The Philosophical Strangler(120)

I stumbled to a halt. Magrit grinned. Wittgenstein spun around on her shoulder and mooned me. Disgusting, really, the way a salamander moons.

“What a dimwit,” snickered the vile little creature. “Good thing he’s built so low to the ground. Any taller, and the drop or two of blood which reaches his brain wouldn’t be enough to keep him from passing out.”

“You’re swapping favors with her,” I croaked. “You help Gwendolyn find her ex-squeeze and she owes you.”

Magrit kept grinning. Wittgenstein snickered again. I could feel the emptiness of eternal destiny yawning wider and wider beneath my feet.

“And you count favors like a miser counts pennies. She owes you, you’ll insist she pay you back. With a favor. And since Gwendolyn’s in no position to do anything for you herself—she’s on the run from every porker in Grotum—she’ll have to put the screws on her brother—”

Light-headed now with growing horror, I stared at Greyboar. Even since we’d started on this insane trek, Greyboar had spent most of his time with his sister. In a tête-à-tête, I believe the sophisticated crowd calls it. I hadn’t thought about it much, at the time. Sibling reconciliation, you know. Slobbering sentimental stuff; babble, babble, babble.

“Tell me it isn’t true,” I whispered.

Greyboar cleared his throat. “Ah. Well. Actually, Ignace . . .”

At that point, I believe I wailed. Not sure. My memory gets a little fuzzy. Sheer terror, I’m told, will do that to a man.





Then, it got worse. My wail was cut off by a hand placed over my mouth. Two hands, actually. Not Greyboar’s dinner-plate mitts, but two little hands belonging to Jenny and Angela.

One from each. They’re not hard to distinguish between. Angela’s hands are small, well-shaped and beautiful. Jenny’s hands are exactly the same, except her fingers are longer. I could tell them apart in my sleep. I have, actually, not to put too fine a point on it. And if that comes across as a lecher’s remark, think again. It’s got nothing to do with that. They comfort me differently, that’s all. Can’t explain how, exactly, but they do.

I love those hands. Just as I love the faces that were staring at me.

Um. Squinting at me, to be precise. As in: exasperation, discontent, contumely. That sort of thing.

With ever-growing shock, I realized that Jenny and Angela had also been spending a lot of time with Greyboar and Gwendolyn since the journey began. Tête-à-quatratête, so to speak.

“We think it’s a great idea,” snapped Jenny. “You would too if you ever paid any attention to what we told you about what’s happening to the dwarves.”

Angela sneered. “Ignace? Pay attention to anything in the world except what’s going to make him a few quid? Ha!”

They were exceedingly disgruntled, now. I could tell. I tried to mumble something but the hands on my mouth just tightened down.

“Oughta cut him off for good, we should,” growled Jenny. “Him and his tight fist for a heart. Put him on a real budget.”

Angela snickered. “Great austerities. Be good for the midget. His heart wouldn’t be the only thing shrunk down to a walnut.”

To add insult to injury, Zulkeh added his advice.

“Splendid idea! A stratagem worthy of the ancients! Should you need guidance, damsels of dubious virtue, I shall be delighted to provided you with a copy of the classic treatise. Lysistrata Sfondrati-Piccolomini’s seminal—if you will pardon the expression—Do It Yourself, Big Shot; You’re a Man, Aren’t You?”

By now, I suspect I was whimpering. Jenny’s frown got crosser still.

Angela’s was even worse. “We are going to rescue the dwarves at Operation Nibelung. One of these days, when the time’s right. Magrit’s still figuring out the plan. Greyboar’s already agreed, and so have we. So’s the Cat, for that matter.”

My eyes rolled wildly in the direction of the Cat. The woman was standing not too far away, giving me her own cold-eyed stare.

“Et tu?” I managed to mumble through the fingers.

The Cat shrugged. “Sure. Why not? And Gwendolyn says Schrödinger may be there.”

“Bastard’s one of the ‘top scientists,’ according to one rumor,” Gwendolyn snarled.

It was hopeless. Everybody was against me. An outcast in my own land, you might say.





So I did the only rational thing, of course. I capitulated.

“Okay,” I mumbled. “I’ll help. When the time comes.”

Jenny and Angela’s squints were now so suspicious that their eyes were mere slits. But they moved their hands off my mouth.