Read Undermajordomo Minor Online
Authors: Patrick deWitt
L
astly, there was the Baron. Lucy found him in the ballroom, standing before one of the portraits of his forebears, hands cinched at his back, rocking to and fro, and humming to himself. He was barefoot, and when he turned to face Lucy it was evident the madness had once more taken root in him. He wasn't possessed by it yet, but was existing in some middle plane, straddling either reality. Lucy wondered just what had occurred over the preceding days; for it was as if some ill-wishing cloud had passed through the valley and rendered everyone simple.
A crooked smile hung on the Baron's face, and at the start he couldn't quite place the person who stood before him. “Lucy!” he said finally. “And how are you, boy? Someone told me you'd vanished into thin air.”
“Hello, sir. Yes, no, I've not vanished. How are you?”
The Baron nodded gladly, then resumed his portrait-gazing. Lucy took up a spot beside him and the Baron explained, “This is my great-great-grandfather, Victor Von Aux. He was responsible for the construction of the castle. What do you know of him, may I ask?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“You've heard no stories?”
“No, sir.”
“That he was a hot-air balloonist who dabbled in the black arts?”
“I didn't know that, sir.”
“That he was an expert marksman with a penchant for opium?”
“No.”
“That he bred Arabian horses? That he was known to entertain his guests with executions?”
“No, sir.”
“Well. I'm surprised you haven't heard any of this.”
“Yes, and so am I,” said Lucy. “He was a complicated man, by the sound of it.”
“A demon,” said the Baron flatly. He sidestepped, and was now standing before the portrait of the Baroness. He said, “She's gone away again, boy.”
“Yes, sir, and I'm sorry to hear it.” Lucy also sidestepped. “Do you know where she's gone to?”
“To the ocean, she says. She tells me she won't be coming back this time.”
“Who can say, sir.”
“She can, and did. I'm inclined to take her at her word.” He looked at Lucy. “She claims to have no affection for me any longer. What do you think about that?”
“I don't know, sir. Just that it seemed to me she did.”
The Baron nodded. “Yes, and to me also, boy. Well, possibly she did once. But apparently this has passed.” He swallowed, and cleared his throat. “Love leaves us like luck leaves us,” he said, and he turned and walked clear of the ballroom. Lucy stood by, looking up at the Baroness and considering these words. He took up his valise and left the Castle Von Aux forever.
T
he conductor inquired after Lucy's destination and Lucy asked if his coin would take him to the ocean. “It will, just,” the man replied, and Lucy settled into an empty compartment. An hour passed, and it grew darker. The strain of his recent adventures had worn him down; he felt so weak, and that he might sleep for days. He gave in to fatigue, his dreams little more than static black curtains and certain colder temperatures. Sleeping through the night, he awoke to a surprising fact, which was that his old friend Father Raymond was sitting across from him, an eager look on his face. The moment Lucy opened his eyes, then did the priest rejoice, reaching over and clasping Lucy's hands in his own. “I didn't want to disturb your slumber, boy,” he said, “but it was sheer torture not to, I can assure you.”
“Hello, Father. What are you doing here?”
“I've just come from Listen. I've a sister there, perhaps I've mentioned it before.”
“You never have, no. Was it a pleasant visit?”
“It was not. In truth I couldn't get away from her fast enough. What was I thinking in traveling all that way to see the likes of her? She of the dying dogs and loamy aromas?”
“I don't know what.”
“She doesn't cook, boyâshe scalds.”
“I'm sorry to hear it.”
“At any rate, I'm heading back to Bury, now, and that suits me well enough. But what of you, I wonder? Will you tell me your news? How are things at the castle? You must be living very fine these days, I would think.”
“No, I'm not. Actually, I've just come away from there.”
“Come away? Not permanently, I hope?”
“I'm afraid so.”
“And why is that?”
“Any number of reasons.”
“Possibly you'll tell me one of the reasons, or two?”
Lucy didn't know where to begin. He said, “I found it to be an unhealthy environment.”
“Unhealthy?”
“Unhealthy and somewhat dangerous, yes.”
Father Raymond shook his head. “That'll never do, boy,” he said. “But don't you worry, we'll get you some other, better position back home.”
“No, I'll not be returning to Bury.”
“What? And why not?”
“As it happens, I'm chasing after a girl, Father. For it has come to pass that I've fallen in love.”
Father Raymond leaned in. “In love, you say?”
“Just so.”
“And what is that like? I've often wondered about it.”
Lucy said, “It is a glory and a torment.”
“Really? Would you not recommend it, then?”
“I would recommend it highly. Just to say it's not for the faint of heart.”
Father Raymond thought awhile. A troubled look came over him and Lucy asked if something was the matter. Said the priest, “Not to besmear your quest, boy, but I find myself curious as to why you're forced to chase after the lass. That is, why is she not stationary? In other words: does this young lady not love you also?”
“Oh, yes, she does. She's only run off because she believes me dead.”
“Dead!” said Father Raymond, and he slapped his knee. “That's a good one.”
“Yes.”
“I suppose it is you'll show her otherwise, eh?”
“I hope to, Father. If I can locate her, that is.”
“Surely you will.”
They spoke through the morning, and both were happy to be reunited. Father Raymond deduced Lucy was penniless and so slipped him some coins, that he might not go hungry. When the train pulled into the station at Bury, Lucy looked out at the town. All was as it had been, but he was not comforted by the familiar sights, and there was no part of him that wished to detrain.
He noticed a beggar kneeling on the platform. The man's head was bowed, his hands held out before him. A body passed and dropped a coin into the man's palms; when he peered up to judge the coin's value, Lucy saw that this person was the man in burlap, a realization which prompted him to gasp.
“What is it?” asked Father Raymond, working to free his satchel from the overhead.
“The beggar on the platform. He's the same man who came to me when I was so ill. Do you recall it?”
“What, the marauder you told me about?” Father Raymond studied the beggar, then shook his head. “You're mistaken, boy. That's only Frederick.”
“You know him?”
“So much as one can know a simpleton. Frederick sweeps out the refectory once in a while for a scrap of bread or sip of wine. He was knocked on his head when he was a child, they say, and he's been that way ever since. You may take my word for it, he possesses no powers, supernatural or otherwise.”
Lucy stared. “I'm certain it's the same man,” he said.
“More than likely you half-noticed him about before you took
ill, then simply imagined his visit. You were delirious from fever, after all. I saw it myself, remember.”
The conductor was calling for all Bury passengers to disembark. Father Raymond told Lucy, “I do wish you'd stay awhile. You're certain I can't persuade you?”
“I'm sorry, Father, but no.”
“Love is so urgent as all that, eh?”
“It is.”
“Perhaps I'm better off without it, then. I never did like to rush. Well, I'm pleased to have seen you, Lucy. Take care of yourself, won't you?”
“I'll do that,” Lucy said.
Father Raymond left, and Lucy resumed his study of the man in burlap, who now was sitting back, stacking and counting all that he'd gathered. This was the person indirectly responsible for Lucy's departure from Bury, and all that had happened to him since. When a string of drool slipped from the man's lip, he hurriedly sucked it back up into his mouth, as though it were precious to him, and he didn't dare lose it. The train lurched, and eased free of the station, and Lucy was again in motion.
He had never been west of Bury, and he watched the flatland scenery unfold with an active interest. Here there were no trees, no mountains, only pastures of level green, and it was so very quiet and peaceful for Lucy in the padded, red-velvet compartment. He imagined how it would be when he located Klara, and composed scenarios of surprising her on the seashore, and now in the lobby of a grand coastal hotel. These exercises pleased and excited him profoundly, but in time he grew tired and set them aside. He closed his window shade and sat awhile in the partial darkness. The conductor passed in the corridor and Lucy called after him, asking to borrow paper and pencil. Using his valise as a drafting board, then, he drew an upside-down U shape. Under the dome of this line he wrote some words for the future, the faraway future he hoped. But
whether they were needed sooner or later, he knew it was good to get them down:
LUCIEN MINOR
His heart was a church of his own choosing,
and the lights came through
the colorful windows.
P
hilippe, Emma, and Nina Aronson, D. Contumely Berman, Leslie Butler, Rachel Lee Corry (herself a beguiler), Eric Issacson, Azazel Jacobs, Megan Lynch & Dan Halpern & Allison Saltzman and everyone at Ecco, Lee Boudreaux, Peter McGuigan and everyone at Foundry, Sarah MacLachlan & Janie Yoon and everyone at House of Anansi, Leslie Napoles (all grace), Rene Navarette, Brian Mumford, Danny Palmerlee, Max Porter & Aidan O'Neill and everyone at Granta, Steve Schiller, Scoop Short, Dan Stiles, Libby Werbel, my mother, father, and brothers.
In writing this book I considered the works of Thomas Bernhard, Ivy Compton Burnett, Italo Calvino, Dennis Cooper, Robert Coover, Roald Dahl, J.P. Donleavy, C.F., Knut Hamsun, Sammy Harkham, Werner Herzog, Bohumil Hrabal, Shirley Jackson, Par Lagerkvist, Harry Mathews, Stephen Millhauser, Jean Rhys, Robert Walser, and Eudora Welty. My thanks to them.
PATRICK DEWITT
is the author of the critically acclaimed
Ablutions: Notes for a Novel
, as well as
The Sisters Brothers
, which was short-listed for the Booker Prize. Born in British Columbia, he has also lived in California and Washington, and now resides in Portland, Oregon.
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COVER ART AND DESIGN BY SARA WOOD
UNDERMAJORDOMO MINOR
. Copyright © 2015 by Patrick deWitt. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN 978-0-06-228120-3
EPub Edition September 2015 ISBN 9780062281234
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