Undermajordomo Minor

XI. MR BROOM & TOMAS THE GAMBLER

Supper was served — fish, as promised, though it was not a piece as Mr Broom had said but rather a fish entire, one per man, unscaled and uncooked, for there was neither flame nor blade to be found in the Very Large Hole. The fish were retrieved live from the river; the two men had built up a network of stone-walled corrals diverting from the current proper, and into which fish would innocently amble. Upon finding their transit blocked they would backtrack, only to discover that the point of entry was now likewise impassable, as either Mr Broom or Tomas had built up a fourth wall to hem them in. Thus confined, the fish would languish in what Tomas described as arrant boredom until such a time as it was removed from its cell, rapped upon the head, and consumed. Lucy thought the method of capture ingenious, but this ingenuity did little to allay the fact of the meal being repellent to him. He stared at the fish, hanging limply in his hands, and his posture denoted a level of disappointment.

“Well, let’s begin, then,” said Tomas, and he and Mr Broom bit into the clammy bellies of their fishes, rending away the flesh in animalistic swaths. Soon blood and scales were shimmering in their beards, a sight which stole away Lucy’s appetite completely. Setting his fish to the side, he decided he would not partake, at least not yet, for he knew that if he were to remain he would at some point be forced to follow the others, an eventuality he considered with repugnance. The woman’s boot sat in the centre of their circle, refilled with water, a communal vessel; Lucy drank from this to wash away the very thought of the taste.

The meal reached its conclusion, and now came the interrogation. After establishing how it was that Lucy had identified them, Tomas and Mr Broom, so pleased for the company and break in routine, wished to know most every detail of Lucy’s life, from the occasion of his birth and up until the present moment. Lucy had no objection to fielding the queries, and his answers were for the most part truthful. He spoke of the melancholy circumstances of his childhood, for example, with a frankness which surprised even himself. Regarding his decision to leave Bury, to say farewell to all he had known in his life, there was not so much as a fact misplaced. And yet, when he arrived at the question of how it was he’d fallen into the Very Large Hole, now he discovered the truth to be insufficient. For would it not have undone the balmy social atmosphere to admit he had attempted to murder a man in a style both cold-blooded and cowardly? Lucy affected the attitude of one in possession of overwhelming sorrows, and when he spoke, his voice was halting, cautious: “I’m not proud to admit it,” he said.

“Take your time,” Mr Broom told him.

“By all means, you must,” agreed Tomas.

Lucy nodded his thanks. “Yes. Hmm. As it happens, and if you really want to know, I threw myself into this pit bodily.”

“On purpose, you mean?” Tomas asked.

“That’s right,” said Lucy.

“But why would you do such a thing?” Mr Broom wondered.

“I was despondent.”

“Clearly you were,” Tomas said. “But what were you despondent about?”

“A great number of things.”

“Such as what?”

“The overall circumstances of my life on earth.”

“Life in general, you say?” Mr Broom asked.

“Yes.”

“Top to bottom, is that what you mean?” said Tomas.

“That’s it.”

“No solace to be found?” asked Mr Broom.

“Anyway I could find none, search as I might.”

“As bad as all that, eh?” Tomas said.

“I’m afraid so, yes.”

Mr Broom and Tomas shook their heads sympathetically. A thought came to the latter, and he brightened. “Possibly things will take a turn for you now, have you considered it?”

“I hadn’t, actually,” Lucy answered.

“This might be your starting over point.”

“It’s a thought.”

“The moment at which you begin afresh.” Tomas nudged Mr Broom. “From here on out, a new beginning.”

“Yes,” Mr Broom said. “It pleases me.”

“After all, is that not how it has been for us, my friend?”

“It has indeed, and indeed it has.”

The bearded duo sat awhile, digesting. Tomas was cleaning his teeth with a fish bone, while Mr Broom pinched at the tip of his tongue once, twice, thrice; he plucked away some bit of matter, which he fell to studying. Lucy, in regarding these two, was visited with the chilling knowledge that he would soon be assimilated into their society. Naturally this did not sit well with him, so that he felt impelled to ask after the possibilities of escape. The pair of them nodded, as though anticipating the question; Tomas, holding up a corrective finger, said, “There is no possibility whatsoever.”

“Surely there must be,” Lucy answered, looking about the cavern, as if to locate some solution.

“The walls cannot be scaled,” said Mr Broom.

“The river, then.”

Tomas shook his head. “The downriver route is, you can plainly see, impassable, disappearing as it does into sheer rock. The upriver route presents the only option for escape, and I say without reservation or shame that it cannot be bettered.”

“So you’ve tried, then?”

“Of course we have. In my years alone here I attempted it more times than I care to recall before abandoning the thought entirely. Then, when Mr Broom arrived, I was swayed by his youth and enthusiasm, and I made several more attempts by his side, each outing a thoroughgoing failure. I suppose it is that you’ll want to take a look for yourself, and you’re welcome to do this, but I for one will opt out, as will Mr Broom, I imagine. Isn’t that right?”

Mr Broom nodded, with emphasis.

Tomas pointed upriver. “You enter into the cave,” he said, “and walk a hundred yards, at which point you’ll come to a fork. You may elect to take the route to your left, or the one to your right; it makes no difference, for whichever you choose will lead to yet another fork, and then another, and another, and on like this, endlessly or seemingly endlessly, and in total darkness. It’s slow going against the current, the footing is slick and treacherous, and of course, as you know, the water temperature is not what you’d call inviting.” Tomas paused here, remembering. “Our last excursion was catastrophic. We had been away some days when I wrenched my ankle, and Mr Broom was forced to carry me on his back. We were delirious with hunger and frozen to our bones and I make no exaggeration when I say we had abandoned all thoughts of survival. At last we simply gave ourselves to the current, bobbing along in the darkness and hoping against hope not to be dashed against unseen boulders. Halfway back, and Mr Broom broke an arm.” Here he turned to look at Mr Broom, who drew back his sleeve, revealing a wrist bent to a grotesquely unnatural angle. “Think of it, boy,” Tomas continued. “Floating downriver in pitch black, expecting at any moment to have my skull stove in, and the only sound to be heard other than the rush of the frigid waters was Mr Broom’s screaming, echoing off the roof of the cavern.” He made a sour face and shook his head. “It’s the devil’s own playground in there, and if you don’t believe me, then you be my guest.”

Lucy stared at the river, puzzling at the fates which had landed him in his present location. What could the future possibly hold for him here? And what of his life beyond the confines of the cavern? He wondered what Adolphus had told Klara of his disappearance. Presumably he’d told her the truth, and so she was mourning his passing. It pained him to think of her being pained, to say nothing of the idea of Adolphus offering his comforts. “We must try again,” said Lucy.

“Must we?” Tomas asked.

“Of course we must. Otherwise we’ll die here.”

Here Tomas spoke gently, and with tranquil understanding. “That’s not how we see it, Lucy.”

“How do you see it?”

“We’ll live here.”

They passed a night huddled close for warmth, and in the morning awoke to face another meal, this identical to that of the evening prior. Lucy was very hungry by this point, and yet he still could not deliver the fish to his mouth. Neither Mr Broom nor Tomas commented, for they had each been through just the same ordeal, and knew Lucy would eat when he was ready. During breakfast, and afterwards, Lucy noticed that Mr Broom was watching him with a woebegone look on his face. This continued for such a time that Lucy asked if something was the matter. Mr Broom said, “It’s just that, I find myself wondering if you’re aware you and I arrived here under similar circumstances.”

“I’m aware of it,” said Lucy.

“And how are you aware of this, may I ask?”

“Mr Olderglough referenced it, as did the Baroness.”

Upon hearing that the Baroness had returned, Mr Broom’s eyes darted away. He was silent for a long while before asking, “When did she come back?”

“Some weeks ago.”

“And how does she seem to you?”

“I had the impression she was relieved to have returned. At least at the beginning, this was the sense I had.”

“Do you mean to say that something has changed since then?”

“There has been a change.”

“And what is the change?”

Lucy was unsure how to describe it. “It seems to me that she is weakening.”

“She is ill?”

“Not physically ill, no.”

“How is she ill?”

Lucy said, “There is an increasing dearth of sensibility in regard to her actions.”

“How do you mean?”

“She keeps unsavoury acquaintances and engages in unnatural social acts.”

“Speak plainly.”

“I dare not.”

“Tell me all you know.”

“I shall not. All that I’ll say is that I believe there is an unwellness rampant in the castle.”

“What does that mean, unwellness?”

“A pervasive unpleasantness.”

“What is unpleasant?”

“It’s something which I can’t put into words other than to say I suspect all who live there are affected in time. Did you not feel imperilled at any point during your stay?”

“No.”

“Fixed in the clutches of something larger than yourself?”

“No.”

“And yet you chased death into the Very Large Hole, where you now find yourself living in rags and eating away at the belly of a raw fish and calling it supper, or breakfast, for that matter.”

Mr Broom could not deny that he had suffered a degeneration. “But,” he said, “that might have happened regardless of my location. For love is the culprit, and love grows wherever it wishes.” He pointed. “Look at our friend Tomas, here. He finds himself in the same position as I, and yet he’s never so much as set foot in the castle.”

True enough, and yet Lucy couldn’t shake the notion that there was some malicious anathema afoot in the castle. He was visited by the image of the Baron, his bare body smeared with rodent’s blood, a memory which invoked a shudder. As though reading Lucy’s mind, Mr Broom asked,

“And what of the Baron? Is he faring so poorly as his wife?”

Lucy said, “Much like she, there is evidence of decline, and it is my opinion that this decline will become dire.”

“And what is the nature of their partnership at present?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are they functionally married?”

“How do you mean?”

“Possibly you already know what I mean.”

“Possibly I do.”

“And are they?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve witnessed it.”

“I see. You’ll excuse me, please.” Mr Broom stood and walked into the water, swimming away and vanishing in the darkness of the far cavern. Tomas gave Lucy a look of mild reproach.

“But what else could I have done?” Lucy asked.

“Lied,” said Tomas simply. And here Lucy slapped his knee, as in this one instance the thought to do so hadn’t occurred to him.

These two fell silent, and the passage of time grew leaden for Lucy. If only there were a fire, he might gaze wistfully into its heart and ponder the sinister mysteries of life; or if he were tired, he could drift into slumber and dream of Klara stepping through boundless fields of undulating grasses. But there was nothing to do other than speak, and there was no one to speak with other than Tomas, and Lucy felt they had exhausted all topics of conversation save for one. In the interest of creating an event, then, he decided to broach it: “Memel says you were quite close, the two of you.”

Had Tomas been expecting this? He didn’t seem surprised by it, and his tone was not unfriendly. “We were, at that,” he said. “Is it safe to assume he told you how it was that I came to be here?”

“It’s safe.”

“And he believes me dead?”

“Yes.”

“Has he forgiven me, I wonder?”

“He didn’t say if he had or hadn’t. I believe he felt his actions were justified. Anyway, he expressed no regrets. And yet, he remembers you fondly.”

Here Tomas shrugged, as though he didn’t quite believe Lucy. In a self-consciously casual tone, he asked, “And how is Alida?”

Somehow Lucy hadn’t anticipated the question, and now he regretted having brought up Memel at all. Sensing his regret, Tomas spoke:

“Something hasn’t happened to her, I hope?”

Lucy said, “In fact, she’s died, Tomas.”

Tomas’s face hardened, a rictus of disbelief. “Died.”

“Yes, and I’m sorry to say it.”

“Died,” Tomas repeated. “But how?”

“In childbirth.”

Tomas was staring at Lucy. “When?” he said.

“Some months after your disappearance.”

“How many months?”

“Nine.”

Here Tomas performed an anomalous gesture, casting his hand sharply across his face, as though drawing a veil over his features, or catching some unspeakable word. Lucy knew that he was watching a man’s heart break before him.

“Did the child also die?” asked Tomas.

“The child is alive,” said Lucy. “Mewe, is his name. He lives just next to Memel and Klara.”

There was nothing but the sound of the river for a time; and to Lucy it seemed the volume of it was increasing. Tomas began digging a small hole in the sand. “Will you tell me about him?” he said. “What does he do? Possibly he’s a gambler too, eh?”

“No, he works with Memel on the trains.”

“He is a thief?”

“Yes.”

“Does he have any talent for it?”

“He has a great talent for it.”

Tomas filled in the hole and smoothed it over. “So many days with nothing whatever passing,” he said. “And now this.”

“He is a happy boy, Tomas. He is happy and well liked.”

Tomas nodded. “How is Klara?” he asked. “She would be a young lady by now, I should think.”

“She is a young lady,” Lucy agreed. There must have been some familiar tone of injury in the way he said it, because now Tomas was watching him with an expression of recognition.

“She wouldn’t have anything to do with your being here, would she?”

Lucy said, “Roundaboutly, and yes, she does.”

Tomas laughed scornfully. “Well, we’re quite the group, aren’t we? You and I and Mr Broom?”

“I would say we are.”

“Been led down the garden path, eh?”

“Perhaps we have been.”

“Cupid is well armed, it would seem.”

“And so must we be,” Lucy said, and now the two smiled at each other, sharing a contented moment which did not last long, interrupted as it was by Mr Broom’s return. Trudging up the bank, he said, “We are, the three of us, going to wake up tomorrow, and we’re going to strike out, and either we’ll escape this place and reclaim our lives above ground, or else perish in our attempt to do so.” As though exhausted by the words, he dropped to his knees, whispering, “We may well perish, in fact.” He was studying his hands, now, in wonder at their abilities, perhaps.

Lucy and Tomas looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. “Our friend has been invigorated by his swim,” said Tomas.

Due to the danger inherent in attempting escape, and because of his age and general decrepitude, Tomas was not enthusiastic about this idea at first glance. He became sullen in the afternoon, and it seemed that a rift was afoot, but by the time evening rolled around he had found some deeper reserve of spirit and proclaimed, more loudly than was necessary, that he would join the expedition.

Surely there was a connection between his change of heart and news of Mewe, just as Mr Broom’s decision to leave was informed by the knowledge that the Baroness had returned to the castle. Lucy, for his part, had made up his mind to attempt escape before Mr Broom had brought it up, even; and he would have gone on his own if need be, for his thoughts were of Klara alone, and his desire to win her back superseded all other concerns. Regarding preparations, there were none to speak of, other than for the men to come to an agreement about the specifics of the method of departure and escape. This was discussed at length, and resulted in disagreement but thankfully not division.

Mr Broom was for action. He wished to lead the three, for he was, he said, the strongest of the group, a truth which neither Tomas nor Lucy could dispute, though they were the both of them left wondering just what Mr Broom’s strength would avail anyone other than Broom himself. Beyond his physical capabilities, Mr Broom claimed, with an amount of humility or reluctance, to be in possession of second sight. He often felt its influence, he said, and believed that if he were to focus intently and utilize this gift to its utmost, then he would guide the group to freedom.

Tomas sat awhile, blinking. “This is news to me, my friend.”

“It’s not something one goes about boasting of.”

“And why not? Here we’ve been discussing topics such as our favourite numerals.” Tomas closed his eyes. “Tell me, please: what am I thinking about now?”

Mr Broom shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”

Tomas stuck a hand behind his back. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“How does it work?”

“I believe I can find the way out of here,” Mr Broom said.

“And yet you didn’t on any of our prior expeditions. And why not? Sheer modesty, I wouldn’t wonder.”

Mr Broom had gone red in the face. “Perhaps you have a plan of your own.”

“Perhaps I do.”

“Do you or don’t you?”

Tomas drew himself up. “If anyone is to lead the expedition,” he said, “I believe that should be me.”

“Oh?” said Mr Broom. “And why is that, can you tell me?”

“Because I am the eldest, and so I have the wisdom of time on my side.”

“The wisdom of time?” said Mr Broom. Apparently he found the phrase humorous.

“That’s what I said,” Tomas answered sternly.

“Does one always accompany the other?”

“In my case I believe it does. Beyond that, and this is inarguable, I have journeyed upriver far more often than you have, and so am more familiar with the terrain.”

“That’s one way to put it. Another way might be to say that you are more familiar with failing to surpass the terrain.”

Tomas levelled a finger at Broom. “I saw the sun set thousands of times before you drew your first breath.”

“And so?”

“I was entering women when you were still soiling your short pants.”

“And so?”

“I slit a man’s throat before you could milk a cow.”

“I still can’t milk a cow. But I think your plan is pure foolishness.”

“It’s no more foolish than yours.”

“Yes, but my plan is mine, and so I prefer it.”

“And just as naturally, I do mine.”

Arriving thus at stalemate, the pair lured Lucy into the fray, asking which plan he himself thought best. Believing each one to be equally poor, Lucy admitted to having no preference at all, a statement which effectively offended both men, who together began to chastise him, for here they were busily concocting schemes while he sat by, marking time, contributing nothing whatsoever.

All this to say there was strife among them, and confidence was ebbing with each passing minute. In the end, Lucy did come up with a plan of his own, and as it happened, this was the idea they could all three of them agree on.