The whole thing turned out pretty good for Eddie, Lester and Frank, too. They’d been staying in the house, hiding out in the cellar. It wasn’t at all safe now for a dwarf in the streets of New Sfinctr. When they heard we were going to buy the house, they approached Greyboar and asked him if they could stay on—as hired hands, or something—cooks, maybe, or—or, whatever. Well, the truth is, the dwarves really didn’t have any of the skills of a house servant, and besides, Angela and Jenny wouldn’t hear of the idea. What were they, anyway? Snotty little rich girls, what didn’t know how to look after themselves? They weren’t against the idea of the dwarves staying, mind you. They thought it was a great idea, seeing as how Frank, Lester and Eddie were such sweet little men and all. But they thought it was ridiculous to actually hire them as something or other. Why not just let them stay? So that’s how it ended up.
I wasn’t too pleased with the idea, myself. Not that I had anything in particular against the little guys. Very nice dwarves, they were. But if you let dwarves move in with you, you’ll sooner than you know it have all the dwarf business with it.
“They’ll build a stop for the Underground Railroad,” I complained to Greyboar. “You know they will, as sure as the sunrise. Dig one right down through the cellar.”
Greyboar shrugged. “Sure, I know. So what? I never have liked the way dwarves get treated in this world, you know that. You should be against it, too—self-preservation, if no other reason.” I was quite offended at the evil grin that he gave me at that point. “Easy to mistake you for a dwarf, in the dark.”
Then he made that firm-type gesture with his great ugly hand which I hated—it meant: the question’s settled.
“Let ’em stay. And let ’em build their stop on the Railroad. Nothing else, maybe that’ll put me back in Gwendolyn’s good graces, just a bit. She’s been a topside organizer of the Railroad for years. Has strong feelings on the subject, strong feelings. So when she hears, maybe she’ll decide I’m not quite the complete worthless scum of the earth, after all.”
So the dwarves stayed, and, sure enough, it didn’t take them long to build a stop on the Railroad. Then, before you knew it—almost overnight, it seemed like—our cellar became the main stop for the Railroad in New Sfinctr. Dwarves sneaking in and out all times of the night. I was surprised at first, but after reflection it made sense. A lot of it was Angela and Jenny. Pretty soon the girls got so involved in Railroad work that they stopped even talking about opening their dress shop.
Mostly, though, it was Greyboar. Biggest problem the Railroad always had was keeping the porkers from discovering and busting up the stops. Never a problem, that, with our stop. The first time the porkers came by, poking and prying and asking questions, Greyboar went out to talk to them. He gave them The Stare, and that was that. They never came around again.
But, like I’ve said a thousand times, it’s the natural state of life to be unjust. As the wise man says: “Every silver lining has a cloud.”
Because, you see, Gwendolyn did find out. And, sure enough, she did come to the conclusion that maybe her baby brother, the cold-blooded murderous thug, was—just maybe—not such a totally worthless piece of human garbage, after all.
And, of course, if you want to get yourself into big trouble—Big Trouble—there’s no quicker way to do it than to get into Gwendolyn’s good graces.
PART III: SYNTHESIS
Chapter 22.
Disaster Strikes
It was bound to happen. The signs had all been there, gathering like clouds. Good deeds done, promises kept, righteous behavior maintained, the lot. I could feel disaster coming, like hearing thunder over the horizon.
Now that we were flush, it was impossible to get Greyboar to work at all. Hildegard’s bonus, on top of the Cardinal’s treasure, had elevated us into the ranks of the “idle rich.” Which is a splendid place to be, of course, but not when it leads to delusions of grandeur. The fact is that your true idle rich can stay that way because they’ve got other people slaving away to keep them in that blessed state. All we had was a hoard that would be gone soon enough, and the pitiful earnings which Jenny and Angela brought in from the dresswork they did on the rare occasions they weren’t totally preoccupied with the Railroad.
Live on the interest, you say? Huh. Not familiar with the practices of Groutch bankers of the day, I see. Fees for this, fees for that. Not to mention the charming practice of charging you 4% of the existing balance every month in recompense for the time and labor involved in calculating your 4% interest. No slouches, they.