The Laughter of Carthage: The Second Volume of the Colonel Pyat Quartet (Colonel Pyat Quartet Series Book 2)

by Michael Moorcock

  The Imperial Wizard’s stateroom was at the forward end of the boat where the vibrations were less pronounced. He crossed to the wall, pressed a secret button and revealed a small cabinet of good-quality alcohol. ‘This is part of the service, apparently, when you rent the boat.’ I accepted a straight vodka. The American habit of adulterating drinks so they taste like soda-pop never transmitted itself to me. Major Sinclair and Mr Clarke both had rye whiskey. We raised our glasses in a toast. ‘Here’s to a long and profitable association, colonel.’ Clarke was openly enthusiastic. ‘I was mighty taken by what you said and how you put it across. From the horse’s mouth. It was well worth the risk of inviting you. This Klonverse, you probably realise, is especially significant to us. What’s more it was a good chance for our top people from all over to get a good look at you. Now you, in turn, have a good understanding I’m sure of our specific ambitions and problems.’

  He spoke calmly but significantly. This was not merely an amiable discussion. He was almost courting me, treating me, I sensed, with unusual respect. ‘You know my admiration for the Klan, Mr Clarke. While still in Europe I was fired by the dedication and courage of your Knights. Though she surely needs it, Europe has nothing to compare with your Order.’ I spoke sincerely, yet was curious to know what he wanted from me.

  Clarke refilled our glasses. ‘We’ve a large and constantly expanding membership, Colonel Peterson. In certain States it has a preponderance of what they call “poor whites”. Doubtless you noticed there’s pressure on me to discipline folks who go a little too far in their enthusiasm. I’m reluctant. My answer is to strive with every means at my disposal to attract the better class of citizen who presently supports us in spirit but not in deed. To go forward as a real political power we have to win over that class and its finances. Do you follow me?’

  ‘Given the record of the Klan in handling strikes, I’m surprised you don’t have more large industrialists funding you already. Your interests are surely identical. It can only be bad press which makes them hesitate.’ I hoped this assessment seemed intelligent.

  ‘In a nutshell, Colonel Peterson.’ Mr Clarke clapped Major Sinclair on the shoulder. ‘You were right about this man, Al. I’m beholden to you.’ He turned to me again. ‘That’s why we want to sponsor you, colonel. To make a nationwide lecture tour. Every newspaper in every town you visited would report your words. I’ve read the Memphis papers. You have a fascinating reputation. You speak with authority as one daily exposed to the terror of unchecked alienism. Respectable, intelligent, well to do people would listen to you. A distinguished professor, with no axe to grind in American politics, your quiet support of the Klan could prove invaluable to us in our recruiting drive. We would propose to fund you indirectly. The fees would be generous and all travel accommodation and so forth would be first-class. The Klan can be an implacable enemy—’ he paused and I wondered if this were some sort of warning to me ‘—but it is a loyal friend.’

  Naturally I was gratified. His offer could be of substantial use in improving my status. Sadly, I thought, it conflicted with my desire to oversee our Memphis aerodrome and aircraft scheme. Yet there were many advantages to forming an association with so powerful a political group. It could mean ultimate security for Esmé and me, perhaps the important government position I so much deserved. For this reason I did not refuse point-blank. ‘I’m flattered, sir. However, I have pressing business interests at present, so would be grateful for a few days to consider your proposal.’

  The Imperial Wizard had already assumed I would need time. ‘Major Sinclair will be in Memphis for the next few days. He’ll be flying back to Atlanta in The Knight Hawk. You’re off to Little Rock tomorrow, aren’t you, Al?’

  ‘If the weather’s okay. I might make the whole trip at once. Whatever I decide I’ll be in Memphis for quite a while.’

  Mr Clarke beamed. ‘So when you reach a decision, Colonel Peterson, simply inform Major Sinclair. He’ll convey the news to me at Klankrest, our Atlanta headquarters.’

  ‘I’ll be able to let you know shortly, sir.’ There was a strong, almost supernatural rapport between the three of us as we stood in that red, white and blue stateroom. Mr Clarke told Major Sinclair a story about ‘some Federal snooper’ who had ‘met with an accident’. If the tale was for my ears it was unnecessary. I already knew how the Klan punished spies and traitors and was thoroughly approving. At length we lifted our glasses in one last toast. ‘To America!’ Major Sinclair, the light of idealistic patriotism shining from his eyes, reminded me in stance and expression of those brave White Russian aristocrats who pledged their lives for Tsar and Christ in the fight against Bolshevism. Again I came close to tears. ‘To America,’ I said.

  In the small hours of a bitter Memphis morning the Nathan B. Forrest steamed slowly towards the landing-stage. With Major Sinclair, I stood at the rail, watching the water turn the colour of mercury under a gradual dawn. During my time aboard I had made friends with leading Klansmen from every part of the country. We were all jubilant. The Klan had grown rapidly since 1920. There had hardly been time to draw breath. Many members scarcely realised how powerful they had become. An Indianapolis Kleagle had explained to me how the Klan had been forced to secrecy. The ‘Invisible Empire’ was formed in direct reaction to foreign-born groups with supranational loyalties and societies: Zionist, Knights of Columbia, anarchist, Sicilian Black Hand, Mormon, Tong. Mr Clarke had amplified this. ‘If they openly declared their interests and ambitions so should we. In the interests of democracy we’re forced to adopt enemy methods until we have power in Washington. Then we’ll force ’em into the open by Law. They’ll pay the price for all those years of hypocrisy and deceit, whether they’re voodoo cults in Louisiana or Catholics in Tammany Hall.’ Like me, he never lost sight of his moral goals, no matter how circuitous the route sometimes seemed.

  Major Sinclair was in particularly good spirits as he drove me back to the Adler Apartments. Before I went inside, we shook hands warmly, standing together in that white sunrise. He said I had made a fine impression. He sincerely hoped I would choose to help the cause, his life’s work. I climbed the steps to my rooms, considering the notion of a worldwide Klan. I thought how much in common Greek Orthodoxy had with Protestantism. Both opposed Rome. Shoulder to shoulder the Knights of the Ku Klux Klan could defeat all the enemies of Christendom. In bed I dreamed of a future where the fight was won at last. Free men in a free world stripped off their masks; regalia now only to be worn on ceremonial occasions as distinguished Southerners still sometimes assumed the uniforms of the Confederacy. Then great shining cities would ascend to the heavens free forever from alien threat. I think I was also a little fearful. By accepting the invitation to board the Nathan B. Forrest I had actually taken an irretrievable step. From somewhere in the shadows the figure of Brodmann, grinning and mocking, wagged its finger, hinting at a subtle and unguessable revenge. I looked up to see the last of the cities departing. I had been marooned.

  I slept only a few hours. I was thankful, in fact, to be awakened by a loud banging on my door. Stumbling in a hastily donned dressing-gown, I answered. It was Mr Roffy. ‘You’re sleeping late, colonel.’ His manner was disgruntled, almost impatient. He strode into the dark, curtained room and sat down in my armchair. Pulling aside drapes and shutters I was dazzled by unexpected sunshine. Meanwhile Mr Roffy smoothed his hair, adjusted his waistcoat, recovered his manners. ‘Forgive the intrusion. I have some tremendously good news, sir. I had to come straight round to let you know.’

  I was surprised at the contrast between his appearance and his words. ‘Would you care for some coffee?’ I began to hunt for the can.

  ‘Thank you, I’ve already breakfasted. However, I’ll smoke if you’ve no objection.’ Lighting his large cigar he sucked like a starved baby at the breast. ‘Mr Gilpin had a wire this morning. Our strategy is working perfectly. We are within an ace of everyone signing at once—the Chamber of Commerce, the State legislature, all the way up to Cong
ress. They’re calling this the “Memphis Experiment”, you know. The whole country’s going to be watching us. If it succeeds, Nashville’s ready to begin her own scheme, using our company as overall controller.’

  I still could not equate this with his distracted and harassed manner. ‘When do we begin work?’ I asked.

  ‘Early June, if we get the land we want.’ He sighed deeply, perhaps to control himself. ‘It was our offer of $450,000 as security which turned the day for us. All we do now is put up the cash. Everything else will go ahead like clockwork. We’ll get our money back immediately, of course. Our profits will be a hundredfold within the first year. You’ve heard from Europe?’

  I sat down heavily on the edge of my bed. I had heard nothing, of course. I did all I could to stop myself shaking.

  Mr Roffy stared at me through the cigar smoke. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I rather hoped you were the boy from Western Union. My agents tell me German inflation’s creating a panic throughout the Continent. That’s why things are moving so slowly.’

  ‘This scheme stands or falls on your contribution, colonel. Maybe you’ve funds in New York you could liquidate.’

  ‘Not enough.’ I could think of no further excuses. Soon, unless Kolya responded, I would be forced to admit I was virtually penniless. Irrationally, perhaps, I believed there would then be a chance my life would be put in danger. At last I added: ‘The reply will come today. In the meantime will my note of hand be of any help?’

  ‘Better than nothing.’ His voice sounded both suspicious and frightened.

  Excusing myself I went into the bathroom for some cocaine. When I emerged the trembling was scarcely better, but I prepared a sheet of paper guaranteeing funds up to $150,000 to the Memphis Aviation Company. ‘The cash will follow,’ I promised.

  ‘It’s today or never, colonel.’ He folded the document carefully and put it in his breast pocket. Rising slowly to his feet, he turned towards the door. ‘It depends on you. Tomorrow we three will either be at the helm of a great enterprise or we’ll be tarred and feathered, run out of town on a rail. Mr Gilpin and myself have made personal assurances to banks, senators, congressmen, State officials and current creditors. If your money fails to materialise, we’ll all be ruined. It will be bad enough for Mr Gilpin and myself. We are men of honour. The ridicule and the disgrace, would probably kill Gilpin. But it will be that much worse for you, colonel. Prison? You would certainly be extradited. Where would that be to?’ His hand twitched as he lifted his cigar to his face. ‘France?’

  This prospect alarmed me most. I would be arrested the moment I stepped off at Le Havre. I hurried him out. Allowing myself a further liberal dosage of cocaine I bathed, dressed, drank the lukewarm coffee I had prepared. I had to risk another telegram to Kolya. What alternatives were there? Then suddenly it occurred to me. Our wild Italian friend had once offered to put me in touch with his successful cousins in America. In French I composed a wire and went downstairs to Western Union. I sent the wire to Annibale Santucci, care of the Ristorante Mendoza, Via Catalana, Rome. I explained I needed to borrow a large sum for a few days. Did he know anyone in America who could help me? He should reply to Colonel Peterson. In my panic I sent further wires to Esmé, telling her I loved her and had not forgotten her, to Mrs Cornelius, asking her to contact me as quickly as possible. I had done all I could. As I took the stairs back to my rooms, Mrs Trubbshaw, whom I had arranged to see, entered the main door and called up to me. She was the very distraction I needed. The rest of the afternoon was spent with her buttons and bows, her inventive, guilty lewdness, and my last supplies of that universal healer the locals called ‘candy’. Mrs Trubbshaw remarked at one stage how neither Mr Roffy nor Mr Gilpin looked as well as usual. She was afraid they had been burning the candle at both ends. They would find themselves dead of heart attacks if they were not careful. ‘Those two old rogues just won’t grow up,’ she said. By early evening, when Mrs Trubbshaw rushed home to prepare her husband’s supper, I had received no replies to my telegrams. If I was to face my partners again I must have an especially good reason for not having the money. I toyed with the notion of a share crash, incompetent brokers who had invested in some fly-by-night scheme. But that would require confirming evidence. Once again I dressed myself carefully in my best evening clothes, then sat down to wait for the inevitable knock on the door. If they did not arrive within the hour, I had decided, I would visit the nearest bordello, if only to replenish my cocaine.

  At seven-thirty I put on my top coat. As I reached for my hat and gloves, I heard a knock. Opening the door to Mr Gilpin I was shocked by his appearance. His normally healthy face was pallid. It seemed to have sagged, no longer a soldier’s but a prisoner’s; even his moustache had drooped. He said nothing as he shuffled in. I told him at once that I had as yet received no news.

  ‘We figured as much, colonel.’ He sighed deeply. ‘We’re buying what time we can. I’m a fair judge of character. I know you wouldn’t welsh on us.’

  ‘I’ve been sending wires all day. To France, Italy, England.’

  He nodded vaguely. ‘You understand the consequences will be drastic?’

  ‘Our scheme’s rock solid. Surely in reality we only face a delay. We’ll weather the embarrassment.’

  ‘It’s not so simple, sir. Mr Roffy has made firm guarantees. Our $300,000 can’t cover them. Your share will make the difference between life and death. Roffy’s on the brink, sir. He’s contemplating suicide. I hope you’re not in any way suspicious of our credentials …’

  ‘I have no lack of trust in you, Mr Gilpin. It’s the problem in Europe. Almost every government blocks the flow of funds as a matter of course.’

  ‘But $150,000 can’t be a great deal of money to you, sir?’ He passed his hand through what a day or two before had been a white leonine mane. Today it was a dead cat.

  ‘The funds are solidly tied up, chiefly in securities. My agents are doing all they can. I hope to borrow from my bank against what they know exists. But no word so far.’

  Lost in his own thoughts, Mr Gilpin let his bleary eyes wander about my room. When he next looked at me his expression was tragic. ‘It’s Roffy’s family, you see. He’s a man of honour. If he finds he cannot keep his word …’ He sighed deeply and returned this attention to my writing desk.

  I believe he was growing suspicious of me, yet was still unwilling to air his opinion. My moral position was appalling. Through my fabrications it now seemed I might drive another human creature to take his own life. ‘It will not come to that, Mr Gilpin,’ I said.

  ‘I have secured a short extension.’ He looked at me as if I had already personally assassinated his old friend. He did not offer his hand as he left. I went out shortly afterwards and walked up Madison Street. The trolley cars bellowed and steamed in the cold air; light from various cafés and stores failed somehow to penetrate the darkness. Turning a corner I found myself outside a very respectable speakeasy where I had been carrying on a casual affair with a young Chattanooga girl who worked there. I knocked and entered. With what was almost the last of my cash I bought several large packets of ‘candy’. I was determined to do everything I could to avoid anxiety and yet save Roffy from ruin. I spent the night with my lady friend, returning to my apartment the next morning. To my delight a telegram was waiting for me. Santucci had replied. He had not bothered to condense his message. It was as voluble as if he were speaking to me in person. I had been lucky to find him in Rome. He was normally in Milan these days. All our friends were doing well and had become ‘very serious about politics’. Everyone sent their best wishes to myself and Esmé. He gave me two addresses, one in Chicago, the other in San Francisco. Both people were called Potecci or ‘Potter’. He was not sure which city was nearest Memphis. Where, in fact, was Memphis? Was I the prisoner of a lost Egyptian tribe?

  This uneconomical reply, so full of friendly good will, so typical of Santucci’s exuberance and generosity, cheered me considerably, even though
I had hoped for something a little more useful. Nothing had come from Kolya, Esmé or Mrs Cornelius. I found my folded map of the United States. With a piece of cotton I was trying to work out which of the two cities was, in fact, closest to Memphis, when the janitor arrived at my door. He gave me a note. To my great joy it was from Jimmy Rembrandt! He had just arrived in town and was lunching at Plunkett’s Café on Monroe Street. If I was free would I please join him. He urgently wished to discuss a personal matter. My first thought was that he had news of Kolya. Then it occurred to me he merely wished to return the $500 he had borrowed. Jimmy might even help me find the money to save myself and my partners. Accordingly, my hopes coloured by desperation, I changed and hurried to the restaurant. It was an old-fashioned establishment, of oak booths, marble-topped tables and rococo brasswork. Jimmy had already started eating as I called to him down the aisle and he looked up irritably. His expression did not change when he recognised me but froze into lines of grim anger. Almost reluctantly, he stood up behind the table, wiping his lips on his napkin, avoiding my eye, as if I had caught him eating human flesh. I could make nothing of this. As he sat down I saw he had plainly been travelling all night, for his suit was crumpled. With almost mechanical deliberation he rearranged the lines on his face and smiled. He asked the waiter to delay the main course until I could order. I said he seemed very tired. He made an effort to be his usual courteous self. This gesture served to make me rather more nervous.

  For a while our conversation was stilted and conventional. By the time my food arrived I was wanting to ask Jimmy what was wrong. Was he getting round to admitting he could not yet pay back my $500? When he had finished his own pork chop he put his knife and fork carefully together in the plate, drew a breath, then turned his clear, grey eyes directly on me. ‘Max, I’m here as a pal to wise you up.’