So, I can hear you asking, where was the downside?
Where do you think? Philosophy, of course.
I started getting wind that something screwy was going on when I noticed that Greyboar was getting more and more cheerful as the pro bono commissions rolled in. Not at all like him, that. The truth is that Greyboar was lazy even before he discovered his “ethical entropy.” After that he was impossible. Days on end he spent lounging around, grumbling about the smallest little job, whining and complaining that he had to practice his Languor. Usually, I had to crack the whip to get him to work. But here he was, charging around like a kid with a new toy, squeezing like mad, grinning all the while like an idiot.
Finally, I demanded an explanation.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he boomed cheerfully. “You’re seeing entropy at work! I told you this whole scheme of yours was goofy, in the long run. It makes me laugh just thinking about that old idiot! There he was, the great Etienne Avare, Merchant Prince of New Sfinctr, bumping off one relative after another so he’d be able to keep the fortune intact. A futile attempt to outsmart the second law of thermodynamics if I ever saw one! And what happened? Tell me! What happened?”
By now I had my hands over my ears. Damned if I was going to listen to this gibberish! Greyboar grabbed my hands and pulled them away. I resisted, of course, but it was like a mouse resisting an elephant.
“What happened?” he continued. “No sooner does Etienne get what he’s been working for—for decades, no less!—than it all falls apart in months. It’s perfect, perfect! Classic example of entropy in action! Total verification of my philosophy!”
“What a load of bullshit!” I fired back. “Sure and the Avare fortune are history—so what? We’ve made more money out of the deal than we’ve ever made in our lives! And I’ve saved up most of the old bastard’s honorarium, too!”
I know, I know, I know, don’t tell me—bad move, Ignace. As the wise man says: “A braggart and his brag are soon parted.”
Sure enough, Greyboar grinned from ear to ear and stuck out his paw. His great, ugly paw.
“Fork over, Ignace,” he said. “The Cat and I are going off on a spree. I figure, why try to save the money? It’ll just go the way of all energy, anyway—scattered to the wind.”
Insult, naturally, was now added to injury. “It’s entropy, Ignace,” he said solemnly, “you can’t fight it.”
So I had to cough it all up. Everything I’d hoarded! Blown in a week!
Chapter 8.
A Week in the Country
I would have stayed in our garret, sulking, but when Jenny and
Angela heard about the spree they came and dragged me out. Made me go along. Greyboar had invited them, of course. “Natural-born entropists,” he called them. “The perfect company for an outing devoted to the second law of thermodynamics!” He was not all that enthusiastic about me coming along. Called me a sourpuss, if you can believe it? But Jenny and Angela put their foot down, and that was that.
Then, Jenny and Angela got the crazy idea to invite Benvenuti along, too. Said he was such a charming man that he was bound to add something to the festivities.
I was utterly against the idea, but I had enough sense to keep my mouth shut. I knew the silly girls would accuse me of jealousy, as absurd as it was. And given that Greyboar was still being a bit grouchy with me, I realized that my opposition would be sure to swing it the other way.
Besides, I wasn’t worried. I knew that Greyboar wouldn’t really want someone around for a whole week who would remind him constantly of Gwendolyn. I knew it for a certainty, because I didn’t want to be reminded of Gwendolyn. Not that much, anyway.
And, sure enough . . .
“Well, I don’t know . . .” he muttered, scratching his head. Greyboar was sprawled on the couch in Jenny and Angela’s living room. The Cat was curled up next to him, half asleep, her head nestled on his shoulder. Angela was perched on the armrest of my chair, looking like a cheerful little bird.