Not deeply, not deeply, for I twisted aside even as the thrust came in. But the pain! It was as if I had been injected with acid! I recall my astonishment that the woman had simply hissed when so struck. I myself screamed like a banshee.
But there was this much to be said for the agony, that for a brief few seconds it galvanized me to a pure fury. A moment later, two more of my opponents were overborne by my rage, their blades beaten down, their faces slashed, their guts spilled onto the street.
Alas, the galvanizing pain was soon replaced by a great weakness. I staggered back, lost my footing. Then I fell against the wall of the building, right next to a door. It is strange how, at such moments, one notices the most insignificant thing. For my eyes fixed themselves upon a small, much-worn placard dangling by one screw from the door. Death House of Goimr, it read.
The irony of it caused me to laugh. I think it was that wild laugh which momentarily stayed my remaining opponents. The three paused, stooping over me. It was that pause, perhaps, which saved my life.
For at that moment, the door to the death house opened and a giant emerged. A true giant—even in my dazed state, I now realized that the woman whom I had taken for a giantess was but a very large woman. But this man! He had to stoop in order to get out of the door—and it was a large door. Eight feet tall, at least, he must have been.
My three opponents were transfixed by the sight. Not the size of the newcomer alone, but the way his eyes rolled about, the way he giggled like a madman, the drool issuing from his loose lips. And the words he spoke: “Isn’t this just the craziest thing? Who would have thought it would come to this! And in Goimr—of all places!”
He beamed down at the three knifemen.
“Don’t you just love it?” he asked. Then he raised the huge club which I now noticed for the first time—and so, judging from their expressions, did my opponents—and crushed one of them like an insect.
The other two—no cowards, I will say it—instantly launched themselves at the giant. In vain. Another swipe of that immense cudgel and both of them went flying. One of them was clearly dead—I could see the rib cage shattered like the side of a barrel. For a moment, I thought the other dead as well. But he struggled to his feet, shaking his head to clear the daze. He stared up at the giant, who was shambling toward him, club raised high.
“Madness and confusion, madness and confusion, oh it’s so lovely,” babbled the giant. He cackled with glee. I think it was that insane cackle which finally broke the villain’s nerve. He turned and raced down the street.
Or, I should say, tried to race down the street. It took the giant but four huge strides to catch up with his prey and smash him to the ground. I could hear the skull splatter.
Then darkness claimed me and I knew no more.
* * *
My consciousness returned slowly, my hearing leading the way.
“And how is my dear aunt?” Such was the first sound I recalled. It was spoken in a high-pitched man’s voice.
“The same as usual,” came the reply, this in a female voice pitched so low that I don’t know what to call it. Contralto profundo? The voice continued: “Head in the clouds.”
“Oh, Gwendolyn—always so stern! When did you join the Sisterhood, by the way?”
“Me? A Sister?” A snort. “Not likely!”
“But I understood you to say you were carrying a message for Zulkeh from the Abbess Hildegard. I assumed—but then! Perhaps I misunderstood. Probably did. Probably imagined the whole thing. I’m crazy, you know.” Mad cackling. “Hear voices all the time.”
“Stop drooling! It’s disgusting.”
“Sorry. Can’t be helped. Goes with my dementia. The head psychiatrist at the asylum’s told me many times that—”
“Wolfgang, shut up!”
Even in my semiconscious state, the momentary silence which followed seemed filled with reproach. Then, a sigh, and the contralto profundo spoke again. Quite a beautiful voice, really, once you got used to the rumble.