He stooped, bringing his face down. “Now do you see?”
“No, I don’t!” exclaimed Gwendolyn.
Wolfgang straightened, sighed. “We look at things so differently, dear. From different angles, you might say.”
He reached out and stroked her cheek.
“But I don’t care, Gwendolyn. On the last day of the world—if you don’t get yourself killed!—we’ll see everything just the same. And in the meantime, go your way with all my love and hope. For I cherish you.”
Gwendolyn took his hand and held it to her cheek.
Suddenly, she stepped back. “Be off with you! You damned lunatic. Off to chase after the wizard, I suppose.”
Wolfgang beamed. “Yes! Off to Prygg!” And with no further ado he charged into the forest. The trees shook with his passage, the underbrush hissed their protest. But, not more than a minute later, while Gwendolyn and I remained unmoving in the clearing, the sights and sounds of his return became evident. Wolfgang reappeared, moving toward us in that awkward-looking shamble that covered ground amazingly quickly.
Two seconds later he was standing in front of me, waving his arms about.
“I’m so forgetful!” he cried. “I forgot to say good-bye to Benvenuti! Can you forgive me, dear boy?”
I nodded. “Think nothing of it.”
“Such a polite lad! Such a credit to his family!”
He extended his hand and shook mine. My—by normal standards—large hand was completely lost in his huge fist.
“Perhaps we will meet again,” I said, not really taking the formula seriously.
“Of course we will!” cried the giant. “It’s inevitable! You’re up to your knees in Joe business, boy, and sinking fast! Of course we’ll meet again! But until then, take care.”
And again he was off. Within a minute, all sign of him was gone. I turned to Gwendolyn.
“What now?”
For a few seconds longer, she continued to stare into the forest where Wolfgang had disappeared. Then she motioned to the left with her head.
“That way.”
PART III
The Which Represents a
Lacuna in my Illustrious Ancestors’
Account, Fortunately Made Good By My
Discovery of a Long Lost Manuscript by
the Undeservedly Obscure Littérateur,
Korzeniowski Laebmauntsforscynneweëld,
Companion of the Consortium Director of
Companies in That Superlative
Financier’s Most Bitter and
Troubled Exile.
The manuscript which follows herein requires a brief introduction, if I may take this liberty as your narrator. For, alas, my ancestors’ chronicle suffers from an unfortunate lacuna with regard to the account of the wizard Zulkeh’s journey from Goimr to the Caravanserai.
The gentle reader will recall that the precipitous departure of the coach from the travel station of Goimr caused the dwarf Shelyid to be hurtled to the floor. “Master, we’re off!” cried the gnome, to which the wizard responded: “Well spoken, dwarf. Our journey has begun.” Know, gentle reader, that these words were scribed by the illustrious Alfred CCLVI even as he was himself flying through the air, having lost his perch on Shelyid’s eyebrow (this precarious vantage point being the preferred scribal seat of the intrepid chronicler) due to the gnome’s clumsiness. In his devotion to duty, Alfred CCLVI did not notice that his airborne trajectory was taking him through the window and out of the coach entirely. This fact was only brought to his attention when the industrious scribe found himself sprawled in six-legged disarray upon the cobblestones, the coach wherein reposed his life’s work racing away at great speed. Hastily retrieving his scattered notes, Alfred CCLVI set off in hot pursuit.
Of the odyssey which followed, the epic tale of Alfred CCLVI’s endeavor to regain the wizard’s coach, I will say nothing. The interested reader is referred to Alfred CCLVI’s own account of his adventures, the classic Across the Grimwald On 80 Hosts. For our purposes here, it suffices to say that Alfred CCLVI did not rejoin his clan until the arrival of the wizard in the Caravanserai.
At once, Alfred CCLVI inquired if any of his senior apprentices had compiled sufficiently competent notes to enable the great scribe to reconstruct the events of the wizard’s journey. Alas, he found their haphazard jottings entirely inadequate. Hence did the irate chronicler order the immediate fumigation of his senior apprentices.
This act was perhaps hasty and ill-considered. For it resulted in the rise to senior apprenticeship of that unfortunate individual later to become the notorious Alfred CCLVII. But that disgraceful episode belongs to a later portion of our chronicle. For the moment, we are left with the embarrassment of a yawning gap in the smooth unfolding of our tale.