“For example,” said Madame Esme, “do not go on a Sunday after she has lost a sol or two at her game.”
“Also, and most important!” said Madame Katrin. “Do not go out accompanied by a dog! Last year her grandnephew Baron Parter went to call on her, along with his mastiff. As soon as the dogs saw each other it was instant warfare, with yowling and snapping and yelping such as was never heard before! Some of the Countess’ dearest little friends were discomfited, and young Baron Parter was sent away faster than he had come, along with his mastiff.”
“Those are two good hints,” said Wayness. “What else?'
Madame Esme said: “There is no harm in telling the truth! The Countess is a dragon, and not sympathetic.'
Madame Katrin flung her arms into the air. “And stingy? Ah, there has never been the like! She buys my journals, but only after they are a month old, when I sell them at half-price. For this reason, she is always a month behind in her life.”
“It is ridiculous” said Madame Stasia. “If the world came to an end, Countess Ottilie would not know until a month had passed.'
“Time to close up shop,” said Madame Katrin. “Now I must see about a bite of supper for Leppold. He has been fishing all day and caught not so much as a sparrow. I’ll open a packet of mackerel, which will give him something to think about.”
Wayness left her new friends and returned to the inn. There was no telephone in her room and she was obliged to use a booth in the corner of the lounge. She called Fair Winds; Pirie Tamm's image appeared on the screen.
Wayness told of her discoveries to date. “Countess Ottilie seems even more of a termagant than I had expected, and I doubt if she will be helpful.'
“Let me think this over,” said Pirie Tamm. “I will call you back shortly.”
“Very well. Still, I wish — ' Wayness looked over her shoulder as someone came into the lounge. She checked her speech and at Fair Winds her face left the screen. Pirie Tamm raised his voice. “Wayness? Are you there?' Wayness' face returned to the screen. “I'm here. For a moment I was — “ She hesitated.
'You were what?' Pirie Tamm demanded sharply.
'Nervous. Wayness looked over her shoulder once again. “I think that when I left Fair Winds I was followed — at least for a time.'
'Explain, if you please.'
“There isn’t much to explain, maybe nothing. When I left Fair Winds a vehicle followed my cab to Tierens, and I glimpsed a face with a black mustache. At Shillaway I doubled back and saw him distinctly: a stocky little man, rather meek-looking, with a black mustache. Afterwards, I did not see him again.”
'Ha!” said Pirie Tamm in a dispirited voice. “I can only advise vigilance.”
“That is the same advice I have been giving myself,' said Wayness. “After Shillaway no one seemed to be following me but I was not at all happy. I remember reading of tags and spy-cells and other such intricate devices, and I began to wonder. At Draczeny I took time to examine my cloak, and for a fact I found something suspicious: a little black shell half the size of a ladybug. I took it into the station restaurant and when I hung up my cloak, I tucked the shell under the collar of a tourists long coat. I took the omnibus to Tzem and the tourist flew off to Zagreb or some such place.'
“Well done! Though I cannot imagine who would be following you.”
“Julian, if he were dissatisfied with what he found at Croy.”
Pirie Tamm made a dubious sound. “Whatever the case, you seem to have slipped them off handily. I too have been busy, and I think you will approve of my arrangements. You may or may not be aware that Count Raul was a horticulturist of note; indeed, it was for this reason that he became such an ardent Society member. To make a long story short I have ranged far and wide among the few connections I have left, with good result. Tonight Baron Stam, who is Countess Ottilie’s cousin, will make an appointment for you. I will have full details later this evening, but, as it stands now, you will be identified as a student of botany, who wishes to look through Count Raul's papers on the subject. If you are able to ingratiate yourself with Countess Ottilie, no doubt you will have an opportunity to put other apparently casual questions to her.'
“That sounds reasonable,' said Wayness. 'When do I present myself?'
“Tomorrow, since he will telephone Mirky Porod this evening.'
“And my name is still Wayness Tamm?'
''We saw no good reason for a false identity. However, do not stress your connection with the Naturalist Society.”
'I understand.”
Halfway through the morning Wayness climbed aboard the rickety old conveyance which connected Tzerm with a few even more remote villages to the east. After a ride of three miles up and down hills, through a dark deep forest, for a space beside the River Sogor, Wayness was discharged in front of a massive iron portal which guarded the avenue leading to Mirky Porod. The gates were open and the gatekeeper's lodge was deserted; Wayness set off up the avenue, which after two hundred yards swung around a copse of firs and hemlock to reveal the facade of Mirky Porod.
Wayness had often noticed in old buildings a quality which transcended character to become something close to sentience. She had wondered about this trait: was it real? Had the structure absorbed vitality over the years, perhaps from its occupants? Or was the condition imaginary: a projection of the human mind?
Mirky Porod, basking in the morning sunlight, seemed to demonstrate such a sentience: a reflective and tragic grandeur, enlivened by a certain frivolous insouciance, as if it felt neglected and tired but was too proud to complain.
The architecture — so it appeared to Wayness — neither obeyed nor defied convention, but, rather, seemed innocently oblivious to aesthetic norms. Exaggerations and excesses of mass were countered by playful elongations of form; subtle surprises were everywhere. The towers, north and south, were too squat and too heavy, with roofs too tall and too steep. The roof of the main structure showed three gables, each with its balcony. While the gardens were not impressive, a vast lawn extended from the terrace to a far line of sentinel cypress trees. It was as if someone of a romantic temperament had made a quick sketch on a scrap of paper and had ordained a structure with proportions exactly as sketched, or perhaps the inspiration had been a picture in a child’s book of fairy tales.
Wayness pulled at the bell chain. The door was presently opened by a plump young maid, not much older than herself. She wore a black uniform with a white lace cap to confine her blonde hair Wayness thought that she seemed a trifle surly and out of sorts, though she addressed Wayness politely enough. “Yes, miss?”
'My name is Wayness Tamm. I have an appointment with Countess Ottilie for eleven o'clock.”
The maid’s blue eyes widened in mild surprise. “Do you now we haven’t had too many visitors of late. The Countess thinks that everyone is out to steal her, or sell her fake jewels, or steal her things. In the main, of course, she is right. That is my view of it, at least.”
Wayness laughed. “I've nothing to sell and I'm too timid to steal.'
The maid smiled wanly. 'Very well, I'll take you to the old creature, for all the good it will do you. Just mind your manners and praise her dogs. What was your name again?”
'Wayness Tamm.”
“This way, then. She's taking her elevenses out on the lawn.'
Wayness followed the maid across the terrace and down to the lawn. Fifty yards away, solitary as an island in a green ocean, the Countess sat at a white table, in the shade of a green and blue parasol. She was surrounded by a band of small fat dogs, all sprawled in attitudes of repose. Countess Ottilie herself was tall and gaunt, with a long sharp face, haggard cheeks, a long crooked nose with large nostrils, and a long jaw. Her white hair, parted in the middle, had been drawn to the nape of her neck and tied into a knot. She wore an ankle-length blue gown of filmy stuff and a pink jacket.
At the sight of Wayness and the maid the Countess cried out: “Sophie! Here at once!”
Sophie made no reply. The Countess silently watched I them approach.
