Undermajordomo Minor

  Memel nodded.

  “You’re saying Klara is Tomas’s daughter?”

  “I’m saying that Mewe is Tomas’s son.”

  “Does Mewe know this?”

  “No.”

  “He’s never asked after his history?”

  “He’s never asked me.”

  “When will you tell him?”

  “I have no plans to tell him at all.”

  “But why not?”

  “Why should I, is the superior query.”

  Lucy considered it, and could think of no further argument. He asked, “Why did you tell me this story about Tomas?”

  Memel held up his palms, but he didn’t answer the question, and would say no more about it. At the conclusion of their outing, he bade Lucy and Rose a good evening, and his footing was shaky and uncertain as he stepped toward the village.

  That night Lucy lay in bed, hopeful for sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come no matter how he approached it in his mind. At last he sat up and declared, “Well, I’m just going to have to kill him, and that’s all there is to it.” He lay back down and made plans to that effect.

  5

  Adolphus stood beside the Very Large Hole, looking into it, and whistling shrilly. Lucy sat in a crouch a half-dozen paces away from the lip. He hadn’t slept even momentarily all through the night and there was an insistent, throbbing discomfort in his skull. Kneading his temples with the tips of his fingers, he asked Adolphus to stop whistling, and Adolphus did stop. But now he’ll spit, thought Lucy, and this proved to be true. The soldier marked his spittle’s transit with interest.

  “Well, boy, where’s Klara?” he asked.

  “She’s coming.” There was something in Lucy’s voice, some inkling of worry or strife, that caught Adolphus’s ear; now he peered at Lucy in a sidelong manner. Lucy’s eyes were ringed with gray and blue, and his breathing was hurried and shallow.

  Adolphus said, “I know what went on between you two, while I was away.”

  Lucy said nothing. He had removed his pipe from his pocket and was tapping it against a rock.

  “I want you to know that I don’t bear you any ill will because of it. Our desires get away from us, and there’s nothing to be done about that. I can’t say that I blame you, anyway. Her behavior is all the more baffling to me, but then Klara was never one to do the expected thing.” He spat a second time, then asked, “What’s the matter with you? You sick?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sick.”

  Adolphus shifted. “But why did she send you to fetch me? And why did she wish to meet here, of all places? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  Lucy only stared. Adolphus made a scornful sound at him, and resumed gazing into the hole. “I don’t like it here,” he admitted.

  If he spits once more, then, thought Lucy. Adolphus spat; Lucy set his pipe on the ground and stood.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. He drew a breath and lunged at Adolphus, his hands outstretched, arms locked straight at the elbows. But Adolphus had been put on his guard by the eerie light in Lucy’s eyes, and so was ready for an untoward occurrence. He spun away and to the side, and Lucy rushed past him, disappearing into the Very Large Hole, headfirst, and quite neatly.

  Adolphus looked at the hole awhile, then shook his head and went away. It was odd that Lucy had made no sound when he fell. He was happy, at any rate, that the boy was gone, and so the foolishness with Klara could rest. Only the night before, and she had admitted to loving that runt more than she loved him, if such a thing could be believed. Perhaps she was only cultivating an argument; her father was the same way. Well, now she would once again be contented, which meant that Adolphus could focus his attentions on the area war, which was his pre-eminent concern, his primary source of happiness.

  6

  Lucy made no sound as he fell.

  Only a moment before and his heart had been beating with such violence as to burst; now it seemed not to be beating at all. He was somersaulting through the air, and so with every rotation saw the light of the sky above him, followed by the absolute darkness below. As he fell farther, the light became softer, and the air ever cooler. When he arrived at the bottom of the Very Large Hole there was a surprise awaiting him there, namely a body of running water, which he plunged into with such violence that he blacked out. A long moment, and his body bobbed to the surface, then eased lazily downriver.

  “Have you got him?” asked a breathless voice in darkness.

  “I’ve got him,” said a second voice. A pair of hands clamped down on Lucy.

  7

  Lucy could not at the start grasp just what was happening all around him, for his senses were stunned, his eyes unused to the darkness; but as he became acclimated, now he deduced that he’d been collected from the water and was lying supine upon the incline of a sandy bank. Two men were attending to him, one young and one old, and both of whom, judging by their looks, had not seen civilization in some time—their clothing was tattered, their hair stringy and wild, and they wore unruly beards not in keeping with the fashion of the day. In spite of their appearance, they were in possession of their faculties and health and, it would seem, their good cheer, and so Lucy did not offer any opposition to their assistance.

  The young man was holding Lucy’s head in his hands and tilting it this way and that. “I can’t tell where it’s coming from,” he said. “Can you tell?”

  The old man’s face came into view. Squinting, he answered, “I can’t, no. Shall I fill up the boot to wash him?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The old man hurried off, while the younger continued his inspection of Lucy’s head. When their eyes met, Lucy said, “Hello.”

  “Well, hello there. How are you feeling?”

  Lucy shrugged. Licking his lips, he tasted blood, and scowled.

  “You’ve been injured,” said the young man, nodding. “Though for the life of me I can’t locate the source of the bleeding. This is troubling, I won’t deny it; but it is also, we must admit, preferable to the wound being highly visible, would you agree?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I ask who you are?”

  “Lucy is my name.”

  “Well, Lucy, you’ve made a misstep, in case you hadn’t noticed. But not to worry; we’ll get you cleaned up in no time, and then afterward we’ll have a nice piece of fish. What would you say to that?” When Lucy didn’t answer at once, the young man asked, “You do like fish, I hope?” Judging by his tone, it was a question of some importance.

  “I like it,” said Lucy.

  The young man was soothed by the answer. “Fine,” he said. “That’s just fine.”

  The old man returned holding a woman’s boot, this filled with river water. Kneeling, he emptied it over Lucy’s face, cleaning the blood away, and now the two men regarded his countenance with unabashed curiosity.

  “He’s just a boy,” said the old man. The young man, meanwhile, had located a diamond-shaped wound just below Lucy’s hairline and asked Lucy to press his finger over top of this to staunch the bleeding. Lucy did as he was told, and made no complaint as they propped him upright. He took in his surroundings from a seated position.

  It was a cavernous space, similar in scope and shape to the interior of a grand church. A moderately sized river emanated from a tall cave on the north-facing wall, then looped the patch of sand upon which the three men sat before disappearing into the wall facing the south. There was a pillar of sunlight shining down from above; this spotlit a circular section of river before the island. In staring absently at this, Lucy saw a fish rise at its center, and as the resulting reverberation rippled outward across the surface of the water, a thought came to him. To the old man, he said, “You’re Tomas, the gambler. And you’re not dead at all.” Next he addressed the young man: “You’re Mr. Broom. I hope you don’t mind it, but I’ve been using your telescope.”
br />   The pair were for a time struck dumb by Lucy’s words, and their expressions read of perturbed amazement. At last the young man spoke, asking his aged partner, “Now what do you make of this, I wonder? A mystery come down from the skies?”

  “I find myself curious,” the old man said.

  “That’s only natural, and of course I feel just the same. But shall we bombard him with questions all at once, or shall we hold off, and first put him at ease?”

  The old man gnawed awhile on his knuckle. “Lord knows I wish to bombard him,” he said. “But no, let us resist the impulse.”

  “Yes.”

  “He is our guest and so will be comforted.”

  “Yes, bravo.” The young man rested a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “He likes fish, is my understanding.”

  At this, the two men laughed, a violent laughter which multiplied hugely in the gaping cavern, and was reminiscent of thunder in that it was at once vivid and vague. This laughter went on for what seemed to Lucy to be an inappropriate length of time, and he was not at all certain how he should feel. After consideration he decided he should feel afraid, and so he was.

  XI

  MR. BROOM & TOMAS THE GAMBLER

  1

  Supper was served—fish, as promised, though it was not a piece as Mr. Broom had said but rather a fish entire, one per man, unscaled and uncooked, for there was neither flame nor blade to be found in the Very Large Hole. The fish were retrieved live from the river; the two men had built up a network of stone-walled corrals diverting from the current proper, and into which fish would innocently amble. Upon finding their transit blocked they would backtrack, only to discover that the point of entry was now likewise impassable, as either Mr. Broom or Tomas had built up a fourth wall to hem them in. Thus confined, the fish would languish in what Tomas described as arrant boredom until such a time as it was removed from its cell, rapped upon the head, and consumed. Lucy thought the method of capture ingenious, but this ingenuity did little to allay the fact of the meal being repellent to him. He stared at the fish, hanging limply in his hands, and his posture denoted a level of disappointment.

  “Well, let’s begin, then,” said Tomas, and he and Mr. Broom bit into the clammy bellies of their fishes, rending away the flesh in animalistic swaths. Soon blood and scales were shimmering in their beards, a sight which stole away Lucy’s appetite completely. Setting his fish to the side, he decided he would not partake, at least not yet, for he knew that if he were to remain he would at some point be forced to follow the others, an eventuality he considered with repugnance. The woman’s boot sat in the center of their circle, refilled with water, a communal vessel; Lucy drank from this to wash away the very thought of the taste.

  The meal reached its conclusion, and now came the interrogation. After establishing how it was that Lucy had identified them, Tomas and Mr. Broom, so pleased for the company and break in routine, wished to know most every detail of Lucy’s life, from the occasion of his birth and up until the present moment. Lucy had no objection to fielding the queries, and his answers were for the most part truthful. He spoke of the melancholy circumstances of his childhood, for example, with a frankness which surprised even himself. Regarding his decision to leave Bury, to say farewell to all he had known in his life, there was not so much as a fact misplaced. And yet, when he arrived at the question of how it was he’d fallen into the Very Large Hole, now he discovered the truth to be insufficient. For would it not have undone the balmy social atmosphere to admit he had attempted to murder a man in a style both cold-blooded and cowardly? Lucy affected the attitude of one in possession of overwhelming sorrows, and when he spoke, his voice was halting, cautious: “I’m not proud to admit it,” he said.

  “Take your time,” Mr. Broom told him.

  “By all means, you must,” agreed Tomas.

  Lucy nodded his thanks. “Yes. Hmm. As it happens, and if you really want to know, I threw myself into this pit bodily.”

  “On purpose, you mean?” Tomas asked.

  “That’s right,” said Lucy.

  “But why would you do such a thing?” Mr. Broom wondered.

  “I was despondent.”

  “Clearly you were,” Tomas said. “But what were you despondent about?”

  “A great number of things.”

  “Such as what?”

  “The overall circumstances of my life on earth.”

  “Life in general, you say?” Mr. Broom asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Top to bottom, is that what you mean?” said Tomas.

  “That’s it.”

  “No solace to be found?” asked Mr. Broom.

  “Anyway I could find none, search as I might.”

  “As bad as all that, eh?” Tomas said.

  “I’m afraid so, yes.”

  Mr. Broom and Tomas shook their heads sympathetically. A thought came to the latter, and he brightened. “Possibly things will take a turn for you now, have you considered it?”

  “I hadn’t, actually,” Lucy answered.

  “This might be your starting-over point.”

  “It’s a thought.”

  “The moment at which you begin afresh.” Tomas nudged Mr. Broom. “From here on out, a new beginning.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Broom said. “It pleases me.”

  “After all, is that not how it has been for us, my friend?”

  “It has indeed, and indeed it has.”

  The bearded duo sat awhile, digesting. Tomas was cleaning his teeth with a fish bone, while Mr. Broom pinched at the tip of his tongue once, twice, thrice; he plucked away some bit of matter, which he fell to studying. Lucy, in regarding these two, was visited with the chilling knowledge that he would soon be assimilated into their society. Naturally this did not sit well with him, so that he felt impelled to ask after the possibilities of escape. The pair of them nodded, as though anticipating the question; Tomas, holding up a corrective finger, said, “There is no possibility whatsoever.”

  “Surely there must be,” Lucy answered, looking about the cavern, as if to locate some solution.

  “The walls cannot be scaled,” said Mr. Broom.

  “The river, then.”

  Tomas shook his head. “The downriver route is, you can plainly see, impassable, disappearing as it does into sheer rock. The upriver route presents the only option for escape, and I say without reservation or shame that it cannot be bettered.”

  “So you’ve tried, then?”

  “Of course we have. In my years alone here I attempted it more times than I care to recall before abandoning the thought entirely. Then, when Mr. Broom arrived, I was swayed by his youth and enthusiasm, and I made several more attempts by his side, each outing a thoroughgoing failure. I suppose it is that you’ll want to take a look for yourself, and you’re welcome to do this, but I for one will opt out, as will Mr. Broom, I imagine. Isn’t that right?”

  Mr. Broom nodded, with emphasis.

  Tomas pointed upriver. “You enter into the cave,” he said, “and walk a hundred yards, at which point you’ll come to a fork. You may elect to take the route to your left, or the one to your right; it makes no difference, for whichever you choose will lead to yet another fork, and then another, and another, and on like this, endlessly or seemingly endlessly, and in total darkness. It’s slow going against the current, the footing is slick and treacherous, and of course, as you know, the water temperature is not what you’d call inviting.” Tomas paused here, remembering. “Our last excursion was catastrophic. We had been away some days when I wrenched my ankle, and Mr. Broom was forced to carry me on his back. We were delirious with hunger and frozen to our bones and I make no exaggeration when I say we had abandoned all thoughts of survival. At last we simply gave ourselves to the current, bobbing along in the darkness and hoping against hope not to be dashed against unseen boulders. Halfway back, and Mr. Broom broke an arm.” Here he turned to look at Mr. Broom, who drew back his sleeve, revealing a wrist bent to a grotesquely unnatural ang
le. “Think of it, boy,” Tomas continued. “Floating downriver in pitch black, expecting at any moment to have my skull stove in, and the only sound to be heard other than the rush of the frigid waters was Mr. Broom’s screaming, echoing off the roof of the cavern.” He made a sour face and shook his head. “It’s the devil’s own playground in there, and if you don’t believe me, then you be my guest.”

  Lucy stared at the river, puzzling at the fates which had landed him in his present location. What could the future possibly hold for him here? And what of his life beyond the confines of the cavern? He wondered what Adolphus had told Klara of his disappearance. Presumably he’d told her the truth, and so she was mourning his passing. It pained him to think of her being pained, to say nothing of the idea of Adolphus offering his comforts. “We must try again,” said Lucy.

  “Must we?” Tomas asked.

  “Of course we must. Otherwise we’ll die here.”

  Here Tomas spoke gently, and with tranquil understanding. “That’s not how we see it, Lucy.”

  “How do you see it?”

  “We’ll live here.”

  2

  They passed a night huddled close for warmth, and in the morning awoke to face another meal, this identical to that of the evening prior. Lucy was very hungry by this point, and yet he still could not deliver the fish to his mouth. Neither Mr. Broom nor Tomas commented, for they had each been through just the same ordeal, and knew Lucy would eat when he was ready. During breakfast, and afterward, Lucy noticed that Mr. Broom was watching him with a woebegone look on his face. This continued for such a time that Lucy asked if something was the matter. Mr. Broom said, “It’s just that, I find myself wondering if you’re aware you and I arrived here under similar circumstances.”

  “I’m aware of it,” said Lucy.

  “And how are you aware of this, may I ask?”