The War Hound and the World's Pain (18 page)

“It seems to me, madam, that you yet possess the complacency of the privileged. What if your land were to be attacked?”

“No army can reach us without our knowing of it.”

“No army can march by land, perhaps. But what, for instance, if your enemies trained those eagles to come through the Golden Cloud carrying soldiers?”

“That is inconceivable,” she said with a laugh.

“To those who live with danger and have no choice,” I said, “nothing is inconceivable.”

She shrugged. “Well, we are satisfied.”

“And I am glad that you are, madam.”

“You are a stimulating guest, captain. Will you stay at our Court for a few days?”

“I regret that I must find Philander Groot if I can, as soon as I can. My commission has some urgency to it.”

“Very well. Take the West Road from the city. It will lead you to a wood. In the wood is a wide glade, with a dead oak in it. Philander Groot, if he pleases, will find you there.”

“At what time?”

“He will choose the time. You will have to be patient. Now, captain, at least you will eat with us and tell us something of your adventures.”

Sedenko and I accepted the invitation. The dinner was superb. We filled ourselves to capacity, spent the night in good beds and in the morning went by the West Road from the young Queen’s tower.

The wood was easily reached and the glade found without difficulty. We made a camp there and settled down to wait for Groot. The air was warm and lazy and the flowers softened our tempers with their beauty and their scents.

“This is a place to come home to when you are old,” said Sedenko as he stretched himself on the ground and stared around at the great trees. “But I’d guess it’s no place to be young in. No fighting, precious little hunting …”

“The lack of conflict could bore anyone under forty,” I agreed. “I cannot quite get to the root of my irritation with this place. Perhaps there is a touch too much sanity here. If it is sanity, of course. My instincts tell me that this kind of life is in itself insane in some ways.”

“Too profound for me, captain,” said Sedenko. “They’re rich. They’re safe. They’re happy. Isn’t that what we all want for ourselves in the end?”

“A healthy animal,” I said, “needs to exercise its body and its wits to the full.”

“But not all the time, captain.” Sedenko looked alarmed, as if I was about to expect some action from him.

I laughed. “Not all the time, young Kazak.”

After three days of waiting in the glade neither of us was so willing to rest. We had explored every part of the surrounding country, its rivers, its meadows, its woods. We had picked flowers and plaited them. We had groomed our horses. We had swum. Sedenko had climbed every tree which could be climbed and I had studied, without much understanding, the grimoires Sabrina had given me. I had also studied all the maps and had seen that Mittelmarch territories seemed to exist in gaps between lands where, in my own world, no gaps were.

By the time the fifth morning dawned I was ready to mount my horse and leave the Valley of the Golden Cloud. “I’ll find my way to the Grail without Groot’s help,” I said.

And these words, almost magically, seemed to conjure up the dandy who sauntered into our camp, looking around him a little fastidiously but with the good humour of self-mockery. He was all festooned lace and velvet, gold and silver buckles and embroidery. He walked with the aid of a monstrous decorated pole and he stank of Hungary Water. His hat had a huge brim weighted down with white and silver feathers and his little beard and moustache were trimmed to the perfection demanded of the most foppish French courtier. His sword, of delicate workmanship, seemed of no use to him at all as he stared at me with a quizzical eye and then made one of those elaborate bows which I have never been able to imitate.

“Good morrow to thee, gentlemen,” lisped the dandy. “I am enchanted to make your acquaintance.”

“We’re not here to pass the time of day with men dressed as women,” said Sedenko, scowling. “We await the coming of a great sage, a hermit of the wisest disposition.”

“Aha, forgive me. I will not keep you long, in that case. Pray, what are your names, sirs?”

“I am Ulrich von Bek, Captain of Infantry, and this is my companion Grigory Petrovitch Sedenko, swordsman. And yours, sir?”

“My name, sir, is Philander Groot.”

“The hermit?” cried Sedenko in astonishment.

“I am a hermit, sir, yes.”

“You don’t look like a hermit.” Sedenko put his hand on the hilt of his sabre and strode forward to inspect the apparition.

“Sir, I assure you that I am, indeed, a hermit.” Groot became polite. He was distant.

“We heard you were a holy man,” Sedenko continued.

“I cannot be held responsible for what others hear or say, sir.” Groot drew himself up. He was somewhat shorter than Sedenko, who was no giant. “I am the same Philander Groot for whom you were looking. Take me or leave me, sir. This is all there is.”

“We had not thought to find a dandy,” said I, by way of apologizing for Sedenko’s frankness. “We imagined someone in homespun cloth. The usual sort of garb.”

“It is not my way to fulfill the expectation of my fellow creatures. I am Groot. Groot is who I am.”

“But why a dandy?” Sedenko sighed and turned away from us.

“There are many ways of keeping one’s distance from the world,” said Groot to me.

“And many others to keep the world at a distance from oneself,” I added.

“You appreciate my drift, Sir Knight. Self-knowledge, however, is not self-salvation. You and I have a fair way to go in that direction, I think. You through action and I, coward that I am, through contemplation.”

“I believe that I lack the courage for profound self-examination, Master Groot,” said I.

He was amused. “Well, what a fine man we should be, if we were combined into one! And how self-important, then, we could become!”

“I was told, Master Groot, that you might wish to hear my story and, that once you had heard it, you might wish to give me a clue or two to the solution of my problem.”

“I am curious,” admitted this gamecock philosopher, “and will be glad to pay for entertainment with information. You must rely on me, however, to set the price. Does that go against your wishes?”

“Not at all.”

“Then, come, we shall take a walk together in the forest.”

Sedenko looked back. “Careful, captain. It could be a trap.”

“Grigory Petrovitch,” I said, “if Master Groot had wished to ambush us, he could have done so at any time, surely.”

Sedenko pushed his sheepskin cap high on his head and grumbled something before kicking violently at a clump of flowers.

Philander Groot linked his elegant arm in mine and we began to walk until we reached the stream. At its banks we paused.

“You must begin, sir,” he said.

I told him where I was born and how I had come to be a warrior. I told him of Magdeburg and what followed. I told him of Sabrina. I told him of my meeting with Lucifer and of my journey to Hell. I told him of the bargain, of Lucifer’s expectations. I told him what it was I sought—or rather what I thought it was.

We walked along the bank of the stream as I spoke and he nodded, murmured his understanding and very occasionally asked for clarification. He seemed delighted by what I had to say, and when I had finished he tugged at my arm and we stopped again. He removed his plumed hat and stroked at his carefully made curls. He fingered his little beard. He smiled and looked at the water. He brought his attention back to me.

“The Grail exists,” he said. “And you are sensible to call it that because it frequently takes the form of a cup.”

“You have seen it?” I asked.

“I believe I have seen it, on my travels, sir. When I travelled.”

“So the legend of the Pure Knight deceives us?”

“It depends somewhat upon your definition of purity, I think,” said Groot. “But suffice to say the thing is useless in the hands of one who would do evil with it. And as to the definition of evil, we can accept the crude, commonplace definition well enough here, I think. A certain amount of altruism exists in all of us and if properly maintained and mixed with appropriate self-interest, it can produce a happy man who gives offence neither to Heaven nor to Hell.”

“I have heard that you refuse loyalty to either God or the Devil,” I said.

“That’s true. I doubt if I shall ever choose sides. My investigations and my philosophy do not lead me in their direction at all.” He shrugged. “But who knows? I am yet a relatively young man …”

“You accept their existence, however?”

“Why, sir, you confirm it!”

“You believe that I have been the guest of Lucifer, that I am now His servant?”

“I must accept it, sir.”

“And you will help me?”

“As much as I can. The Grail can be found, I believe, in a place known as the Forest at the Edge of Heaven. You will discover it, I am sure, marked on your charts. It lies on the farthest border of Mittelmarch. You must find it in the west.”

“And are there any rituals I must follow?” I asked Philander Groot. “I seem to recall…”

“Ritual is the truth made into a child’s game, at best. You will know what is for the best, I am sure.”

“You can give me no more advice?”

“It would be against all I believe should I do so. No, Sir Knight, I have told you enough. The Grail exists. You will find it, almost certainly, where I said it can be found. What more could you need?”

I smiled in self-mockery. “Reassurance, I suppose.”

“That must come from your own judgment, from your own testing of your conscience. It is the only kind of reassurance worth having, as I am sure you would agree.”

“I agree, of course.”

We were now walking back towards the glade. Groot mused. “I wonder if any object can cure the World of its Pain. It must be more than that. Would you say that your Master is desperate, captain?”

“His layers of defiance and rationalization seem to fall away,” I told the hermit, “to reveal little else but desperation. But can an angel fall so low in spirit?”

“There are entire monasteries, vast schools, debating such issues.” Groot laughed. “I would not dare to speculate, Sir Knight. The Nature of Angels is not a branch of philosophy which captures my imagination much. Lucifer, I would say, cannot actually deceive an omniscient God, so therefore God must already know that the Grail is sought. If Lucifer has another purpose than the one He has told you, then God already knows it and continues, to some degree at least, to permit your Quest. This is the sort of talk which idle scholars prefer. But it is not for me.”

“Nor for me,” I said. “If I find the Grail and redeem my soul, that will be enough. I can only pray that Lucifer keeps His bargain.”

“To whom do you pray?” asked Groot, with another smile. The question was rhetorical. He shook his hand to show that he was not serious.

“You seem an unusual subject of Queen Xiombarg,” I said. “Or perhaps I misjudge her and this land.”

“You probably misjudge the Queen and her country,” he said, “but whether you do or you don’t I can assure you that is all of Mittelmarch there is no more tranquil a valley, and tranquility, at present, is what I seek above anything else, at this stage of my life.”

“And do you understand the nature of Mittelmarch?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “I do not. All I know is that Mittelmarch could not survive without the rest of the world—but the rest of the world can survive without Mittelmarch. And that, I suspect, is what its denizens fear in you, if they fear anything at all.”

“You are not, then, from Mittelmarch originally?”

“I am from Alsatia. Few who dwell here were born here. This valley and one or two other places are exceptions. Some exist here as shadows. Some exist as shadows in your world. It is very puzzling, captain. I am not brave enough to look at the problem with a steady eye. Not as yet. I have a feeling that if I did, I should die. Now, you will be wanting to be gone from the Valley of the Golden Cloud, eh? And on your way. I will escort you to the Western Gate. A trail will lead you through the mountains and onto a good road out of Mittelmarch.”

“How shall I know which road it is?”

“There are not many roads in these parts, captain.”

We had returned to the glade where a frowning Sedenko awaited us. “I believed you murdered or kidnapped, Captain von Bek.”

I felt almost lighthearted. “Nonsense, Grigory Petrovitch! Master Groot has been of considerable help to me.”

Sedenko sniffed at the strong odour of Hungary Water. “You trust him?”

“As much as I can trust myself.”

Groot beckoned. “Pack your goods, gentlemen. I will walk with you to the Western Gate.”

When we were ready to ride, the little dandy removed a lacy kerchief from his sleeve and mopped his brow beneath his hat. “The day grows warm,” he said. With his tall cane held at a graceful angle, he began to stroll back to the road. “Come, my friends. You’ll be out of here by nightfall if we hurry.”

We walked our horses in Groot’s wake as he moved rapidly along, more like a dancing master than anything else, humming to himself and commenting on the beauties of the fields and cottages we passed on our way, until at length we reached the far side of the valley and a gatehouse very similar to that by which we had entered. Here, Groot hailed the guard.

“Friends are leaving,” he said. “Let them pass.”

The guard, in the same livery as we had seen before, moved his horse aside and the portcullis was raised. At the gate Philander Groot paused, looking out at the trail, which wound up and up until it reached the golden mist. His expression was hard to read. I thought for a moment his eyes were those of a prisoner or an exile yearning to go home, but when he turned his face to me he had the same controlled, amused expression. “Here we are, captain. I will wish you good luck and good judgment on your Quest. It would be pleasing if we could meet again, in the fullness of time. I shall follow your adventure, as best I can, from here. And I shall follow it with interest.”

“Why not come with us?” I said impulsively. “We should be encouraged by your company and I for one would be glad of your conversation.”