Patrick deWitt - Undermajordomo Minor

Mr Broom could not deny that he had suffered a degeneration. “But,” he said, “that might have happened regardless of my location. For love is the culprit, and love grows wherever it wishes.” He pointed. “Look at our friend Tomas, here. He finds himself in the same position as I, and yet he’s never so much as set foot in the castle.”

True enough, and yet Lucy couldn’t shake the notion that there was some malicious anathema afoot in the castle. He was visited by the image of the Baron, his bare body smeared with rodent’s blood, a memory which invoked a shudder. As though reading Lucy’s mind, Mr Broom asked,

“And what of the Baron? Is he faring so poorly as his wife?”

Lucy said, “Much like she, there is evidence of decline, and it is my opinion that this decline will become dire.”

“And what is the nature of their partnership at present?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are they functionally married?”

“How do you mean?”

“Possibly you already know what I mean.”

“Possibly I do.”

“And are they?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve witnessed it.”

“I see. You’ll excuse me, please.” Mr Broom stood and walked into the water, swimming away and vanishing in the darkness of the far cavern. Tomas gave Lucy a look of mild reproach.

“But what else could I have done?” Lucy asked.

“Lied,” said Tomas simply. And here Lucy slapped his knee, as in this one instance the thought to do so hadn’t occurred to him.

These two fell silent, and the passage of time grew leaden for Lucy. If only there were a fire, he might gaze wistfully into its heart and ponder the sinister mysteries of life; or if he were tired, he could drift into slumber and dream of Klara stepping through boundless fields of undulating grasses. But there was nothing to do other than speak, and there was no one to speak with other than Tomas, and Lucy felt they had exhausted all topics of conversation save for one. In the interest of creating an event, then, he decided to broach it: “Memel says you were quite close, the two of you.”

Had Tomas been expecting this? He didn’t seem surprised by it, and his tone was not unfriendly. “We were, at that,” he said. “Is it safe to assume he told you how it was that I came to be here?”

“It’s safe.”

“And he believes me dead?”

“Yes.”

“Has he forgiven me, I wonder?”

“He didn’t say if he had or hadn’t. I believe he felt his actions were justified. Anyway, he expressed no regrets. And yet, he remembers you fondly.”

Here Tomas shrugged, as though he didn’t quite believe Lucy. In a self-consciously casual tone, he asked, “And how is Alida?”

Somehow Lucy hadn’t anticipated the question, and now he regretted having brought up Memel at all. Sensing his regret, Tomas spoke:

“Something hasn’t happened to her, I hope?”

Lucy said, “In fact, she’s died, Tomas.”

Tomas’s face hardened, a rictus of disbelief. “Died.”

“Yes, and I’m sorry to say it.”

“Died,” Tomas repeated. “But how?”

“In childbirth.”

Tomas was staring at Lucy. “When?” he said.

“Some months after your disappearance.”

“How many months?”

“Nine.”

Here Tomas performed an anomalous gesture, casting his hand sharply across his face, as though drawing a veil over his features, or catching some unspeakable word. Lucy knew that he was watching a man’s heart break before him.

“Did the child also die?” asked Tomas.

“The child is alive,” said Lucy. “Mewe, is his name. He lives just next to Memel and Klara.”

There was nothing but the sound of the river for a time; and to Lucy it seemed the volume of it was increasing. Tomas began digging a small hole in the sand. “Will you tell me about him?” he said. “What does he do? Possibly he’s a gambler too, eh?”

“No, he works with Memel on the trains.”

“He is a thief?”

“Yes.”

“Does he have any talent for it?”

“He has a great talent for it.”

Tomas filled in the hole and smoothed it over. “So many days with nothing whatever passing,” he said. “And now this.”

“He is a happy boy, Tomas. He is happy and well liked.”

Tomas nodded. “How is Klara?” he asked. “She would be a young lady by now, I should think.”

“She is a young lady,” Lucy agreed. There must have been some familiar tone of injury in the way he said it, because now Tomas was watching him with an expression of recognition.

“She wouldn’t have anything to do with your being here, would she?”

Lucy said, “Roundaboutly, and yes, she does.”

Tomas laughed scornfully. “Well, we’re quite the group, aren’t we? You and I and Mr Broom?”

“I would say we are.”

“Been led down the garden path, eh?”

“Perhaps we have been.”

“Cupid is well armed, it would seem.”

“And so must we be,” Lucy said, and now the two smiled at each other, sharing a contented moment which did not last long, interrupted as it was by Mr Broom’s return. Trudging up the bank, he said, “We are, the three of us, going to wake up tomorrow, and we’re going to strike out, and either we’ll escape this place and reclaim our lives above ground, or else perish in our attempt to do so.” As though exhausted by the words, he dropped to his knees, whispering, “We may well perish, in fact.” He was studying his hands, now, in wonder at their abilities, perhaps.

Lucy and Tomas looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. “Our friend has been invigorated by his swim,” said Tomas.

Due to the danger inherent in attempting escape, and because of his age and general decrepitude, Tomas was not enthusiastic about this idea at first glance. He became sullen in the afternoon, and it seemed that a rift was afoot, but by the time evening rolled around he had found some deeper reserve of spirit and proclaimed, more loudly than was necessary, that he would join the expedition.

Surely there was a connection between his change of heart and news of Mewe, just as Mr Broom’s decision to leave was informed by the knowledge that the Baroness had returned to the castle. Lucy, for his part, had made up his mind to attempt escape before Mr Broom had brought it up, even; and he would have gone on his own if need be, for his thoughts were of Klara alone, and his desire to win her back superseded all other concerns. Regarding preparations, there were none to speak of, other than for the men to come to an agreement about the specifics of the method of departure and escape. This was discussed at length, and resulted in disagreement but thankfully not division.

Mr Broom was for action. He wished to lead the three, for he was, he said, the strongest of the group, a truth which neither Tomas nor Lucy could dispute, though they were the both of them left wondering just what Mr Broom’s strength would avail anyone other than Broom himself. Beyond his physical capabilities, Mr Broom claimed, with an amount of humility or reluctance, to be in possession of second sight. He often felt its influence, he said, and believed that if he were to focus intently and utilize this gift to its utmost, then he would guide the group to freedom.

Tomas sat awhile, blinking. “This is news to me, my friend.”

“It’s not something one goes about boasting of.”

“And why not? Here we’ve been discussing topics such as our favourite numerals.” Tomas closed his eyes. “Tell me, please: what am I thinking about now?”

Mr Broom shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”

Tomas stuck a hand behind his back. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“It doesn’t work like that .”