Undermajordomo Minor by Patrick deWitt Read Free Book Online

shadowy wood. They were each of them holding a bayonet, and they walked in a huddle toward Lucy, who retreated some steps so that his back pressed flat against the cold wall of the castle.

11
    T he men affected a militarily homogeneous air, the lot of them wearing top to bottom gray-green wool, with bands of red encircling their arms at the biceps and black sashes cinched about their waists. As they drew nearer, however, Lucy could see that the cut and style of each man’s outfit was dissimilar to his fellows’: one wore long trousers, another knickers with tall boots; one sported a shearling collar, while his neighbor trailed a scarf. Even their rifles were dissimilar, the lengths of the bayonets varying drastically. It was as though they had each of them made their own garments in the privacy of their homes, with but the vaguest aesthetic prescription to guide them. Only their unshaven, haunted faces were alike.
    Lucy was afraid of these men, naturally, for they carried themselves so grimly, and it seemed they intended to set upon him and for all he knew bring him to harm. But when at last they reached him they merely stood there, breathing in and out, and watching him as though he were some part of the scenery. They were looking at him but thinking of their own lives, and not of his.
    A man stepped from the rear of the pack, and from the moment Lucy saw him it was clear he was one apart from the others. While the rest possessed the swollen-eyed expression of malnourished desperation, this man’s skull wore the hunger well, and his gaze described intelligence and the most natural manner of confidence. He was, in fact, exceptionally handsome, so that Lucy could notlook away from him. The man was perfectly serious as he stepped closer, and when he spoke, his deep voice denoted no hostility, only a measure of import, as though time were a pressing consideration for him.
    â€œWhat’s your name, boy?”
    â€œLucy.”
    â€œLucy?”
    â€œThat’s my name, sir, yes.”
    â€œWhat’s all this with the stones, Lucy?”
    â€œI was trying to strike the bell.”
    â€œAnd why?”
    â€œI’m eager to gain entrance to the castle.”
    â€œAnd why?”
    â€œThat I might begin my appointment there. Also because I’m cold.”
    â€œI don’t believe I’ve seen you before.” He pointed down the valley. “Do you come from the village?”
    â€œNo, I come from Bury.”
    â€œWhat’s Bury?”
    â€œA location, sir. I come from there.”
    The exceptionally handsome man puzzled a moment, as one completing an equation in his mind. “So you are Lucy from Bury, is that what you’re telling me?”
    â€œI am.”
    â€œAnd you mustn’t tarry, as you’re in a hurry?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBecause you’re chilly?”
    â€œI suppose that’s all correct, sir, yes.”
    The soldiers were stifling laughter, as was the exceptionally handsome man, and Lucy stood by, considering the enigmatic nature of charisma. If he could change a single thing about himself, it would be to possess that atypical luster certain people were blessed with. The exceptionally handsome man was rich with it, and in witnessing and identifying this, Lucy experienced bothcovetousness and admiration. He watched the man whisper into one of his soldiers’ ears; the soldier nodded and saluted before hurrying away into the woods. Now the exceptionally handsome man spoke again to Lucy, only all of the playfulness from the moment before had gone:
    â€œDo you have any food?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œA biscuit, perhaps? Or a piece of cheese?”
    â€œNothing whatsoever, sir, no.”
    â€œAny money?”
    â€œI have a very small amount of money.”
    â€œMay we have it?”
    â€œIt’s all I’ve got, sir.”
    The exceptionally handsome man stepped closer, gripping his bayonet, and there entered into his