that it was sufficient merely to keep the swords out of the hands of Dr. Ambrose, but it has now become apparent that they must be actively employed in our behalf. I am aware that you have had your friends from the Lost Coin World turn over to you the sword that had come into their possession-"
"That was a decision from higher up in the chain of command," interrupted Col. Nalga. "It was felt by some of our generals that, given the unexplained absence of Merdenne, it would be wise to secure the sword someplace more under our control than the Grand Tosh. Hence its removal by our allies from there."
"A wise decision," I said, "given the circumstances. In matters such as this it's a good thing to be cautious. But that necessity is at an end now. If you will produce the sword we can start our journey back with it to Merdenne."
"Yes, of course." The Morlock officer nodded. "However, the sword is not right here at hand, but it is only a shaft distance away. We put it in the safest hiding place we could think of. I'll take you to it right now, if you'll care to follow me." He stepped to the door and opened it with a courteous bow. After following us out, he led the way from his quarters.
