The Philosophical Strangler(98)
Jenny and Angela nodded happily.
“Like I said,” piped up Wittgenstein. “A bigamist cradle robber.” The salamander goggled the girls. “And dykes, to boot.”
“Bah!” spoke Zulkeh. The wizard stroked his beard. “You would do well, Magrit, to silence that unnatural beast. Its ignorance is beyond belief. The charge of bigamy is utterly specious, inasmuch as bigamy presupposes the sundering of lawful bonds through subterfuge, whereas we have, in this instance—I misdoubt me not—neither lawful bonds to be sundered nor any subterfuge utilized in not so doing. This—” he continued, while everyone was trying to catch up with the tortured logic—“being due to the fellow Ignace’s well-known disdain for all moral precepts.”
He waved his hand in judgment.
“As well accuse a wolf of moral turpitude for being a carnivore. Now, as to the charges of cradle robbing and perversion, it seems to me, at first glance, that we have to deal with more substantive matters. I would remind all present, in regard to the first, of the well-known precepts of Nabokov Laebmauntsforscynneweëld. Then, dealing with the problem of perversion, we can begin with the texts of Sappho Sfondrati-Piccolomini, in whose execrable verses are clearly—”
“Enough!” bellowed Magrit. She planted her hands on the arms of the chair and swiveled her ample figure toward Zulkeh. Her plain and modest long dress fit her middle-aged matronly appearance. But the scowl on her face was as ferocious as you’d expect from one of the world’s down-home, no-fooling, proper witches. “Enough already!”
The wizard glared at her. I expected another of the mighty wrangles between the two of them which I had gotten used to—sort of—while we were in Prygg.
But Greyboar interrupted. “Why are you here?”
Silence fell. All eyes turned to Gwendolyn.
“Oh, no,” I moaned. (Very softly, mind.)
Sure enough: “I need your help, brother.”
The words were choked out, as if she were trying not to say them. The next words, even more so: “And yours too, Ignace.”
She wasn’t even looking at me when she said it. Just slumped in her chair, staring at the floor.
My temper started to rise. “What’s this? All of a sudden I’m not the little scuzzball what ruined your brother’s moral fiber? All of a sudden—urfff!”
Angela’s elbow hit me like a rocket, right in the wind. An instant later, Jenny’s hands were clapped over my mouth.
“Just ignore him,” she said to Gwendolyn, very sweetly. “Keep talking. Please.”
Gwendolyn raised her head. When she caught sight of the three of us, she barked a laugh. “What a picture! My congratulations—Jenny, isn’t it? And you too, Angela. I was never able to shut him up that quick.”
I snapped back a hot retort. “Grrrmrrgrnrrbrr!” Jenny’s hands clamped down, and I fell silent. Not so much from the pressure, but from the sight of Angela’s elbow. Cocked, and ready for another shot.
Gwendolyn shook her head ruefully. “You are a piece of work, Ignace. Only person I know who gets angrier when he gets a compliment than an insult.”
She ran the fingers of her left hand through her thick mass of long, black hair. It was a gesture which I remembered well, from the years back. As always, her fingers got a bit tangled up. Gwendolyn’s hair wasn’t quite as kinky as her brother’s. But, then, she had a lot more of it.
The gesture drained away all my anger in an instant. I felt myself slumping a little. Damn woman! I never had been able to maintain a proper spite against Gwendolyn. Not when she was in my presence, anyway.
“The reason I need you too, Ignace,” she said softly, “is because Greyboar’s always a little lost without you. You and your fussing, and your mother hen routine.”
She emitted a chuckle that was more in the way of a sigh. “Missed it myself, tell you the truth, all these years.”
She stared at me for a moment, as if she were studying something. Then, sighed again and squared her shoulders, turning her head toward Greyboar.
“You heard about Benvenuti?”
The strangler nodded. “Yeah. Not much. He got caught, and then seems to have escaped.”
Gwendolyn shook her head. “Not exactly. He escaped from the dungeons, yes. But after that—” Her hand waved about, vaguely. “We’re not sure what happened. I asked my dwarf friends to see if they could find out anything. They were able to pick up his trail, eventually. He must have gotten lost in that labyrinth under the Pile, and kept going downward. But—”
She fell silent, tightening her lips. Then: “The dwarves tracked him to one of the entrances to the netherworld. Further than that, they wouldn’t go. Dwarves stay clear of those depths. Always.”