The Philosophical Strangler(48)

“What happened?” he continued. “No sooner does Etienne get what he’s been working for—for decades, no less!—than it all falls apart in months. It’s perfect, perfect! Classic example of entropy in action! Total verification of my philosophy!”

“What a load of bullshit!” I fired back. “Sure and the Avare fortune are history—so what? We’ve made more money out of the deal than we’ve ever made in our lives! And I’ve saved up most of the old bastard’s honorarium, too!”

I know, I know, I know, don’t tell me—bad move, Ignace. As the wise man says: “A braggart and his brag are soon parted.”

Sure enough, Greyboar grinned from ear to ear and stuck out his paw. His great, ugly paw.

“Fork over, Ignace,” he said. “The Cat and I are going off on a spree. I figure, why try to save the money? It’ll just go the way of all energy, anyway—scattered to the wind.”

Insult, naturally, was now added to injury. “It’s entropy, Ignace,” he said solemnly, “you can’t fight it.”

So I had to cough it all up. Everything I’d hoarded! Blown in a week!





Chapter 8.

A Week in the Country

I would have stayed in our garret, sulking, but when Jenny and Angela heard about the spree they came and dragged me out. Made me go along. Greyboar had invited them, of course. “Natural-born entropists,” he called them. “The perfect company for an outing devoted to the second law of thermodynamics!” He was not all that enthusiastic about me coming along. Called me a sourpuss, if you can believe it? But Jenny and Angela put their foot down, and that was that.

Then, Jenny and Angela got the crazy idea to invite Benvenuti along, too. Said he was such a charming man that he was bound to add something to the festivities.

I was utterly against the idea, but I had enough sense to keep my mouth shut. I knew the silly girls would accuse me of jealousy, as absurd as it was. And given that Greyboar was still being a bit grouchy with me, I realized that my opposition would be sure to swing it the other way.

Besides, I wasn’t worried. I knew that Greyboar wouldn’t really want someone around for a whole week who would remind him constantly of Gwendolyn. I knew it for a certainty, because I didn’t want to be reminded of Gwendolyn. Not that much, anyway.

And, sure enough . . .

“Well, I don’t know . . .” he muttered, scratching his head. Greyboar was sprawled on the couch in Jenny and Angela’s living room. The Cat was curled up next to him, half asleep, her head nestled on his shoulder. Angela was perched on the armrest of my chair, looking like a cheerful little bird.

The strangler’s black eyes glanced around the little room, like rats looking for a place to hide. I tried not to look smug.

“Well, I don’t know . . .”

“Oh, come on!” chirped Angela. “Sure, and just having him around will probably makes you feel sad, reminding you of your estranged sister and everything. But you’re always sad about that, anyway.”

“So’s Ignace,” chirped Jenny. She was standing right behind me, her hands on my shoulders. I stiffened and started to utter a protest, but she clapped her hands over my mouth. “Is too!” she chirped. “Keep talking, Angela!”

“And besides,” Angela chirped on, “it’s your plain and simple philosophical duty.” Greyboar’s eyes almost bulged. “Didn’t Ignace say anybody who’d fall in love with Gwendolyn is nuts? And an artist! He’s bound to have an angle on entropy, whatever the silly thing is, that you never even thought of. Probably lots of them.”

Greyboar’s eyes got unfocused. Oh, no! I thought.

“Good point,” he said. “Sure—why not?”





So Jenny and Angela and Greyboar and the Cat hired a carriage and charged off to see the artist. I stayed behind, sulking.

Then—then!—when they got back, it turned out they’d decided to invite Hrundig, too. That had been Angela’s idea, seeing as how she’d been charmed by how nice Hrundig had been the first time they visited, even if he was a brutal barbarian mercenary.

“He’s a brutal barbarian mercenary!” I protested.

Angela frowned at me. “And so what? You and Greyboar are brutal mercenaries, aren’t you? And without even the excuse of being barbarians!” She patted me on the cheek. “But we don’t hold it against you, now, do we? Not much, anyway.”

I choked and spluttered, trying to come up with a counter. Greyboar just looked sheepish. “Well . . .” he muttered. “Well . . .”

“Are too!” chirped Jenny. “Depraved and horrible desperadoes, even if you’re actually kind of sweet and Ignace isn’t but he’s real cute and Angela and I like the way he fusses over us even if he is a pain in the ass sometimes.”