The Sorcerer's House

by Gene Wolfe

  "Half the time, wives don't."

  "I'd never even considered the possibility. George isn't--or I never thought he was . . ."

  Kate said, "My donuts are cooling, and everything else is ready. What do you say we go in?"

  I had expected vegetable; but the soup was oxtail, with sherry stirred into it just before serving. I could have made a meal of that and I told them so.

  "It's was Ray's favorite." Biddy smiled, happy to be reminded of better times. "Ray was my husband."

  "I think I saw his picture in the living room."

  "He was a sergeant, two years from retirement when he passed on, Mr. Dunn. We were going to take a cruise. I'd never been on one. You're not married, Mr. Dunn?"

  "No woman has ever been foolish enough, Biddy, and I thought we'd agreed upon Bax."

  Kate giggled. I had never heard a police officer giggle before, Millie, but I heard one then.

  Biddy said, "Only if you promise that you'll always call me Biddy."

  "I will, Biddy." I raised my right hand.

  "In that case, Bax, I know you'll tell me the truth. Why would woman be a fool to marry you?"

  "I will, but not all of it. I'm afraid you'll have to be satisfied with one good reason. I'm closemouthed. No woman wants a closemouthed man."

  "The more fools they. Do you drink, Bax?"

  I had been expecting that and shook my head. "I used to. I've given it up."

  "How long has it been?"

  I considered. "Three years and ten months now. Almost eleven."

  "That sounds rather permanent, and you have to call me Biddy."

  "It is, Biddy."

  "What about gambling? Cards? Dice?"

  "Horses. And the answer's the same. I used to, but I gave it up. In that case, I gave it up because I had to. I ran out of money. Later when I'd gotten more, I realized that if I began again I'd lose it--that in the long term, my chance of coming out ahead was zero. So I stopped."

  "Roulette?" Kate asked. "Did you go to casinos?"

  "No. Only to racetracks."

  "Kate," Biddy said firmly, "has no bad habits."

  "Oh, Mom!"

  "Well, you don't, Katie."

  "I do so! I squeeze the toothpaste in the middle. The floor of my room's paved with magazines. I put things off. I--well, lots more."

  Curious, I asked whether curiosity was a bad habit.

  "Not in a cop, Bax."

  "Then perhaps I ought to become one. I'm curious about my house, you see. You and I talked about it a bit when you gave me a lift home. I realize that Mr. Black, who used to own it, has been gone for some time. But I'm not at all sure how long that time has been. Do either of you have any idea?"

  "Since I was a little kid," Kate said.

  "That cannot have been very long, surely."

  "Well, I'm twenty-four, and I'm pretty sure the Black House was already empty when I was ten."

  Biddy made a small sound that might have been a cough. "I've seen him since then, Kate. I know I did."

  At that moment, Millie, I knew how a hound must feel when it catches the scent. I said, "You've seen him? Why this is delightful! Do you know, Biddy, you're the first person I've found who has? What did he look like?"

  "You sound as if you think he's dead, Mr. Dunn." She snapped her fingers. "Oh, there I go! Bax, I mean."

  "I suppose I must. It's just that everyone talks as if he's dead. You don't believe he is?"

  "I saw him in some store just a few years ago. He was alive and looked well."

  Kate fidgeted. "I think you must've mistaken somebody else for him, Mom."

  "Well, I don't. I told Mr. Dunn--"

  I interrupted. "Please call me Bax, Biddy, and tell me what he looked like."

  "Well, he's small, not a whole lot taller than I am, and has a big nose. One of those noses that look like you could split firewood with it. Do you know what I mean?"

  "I believe I do."

  "Wavy hair--towhead going gray--and rather a pale complexion, I believe. Snapping black eyes."

  Kate said, "Blonds almost never have dark eyes, Mom."

  "Well, he might bleach it. I see brown-eyed blonds all the time."

  I said, "I've seen blond men with dark eyes, I feel sure. Not many, but a few. How did you know the man you were seeing was Mr. Black?"

  "Because I remembered him from when he lived in the Black House, that's all. People use to point him out."

  "Have you ever spoken to him? Did he ever speak to you?"

  Biddy shook her head. "No, I just saw him in this store. There was a woman with him, and they were buying something. I've seen her around town, but I don't know her name."

  "I see. I wish I knew where he is now. I'd like very much to talk with him."

  Biddy hesitated. "I could call you if I ever see him again."

  Kate said, "Have you seen the woman since then? Can you describe her? I think that's what Bax is getting at."

  "I think so. Wait a minute. She was wearing a charcoal-gray dress, I'm sure. High heels. I remember those because I noticed she looked a little bit taller than he did and looked at her shoes. She'd have been about his height in flats."

  "She's probably changed her dress by this time."

  "Don't be sarcastic, Kate. I was trying to remember how she looked, and the first thing I remembered was that dress. Charcoal-gray and very plain, but it looked like good wool. Brown hair a little shorter than mine. Too much lipstick."

  "Oh, Mom!"

  "Well, it was. She was quite an attractive woman, though. Stylish. She had a good figure. I'm a bit too stout, and I know it. She wasn't."

  I said, "Please try to guess her age. It doesn't have to be exact."

  "Younger than I am, but older than Kate. About your age, Mr. Dunn, or a little older than that. Younger than Mr. Black, though. How old are you?"

  "Forty-one. How old would you say he was?"

  "I really don't know, but at least fifty. He could be older. He's one of those small, active men. They . . ." She snapped her fingers.

  Kate said, "What is it?"

  "I just remembered where I saw him. What store they were in. It was in that store where they sell footballs and helmets. All Sorts, or something like that?"

  I asked, "Could it be All Sports?"

  Kate nodded, and Biddy said, "That's it. Kate had run out of gun-cleaner. She's got to go to the range twice a year. Ray used to do it, too."

  "We put forty rounds through our Glocks," Kate told me. "Slow fire, rapid fire, one-handed right and one-handed left, ten rounds each way. That's how we qualify. A bull's-eye is ten, and your score has to be three hundred or better."

  "She had asked me to pick her up some, so I was in there waiting for the man to wait on me. He was busy with Mr. Black. Could they make a special gunpowder for him?"

  I shook my head. "I doubt it very much."

  "Well, they kept talking about Black powder."

  The pistols Alexander Skotos left me use black powder, Millie; and when I heard that, I felt sure that Skotos was Mr. Black, something that I have suspected almost from the beginning. I felt--I still feel--like Sherlock Holmes. I have bought a little notebook, and another pen as well. When I got home I made notes on my conversation with Kate and Biddy.

  And now I must do this and that, and prepare for dinner with Doris and Jake.

  Forever your loving friend,

  Bax

  Number 27

  REMEMBER THE PISTOLS?

  Dear Shell:

  Thank you for your information. Believe me, it has been helpful to me. I believe the Greek was the man I mentioned in my earlier letter. That seems just about certain. It is the identity of the tall man with him that puzzles me. At this point I have no idea who he was; but I have been snooping here and snooping there, and I think that I am getting close.

  Please keep asking around, and let me have anything you find out. Anybody who is with the Greek or seems to be working for him is of great interest to me.

  I hav
e made up a package for you. I am going to put it into the mail today. There are cigarettes, cigars, gum, and candy in there. Things you will want and things you may be able to trade. (Here I am telling you, when you were the friend who wised me up to begin with.) I have also signed you up for some magazine subscriptions, ones I think you may like. Your first issues should be arriving soon. Let me know what you think of them, and whether there are others you would like to get. I will see to it.

  Should I send some money to your wife? Let me know. I do not want to do that without your imprimatur.

  Remember the dueling pistols I told you about? I have done a little shooting with one now. I hit the animal, but it was just about on top of me and I could hardly miss. Any tips on loading and firing pistols like mine will be greatly appreciated.

  Yours sincerely,

  Bax

  Number 28

  CHERCHEZ LA FEMME

  Dear George:

  I trust that Millie has found you a lawyer by now, or that you have found one for yourself. You may recall that I volunteered to engage one on your behalf in an earlier missive. Receiving no response, I have not acted.

  Even so, I have done what I could. The policewoman you struck--three times, I believe? Or was it four? This policewoman will clearly be the most important witness against you. I have spoken to her and endeavored to soften her opinion. I cannot help but remark that the accusations of brutality you have leveled against her partner were less than helpful in this regard, although they may have been tactically shrewd.

  Enough of that. You are no doubt better informed regarding your own case than I am.

  You believe I am deranged. I resent it, George, yet I shall allow it. Possibly you will laugh at my ravings, but there can be little merriment in your present situation. I welcome your hilarity; if you are wise, you will treasure all that I provide.

  Furthermore, I must point out that it is you, the sane twin, who is confined at present. I am entirely sincere in wishing your confinement short, and I will do my utmost to amuse you until your release.

  I had expected the locksmith yesterday afternoon. There is a trunk strapped to the back of the limousine I discovered in my garage. I think I may have mentioned it. Although Joe (I cannot recall his surname) had said it was light, I was eager to examine its contents. The locksmith, Les Nilsen, was to open it for me. He telephoned shortly before I was ready to go out to dinner and warned me that he would be late, although he would come. I told him that the limousine was parked in my driveway and the trunk was readily accessible. He might call upon the butler whose existence so greatly offended you if he required help.

  I was to dine (I do not believe I have mentioned this to you previously) with Doris Griffin and Jake Jacobs, a salesman from her office. Jake and Doris had settled on a Chinese restaurant, the Garden of Happiness.

  "It's only Chinese," Doris told me when she picked me up, "and I know you must've eaten Chinese a thousand times. Everybody has. But Medicine Man's not what you would call big on exotic cuisines, the Garden of Happiness is clean and quiet, and the food's really very good."

  "Are the portions plentiful?" I asked.

  Doris grinned. "Absolutely. Guaranteed."

  "In that case I assent most readily. I had a good lunch, but we ate early and now that seems a long, long time ago. Let's go!"

  Jake is short and stocky and white-haired. I would think that he must be close to retirement. He shook my hand (of course), thanked me with apparent sincerity for joining him, and invited us to sit down.

  "Doris said you wanted to ask me about old Black, the previous owner of your house. I don't believe I ever met him, even though I heard a lot about him." Jake chuckled. "There were stories. And I mean what I say--stories. I doubt that there was a word of truth in any of them."

  Doris was looking at the menu. "The dim sum's good here."

  "If we order that," I told her, "we'll be interrupted every few minutes. Wouldn't it be better just to order dinner?"

  She nodded. "Good thinking."

  As you know, George, I am far too familiar with prison food; it would be cruel for me to torment you with details in my description of our dinner. I shall pass in silence over the three appetizers we shared. As Doris implied earlier, we have all dined in Chinese restaurants. Let it suffice to say that Doris and I ordered the specialty of the house, Stuffed Duck With Eight Precious Ingredients, and that Jake chose the Chinese Barbecued Pork.

  "I wish you had met Mr. Black," I told Jake when our waitress had gone. "I have yet to speak with anyone who did."

  Jake looked thoughtful. "There must be quite a few around town."

  "I hope so. Do you know anything about the house? Anything concerning its history, I mean."

  "It was one of the first in this area. I know that. Might be older than the town. Maybe you've had a look at the foundation?"

  It had never occurred to me to do so; I shook my head.

  "Well, I'd do it if I were you. It's most apt to be stone. That's how they built 'em then. Thick stone walls to hold up the house and a dirt floor in the basement. It would be concrete now, with a concrete floor."

  Recalling a promise, I told him I would look that night.

  My remark made Doris drop her chopsticks. "Are you really planning to go down into the cellar tonight, Bax? After dinner? You're not kidding?"

  You may recall, George, that I had promised to be Cathy Ruth's source in the Black House--you may, that is, if you bothered to read my earlier letter. Now I explained that I had promised her a tour of the cellar. "I'm relying on her to keep George's name out of her paper," I told Doris, "so I had to toss her a bone. The trunk--which didn't interest her--and the cellar were all I could think of."

  "I'm coming with you."

  "That's very good of you, but if--"

  "No buts. You're going to need somebody to keep her in line, something you're much too much of a gentleman to do. That's me. We'll have a nice dinner here, Jake will pay and go home, and I'll drive you home and come along. It's all settled. Would you want to walk home at ten o'clock at night?"

  Smiling, I confessed that I would not.

  "So you need me. You'll need me tonight down in that cellar of yours, too."

  Jake grinned at us. "Let me know if there's wine."

  I must have looked surprised. "You know, it's entirely possible. In that house anything is possible."

  Doris said, "I thought you didn't drink."

  "I don't, but I may entertain, send gifts, and so forth. Besides, it would be interesting."

  Our soups arrived, hot-and-sour for Jake and me, and egg drop for Doris. While we sipped it (it seemed close to boiling), I asked Jake whether he recalled Mr. Black's first name.

  "Sure do. Can I let you in on a little sales secret, Mr. Dunn? I've been selling houses and lots for thirty years now."

  I said, "I'd like to hear it."

  "A salesman wants a name that's easy to remember but short and not hard to spell. Easy to remember means the client doesn't know other folks with the same name, or pretty much the same, so he gets them mixed up. Like I'm Jake Jacobs. You know anybody else with that name?"

  I stirred my soup and shook my head.

  "You don't, but it's easy to remember and anybody that can spell at all can spell it. So I'm interested in names. I notice the names of people in my business and watch how they make out. Take Doris. The name's short and easy, but you probably don't know any other Doris."

  "A nice smile helps, too," Doris put in.

  Jake grinned again. "Glad you said it, Doris, 'cause I wouldn't." He turned back to me. "Last name? Griffin. Sort of like a dragon. There aren't any, but everybody's got a picture of one in their head."

  "You're right," I said. "What about Mr. Black?"

  "I'm getting to it. He had an easy last name, and a first name that jumped out at you. It even gave him an initial not many have. Suppose you were looking for him in the phone book. There'd be a lot of Blacks, but only one Z. Black, right at the end.
"

  At that moment, George, I felt that my twenty-to-one shot was pounding around the final turn with a lead of four lengths.

  Doris said it for me, "What did the Z stand for?"

  "Zwart." Jake spelled it for us. "You know anybody with that name? I don't."

  Doris ignored his question. "What is it, Bax? Something just jerked your chain."

  "I think I may have met one of Mr. Zwart Black's sons, that's all. A young man told me his father's name was Zwart, and as Jake says there aren't a lot of people named Zwart. As a name, it's unique in my experience."

  "Mr. Black's son?"

  I nodded and sipped my soup, my thoughts whirling.

  Doris said, "Do you know, it had never even crossed my mind that Mr. Black might have had children. But I suppose he might have. People do."

  Jake said, "He was married. I know that for a fact."

  "You do?" Doris seemed almost as excited as I felt.

  "Sure do. They split up somehow. Divorced, or else he died. Something like that. Anyway, you're too young to remember the old A&I agency, but she went to work--"

  My cell telephone rang. Trying to catch my breath, I motioned Jake to silence and answered it.

  "Mr. Baxter Dunn?"

  I said it was.

  "This is Toby, your footman, Mr. Dunn."

  A footman? For some preposterous reason, I found myself picturing the footmen in Alice. I managed to say, "I didn't know I had a footman."

  Toby coughed, a short bark that sounded a trifle embarrassed. "I was engaged at--" He coughed again, not quite so loudly. "You engaged me when you engaged your butler, Mr. Dunn, sir."

  "Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Toby."

  "The locksmith is here, sir. He has solved the lock of the trunk you desired him to open."

  "Good. Please ask him to leave his bill. I'll take care of it."

  "He has a question, sir. As do I, sir. We wish to know whether you desire us to open the trunk? We can leave it undisturbed to await your return, sir, should you prefer it. There are clasps, sir. You will recall those, I'm sure. A bit rusty, sir. There are big straps, too. And an odd sort of odor about everything, sir, if I may be so bold."