Peter & Max - Bill Willingham [63]
“Invaders?” Gerwulf said, his wide eyes growing wider still.
“We’ll talk about that later,” Max said, “after I’m fed and rested. I’ve been days alone in the woods and suddenly find myself nigh exhausted. You’ll cook my dinner and then stay quiet while I sleep by the fire.”
“Lost in the woods?” Claudia said. “Oh, dear! You poor young man.”
“Of course you’re welcome to the hospitality of our home,” Gerwulf said.
My home, Max thought, as he settled by the fire. But he didn’t say it aloud. Better for now to let them think I might be willing to leave once I’ve recovered, just in case they conjure enough courage to try slitting my throat while I sleep.
After that long night, once Max had wakened to find his throat uncut and the Schoeps still cowed and deferential, he described to them, in no uncertain terms, the new pattern their three lives would take from that day forward. From now on Max was master of the house and the Schoeps would be his servants. Claudia would cook his meals, wash and mend his clothes, draw his baths and generally keep the home. Gerwulf would chop the wood for his fire, butcher the livestock for his meat, and generally do everything that needed doing outside of the home. Max explained that he never wanted to venture outside again — at least until new warm days arrived with next year’s spring — and expected never to have to.
This worked well for a number of weeks. Max seemed content to sit by the fire all day, eating every meal there as Claudia brought them to him, and only moved when it was time to take to the cabin’s only bed at night. He had no idea where his servants slept, since, at his insistence, they never retired at night until after he had, and always rose in the morning before he did. He never even stepped outside to use the outhouse — tucked almost invisibly back in the woods — but made his wastes in one of Claudia’s treasured porcelain bowls. After all, it was their job to clean up after him and dispose of his messes. The Schoeps settled into their new life without a complaint and Max seldom had to correct them.
“You two are eating too much,” he said one day, when the first snowfall of the year had begun to drift down from a dark sky.
“Excuse me, Mr. Piper?” Gerwulf said.
“We’re nearly finished with the first pig you’ve butchered,” Max said. “And there are only two pigs left, plus the cow. But once we kill that for its meat, we’ll no longer have its milk. If we keep eating at this rate, we’ll never have enough to last us through the winter. Now, as the master of this house, I can hardly be expected to do with less, but you and your wife aren’t eating as lowly servants should. You’re feasting every day as if this is your food, and not the bounty I’ve generously provided for you.
“But Mr. Piper —”
“Don’t try to plead with me. You’re both too fat anyway. Fat servants are an indictment against their lord. It shows others that he’s not truly in command of his own household — that he lets even the lowest minion get away with stealing from him. Eat less, or I might be tempted to cut by one the number of mouths I have to feed. The two of you are barely doing a single man’s work anyway. I’m too soft and indulge you too much.”
From that day on, Gerwulf and Claudia were only allowed a single meager bowl of porridge in the morning and another at night. For the afternoon meal Max allowed them a small serving of bread, cheese and meat. When Max reckoned later that this new plan would insure a surplus by winter’s end, he decided to increase his own portions, so as not to risk wasting any of it. Three times a day, every day, he tucked in with gusto, but remained rail thin.
The days accumulated along with the snow. Winter set in with grim intent.
Then one afternoon, when the snow had drifted high and the days had grown short, Max realized he hadn’t seen Gerwulf all day.
“Where is he?” Max asked of Claudia, who looked nervous and flighty, like a quivering young faun ready to bolt at any provocation.
“There are many chores to be done outside,” she said.
“Always, but