by Gene Wolfe
“Only that a Dr. Fevre was doing research there. Is it nice?”
I shook my head. “No, it isn’t, and I haven’t the slightest desire to go back there.”
Baston put in, “Ice caves don’t sound like someplace a man would hanker to bunk at.”
“Apparently Dr. Fevre took this Ricci girl off the island. If what you say is true, I applaud him for it.”
Picking up speed, our flitter laid back its wings.
19
AT HOME WITH THE HEATHS
“Our home is what’s called a progressive purlieu,” Ms. Heath explained. Her voice was warm with pride. “It grows as our income increases. Last year there was no billiard room, for example. We live in a living thing, but not as parasites. We feed, protect, and groom it.”
Like living inside a tree, I thought; but it seemed best to keep the thought to myself. That thought had waked a dozen memories.
“Your place will be in the library, Ern Smithe. Baston’s already familiar with every room of it and can explain their features.”
“It’s lovely,” I said, still looking at the house. “A beautiful home, and an imposing one.”
“Thank you!” Ms. Heath sounded as though she meant it. “Have you ever been to Venice?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. I can only hope to tour Italy someday.”
“Long, long ago they built palaces on water there. Most have washed away now, but a few of the best have been documented and preserved. We recommended the plan and general appearance of those palaces to our own program here.” For a second or two Ms. Heath paused, hesitating (I suppose) to explain something I might be familiar with already. “One can do that. Make constructive suggestions, whether the buildings you recommend are castles or cottages.”
Baston nudged me. “You git her to show you the big ballroom, Smithe. Forty acres I trow if it’s bigger’n my neck rag.”
The flitter dropped alarmingly, then scooted toward the gaping roof of a hangar. As it settled to the hangar’s smooth metal floor, I tried to digest the brief glimpse of the house our flight had given me, all the sharp roof peaks and wide domes, the glittering towers with airy turrets planted in rose-rich gardens.
Baston and I got out; the flitter lifted off at once, folded back dark wings, and was gone.
“This here house,” Baston explained when we had left the hangar, “keeps on buildin’ itself so long as folks live on the inside.”
I asked how fast it built.
“Depends on how much money they give it. It’s gotta eat. Gotta buy groceries. That’s lumber, nails, bricks, plumbing an’ all the rest, same as a contractor would. After that, it depends on the size. The bigger it is already, the faster it kin build more. It’s a real big ’un now, an’ can put on two little rooms per one day. Two littles or one big. What we’re seein’ now”—he waved at the house—“is a pretty fair size already.”
It certainly was. I nodded.
“A’ course funny wants kin slow the buildin’ down some. Damage, the same. It fixes itself then ’stead of buildin’ new.”
I ventured that it sounded like magic.
“I s’pose, only it ain’t real magic, you know. By an’ by you an’ me had best have us a little talk ’bout the real thing.”
“Also ghosts, apparently,” I said.
“We kin talk ’bout them soon as you’ve seen a couple.” Baston paused. “Seein’ helps make everthin’ clear. That’s ghosts an’ money both.”
At the front of the house, Baston spoke to the wide door, which swung back silently at once. “Didn’t welcome us,” he remarked to me.
I nodded. “Yes, I noticed.”
“If we’d of had a fully human with us, somebody like Miz Heath, we’d of had that. It knows.” Under his breath Baston added, “A fully human—or big money.”
I cleared my throat. “Perhaps we should go into the room in which ghosts are most likely.”
“While the sun’s up, there’s none likely.” Baston’s hoarse voice had fallen to a murmur. “Soon as sun’s gone, everwhere’s pretty likely.”
I began exploring; Baston followed me, three or four steps behind. In a few minutes I found a capacious, square room whose only window was a wide skylight. Little tables flanked divans and comfortable-looking chairs. A large screen occupied one corner, a cold fireplace another.
I sat down to think.
Baston chose an outlandish loveseat built (or so it appeared) of horsehide, horns, and antlers. “You figure to wait fer the ghosts here?”
“Yes, and to get something to eat, if I may.” I told the screen to show me the sun and the horizon below it. As I had expected, sunset was very near.
“You reckon you could order me something while you’re settin’ there, Ern?”
“Probably.” I nodded. “What would you like?”
“Whatever they got. I’ve et here afore, an’ it’s all been good.”
The screen supplied a list of suggestions. I chose two more or less at random.
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
I shook my head just as Baston said, “Nope!”
That one syllable seemed to hang in the air until Baston muttered, “You ask me that?”
I shook my head again. “I did not. And you didn’t ask me, either. The obvious answer is that the screen did, but the question seemed to come from behind me.”
“Well, I never did think it was you, not you nor that screen neither. There’s devilment after dark in this here house. We jest got our first taste.”
It seemed to me then that the room was growing darker, not because its lights were going out, but because a dark miasma had invaded its air. I managed, “What do they want?” without sounding quite as frightened as I felt.
“Them ghosts?” Baston paused, stroking his chin. “I don’t rightly know. They never say, or anyways not ter me. Mebbe they don’t know neither.”
I looked my next question.
“Well, they’d say so wouldn’t they? Tell us we got ter git it for ’em. Or else say hand it over, if they thought we had it already.”
“But Ms. Heath must think I have it, or know where it is. If she doesn’t, why did she check me out?”
“Don’t have to be that, Ern. Could be other reasons. Them librarians got her to take you is what she said. Why’d she lie about that?”
I sighed. “I’m certain she did not. They thought I was a malcontent, I’m afraid. They wanted me out of their library.”
“There’s more, Ern. Who was it jest now that wanted ter know if you b’lieved in ghosts? You got any ideas?”
Having none, I shook my head.
“Then we got a couple possibles. First one’s was it a ghost talkin’?” Baston fell silent, considering the chance of a talkative ghost. Then, “You buy that?”
“Not until all other possibilities are exhausted.”
“Same here. Way I see it, it was most likely the house. It kin talk, an’ look around inside itself too.” Baston paused, looking thoughtful. “You buy into that one?”
I nodded. “That’s the most probable explanation I’m sure, although it seems an unlikely question for a house to ask unless it is actually haunted.” A new thought struck me. “Or it fears that it is, or may be.”
Baston’s eyes searched the room before he agreed.
“Who would be haunting it, Buck? Have you any idea?”
Silently, he watched me.
“How many men have you killed with those guns of yours?”
I had feared his anger, but the question seemed to have flattered him. “Fully humans, you mean? Why, nary a one. None yet.”
“Men of any kind, including clones, reclones, and whatever else.”
Baston shook his head. “That right there’s a question I’d be a fool to answer. How ’bout you, Ern? Men, women, ’bots, babies, an’ kids. How many you done fer?”
I said, “None, I hope.”
“Ghosts don’t track a man down anyhow is what I’ve heard. It’s the hous
e gits haunted, not the man.”
I said, “Let’s hope you’re correct.”
“Well sir, I believe I am. If it gits bad, there’s ways ter lay ’em, too. Sometimes those works.”
“But you don’t know the rituals.” I found that I was smiling. “Neither do I.”
“We could put ’un together jest fer us, maybe.”
I considered it. “Perhaps.”
“Somebody done it once, didn’t they? It’s only weeds and winds come of theyselves.”
I nodded. “Now that you’ve brought the matter up, I remember something about laying ghosts. The text spoke of bell, book, and candle.”
“Think you could find us the right book? ’Cept for that, don’t none of it sound hard.”
“No, it doesn’t. We would pronounce a blessing over all three, after choosing an appropriate book.” I paused to consider; ritual would be necessary, though by no means difficult. “Then march three times around the house, while ringing the bell and reading suitable passages from the chosen book by the light of the candle.”
“You going to do that?”
I shook my head. “In the first place, we don’t have a candle, a handbell, or a suitable book. In the second—well, there are warnings against it. Casting out one set of spirits often results in their being replaced by another, generally worse. Wise men don’t expel spirits unless they judge them to be both ill-intentioned and dangerous. Are these our hostess’s problem?”
My question was answered not by Buck Baston but by a voice behind me. “Not at all. I am.”
I turned to look over the back of my chair, and saw what I momentarily took to be a dead man alive.
He smiled. “This house belongs to me. Although I did not invite you, you are entirely welcome here—at least until morning.”
With more presence of mind than I had just then, Baston drawled, “Miz Heath, she’ll have somethin’ to say. She thinks it’s hers.”
“She is mistaken, though I don’t argue the matter with her.”
I thought I had found my mental feet by then. I said, “I saw them carrying out your body … Doctor.” I was trying not to gulp. “Carrying your corpse.” I hesitated, and at last added, “You were dead.”
The smile widened. “I missed that spectacle. What was the cause of my death?”
“An arrow.” I pointed toward my neck.
“Ah! Savages! Mr. Baston here must be delighted.”
Behind me, Baston said, “I don’t go lookin’ fer trouble with ’em.”
“Wise man! Certainly wiser than the fool—”
The speaker was interrupted by the arrival of our food. He sniffed, then inspected it.
I said, “I can order something for you, if you like.”
“I would. Salmon, if the house still has it. Spinach and brown rice.”
I ordered, and he thanked me. “I want to get to the bottom of this haunted house nonsense, but my brother’s murder comes first. I’m sure you understand.”
That caught me off guard. I stared until Baston muttered that we did.
“Did my poor niece weep?”
“Yes.” I paused. “May I bring her in? She deserves to see that though your brother—is that correct? That although her father no longer walks among us, her uncle is still alive.”
“In a moment; and I am also alive, just as she is. Not still alive since I was not expected to die. Please order my supper.”
I explained that I had done that already, all the while listening to Baston’s hoarse chuckle. Being dead, this new Dr. Fevre was telling him, gives one an appetite.
It took me about five minutes to figure out how he had managed to remain alive though his brother was dead; anyone who happens to read this lengthy account has probably gotten it already. Just in case you haven’t, he had disappeared into this house, neither leaving it nor receiving visitors.
Baston stood and asked this new Fevre, “You want me to fetch Miz Heath?”
He shook his head. “She would surely feel that she was being treated like a servant in her own home. I’ll have an opportunity to introduce myself soon enough, I’m sure. When I do, I must be prepared to talk to her. What difficulties does she face?”
“Ghosts, apparently,” I said.
Fevre smiled. “Such as myself?” It was the smile of a parent told of some disagreement among his children.
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t consider you a ghost, though perhaps she will.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “No doubt the law would decide that I’m my own daughter’s ward. Only too often, it does that sort of thing. Is my daughter here?”
“I’m told she is, but I haven’t seen her.”
“She may be shocked.” Mr. Fevre paused to consider the matter. “We must minimize that if we can. I dare hope that—well…”
“I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.” A new thought struck me. “I’ve been told that ghosts are occasionally mistaken for living human beings, particularly at night.”
Mr. Fevre smiled as if quite genuinely amused. “How interesting! No doubt you also know the acid test used to distinguish between the living and the dead?”
I shook my head.
“A ghost may look and even feel quite solid, but a ghost cannot eat or drink. As soon as my salmon arrives, I shall be delighted to display my living humanity.”
“We never figured you for no spook,” Baston drawled. “Ain’t that salmon going to get cooked in the kitchen, though? My vittles too, an’ Ern’s I guess. We countin’ on Miz Heath to bring ’em out to us?”
Before Mr. Fevre or I could speak, Baston added, “She’s off runnin’ errands, is what she said. That grub’s goin’ to git cold afore she comes back.”
A ’bot stepped into the room as he finished speaking. “I shall be delighted to serve you, sir. It is my office.”
We asked it to serve our food as soon as it was ready, and busied ourselves rearranging furniture until the ’bot returned pushing a wheeled serving cart.
“You’re a detective, ain’t you?” Baston cut himself a piece of beefsteak. “What’s Miz Heath want with you? You know that?”
“I’m not actually a detective,” I explained, “just a writer who wrote books of the kind called mysteries. To populate my books, I contrived a lovely young model forced by circumstance to become a detective, an alligator hunter who hunted criminals for whom the authorities offered rewards, and a criminal who helped the police in order to defer his own arrest. Now I assume that Ms. Heath wishes to talk about one of my books.”
“What if she don’t?”
Before I could reply, Ms. Heath herself entered the room. Baston and I rose.
20
NIGHT AND DAY
“You haven’t seen a ghost?”
For some moments the question hung in the air between us. Finally I said, “I don’t think I have, although it’s said that ghosts often pass as living persons. We were talking about that a few minutes before you came in.”
“Do they really? I hope I never see it.” Ms. Heath dropped onto a spindly-legged chair and motioned for us to take our own seats.
I sat. “Is that why you checked me out? To lay a ghost for you? There must be many people better qualified than I am. I’ve never done it, but I’ll do my best if you want me to try.”
“No, of course not. Do you know of anyone else in the library who has laid a ghost? Anybody at all? If you do—”
I shook my head. “No one.”
“I checked you out to solve a mystery. Is that better? To protect me, too.”
I said, “Buck here would be a better bodyguard, I feel sure.”
“No doubt.” Ms. Heath favored Baston with a quick smile. “This gives me two of you, however. With both of you, I’m doubly protected—or so I hope. You haven’t asked me about the mystery.”
For half a second, I thought it over. “You’ll tell me whether I ask or not.”
“You’re right. It’s threefold, if you’ll allow that. First, what is the treasu
re hidden here?”
Baston leaned forward. “There’s treasure hid? Is this here real?”
Ms. Heath favored him with a wry smile. “It is said to be. I can’t swear to it.”
I asked, “Said to be by who?”
“The house.” She sighed. “Don’t try to cross-examine it. It doesn’t know where the treasure is, or why it was hidden. There you have the second secret I spoke of, and the third. Presumably it once knew those things.”
When neither Buck nor I spoke, she added, “Even human memories can be deleted; no doubt you know.”
I nodded reluctantly.
“Inorganic memories are easier, though it’s said that sometimes a trace remains. I’m told that an expert might uncover it.”
“I ain’t one,” Baston told her. “Neither’s Ern, or that’s my guess. Ern?”
I affirmed that he was correct, and asked why she had not called in an expert.
“It seems that all the experts are fully human. Are you aware of that? I looked high and low for one who wasn’t, and was told over and over that there were none.”
“No,” I said, “I didn’t know. What difference does that make?”
“A great deal. Their fees are—well, astronomical and far beyond my reach. I offered to share whatever they might find for me. I would take half and the expert half. My offer was declined.” Ms. Heath held out her hands in an unmistakable gesture. “I won’t offer you half, Mr. Smithe; but I’m making you the same offer I’ve already made Mr. Baston.”
I turned to him. “Did you take it?”
He nodded. “Sure did.”
“If we find the treasure,” Ms. Heath continued, “I will lie to the library, saying that I’ve lost you both and so forfeiting both my deposits. You will live here with me, in whatever wing of this enormous house you choose. You will be free to come and go as you wish, and will receive any reasonable amount of spending money whenever you ask for it.”
Baston and I stood when she rose.
“Meanwhile, you are to sleep here in the library,” she told us, “although you are free to move about the house and grounds as you wish. Your sleeping shelves are in the third room.”