Read Online The Warlord of the Air by Michael Moorcock - Free Book Online Page A

“Aye—well... Ah!” He exclaimed in relief. “Here’s your nurse. Cheerio, Bastable. Keep your spirits up. I’ll just—” He took the nurse by her elbow and steered her outside, closing the door.
    I would not be a man, with a man’s instincts, if I did not admit I had been both surprised and delighted at the appearance of my nurse. It had only been a glimpse, but it showed me just how much things had changed since 1902. The nurse’s uniform had been starched white and blue, with a stiff cap on her neatly pinned auburn hair. A fairly ordinary nurse’s uniform, save for one thing: her skirt was at least twelve inches clear of the floor and revealed the prettiest pair of calves, the neatest set of ankles I had ever seen off the stage of The Empire, Leicester Square! It certainly gave the nurse greater freedom of movement and was, essentially, practical. I wondered if all women were dressed in this practical and attractive way. If so, I could see unexpected pleasures arising from my unwitting trip into the future!
    I think I alarmed my nurse when she returned, for I was both embarrassed and fascinated by her appearance. It was hard to see her as an ordinary, decent—indeed, rather prim—young woman when she was, in the terms of my own day, dressed like a ballet girl! I think I must have been blushing rather noticeably, for the first thing she did was to take my pulse.
    A little while later, Major Powell came in and drew up the steel-framed chair beside the bed. “Well, how are you feeling now, old chap?”
    “Much better,” I said. “I think I must have amnesia.” (I had repeated this line so frequently it was almost as if I were trying to convince myself!)
    “So the doc was saying. More like it. And you remember something about a mountain climbing expedition, do you?”
    “I think I do remember going up the mountain,” I said truthfully.
    “Splendid! It won’t take long for your memory to come back. Mind you, I’m damned interested in what you were saying. It would have been good luck for me if you really had come from 1902, what?”
    I smiled weakly. “Why is that, major?”
    “Would have helped my researches. I’m particularly interested in Teku Benga. It’s an enigma, you know, architecturally and historically speaking. It has no right to be there, by all logic. And the aerial photographs we’ve got of it show a mixture of architectural styles which suggests that it was for a time a meeting place for all the world’s cultures. Hard to credit, I know.”
    “I agree with you, though,” I said. “And I also believe that there are some cultures represented there which existed before any sort of recorded history. They are very, very old buildings, indeed.”
    “There are a few legends, of course. Remarkably few, really. Most of the Kumbalari priests were killed in the 1902 earthquake and the rest of the people are pretty ignorant. After the earthquake, they stopped talking about Teku Benga altogether and most of the oral tradition had died out by the time trained scientists went up there. I suppose that’s what you were after, eh? Looking for a clue. A damned dangerous expedition. Not one I’d like to risk, even by airship. Weather conditions change so quickly. The best-equipped expedition could get stranded.” He frowned. “It’s still funny I never read about it. I thought I’d read everything on the subject. I’ve got our records people onto you, by the way. Trying to find out what regiment you belonged to, that sort of thing. You’ll soon know who you are. Then, if you’ve relatives at home, we’ll send you back to them.”
    “That’s kind of you,” I said.
    “Least we could do. Are you an archaeologist, by the by? Do you remember?”
    “I suppose I am in a way,” I admitted. “I seem to know a lot about the past and nothing at all about the—present.”
    He laughed briefly. “Think I understand you. Same here, really. Always digging about in the past. In many ways it was a