“S’okay,” murmured Angela. “We love you anyway. And you’re a hero to us, even if you’re a perp to the rest of the world.”
“It’s not fair,” I muttered. “Pay’s good. Work’s steady.”
Jenny kissed the top of my head. “And what else do you ever get in this world?”
“Not fair,” I repeated. “I never asked for any damned philosophy.”
By now they were pretty much impossible to ignore, and I discovered I wasn’t trying anymore. Rather the opposite, actually. Sometime later, Jenny went back to the kitchen to do something or other. After a bit, Angela followed. Before she left, she kissed me and whispered: “You guys could do it. Jenny and I know you could.”
Not fair!
* * *
It was a very nice feast. Even if I wasn’t in a good mood. Over the brandy afterward—I bought it, without anybody even pestering me—the Cat rose and made a toast.
“Here’s to adventure!”
I kept my mouth shut, shut, shut, shut. Greyboar, of course, slurped down the toast and so did Jenny and Angela.
Then the Cat continued: “I think you should definitely take up the Abbess’ invitation.”
I groaned. Silently, I think. I’m not sure, because the minute the Cat made that announcement Jenny and Angela were chattering like magpies wanting to know what it was about. As soon as they found out, they immediately joined in with the Cat pushing the silly idea on Greyboar. I squawked and protested, but it was no use. Greyboar caved in right away. I swear, the man was an absolute patsy in the hands of women!
Then, naturally—I saw this coming a mile away—Jenny and Angela wanted to go along. The Cat said she couldn’t herself, on account of looking for Schrödinger, but she thought it was a great idea. Then, naturally, Greyboar caved in again.
Then, naturally, Jenny and Angela wanted to travel to the Abbey on horseback. Fastest way to get there, they said. But at least here Greyboar put his foot down.
“Not a chance,” he said. “First of all, you girls have never ridden a horse in your lives. Second, the critters always get surly, having to carry me. And Ignace doesn’t see eye to eye with the beasts, either. They take one look at him and figure why should they take orders from this character who isn’t much bigger than a lump of sugar.” (I resented that, even though it was true.) “So we’ll hire a coach. A big one. What the hell? The Abbess said she’d pay the travel expenses.”
A big one, I thought sourly. Translation: expensive.
But I didn’t say anything. Although my tone was probably surly when I said I’d go out and rent one. The one bright spot in the whole thing was that I figured I could hire Oscar and his gang to drive the great thing. Sure, they were all a bunch of kids, who usually hauled people around in their home-built rickshaws. But even at his age—eleven, he was then—Oscar was as good as a professional teamster.
The following day, around lunchtime, I went out looking for Oscar. I found him in the stable where he and his boys usually hang out, not far from The Trough.
And discovered that my “bright spot” had become a conflagration.
* * *
I’d always known Hrundig was probably as strong as a bull. But “knowing” in the abstract is one thing. Having your arms clamped to your chest and his iron-bar forearm ready to crush your throat is something else entirely.
I think I may have gurgled. Not sure. My vision was getting blurry and I could barely see anything in the dark interior of the stable. Just enough to see Olga Frissault and her daughters huddling fearfully in one of the stalls. Oscar and his lads were huddling in another. They didn’t look fearful. They looked terrified.
I heard a grunt behind me, and the pressure left my chest and throat. “Sorry, Ignace,” Hrundig muttered. “Didn’t realize it was you.”
I took a couple of steps forward, gasping for breath. “Who’d you think it was?” I complained, massaging my throat. “How many red-headed, freckled footpads are there, less than five feet tall?” I suspect my tone was, ah, peevish.