“Yes,” Alfred agreed meekly. “But, I found that it all balanced itself out, somehow.”
He heard a whine, felt a cold nose press itself against his leg. Reaching down his hand, Alfred absently fondled the dog’s soft ears, patted it on the head to keep it quiet.
“I’m afraid you’re right. I don’t understand,” said Orla. “What do you mean by balance?”
Alfred seemed to have a menschlike difficulty putting his thoughts into words. “It’s just … I’d see one mensch betray another and I’d be shocked and sickened. But, almost immediately after that, I’d come across an act of true selfless love, of faith, sacrifice. And I’d feel humbled and ashamed of myself for judging them.
“Orla.” He turned to face her. The dog pressed closer and he scratched the animal behind its ear. “What gives us the right to judge them? What gives us the right to say that our way of life is the right way of life and that theirs is wrong? What gives us the right to impose our will on them?”
“The very fact that the mensch do have such words as murder and betrayal!” she replied. “We must, by guiding them with a firm hand, train them out of these debilitating weaknesses, lead them to rely solely on their strengths.”
“But might we not,” Alfred argued, “inadvertently train them out of everything—strengths and weaknesses both? It seems to me that the world we wanted to create for the mensch was a world where the mensch were totally subservient to our will. I’m sure I’m wrong,” he continued humbly, “but I don’t understand the difference between that and what the Patryns intended.”
“Of course there’s a difference!” Orla flared. “How can you even think of comparing the two?”
“I’m sorry,” said Alfred in remorse. “I’ve offended you. And after all your kindness to me. Don’t pay any attention to me. I— What’s the matter?”
Orla was staring, not him, but at his feet. “Whose dog is that?”
“Dog?” Alfred glanced down.
The dog looked up, and wagged its plumy tail.
Alfred staggered back against the rock wall.
“Blessed Sartan!” he gasped. “Where did you come from?”
The dog, pleased that it now had everyone’s attention, pricked its ears, cocked its head expectantly, and barked once.
Alfred went deathly pale. “Haplo!” he cried. “Where are you?” He searched around wildly.
At the sound of the name, the dog began to whine eagerly, barked again loudly.
But no one answered.
The dog’s ears drooped. The tail ceased to wave back and forth. The animal sank to the ground, put its nose between its paws, sighed, and looked up at Alfred dejectedly.
Alfred, recovering his composure, stared at the animal.
“Haplo’s not here, is he?”
The dog reacted to the name again, lifted its head, gazed about wistfully.
“Dear, dear,” Alfred murmured.
“Haplo!” Orla spoke the name with reluctance, it might have been coated with poison. “Haplo! That is a Patryn word.”
“What? Oh, yes, I believe it is,” Alfred said, preoccupied.
“Means ‘single.’ The dog doesn’t have a name. Haplo never gave it one. An interesting point, don’t you think?” He knelt down beside the animal, stroked its head with a gentle, trembling hand. “But why are you here?” he asked. “Not sick, are we? No. I didn’t think so. Not sick. Perhaps Haplo sent you to spy on me? That’s it, isn’t it?”
The dog gave Alfred a reproachful glance. I expected better from you than this, it seemed to say.
“The animal belongs to the Patryn,” Orla said.
Alfred looked up at her, hesitated. “You might say that. And then again . . .”
“It could be spying on us for him, right now.”
“It could be,” Alfred conceded the point. “But I don’t think so. Not that we haven’t used the animal for such purposes before—”
“We!” Orla drew back, away from him.
“I … That is … Haplo told it … In Abarrach . . . The prince and Baltazar, a necromancer. I didn’t really want to spy on them but I didn’t have much choice …”
Alfred saw he wasn’t helping matters. He began again. “Haplo and I were lost in Abarrach—”