“Won’t hear a hyena prate on and on about the grandeur of the pack and the glory of the carrion,” added Larue.
“Unless it’s a scholar hyena,” chuckled Filoberto. “I hear our distant cousin, Rhodes Sfondrati-Piccolomini, has just come out with a new book—The Ozarine Century, it’s called.”
“I’ve read it,” said Larue. “Drones on and on about the Burden of Ozar, as he calls it. That’s scholar-speak for ‘let’s loot everything, for the lootee’s best interest.’ Would you believe, the fool even calls for a new attempt at conquering the Sssuj?”
Great gales of laughter had greeted that last statement. When their glee subsided, however, my uncles’ gloom had returned. The long silence had finally been broken by my uncle Ludovigo, his voice hard as stone.
“That fool belongs to another branch of the clan. In our branch, in our family—we’ve had eagles and falcons, and owls, and more than a few peacocks and dodos. But there’s never been a vulture.” He’d fixed me with his glare. “You hear me, boy?”
I was recalled back to the present by Wolfgang’s voice.
“There it is. The Grimwald.”
I looked up. On the horizon, ahead and to my right, I could see a ragged, dark green line. Even from the distance, it looked somehow foreboding.
I said as much, and Wolfgang giggled. “Nonsense! It’s a marvelous place, the Grimwald. Full of wonder and enchantment! Unicorns, even! The world’s greatest mystery, you know?”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Why, it’s obvious! How do unicorns propagate, when they’ve got this fetish about virginity?” He cackled. “I’ve spent years trying to figure it out. Even asked the head psychiatrist at the asylum. The man’s a genius, you know? But he was no help, at all. Said that unicorns were just a figment of my imagination.”
“They are,” said Gwendolyn forcefully.
“Well, of course, I know that!” Wolfgang’s voice was full of aggrievement. “I’m not stupid, you know, just insane. But that’s the whole point! How do unicorns propagate in my imagination, when they’ve got this fetish about virginity? My imagination certainly doesn’t. Have a fetish about virginity, I mean.” He howled like a lunatic. “Quite the contrary! A cornucopia of sexual perversion, it is, my imagination. I’ve scolded it many times, but it keeps coming up with the wildest ideas! For instance—”
“Wolfgang, shut up!” roared Gwendolyn.
“Such a prude! Oh, very well. But, anyway, for some reason my imagination comes up short whenever it tries to picture unicorns propagating. Years, I’ve spent, trying to figure out why. It’s very important, you know, for a lunatic to understand his imagination. Sane people never have to worry about it, of course. You can just pass things off by saying ‘it’s just my imagination.’ But a dement can’t do that, because we live in the world of our imagination. So—”
“Wolfgang, shut up!” roared Gwendolyn.
“But, my dear Gwendolyn, you’re missing the whole point! Sane people are such cripples! Hamstrung, you are, by the real world. Whereas a madman can just dismiss the problem by saying ‘it’s just the real world,’ and go on about the important business, which is imagining—”
Gwendolyn heaved herself out of the yoke and stalked back to the cart. She glared up at the towering figure of the madman, still sitting in the pose of an icon.
“If you don’t shut up,” she hissed between her teeth, “the real world will intrude upon your imagination this very minute.”
I was afraid a row might break out, with me caught between a giant and an Amazon. But Wolfgang only smirked and said: “I shall become quite the proper icon, then. Full of grace.”
And, indeed, he fell silent for the rest of the journey into the Grimwald, except for a whisper meant only for my ears.
“Such a solemn woman, she is. You really must try and brighten up her spirits, young man.”
Such was, in fact, my very hope. But I wasn’t about to acknowledge the same to a lunatic. Still, my stiff back must have transmitted some of my feelings, for I could hear Wolfgang chuckling behind me.
A short distance further, Gwendolyn turned the cart down a narrow, rutted dirt path. We were now headed directly for the forest, and she began to pick up the pace. A half hour later, the path entered beneath the loom of the Grimwald. Gwendolyn shrugged out of the yoke.