Clifford Simak - All Flesh Is Grass and Other Stories

"Even then," he said, "you had a charm about you. But this—I cannot tell you."

"It's not often," she said, "that I can dress like this, or have occasion to. But with a house of guests, what other could I do?"

She sat down upon a step and he sat beside her.

"I was watching Conrad and Tiny at their play," he said.

"They are a pair," she said.

"You have known them long?"

"Conrad and I since we were boys," he told her. "We were inseparable. And Tiny since he was a pup."

"Meg is in the kitchen," she said, "cooking up a mess of sauerkraut and pig knuckles. She says it has been years since she has had her fill of such a dish. I wonder, do you like it?"

"Exceedingly," said Duncan. "And what of the hermit? I've not seen him all the day."

"He's wandering," said Diane. "All about the grounds. He stands, leaning on his staff, staring off at nothing. Your hermit is a troubled man."

"A befuddled man," said Duncan. "Unsure of himself. Torn by many questions. He cannot quite determine the condition of his soul. He tried for long, by various means, to be a holy man, and now he has become a soldier of the Lord and it's a profession he's uneasy at."

"Poor man," she said. "He has within himself so much good and no way to express it. And Cuthbert? How did you like Cuthbert?"

"Impressive," Duncan said. "Although, at times, difficult to understand. Difficult to follow."

"He's senile," said Diane.

Duncan shot a quick astonished glance at her. "You are sure of that?" he asked.

"Well, aren't you?" she asked, in turn. "A brilliant mind, sharp and clever, but now dulled by time and sickness. He cannot follow up his thoughts. At times he's irrational. I watch him closely, lest he hurt himself."

"He did seem to have some trouble."

"The last of a long line," she said, "that persisted over hundreds of years. Now all are gone except for Cuthbert. They tried to keep the congress going, bringing in young apprentices, but it never worked. There are few outstanding wizards any more. It takes a special kind of man to be a wizard. A capacity to absorb vast amounts of arcane knowledge and to work with it. Perhaps something more than that. An instinct for wizardry, perhaps. A distinctive turn of mind. There may be few people in the world today who have that turn of mind."

"How about yourself?"

She shook her head. "Women seldom can accomplish wizardry. That turn of mind, perhaps. Not the kind of mind that a woman has. It may have to be a man's mind. The mind of the male animal may be shaped and pointed in a slightly different direction than a woman's mind. I tried, of course, and they let me try, for while they were forced to banish Wulfert, they held a high respect for him, even in his banishment. He was the most accomplished wizard of them all. And while I could grasp some of the concepts, could perform certain little magics, put together some of the more simple of the manipulations, I was not cut out for wizardry. They did not tell me this. In time to come they would have had to tell me, but I did not force them to. I realized it myself, that I could never be anything other than a poor apprentice wizard. And there's no room in the world for inefficient apprentices."

"But you are a resident of the wizards" castle."

"A courtesy," she said. "A sincere and heartfelt courtesy. Because I have Wulfert's blood in me. When my parents died of a plague that swept the countryside, Cuthbert left the castle for the first time in his life, for the only time, for he has not left it since, and claimed me as a descendant of his great, good friend who by that time, I now know, had long since been dead. The last of the wizards raised me here and because I loved them I tried to learn their skills, but couldn't. All this I tell you about Cuthbert coming to get me, I've been told, for I was then too young to remember it. Not only did they raise me here and care for me, but they gave me as well old Hubert, who was Wulfert's griffin, left behind when my great-grandfather had to leave this place, for he could not take a griffin with him."

"The day will come when Cuthbert will die," said Duncan gently. "What about you then? Will you continue to stay on?"

"I don't know," she said. "I have seldom thought upon it. I have tried to keep from thinking on it. With Cuthbert gone, it would be lonely here. I don't know what I'd do. There'd be no place in the outside world for me. I am not used to it, would not know what to do, have had no chance to know what one should do. And I could not for long keep hidden that I had wizard blood in me. The outside world, I am afraid, would not take kindly to me if that were known."

"The world can be cruel," said Duncan. "I wish I could tell you that it isn't, but it is."

She leaned toward him, kissed him swiftly on the cheek. "The world can be kind," she said. "You have been kind to me. You have talked of my problem with a very gentle kindness."

"I thank you, milady," said Duncan gravely. "I thank you for your words. And for the kiss. it was a lovely kiss."

"You make fun of me," she said.

"Not at all, Diane. It is true gratitude, the more grateful because I have done nothing to deserve it."

"Cuthbert," she said, changing the subject abruptly, "has expressed a desire to see you."

"It must be soon," said Duncan. "We tarry here too long. We must be on our way."

She protested, somewhat flustered. "Why so soon? You should take several days to rest. All of you need rest. You've had no easy time."

"We've been held up," said Duncan, "by many misadventures. By this time we should have been in Oxenford."

"Oxenford can wait," she argued.

"I'm sorry, milady, but I don't believe it can."

She rose swiftly to her feet. "I must be going in to see how Cuthbert is. I cannot leave him long."

"I'll go with you," he said. "You said he wanted to see me."

"Not now," she told him. "I'll call you when he is ready for you."

As Duncan crossed the reception hail, Scratch, the demon, perched upon his pedestal, called out to him.

"Are you in a hurry, sire?" he asked. "Would you, perhaps, have a little time to spare? If so, it would be merciful of you to halt a while and chat. Despite all this magnificence of stone and fancy scrollwork, despite the elevated and exalted throne they have provided for me, there are times when the hours hang heavy on my hands."

Duncan altered his course and walked toward Scratch's column. "I have not a thing to do," he said. "Mistress Diane is gone to see how the wizard fares and my companions apparently have pursuits of their own. I would treasure a little time with you."

"Now, that is fine," the demon said. "Two men with the selfsame thought, a way in which to pleasantly while away some time. But there's no need for you to stand there, getting a crick in your neck from staring up at me. If you'd only help me down, we could sit on that stone bench a step or two away. My chain is long enough for me to reach it handily and with some to spare."

Duncan moved closer to the column and reached up his hands. The demon leaned forward and Duncan grasped him about the waist and helped him down.

"Except for this clubfoot of mine, which additionally is weighted down by the chain, I could get down quite easily myself," said Scratch. "In fact, I often do, but not in a manner that you could call easily." He held out his arthritis-crippled hands. "And these don't help, either."

They walked to the bench and sat down, side by side. Scratch lifted his clubhoof and crossed his knees. He jiggled the hoof up and down and the chain clanked.

"I was explaining to you the other day," he said, "that my name is Scratch—formerly Young Scratch, now simply Scratch, but never Old Scratch, for that is the vulgar designation of His Nibs, who runs the Infernal Operation. Since the name has been given me, I suppose I must abide by it, but I have never liked it. It is the kind of name one might give a dog. Why, even milady's griffin is given the honest name of Hubert, which is a far better name than Scratch. Through the years I have squatted on my column and have thought, among many other things, of a name that I'd enjoy bearing. A more suitable name, with more dignity and a more euphonious sound. I have paraded hundreds of names through my mind, taking my time, for I have all the time there is, weighing each name as I think of it, twisting and turning it in my mind, so I can get a critical look at it from every angle, rolling it around in my mouth to get the sound and feel of it. And after all these years and all the examination, I think I have finally found a name that would fit me well and that I'd be proud to have. I'll wager you cannot guess what that name might be."