The Stranger - Max Frei [16]
The old wisewoman smiled coquettishly at Juffin and winked. After this interlude of gallantry, everyone present stared intently at Lady Retari.
“Braba doesn’t understand a thing herself, but she’s mortally afraid. She hasn’t been able to work since then, so fearful is she—like a young girl. She says someone lured away Ollie’s shadow and nearly snatched her own. We were all sure that his shadow had departed on its own. We didn’t know why; but it departed. Quickly—like a woman who doesn’t want to give her love. But Braba says someone lured it away. Someone she couldn’t discern. But she was so frightened that we decided, why bother asking? You can’t get the shadow back. Why take on someone else’s fear?” and Lady Retari fell silent, at least a year, it seemed.
The witches sipped kamra in the stillness and crunched their cookies daintily. Sir Juffin meditated. Mr. Govins was portentously silent. I gazed at this quaint group of people in innocent admiration. Without warning, however, I felt the air in the room had grown so thick that it was impossible to breathe. Something horrible and disgusting entered for a moment, then instantly retreated, not touching anyone in the room except myself. And even I hadn’t time to realize what was happening; but a viscous lump of absolute terror penetrated my lungs when I breathed in as the shadow of some vile enigma encroached upon me, and then to my great relief disappeared as abruptly as it had come. It was probably “someone else’s fear,” as the old crone had just mentioned; but at the time I considered the episode to be a groundless mood shift—something very familiar to me. I didn’t even consider sharing this silly inner anxiety with Sir Juffin.
Later, I understood that I had been imprudently reticent. Those “silly inner anxieties” were an extremely important part of my future occupation, for it is the sacred duty of an employee of the Secret Force to report every vague presentiment, nightmare, skip of a heartbeat, or other spiritual tremor (though analysis of the situation and other deductions you can and ought keep to yourself). At the time, though, I just tried to forget about this unpleasant lump of someone else’s fear. My efforts met with almost immediate success.
“I know how a shadow departs,” Juffin finally announced. “Tell me wise Ladies, did none of you except Braba really sense that something was amiss?”
“We all sensed it,” Lady Mallis said. “Sensed it—and that was that. None of us knows what it was we sensed. We can’t always say what it is. It’s too strenuous a task for us, and it will be for you, though you peer into the darkness much more often than we do. And the lad there won’t be any help, either.”
I suddenly realized with horror that the old woman had focused her undivided attention on me.
“’Tis a secret, Sir. Just someone else’s bad secret,” Lady Tisa said, saving me. “None of us likes it. We didn’t wish to talk about it, for it’s pointless to talk about what you don’t know. But when you’re in the company of two gentlemen whose fate it is to peer into the darkness—well, we decided to tell all, though it won’t be of any benefit to you.”
And the three old crones, with the gracefulness of young felines, disappeared through the door.
Juffin! I started badgering him with my Silent Speech as soon as they were gone. What was that business about “two gentlemen peering into the darkness”? What did that mean?
Don’t concern yourself with nonsense. That’s just how these ladies see you and me. They know precious little about Invisible Magic; that’s why they imagine it to be “darkness.” It’s simpler for them that way. In general, you shouldn’t attach too much importance to what they say. Those old wisewomen aren’t too bad in practical matters—but in matters of theory, they’re no great shakes.
And with that Sir Juffin Hully stood up from the table.
“We’re leaving, Govins. We’ve got to do some thinking. Tell the master that he need not send anyone to the House by the Bridge. I’ll take care of all that myself. In the morning I’ll send you written