* * *
On the morning of the fifth day after our arrival, Greyboar interrupted my plans for the day with a most outlandish proposal.
“Hildegard said she wanted to talk to us today, Ignace. So let’s go.”
“Ridiculous!” I protested. “I’m halfway into my next creation! A perfect replica in coin stacks of the Leaning Tower at—”
No use. Greyboar picked me up, tucked me under his arm, and hauled me off to Hildegard’s office. Once there, he plunked me into a seat.
I was so disgruntled that I didn’t start following the conversation for a couple of minutes. When the words finally penetrated, however, I started really paying attention. And within a few seconds was participating in a lively fashion.
“Ridiculous!” I protested. “You’re nuts, lady! Give up a perfectly respectable trade—pay’s good, work’s steady, what else do you ever get in this world?—for a lot of airy-fairy theological gobbledygook? Ridiculous!”
Hildegard responded to my sensible words with a look which combined amusement at the antics of a child with that “more in sorrow than in anger” business that amusement at childish antics always brings in its wake with a certain brand of individual. You know the type. Policemen, workshop owners, slave drivers. Parents. Abbesses.
“But my dear Ignace,” she said, “surely you don’t deny the existence of an immortal soul—”
“Surely I do!”
“—and even if you do, you must surely recognize the necessity of maintaining a proper psychological balance in life—”
“Surely I don’t!”
“—and even if you don’t, you can’t deny the simple claims of morality.”
I maintained a stubborn silence.
“Which, no matter how you slice it, are sorely tried by your current occupations as a serial murderer and his accomplice. Accomplice, did I say? It might be better to use the terms: aider and abetter; instigator; organizer of the mayhem; miniature butcher; diminutive monster; bantamweight fiend—oh, I could go on and on!”
“No doubt,” rumbled Greyboar. “And it’s not that I haven’t got a certain sympathy for your argument, Abbess. It’s a dirty rotten trade, no doubt about it. But—” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “The truth is, I don’t believe in any of that stuff much more than Ignace does. And in the meantime the food’s got to be put on the table. As he says, the pay’s good and the work’s steady and what else do you get in this world?”
For a moment, his eyes got a little hard. “Fine for you, Abbess—meaning no disrespect—to spout fine sentiments. You weren’t working in a slaughterhouse from the time you were a kid, earning barely enough to keep alive just enough to stagger into the slaughterhouse again the next day.” His eyes got very hard. “So screw it.”
Hildegard sighed. “You are determined, I see. Very well. I simply thought I’d bring the subject up, for your consideration. My duty, you know, as a pious woman of the Church. Do please think about it, from time to time, will you? And you might want to consider that the world is teetering on the brink of a Great Change. Joe’s return will surely trigger off a cataclysm. Interesting times, as the ancient curse goes. During which, of course, nothing is needed more than heroes.”
Greyboar nodded. So did I, after a moment’s sulk. No point in refusing to humor someone who’s just paid you the biggest commission of your life, don’t you know?
As soon as we got out of her office, of course, I said something sarcastic to Greyboar. But he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to me. His mind was off in a cloud, somewhere.
Then he started muttering about the conflict between entropy and the search for lucre, and I realized right off that it was time to get out of that Abbey. Money-counting is a high art, sure. But you’ve got to keep your priorities straight. Unless you keep the money you’ve got no art to practice.
“We’re outa here,” I growled. “I’ll tell the girls. Pack up your stuff. We’re leaving right after lunch.”
We left an hour later. Hrundig came along with us, but Olga and her daughters stayed behind. I guess the plan was that they’d wait until the hunt for them died down before making their way south to the Mutt. In the meantime, Hrundig was going back to New Sfinctr to see if there was anything he could do to help Benvenuti. Wasn’t much chance of that, of course—not with Benny in the Durance Pile—but I guess Hrundig felt an obligation.