Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [57]
“Does now the harness sit well—question,” asked a voice in his ear.
Quite involuntarily, Dietrich turned his head. Then he realized that the earpiece must contain an even smaller Heinzelmännchen than the box in the Krenkish apartments. He turned to stare at his visitor. “You speak in your mikrofoneh, and I hear you through this mussel.”
“Doch,” said the creature.
Since there could be no action at a distance, there must be a medium through which the impetus flowed. But had the voice flowed through the air, he would have heard the sound directly, rather than through this engine. Hence, an aether must exist. Reluctantly, Dietrich put the matter aside. “You are come to deliver a message,” he guessed.
“Ja. The one you call the Kratzer asks why you have not returned. The Herr Gschert frets because he thinks he knows. They do not accept the reason I offer.”
“You are the servant. The one they tried to beat.”
There was a silence while the Krenk pondered an answer. “Perhaps not a ‘servant’ in your usage,” it said at last.
Dietrich let that pass. “And what reason have you given them for my absence?”
“That you fear us.”
“And the Kratzer fell from the stalk at that? He does not wear bruises.”
“He ‘fell from the stalk’ …”
“It is a figure we use. To be so surprised as to fall down like ripe corn.”
“Your language is strange; yet the head-picture is vivid. But, attend. The Kratzer observes your … your besitting? Yes. He observes that you are a natural philosopher, as is he. So he dismisses my suggestion.”
“Friend grasshopper, you obviously believe you have explained something, but I am at a loss to know what.”
“Those who are struck accept the grace of the beating—as any philosopher should know.”
“Is it so common among you, then? I can imagine better graces.”
The Krenk made the tossing gesture. “Perhaps ‘grace’ is the wrong word. Your terms are strange. Gschert sees that we are few where you are many. He has the sentence in his head that you would attack us—and that is why you stay away.”
“If we stay away, how can we attack?”
“I tell him that our bugs have seen no warlike preparations. But he answers that all the bugs within the Burg have been carefully removed, which argues for secret preparations.”
“Or that Manfred dislikes being spied upon. No, far from an attack, the Herr proposes that you become his vassals.”
The Krenk hesitated. “What does ‘vassal’ signify—question.”
“That he will grant you a fief and the income from it.”
“You explain one unknown in terms of another. Is this a common thing with you—question. Your words circle endlessly, like those great birds in the sky.” The Krenk rubbed his forearms slowly. Irritation, Dietrich wondered? Impatience? Frustration?
“A fief is a right to use or possess that which belongs to the Herr in return for rents of money or service. In turn, he will … shield you from the blows of your enemies.”
The Krenk remained unmoving while the shadows in the corners deepened, and the eastern sky, visible through the window, darkened to magenta. The tip of the Katerinaberg glowed in the sunlight, unshrouded as yet by the swelling shadow of the Feldberg. Dietrich had just begun to grow concerned when the creature moved slowly to the window and stared out at … What? Who could say in which direction those peculiar eyes focused?
“Why do you do this—question,” it asked at length.
“It is considered a good thing among us to succor the weak, sinful to oppress them.”
The creature turned its golden eyes on him. “Foolishness.”
“As the world measures things, perhaps.”
“‘Gifts make slaves,’ is a saying among us. A lord succors to show his strength and power, and obtain the services of those he rules. The weak give gifts to the strong to gain his forbearance.”
“But what is strength?”
The Krenk struck the windowsill with its forearm. “You play games with your words,” the voice of the Heinzelmännchen whispered in Dietrich’s ear, seeming eerily in that moment to be a disembodied spirit on his shoulder. “Strength is the ability to crush another.” The Krenk stretched out its left