“Oh, those!” exclaimed Madame Kutumoff. “Why, those figurines are all over, Gwendolyn. The peasants in the Baronies started making them a year or so ago. It was after Greyboar—well, after he disposed of the Comte de l’Abattoir and his Knights Companion. He’s become something of a folk hero among the serfs, actually.”
Gwendolyn’s face grew hard. “He didn’t do it for them!”
“Well, of course he didn’t!” boomed Wolfgang. “He did it because some other baron paid him to do it—stupid peasants! Just like the ignorant sods to make a hero out of the man who throttled the most vicious lord in creation for the wrong reason.” He clucked his tongue. “That’s the whole problem with the Groutch peasantry—no understanding of psychology!”
He reached out his hand. “May I see the carving?”
Gwendolyn handed it to him. Wolfgang gazed down at it for a moment, and then handed it back. He began shaking his head vigorously.
“Oh no! Oh no! It just won’t do! It’s a beautiful carving, of course. Excellent work, Benvenuti—but I’m afraid it’s ruined by that typical Sfondrati-Piccolomini touch. Just like that painting of your uncles! The marvelous suggestion of a great nobility of soul within that brutish exterior—preposterous! Greyboar’s not like that at all! Oh no! The man’s a monster, a fiend! A heartless killer! Why, my soul shudders when I think—”
“Wolfgang, shut up!” roared Gwendolyn.
The giant pouted. “But, my dear, your brother is a renegade from the human race. A two-legged beast, with the philosophy of a weasel. You’ve said so yourself—many times, in fact. I was just elaborating on your words.”
Gwendolyn glared at him. “I never—” She fell silent. “Well, maybe I did.” She looked down at the carving in her hand. After a moment, her face softened and she looked up at me.
“Thank you, Benvenuti.”
Before I could say anything, Wolfgang was hustling me down the lane.
“We’re off! We’re off!” he cried. When we reached the road, I turned back. But Gwendolyn was gone.
* * *
Four days I spent, walking north from the Mutt with Wolfgang. All things considered, he may have been the best companion I could have had then. In his bizarre way, he made it impossible for me to wallow for long in my misery.
He talked constantly, an unending stream of idiotic babble, with those odd insights popping up like bubbles. Of what he said, I remember nothing, except his last words. Those came at a crossroads at the start of Joe’s Hills.
“Just keep going north, Benvenuti. It’s safe enough, walking through Joe’s Hills, as long as you stick to the road. And when you get to Munching, you can take the barge down the river to New Sfinctr. They’re wretched barges, I warn you. But they’ll get you there.”
Suddenly I was enfolded in his huge arms. When he released me, he was grinning in his inimitable style. Quite a fetching grin, actually, if you ignored the foam.
“Don’t look so woebegone, boy!” He cackled. “The heart’s just a muscle, you know. It doesn’t really break, it just gets bruised. Bruises go away. Especially if the muscle’s healthy. So that’s it! Just exercise your heart!”
His grin was replaced by a rare look of seriousness. “I have come to cherish you, Benvenuti.”
The look vanished.
“I know what I’ll do! I’ll tell you the secret of the universe!” He leaned down and whispered two words in my ear. A moment later, he was shambling down the road in that unique stride, waving his arms.
“I must be off!” I heard him cry. “It’s my longest escape ever! Oh! They’ll be furious! They’ll beat me! Whip me! Oh! Oh! I can’t wait!”
Three seconds later, he was out of sight around a bend. His voice lingered a few seconds longer.
* * *
I made my camp that evening atop the highest hill I could find. From there, I was able to look south over the Mutt. The setting sun bathed the land in purple and ochre beauty. I found some comfort, then, knowing Gwendolyn was somewhere in that splendor.
Two days I spent there, paralyzed. A hundred times, I started back south, only to return to the camp. A hundred times, I started north, only to return to the camp.