Read The Sorcerer's House Online
Authors: Gene Wolfe
Tags: #Fantasy - General, #Wolfe; Gene - Prose & Criticism, #Magic, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Epistolary fiction, #Fantasy fiction, #Ex-convicts, #Fiction - Fantasy, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Abandoned houses, #Supernatural, #General, #Science Fiction And Fantasy
Well, George, I had a most interesting time last night with Doris. She arrived earlier than I had expected, but I laid aside my pen and trotted out to meet her.
"I hope you don't mind," she said.
Of course I assured her that I did not.
"We can have an early dinner. The restaurant won't be crowded, and we can enjoy each other's company."
"Believe me, I'm looking forward to enjoying yours. You are a most charming woman, and I can't be the first to tell you that."
She smiled. "Afterward, we might go to my apartment for a drink and a little more talk. Will you be free?"
It took me by surprise, but I managed it well enough, I think. At least I acquiesced without stammering.
"But first Mr. Hardaway wants to talk to you." She backed out of my driveway and pulled onto the road. "We had a staff meeting this morning."
"Yes?"
"Your name came up." Here I received a delightful smile. "Would you do me a great, great favor, Bax? It will be a very small thing to you, but a very big one to me. And I'll be ever so grateful."
Of course I said I would do whatever I could if it would be of the least assistance to her.
"You're still wearing Ted's ring. I noticed that, and it makes it very hard for me to ask you for anything else, because that was a maxi-favor, too. Hard, but I'm asking just the same."
"You will get whatever you ask for," I assured her.
"Mr. Hardaway's my boss, Bax. Do you remember how we discussed all those real-estate matters over lunch? Well anyway, you must remember that I was going to say we did on my expense account."
"Certainly."
"I'd like you to make it clear to Mr. Hardaway that I'm your agent--that I take care of real-estate matters for you."
I assumed, as I believe anyone would, that Doris had been put on the carpet concerning her expense account, and I swore that I would back her to the hilt.
Although she was driving, we shook hands on it. "You see, Mr. Hardaway happened to mention a tract between here and Port Saint Jude, and--what's the matter?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. Go on, please."
"Anyway he mentioned a missing owner, and that was when I said, 'Would you repeat that name, sir?' And he said, 'The name is Dunn, Mrs. Griffin. Baxter Dunn.' "
"Well, well."
"Yes, indeed. So I said, 'Why I had lunch with Baxter Dunn just the other day, sir,' and everybody froze. They've been looking for you for three years."
I smiled, trying to make it charming. (
You
look like a shark when you smile, George.) "Not in the right places, apparently."
"Obviously not. There's an attorney named Trelawny involved. Do you know him? Urban Trelawny?"
I shook my head.
"And a man named Skotos. Alexander Skotos. What about him?"
I said, "It sounds familiar, but I can't place him." I said that, George, because I judged it contrary to my best interests to commit myself one way or the other so early. How was I to know whether I had, at some time in what I know you will concede has been a checkered career, come across an Alexander Skotos? Perhaps I had. Or more likely, Alexander Skotos was a name assumed by someone I had known under another appellation. I knew a man called Sandy Scott at Churchill Downs, for example.
"Ahhh," said Doris. She was clearly impressed.
"Will he be there?" I asked. "At your office?"
"No. Definitely not. Have you a place in mind, or do I get to choose the restaurant?"
"You get to choose, of course."
"Fine. We'll want a quiet spot with slow service."
"And good food."
"Absolutely. Mr. Hardaway didn't exactly open up with me."
"I quite understand."
"But Olga told me afterward that they've been looking for you for three years. For a Baxter Dunn, anyway. And there's this big tract of undeveloped land." Doris took a deep breath. "What we're talking about here is a big, big commission, Bax. You've probably guessed that."
"From what you said, it seemed likely."
"Right. Nobody's said that. Nobody's mentioned any figures at all, but it was in the air. I could smell it. Have you ever been poor?"
"No," I said, "but I've been broke. It's not exactly the same thing."
"You're right, it isn't. And now that I think about it--" She stopped at a traffic light and turned to give me another most fetching smile. "I believe I was broke, too. I still am, or almost. Ted made good money, but he didn't have much life insurance."
"What a pity!"
"Yes, isn't it? It took a lot of what we had just to bury him, and there were medical bills. There
are
, I ought to say. I haven't paid them all yet."
"I know the feeling. Did we just pass your office?"
"Yes, I'm looking for a parking place. They're not easy to find at this hour."
We pulled into one, and she turned off the engine. "I was going to say I was glad I put gas in this last night, because I was thinking of a place way out of town, but . . ."
"Yes?" I asked.
"But that's really wrong. It would be foolish, in fact. What I want--what I need, Bax--is a place where people from my office will see us eating together. The place I've got in mind is fairly expensive. It's not terrible, but it is a little pricey. Would that be all right? I promise to order something cheap."
I said it would be fine, and that she could order anything she wanted.
"It's the main dining room at the Hilton. They have a great chef."
"In that case, let's go there."
"Our people take clients there when there's a big deal in prospect. I'll make a reservation."
Which she did when we reached her office, telephoning from her desk. After that, we spoke with Mr. Hardaway; but this letter has grown too long already.
Yours sincerely,
Bax
Okay, Prof, you asked about a lawyer that might bail you out even if you were broke. I did not know of anybody in that jerkwater town, but I asked around.
Remember Rick? Tall guy, boosts cars, bad complexion. He said his cousin had this guy and he had talked to him. He is good, Rick said, and he might do it. He likes to see his name in the paper, you know what I mean? The name is Ben Ramsey. Rick said you might want to try him.
You seem to be messing around with women. You will not listen and I do not blame you, but there are only two kinds. There are women who make trouble for you and women you make trouble for. Just those two. You will find out, so let me know what you do.
Sheldon Hawes
Dear George:
My dinner with Doris--I'll tell you about it in a moment--made me realize that my wardrobe needed more than a few improvements. My clothing is of good quality for the most part, but quite thoroughly worn. I have three suits on order now, and I've bought a sports coat, three pairs of shoes, underwear, some shirts, and four pairs of slacks.
Emlyn has not returned, though I would be glad to see him, and Winkle has vanished once more; but there have been other developments. I shall attempt to describe them in order.
Did I mentioned Nicholas the Butler? While Doris was making our reservation, an older woman asked me about the Black House and whether I had seen him. Her manner implied that this butler
was a boogeyman of some sort; so I said, "No," which was all I had time for.
Mr. Hardaway is a large, tweedy man, quite bald; he smokes cigars, although a pipe would fit him better. He welcomed us, shook my hand heartily, and invited me to take a chair.
Doris said, "May I sit in, sir? I feel I should."
"That's up to Mr. Dunn." Mr. Hardaway gave me a quick professional smile. "Will you feel outnumbered, Mr. Dunn? You can believe me absolutely when I say that Mrs. Griffin and I have your best interests at heart."
I said that if what we were going to discuss concerned real estate, I would certainly want Mrs. Griffin present.
"It does. You knew the late Mr. Skotos?"
"I prefer to reserve that, Mr. Hardaway."
He frowned. "We're not likely to get very far if you mean that."
"As you wish. I came here at your request. If you've nothing to say to me, I'll be happy to leave."
"You are Mr. Dunn?"
I nodded.
"Mr. Baxter Dunn?"
"Correct. I can show you a driver's license. Would you like to see it? The picture is less than flattering, but it is a picture."
"Could you, if asked, produce a birth certificate?"
"No, sir."
Mr. Hardaway raised his eyebrows. "You couldn't?"
"No. My brother and I were adopted. Presumably there are birth certificates somewhere, but the names they carry will not be George and Baxter Dunn."
"You have a brother?"
I nodded.
"He would be able to vouch for your identity?"
"Certainly. And there will be school records and so on. I have two Ph.D.'s, and various other degrees. There should be no difficulty."
"I see. Would you care for a cigar, Mr. Dunn?"
"No, thank you. But I have no objection to your smoking."
He laughed. "Mrs. Griffin would object, I'm sure. She wouldn't say it, but all the same . . . I'll wait."
Doris said, "Thank you, sir."
"Is there anyone else who could vouch for your identity, Mr. Dunn?"
"My sister-in-law would be an obvious reference, I'd think. Millie's known me for years. My parents are dead, but I have several cousins. Other than that, there's Mrs. Murrey. Mrs. Murrey gave me the deed to thirteen hundred Riverpath Road. Murrey and Associates? You must know of her."
He nodded. "She was satisfied that you're Baxter Dunn?"
"Yes. Obviously."
Doris coughed apologetically. "So am I, Mr. Hardaway. When I met Mr. Dunn he knew nothing about this."
"He knows almost nothing now," I added. "Would you mind telling me what we're talking about?"
Mr. Hardaway cleared his throat. "We're talking about the Skotos Strip, Mr. Dunn. It's a tract of land on the other side of the river. A tract roughly three miles long and half a mile wide."
I sensed, rather than saw, Doris's reaction.
"Let me tell you the whole thing from my point of view. Fifteen years ago I was just Jim Hardaway, another real-estate salesman. Do you shoot, Mr. Dunn?"
"Birds, you mean?" I shook my head.
"Handguns. It's my hobby. I collect old pistols and revolvers. There's a range outside of town, and I shoot a bit. At the range, I became friendly with Alex Skotos."
"Yes?"
"He was a shooter and a collector, too. We had a lot in common, and we did some trading. Say that I had an old dueling pistol. I might trade it to him for a Peacemaker. Sometimes we just got together to talk."