“I’d think they’d at least want to be able to charge tolls,” I protested.
Gwendolyn snorted. “They do charge tolls. If you’re lucky.”
The logic of all this escaped me. When I said as much, Gwendolyn’s reply was a vigorous shake of the head followed by: “The logic escapes everybody except the Barons. See if they care.”
I spent a bit of time admiring the results produced by that vigorous shake of the head. Her hair was every bit as flamboyantly exuberant as her figure. Then: “I’d think some kingdom of Grotum would long since have put paid to this nonsense.”
Seeing the frown beginning to form, I added hastily: “Not that I’m advocating imperialism, you understand.”
Gwendolyn’s frown turned into a somewhat rueful expression. “The Kings of Prygg tried, twice. Those of New Sfinctr, twice also. None of the attempts came to much. There are a lot of barons, and the one thing they are willing to do is fight. And there isn’t much here worth conquering anyway. A bunch of surly peasants digging potatoes. About it.”
The rueful look stayed on her face. I was a bit puzzled by it. Although I didn’t understand that much of Gwendolyn’s ideology, I couldn’t imagine her feeling much chagrin at Grouch royalty being thwarted.
Something of my curiosity must have been apparent. Gwendolyn paused for a moment, planted her hands on her hips, and swiveled her head to stare off somewhere into the distance to the north. A heavy sigh followed.
“We’re not that far away, actually,” she said softly. She pointed to the north. “Just two hills over. You’d find the castle where the Comte de l’Abbatoir and his Knights Companion met their end.”
My eyes widened. Gwendolyn sighed again. “You’re familiar with the incident, I take it?”
I hesitated, finally understanding her odd mix of sentiments. “Um. Yes, of course. It’s—ah, please don’t take offense—considered the masterwork of the profession. When the report came to Ozar, my uncles spent an entire evening enthusing over the accounts.”
Gwendolyn’s lips were tight. “Accounts?” she said, emphasizing the plural.
“Oh, yes. A multitude of them, there were. The Ozarean Times even ran an article on the front page. Although my uncles spent most of their time engrossed in a much more scholarly version which had been rushed into print by the Annals of Asphyxiation.”
Her lips were now very tight. I hesitated for a moment; then, shrugging:
“Gwendolyn, you can hardly object to your brother strangling the Comte de l’Abbatoir and his entire pack of thugs. Even if he did do it for money.”
She burst into sudden laughter. “Object? When the news came, my comrades and I spent an entire night in wild celebration. The Comte was easily the most vicious baron in the whole of the Baronies—and they’re all vicious to begin with.” The laugh ended soon enough. “Still . . .”
She gave her head another sharp shake and stalked off. A moment later, we were clambering over another wall and my thoughts were drawn back to more artistic concerns.
I decided to title the painting Form and Function, a study in leather.
* * *
We stopped at midday when we came upon a dense hedge. I didn’t recognize the shrubs, but they were thick enough to make an excellent place to stay out of sight.
“We’ll sleep here,” Gwendolyn announced, after studying the thicket. “It’ll be tight, but there’s room for both of us.” She gave me an eye which was half cold, half . . . not.
Sometime later, in the half darkness under the thick shrubs, we were more or less falling asleep in each other’s arms. There really wasn’t much room in that dense shrubbery for two people.
I say “more or less” because I was finding sleep difficult. I trust the reason is obvious.
Gwendolyn started chuckling. The various motions which that process brought in its train made me despair of ever finding sleep. Insofar as the term “despair,” in context, isn’t completely absurd.
“Think artistic thoughts,” Gwendolyn murmured in my ear. “Plan a painting or a sculpture.”
“I’m trying,” I grumbled.
She chuckled again. “But I warn you. If the words ‘leather’ or ‘form and function’ appear anywhere in the title, I’ll hunt you down. I swear I will.”