The Best of Gene Wolfe

“Very well. I wish to hear the countess, and she wishes to talk with me. I assure you, Baron, that we will meet; the only question is whether it will be under your auspices.”

 T

he countess, to whom I was introduced that afternoon, was a woman in her early twenties, deep breasted and somber haired, with skin like milk, and great dark eyes welling with fear and (I thought) pity, set in a perfect oval face.

“I am glad you have come, monsieur. For seven weeks now our good Baron H——has sought this man for me, but he has not found him.”

“If I had known my presence here would please you, Countess, I would have come long ago, whatever the obstacles. You then, like the others, are certain it is a real man we seek?”

“I seldom go out, monsieur. My husband feels we are in constant danger of assassination.”

“I believe he is correct.”

“But on state occasions we sometimes ride in a glass coach to the Rathaus. There are uhlans all around us to protect us then. I am certain that—before the dreams began—I saw the face of this man in the crowd.”

“Very well. Now tell me your dream.”

“I am here, at home—”

“In this palace, where we sit now?”

She nodded.

“That is a new feature, then. Continue, please.”

“There is to be an execution. In the garden.” A fleeting smile crossed the countess’s lovely face. “I need not tell you that that is not where the executions are held; but it does not seem strange to me when I dream.

“I have been away, I think, and have only just heard of what is to take place. I rush into the garden. The man Baron H——calls the Dream-Master is there, tied to the trunk of the big cherry tree; a squad of soldiers faces him, holding their rifles; their officer stands beside them with his saber drawn, and my husband is watching from a pace or two away. I call out for them to stop, and my husband turns to look at me. I say, ‘You must not do it, Karl. You must not kill this man.’ But I see by his expression that he believes that I am only a foolish, tenderhearted child. Karl is . . . several years older than I.”

“I am aware of it.”

“The Dream-Master turns his head to look at me. People tell me that my eyes are large—do you think them large, monsieur?”

“Very large, and very beautiful.”

“In my dream, quite suddenly, his eyes seem far, far larger than mine, and far more beautiful, and in them I see reflected the figure of my husband. Please listen carefully now, because what I am going to say is very important, though it makes very little sense, I am afraid.”

“Anything may happen in a dream, Countess.”

“When I see my husband reflected in this man’s eyes, I know—I cannot say how—that it is this reflection, and not the man who stands near me, who is the real Karl. The man I have thought real is only a reflection of that reflection. Do you follow what I say?”

I nodded. “I believe so.”

“I plead again: ‘Do not kill him. Nothing good can come of it. . . .’ My husband nods to the officer, the soldiers raise their rifles, and . . . and . . .”

“You wake. Would you like my handkerchief, Countess? It is of coarse weave, but it is clean, and much larger than your own.”

“Karl is right—I am only a foolish little girl. No, monsieur, I do not wake—not yet. The soldiers fire. The Dream-Master falls forward, though his bonds hold him to the tree. And Karl flies to bloody rags beside me.”

 O

n my way back to my hotel, I purchased a map of the city, and when I reached my room I laid it flat on the table there. There could be no question of the route of the countess’s glass coach—straight down the Hauptstrasse, the only street in the city wide enough to take a carriage surrounded by cavalrymen. The most probable route by which Herr R——might go from his house to his bank coincided with the Hauptstrasse for several blocks. The path Fraulein A——would travel from her flat to the arcade crossed the Hauptstrasse at a point contained by that interval. I needed to know no more.

Very early the next morning I took up my post at the intersection. If my man were still alive after the fusillade Count von V——fired at him each night, it seemed certain that he would appear at this spot within a few days, and I am hardened to waiting. I smoked cigarettes while I watched the citizens of I——walk up and down before me. When an hour had passed, I bought a newspaper from a vendor, and stole a few glances at its pages when foot traffic was light.

Gradually I became aware that I was watched—we boast of reason, but there are senses over which reason holds no authority. I did not know where my watcher was, yet I felt his gaze on me, whichever way I turned. So, I thought, You know me, my friend. Will I too dream now? What has attracted your attention to a mere foreigner, a stranger, waiting for who-knows-what at this corner? Have you been talking to Fraulein A——? Or to someone who has spoken with her?

Without appearing to do so, I looked up and down both streets in search of another lounger like myself. There was no one—not a drowsing grandfather, not a woman or a child, not even a dog. Certainly no tall man with a forked beard and piercing eyes. The windows then—I studied them all, looking for some movement in a dark room behind a seemingly innocent opening. Nothing.

Only the buildings behind me remained. I crossed to the opposite side of the Hauptstrasse and looked once more. Then I laughed.

They must have thought me mad, all those dour burghers, for I fairly doubled over, spitting my cigarette to the