The Sorcerer's House (35 page)

"Your butler, sir."

"Yes, indeed! I was about to say, Nick, that your appellation is very like his."

"It is, sir. May I explain? I fear my explanation will be lengthy, sir. My explanation and your questions."

"I see. It will be lengthy, you are old, and I am keeping you standing. Let's go into the kitchen, Nick. You can make coffee for us, sit down, and join me in a cup."

"You are too kind, sir."

The truth, George, is twofold. I felt sorry for the old man, thing or human, and I wanted some time in which to think over what he had told me already.

I got precious little. He set out cups and saucers, and cream and sugar, while the water was heating. His coffeemaker was a stainless device wholly new to me. He ground coffee beans in an electric mill in a trice, loaded his stainless machine, and poured in the boiling water. There was a startling hiss and a puff of steam, and coffee cascaded into the carafe.

"Martha Murrey makes coffee nearly as good as yours," I told him, "but it takes her three times as long."

"She may learn, sir. Would you like a bite to eat, sir? A poached egg, perhaps?"

"No, thank you. This wonderful coffee will be all I need. Do you drink coffee, Nick?"

"I do, sir." He smiled. "You fear I may be a mere mechanical device. I drink coffee, sir. Or water. I eat even as you do, sir. I sleep as well, and I should bleed if cut."

"Then please pour yourself a cup and sit down." When he had done both, I asked, "Why Nick and Nicholas?"

"In proper order, sir, it would be Nicholas and Nick. He was made first, and I subsequently. We were grown in the same trough, sir."

"Grown by . . . ?"

"You know young Ieuan, sir. Perhaps you know his brother Emlyn as well?"

I nodded.

"Our creator was their father, sir. Zwart is, or was, his common name."

"You think he may be dead?"

The old man cleared his throat. "You, um, sir. Or the boys, sir. Emlyn, I would think. Or both, sir."

"I did not kill him, Nick. I have never killed anyone . . ."

"Sir?"

"I shot a wolf. It was attacking me. I shot him, and he--well, he was a man when he fell off our car."

"A silver bullet, sir?"

I nodded.

"They are said to be effectual, sir. I have never seen it."

"I have. We left a naked man writhing in agony behind us. I--I had fired into the wolf's open mouth." I needed a moment to collect myself. "We were talking about Zwart. He lived here in Medicine Man for ten years or more--or so I believe--after he had quit this house. At that time, he called himself Alexander Skotos. You must have known about it."

"No, sir. I did not."

"Alexander Skotos died, supposedly. Three persons attended his funeral. One was a friend we needn't concern ourselves with. One was Martha Murrey. I believe I've mentioned her already."

"You have, sir."

"Do you know who she is?"

"My old master's former wife, I believe, sir. The mother of Ieuan and Emlyn. I was to obey her, sir, until the--ah--former relationship dissolved, sir. I did so."

"All correct. The third was Zwart, once more calling himself Zwart Black. I had guessed that earlier. Martha tells me I was correct. That was three years ago."

"I understand, sir. It has been far longer than that since I have seen him."

"He abandoned you?"

"No, sir. He assigned me to this house, sir. I am to serve its owner. As I do, sir." The old man paused. "You inquired concerning Nicholas, I believe. The similarity of his name to my own, sir?"

I nodded.

"He came before me, but his conduct--ah--failed to satisfy. I am not personally acquainted with the details of his conduct, sir, although I have heard rumors I would not care to repeat."

"So have I."

"Finding him less than satisfactory, my old master discharged him and, um, brought me into being, giving me the cognomen I bear."

"One more question, Nick. Did you know that Nicholas was locked in that trunk?"

"Absolutely not, sir. Had I known, I should have informed you."

"He did not tarry with us, Nick. He went straight into the house."

"He did, sir."

"With my brother on his heels."

"Precisely so. I observed it, sir."

"Do you think he'll harm him?"

The old man looked embarrassed. "I, er, really cannot say. Nicholas is reputed to drink blood, sir. I cannot testify to the truth of the accusation."

Toby returned, having failed to find you or any trace of you. I slept, after having taken various precautions to secure my bedroom. Nicholas, the old man had assured me, would never attack the owner of the house. I took those precautions anyway, and fell into bed exhausted.

Yours sincerely,

Bax

PS: I debated long before resolving to write this, George. Not because I would not wish you to know it, but because Millie will certainly read it. After a good breakfast and a short walk I have decided to come clean (as we used to say in the place to which you condemned me). Millie has read worse already.

Winker joined me in bed. I had locked and barricaded both doors, shut and secured the dampers of the fireplaces, locked the windows, and taken various other precautions.

Yet she was there. At first I thought I might have dreamed it, but there was a painted fan on the floor on her side of the bed. That fan certainly was not there when I retired.

Later. I have resolved to enlist all the help I can in searching for you. Doris is willing to help, but only in my company.

Martha will join us, and has asked me to join her in search of her son Emlyn. I am more than willing to do so, since Emlyn and his tri-annulus may be of great service to us.

Madame Orizia is here already, and has gone off with Toby.

Bax, you cowardly bastard, I have been looking all over for you. I want that house of yours. I want it but most of all I want to be rid of you.

Forever
.

I met a wonderful girl who really knows her way around that place. There is gold there and the gold is just for starters. A man could organize things. Pretty soon I will have a country of my own. President for Life in a country where nobody gets old and dies. You could never swing it, Bax, but I could. I can.
I will
.

But I need that house. I need to own it, so I can come and go. And I am going to own it.

Here is what I propose. You have those damn pistols. I mean the ones that lawyer pointed at me. Fine. You had taken them but I got your butler to show me the case with the powder flasks and all the little tools.
You and I will fight it out with those. Back in those big woods nobody will ever find the body. You know the woods I mean.

But first we make wills. You leave all your property to me. I leave all mine to you. That's nearly a million, plus my house, my cabin on the lake, that damned beach cottage Millie likes so much, the cars, the SUV, and my boat.

So do we fight? It will be fair and all that. Just like a game. Do we settle things once and for all? Or are you scared?

George

Dear Millie:

Wonderful news! Let me tell you how it happened. I went into my bedroom, and there was Winker looking as sly as ever, with the Japanese sword she had given me on her lap. "You sleep good, Bax?"

"So did you," I told her.

"Oh, no! No-no!" She giggled and snapped open her fan. "No sleep at all. Busy-busy! I looked for George."

"Have you found him?"

"Almost." She grinned. "I found someone who'll teach you how to find him."

"Really?"

"Yes! Really!" She jumped up and handed me the sword. "Put this on. Manjushri's very wise. He knows, you look!"

I have mentioned the Oriental screen that conceals one of the bedroom fireplaces? Winker swung back the center panel of that screen like a door. It was pitch-black in there, but we went in.

"It's night," she said. "Night without moon or stars. That's ignorance, see?"

As I told her, I could not see a thing.

"You need a light. I'll find one for you."

We walked on, I would guess a mile or more. At last Winker halted and knocked on a door I could not see.

I heard the hinges creak, and she spoke rapidly to someone inside, saying that I was a seeker of wisdom, that she was my guide, and that we required a light.

An old woman emerged carrying a paper lantern. By its watery light I saw that Winker and I had been walking down a road bordered by flooded fields thick with grain.

We walked on, the old woman hurrying before us, taking many short steps very quickly and rocking from side to side as she walked. Our road grew less level and less straight.

Three young men with swords blocked our path, shouting that we must halt. "You are no samurai!" exclaimed the first.

"Yet you bear a sword!" shouted the second.

"You must fight us!" the third declared.

Winker bowed low. "My master is no samurai, as you say. Any samurai will defeat him easily. Therefore, let not the most renown among you engage him, rather let the least renown and least skillful."

They quarreled among themselves as to whom the least renown and least skilled might be, and we slipped past them. When darkness had closed behind us and I could no longer see them, I heard the whistling stroke of a long blade and an agonized cry.

Gray light filled the sky, and I found that we walked among rugged hills dotted with wind-twisted pines. Winker dismissed our lantern-bearer, giving her a string of small coins. At the summit of the ridge we climbed stood a lone man, not large, with two swords.

"I am Miyamoto Musashi," he told us when we had come nearer. "I am the greatest samurai. To reach the shrine, you must pass me."

I bowed. "I am no samurai, only a humble man seeking wisdom; but if I must fight you to find my brother, I will fight you."

"You I fear," Miyamoto Musashi said, and stepped aside.

I bowed again, Winker bowed, and we walked past him. When we were within sight of the shrine, I said, "Why would he fear me?"

"For two reasons," Winkle told me. "First, you know nothing about the sword and might do the unexpected."

"I see."

"Also he would win no glory if he killed you, but would lose face if you win."

As I nodded, a booming voice echoed from the rocks, seeming to come from everywhere:
"The third. The Eternal Presence would favor such a one."

I looked around. Winker and I were alone on the road.

"Enter the gate and pray. Within, all is holy."

I cannot say what got into me. Perhaps I ought to say that something came out that I had never known I contained. A wrong note had been struck in what I had just heard--let us leave it at that. It woke a new thought, and I said, "I see nothing here that is not holy."

Hands grasped my shoulders, hands far larger than mine and much stronger. They shook me ever so slightly, and released me; it was as though someone had slapped my back. "Ask." The voice was behind me now.

I turned. The being who stood behind me was a head taller than I and muscled like an athlete. Although his hands had been on my shoulders only a moment before, one held a book and the other a naked sword.

His head was the head of a lion.

Winker nudged me.

"I am looking for my brother George," I said. "How can I find him?"

"Tell me."

And so I told the lion-headed man a great deal about George and a great deal, too, about myself, ending with the note I had found that day.

"Read it, so that I may hear it."