The Sorcerer's House (34 page)

"We are," I said. "Friends and allies--or so I hope. I apologize for interrupting you."

"You did me a great favor. I need to tell you a good deal more before I say what I was about to say. Faerie's a terrible place, Bax. You haven't been there?"

"I have been, but only once and only briefly. A few hours."

"It's beautiful. Its rivers run clear and the wind never stinks. There are wonderful mountains and sweeping plains. Mighty forests. Those are what most visitors remember above all, those forests. There are strange and wonderful animals, some of them very beautiful. Nothing ever grows old there." She sighed. "People, animals, and plants--none of them ever grow old there. Never. Do you understand why I fell in love with it?"

I did, and I said so.

"I loved it, and I loved him. I suppose I still love him, though I always loved him much more than he loved me."

I said, "Yet you left him, or he sent you away. Which was it?"

"He tried to get me to stay, but I wouldn't. He's been trying to get me to come back ever since. That was one of the reasons he's spent so much time here."

"But you won't?"

She shook her head. "Faerie is lovely and wonderful, I've probably said that. It's cruel, too, and very, very dangerous. Wouldn't you think that a place where people never age would be overrun with them? That it would have a dense population?"

"Yes, I certainly would."

"There's almost no one there. A few people, here and there. Scattered villages, each smaller than the last. Lonely mansions like the one I lived in. Sorcerers who war with sorcerers. Sorcerers who war with witches. Warlocks who war with everyone."

"No fairies?" I asked. "You called it faerie."

"They
are
the fairies, Bax. They are the gnomes and trolls and elves, the satyrs, nymphs, and fauns, and the godlings of a dozen faiths. They are a great many other things, too."

"Werewolves? I know one. What about werefoxes?"

"Yes, to both. They kill one another, and from time to time they kill
us. There are predatory animals, too. Some of the animals are much more intelligent, and much stronger, than anything in Africa. The more you learn about faerie, the more frightened you become."

"You ran away?"

"He wouldn't let me. I wanted to go home and take my babies with me." Martha sighed. "Twins run in my family, Bax, and I had given him twin sons."

"Emlyn and Ieuan? I've met them both."

She shook her head. "Finally he said that I could go home, or our sons could. But not both. I know he thought I wouldn't be separated from my babies."

By that time, Millie, I had understood something that I ought to have understood much sooner. It was hard to speak but I said, "That was what he thought, Mother. But he was wrong."

"Exactly. I took you both to an orphanage here. I left you there and went back. Can you forgive me?"

You cannot possibly know how I felt at that moment. I will not try to explain it, knowing that I would be certain to fail. I assured her--assured my birth mother--that there was nothing to forgive, and we embraced and wept.

That is really all I want to write at present. There is more, but you will get it in another letter. More about my birth mother, and something about the old man.

Here are the main points, the summary I feel compelled to provide before I close this letter. Martha is George's birth mother, as well as mine. She is your mother-in-law, in other words.

Emlyn and Ieuan are our brothers, and are as much your brothers-in-law as I am. I hope you can meet them someday, and Martha, too.

Ever your loving friend,

Bax

Dear Shell:

You asked me for paper and pencils, etc., and I have been kicking myself for not having thought of them. Lord knows I wanted them myself in there. So here you are: lots of envelopes, five lined tablets, a box of #2's, a minisharpener, and a book of stamps. If you need anything else that will get by Charlie, just tell me.

I know they won't let Lou have anything like this; but if he has something to say to me, I feel sure you will pass it along. Please let him know I have not forgotten him, or the talks we used to have in the metal shop.

Now I need some advice. I told you about the old guns and shooting the wolf. I shot at a door with one, too. After that I wanted to shoot
at a rat. He was a great big bastard and I thought I could not miss, but my pistol would not fire. Since then I have been shooting at bottles in the river. And missing them, for the most part. You used to say, 'Close only counts pitching horseshoes.' I learned how right you were when I was shooting at those floating bottles. I will say this, however. Both pistols fired every time.

That is because of what I learned when I could not shoot the rat. After I got home I checked my pistol over, and the touchhole (I believe that is what it is called) was clogged with burned powder. There is a pick to clear it screwed into the butt of each gun; they have had work to do from that time until this.

Continuing today. There is a range outside town. A man I know is a member, and he and I are going out there so I can practice shooting targets with those guns.

I checked with my brother's lawyer first, and it is all legal. I cannot legally buy or own a gun because of my felony conviction; but the law applies only to modern guns, which means those less than a hundred years old. Antiques are not restricted.

Come to think of it, I do not think I told you about my brother. He is charged with resisting arrest. (He punched out a nice copchick I know.) He made bail, but now he has disappeared. I do not believe he skipped; it would not be like him. Something has happened to him, Shell, and I wish to God I knew what it was.

My brother and I do not get along well. I know I have told you much more about that than you ever wanted to know. Now a woman who knew the man who gave me the pistols thinks he did it so my brother and I would use them on each other--that he wanted one of us to kill the other.

I do not want to believe that, but I am afraid she is correct. I am afraid my brother George may want to fight. He has beaten me so often, and in so many ways, that he is bound to be quite confident. I can refuse, of course; but if I do (and I probably will) I will have to fight anyway, with fists, and feet, and furniture.

When I shot the door and tried to shoot the rat, I did my best to keep what you told me in mind. I focused on my front sight, gripped the gun tightly, and tried to take my time fast. Any further advice will be welcomed, believe me. I have not the least desire to kill George, although he has never treated me like a brother; but if I must kill George to keep him from killing me I will.

You will be up for parole in less than a year. There is a woman here who heads a little company, GEAS Inc. If you think a job offer on that letterhead would help, just let me know.

Yours sincerely,

Bax

Dear George:

You believe I have lost my mind, and perhaps I have. Perhaps writing you when I have no idea where you are is more evidence of it.

Still, madness has its privileges. I need to unburden myself to you, so I will do it and send it to your dear and loyal Millie, who will keep it for you. Have you ever realized how fortunate you are to have a wife so beautiful and so devoted?

I have searched for you, believe me, finding rooms I did not know existed and even venturing into faerie. I have Winkle and Toby, who are far more familiar with its dangers than I am, searching there for you now.

When I gave up my personal search, I had a long talk with the old man. I will try to give you the significant parts. Please read this carefully.

"I need to quiz you at length," I told him. "Let me say before we start that I'm not a hostile questioner. I like you and you've done a wonderful job, but there are things you know or may know that I need to know, too."

"No fear, sir. I quite understand."

"Let me begin with names. You told me once that your name was Nick. Was it the truth?"

"I did not, sir. I told you only that people called me so, which is the truth."

"I see. It's not your name?"

He shook his head. "No, sir. It is not, although I am called that."

"May I ask your true name, Nick?"

"You may indeed ask, sir, but I cannot answer. I have none."

I thought about that, and at last I said, "What is a true name, Nick? What do you understand by 'true name'?"

"It is the name given at birth, sir." This was said very firmly.

"If that is the case, I don't know mine, either."

His voice softened. "You have my sympathy, sir."

"Thank you. It is one thing not to know one's true name, Nick. It's another to have none. Will you explain?"

He hesitated. "It will infallibly cause you to think less of me, sir."

"I think so much of you now, Nick, that you could lose a great deal of my regard and still stand very high."

"Believe me, sir, I am deeply appreciative. I have no true name because I was never born, sir. I am a thing, if you will allow the word. A thing rather less fine than your sword, sir." He paused. "Only a thing, like your sword, that strives to serve you."

When I heard that, George, my first thought was that he was mad; an instant later I recalled that you think me mad. I am not, and had to consider the possibility that the old man was not, either. "May I ask that you serve my brother George as well?"

"You need not ask, sir. He is your brother, and I am aware of it. I shall assist him to the best of my ability, provided that his interests do not conflict with your own."

I nodded. "That is all I can ask, Nick. You have no appellation other than Nick?"

"None, sir."

"I see. You'll recall that when we released the man--if it was a man--who had been locked in the trunk, he said that he was Nicholas, the butler."

"I do, sir."

"You yourself are a butler, one--"