No doubt a long-winded economic debate would have ensued, save for the intervention of Wolfgang.
“Crazy thing, money!” he boomed. “And they say we lunatics are insane! Nonsense—just another example of the superiority of lunacy over lucidity! Only sober-minded rational people with their feet planted firmly on the ground would ever come up with such a goofy idea as money! Won’t find us demented types worrying over money! We’ve got real things to fret over! How do unicorns propagate when they’ve got this fetish about virginity? Why does a troll’s tongue drool when it’s naked as an egg and has sweat glands? Why are krakens extinct? Are they extinct? Did they ever exist? Why do—”
“Come, Shelyid, let us be off!” cried the mage, hustling his apprentice out the door. “For even as the lunatic raves, time wanes!”
PART XVIII
In Which We Conclude This
Volume of Our Chronicle By Resuming,
With Firm Resolve Though Great Distaste,
Our Skeptical Scrutiny of the Autobiography of
That Sfondrati-Piccolomini Fellow, in This Portion
of Whose Tale Are Related Impudent Revelries Over
Recent Reverses Suffered By The Lawful Order
of Grotum As Well As Divers and Dramatic
Encounters and Leave-Takings.
The Autobiography of Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini,
Episode 9: Dogs, Divas, Dements and Departures
So it was on such a wretched horse that I rode onto the estates of General Kutumoff.
As I thought, the trip had taken a day longer than predicted. It was not until the morning of November 1 that we arrived at our destination. The estates were vast, or so they seemed to me. But when I made comment to that effect, Gwendolyn told me that they were actually quite small, by Groutch standards. I realized again the impossibility of gauging Grotum by Ozarine scales. Though rich and mighty, the Ozarine—not to speak of Ozarae proper—is small in geographic size. Whereas Grotum! A world in itself, it sometimes seemed to me.
Truth to tell, I had no idea we had entered onto the estates until Gwendolyn told me. To all outward appearances, the estates seemed much like the rest of the countryside of the Mutt. Prosperous, well-tended fields; farmers busy about their business; modest but well-kept farmhouses.
“Not quite what I had expected,” I remarked.
“How so?”
“Well, from all you’ve told me of what you call the Groutch land question, I’d rather been expecting to see miserable, half-starved serfs, stooped in their labor, overseers cracking whips, that sort of thing.”
Gwendolyn was shocked. “On the estates of General Kutumoff?”
I saw the storm gathering on her brow. This experience, if you’ve never undergone it, is somewhat akin to watching a mounting tidal wave. From the vantage point of a very small, very flat island.
“Obviously I misunderstood!” I hastened to add.
“I should think so!”
I was relieved to see the storm pass. After a moment, Gwendolyn even laughed.
“I keep forgetting how little you know of Grotum. The Mutt is—not like the rest of Grotum.”
“I can believe that! Not that I’ve seen much else beside the forest and Goimria.”
At that moment our conversation was interrupted by a great baying sound. I looked ahead. My blood ran cold. Toward us, racing like the wind, was an enormous pack of—dogs? Wolves? Snarls? I couldn’t really tell. Whatever they were, they were utterly horrifying. It wasn’t simply their size, but the gaping jaws, the slavering tongues—most of all, the frenzy with which they were bounding toward us. Futile though it was, I reached behind me for my sword.
“Oh, will you relax? It’s just the General’s puppies. They’re always excited when people come to visit.”
“Those are puppies?”
But it could not be gainsaid. Once the—creatures—reached us, they began acting just like eager and undisciplined pups. Gwendolyn leapt off her horse and the beasts swarmed all over her. A minute or two of rough play followed.
I myself remained on my horse. A vast horde of the things gathered about me, peering up with puzzlement, whining and whimpering with confusion at my unseemly behavior. I remained, I say, on the horse.
“Oh, Benvenuti, you’re such a spoilsport. You’ll hurt their feelings.”
“Let them die of heartbreak. I am not romping about with puppies the size of timber wolves.”