Barley ceased, and sat apart, silent and indistinct, with the poise of a mystic. For a time, no one moved, or spoke; then—
“We have lost the flow of ambition,” said the Director of Companies. “We are caught within the tides.” Another silence—then: “Curse the Rebel.”
I raised my head; the tranquil lagoon at the uttermost end of the earth lapped somber under an overcast night’s sky; the future was barred by a black bank of clouds.
Suddenly the native boy put his insolent head up through the hatch, and said in a tone of scathing contempt —”Missus Lang—she alive.” He held up a letter.
“What’s that?” demanded the Director, leaping to his feet. “Give me that, you savage!” He seized the envelope; tore it open. “A light! A light!” The accountant hastily lit a lamp; held it by the Director’s side—he began reading the letter.
“It’s from Mrs. Lang!” Never have I heard such joy in a human voice. “She’s alive. She—she’s coming back to me! She was in Ozar, found out where I am—she’s coming to see me!” He read on, as in a frenzy—suddenly, a great groan of anguish. “Oh God, no!” Never have I heard such despair in a human voice.
“What is it?” asked the lawyer. “She—she’s remarried,” whispered the Director. “She’s taken a new husband—how could she?—all these years I waited—the money I spent—” Then, a moment later, another great cry. “A mate! She’s taken a mate!—a great horrid savage from the Sssuj!” Never have I heard such outrage in a human voice. “And children! And grandchildren! She’s bringing the whole filthy brood here! Oh God!”
He tore the letter in half, clutching a piece in each hand; his eyes rolled wildly—his face gleamed in the lamplight, contorted like a demon. “No! No! I cannot!—instead—yes, I will!” Never have I heard such resolve in a human voice; he ate the letter; then—he was always a man of action—he flung himself headlong into the lagoon; the dark waters roiled for a moment beneath the Tremolino’s stern.
“Stop!” I shouted—rushed to the rail; made ready to dive after him—Barley’s hand held me back. “Let him go,” he said softly; “it’s better so.” He was right—I looked to the others; all nodded. Slowly we resumed our seats.
Some silent moments later—it was now pitch-black, moonless night—I heard the lawyer say, “Quite a little tale there; by the way, whatever happened to that wizard?” By the dimness of the lamplight, I could barely make out Barley’s shrug.
PART VI
In Which We
Resume Our Account of
the Adventures of the Artist
and his Insurrectionary Companion
as They Continue Their
Journey Through
the Baronies.
The Autobiography of Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini,
Episode 4: Fields, Forts, Form and Function
So it was on such a note of trepidation that we emerged from the Grimwald and set foot in the Baronies.
At first glance, the terrain seemed unremarkable. Very hilly, was my first thought. Innumerable hills stretched toward the horizon, each of them surmounted by a weathered rocky tor. Here and there a small wooded copse or a pasture with a stone croft. Beyond that, I had no impression other than the rather barren and rocky nature of the region. Each little peasants’ field seemed to be surrounded by stone walls. And I was puzzled by the apparent absence of any dwellings.
When I remarked on the latter, Gwendolyn pointed a finger at what appeared to be, in the distance, some sort of huge gopher hole. “The peasants in the Baronies can’t afford huts. They live in holes in the ground.”
I made a face. The rapacity of the Groutch Barons was a byword even in Ozar. “Then where do the Barons live?”
Gwendolyn looked at me as if I were a dimwit. “In their castles, where else?”
“What cas—” I broke off, staring at the top of one of the hills. Realizing, for the first time, that what I had first taken to be a crumbling mass of rock was actually . . . had been at one time, at least, an edifice.
“That’s a ‘castle’?” I croaked.
“What passes for one, in the southern Baronies. In some parts of the northern Baronies, the nobility’s more sophisticated.” She smiled thinly. “This is not, as you may imagine, an area which attracts the world’s finest architects.”