Undermajordomo Minor by Patrick deWitt Read Free Book Online Page A

voice an emotionless, droning tone. “May we or may we not have the money, Lucy from Bury?”
    Lucy handed over his small purse of coins, and the exceptionally handsome man emptied it into his palm.
    â€œThis is all you have?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThis is all you have in the world?”
    â€œYes.”
    The exceptionally handsome man returned the coins to the purse, sulkily stuffing this into his coat pocket. He appeared to take Lucy’s insolvency personally, and a cumbersome quiet came between them. Lucy was casting about in his mind for some bit of chit-chat when the soldier who had gone on scout returned, whispering in the exceptionally handsome man’s ear. The exceptionally handsome man received the news, then addressed the others, who stood at attention, ready to receive his instruction. “All right, we’re heading back to base camp in a single push. The bastards are up to something or I miss my guess, so let’s stay on our guard. Are we up for it, yes or no?” The soldiers called back in a single voice that shocked Lucy with its volume and alacrity: “Aye!” And then, just asquickly as they’d come, they departed, with their leader bringing up the rear.
    Rounding the corner of the castle, he ceased walking, as though plagued by an unknown anxiety. Turning, he leveled his rifle at Lucy; his expression was stony, and Lucy once more found himself concerned for his own safety. But there was no danger; the rifle was raised higher, and higher still, and now the exceptionally handsome man took aim and fired his weapon. The bullet ricocheted off the hip of the bell and the peal pulsed in the air, this mingling with the echo of the rifle’s discharge. As Lucy was standing under the bell itself it was as though the noise created something physical surrounding him, a chamber of vibration and sound. Looking upward, he watched the bell’s slow, circular sway. When he looked back down, the exceptionally handsome man was gone.

12
    A fter some minutes, the door was unbolted from the inside. It budged a laborious half inch, then another. Lucy couldn’t see who was responsible for these efforts, but there came from the black crack a wispy, whispering voice:
    â€œWho’s there?”
    â€œLucien Minor, sir.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œLucy, sir. I’m reporting to my post under a Mr. Olderglough. Is that you?”
    â€œMmmm,” said the voice, as if unsure.
    â€œI’m happy to make your acquaintance. Thank you again for the position. I’m eager to begin my appointment, and I should think you won’t regret taking me—”
    Lucy heard the distant pop of a rifle discharging. It was a miniature and cotton-wrapped sound, and he wondered at the chasm separating the quaintness of this noise and the actuality of a hurtling bullet. There came another report, and a pause; now there followed a rushing crescendo of pops, like a handful of tacks strewn over hardwood. Lucy’s feet were numb, and his stomach felt airy and scooped out.
    â€œMay I come in, sir?”
    The voice uttered a reply but Lucy couldn’t make it out.
    â€œWhat was that?” he asked.
    The voice rose to a shriek: “Push the fucking door!”
    Lucy’s recovery from the directive was admirable and timely. He pushed with all his strength; the heavy door hesitated, then swept slowly, evenly open.

1
    M r. Olderglough stood in the underlit entryway, an elegantly skeletal man of sixty or more outfitted in a suit of black velvet. His white hair was uncombed or unsuccessfully combed; a lock spiraled past his brow and over his eyes, to roguish effect. His right arm hung in a sling, his fingers folded talon-like, nails blackened, knuckles blemished with scabs and blue-yellow bruising. Bowing a bow so slight it hardly amounted to a bow at all, he said, “I apologize, young man, for my vulgarity of a moment ago. I woke up in a foul mood this morning, and the