The souls on the hill watched, and whispered. But no one alerted the Countess or Oedipus or Rex. X found it touching. The servant had taken it upon herself to tend to the souls after they’d been brutalized on the altar—helped them for no reason other than that she was kind. They were grateful. They would not betray her. X thought of the Ukrainian, and wished he’d stayed long enough to see this display of solidarity.
The servant made it to the plateau, and stole toward the box on the bed. Vesuvius seemed to hear her. His cries changed: Who’s there? Do I know you? X was consumed with a need to know the servant woman’s name. He hated interrupting Plum while he meditated, but he couldn’t help himself. He touched his arm.
“I apologize, but …,” he began.
Plum opened his eyes. He saw the servant, and the color drained out of his face.
“She has tried to get to the cat before,” he said. “She’s never succeeded.”
He scanned the hill for the Countess.
“The lord is down below,” X told him.
“But she’ll be back,” said Plum.
“What is the servant’s name?” said X.
“I’ve always wondered,” said Plum.
“I am sorry I disturbed you,” said X. “I suppose I didn’t want to be alone.”
“It’s perfectly all right,” said Plum. “Have you heard the expression ‘That’s what friends are for’?”
“I have not,” said X.
Plum smiled his gentle smile.
“I guess it isn’t said much around here,” he said.
X and Plum watched the servant creep toward the bed. Vesuvius cried louder in anticipation—I’m in here! I’m in here!—as if he was afraid she’d give up and turn away. The servant checked over her shoulder for the Countess. Everyone on the hill had their eyes fixed on her.
The woman removed the box’s lid, and—before she even had a chance to set it down on the bed—Vesuvius sprang into her arms. The cat was puffy and gray. Even X, who had no experience with cats whatsoever, could see he was handsome. Vesuvius seemed ecstatic not just to be released from his purgatory but to see the woman. He rubbed his face against her cheek, licked her neck, put a paw on her nose. It looked to X like the servant had started crying. She was talking to Vesuvius now. He responded with a high, urgent meow as if he had so many things to tell her.
“She needs to put him back in the box now,” said Plum nervously. “What is she thinking? She needs to put him back.”
Fear hit X’s veins and spread, like a drop of poison.
Before he could speak, the Countess came barreling up the hill.
“The Countess sees thy treachery, false jade!” she shouted at the servant.
She charged ahead so quickly that Oedipus and Rex fell behind. The servant tightened her hold on Vesuvius. It was clear to X she’d never let him go.
When the Countess reached the plateau, every torch on the hill extinguished, the ceiling lit up, and she and the servant were displayed for all to see. There was no cheering or bloodlust, which inflamed the Countess even more. No one wanted to see the woman suffer.
X found himself standing again.
For a second time, he hiked toward the Countess to stop her.
Plum begged him not to interfere. There was no time for an argument, so X just gave his friend a fond look and said, “But I have never met a cat before.”
He climbed, his legs aching. He kept one eye on the ceiling. Oedipus and Rex stood just behind the Countess now, frowning. They seemed to have no stomach for this either.
“Wouldst thou risk body and breath for a creature that does naught but wail?” the Countess asked the servant.
“Apparently,” said the servant.
Her tone reminded X of Zoe.
“Thou shalt regret thy impertinence,” said the Countess. “For YEARS, the Countess has let thee coddle the vermin on this hill. Now we shall see if any will bestir themselves to coddle THEE.”
She instructed the servant to put Vesuvius down unless she longed to see his insides. The servant set the cat on the ground, and shooed him tearfully away. The cat rubbed her leg, refusing to leave her. The woman had to stamp her foot to make him retreat under the bed.
“Vesuvius will always hate you,” the servant told the Countess, “because you stole him from me.”
The Countess yanked the woman’s apron off, and wound it around her throat. The servant’s neck flushed and flailed. Vesuvius howled helplessly.
Now that the servant’s apron had been torn away, X could see that a long row of buttons ran down the front of her dress.
They were bloodstone.
And one of them was missing.
So the servant had been his mother’s friend, not the lord. X found this far easier to understand.
“Release the woman,” he called out as he approached. “She will not satisfy your hunger any more than I did, for what sins could she be concealing? Nothing that would satisfy the likes of you, surely.”
The Countess whirled around. She looked outraged that X had returned, but the anger turned quickly to something like curiosity.
“’Tis true, this one will make but a paltry meal,” she said. “Yet thy interest in the matter intrigues. Dost thou care for this wretch? Perhaps the Countess has discovered a way to wound thee at last!”
She pulled the apron so tight around the servant’s neck that it was like a noose. X forced himself not to react.
The Countess scowled and threw the servant down.
“So this wretch is NOTHING to thee,” she said.
She stomped around the plateau, squeezing her blemish and trying to conjure a new plan for punishing X. Once again, she stopped referring to herself as if she were some exalted third party. Even the “thee”s and “thou”s fell away. X wondered if they too had been an affectation.
“You WILL kneel to me before I am through,” she told X. “You WILL fear me! You say Regent is grander than I? I will disabuse you of that notion!” She gestured at the servant on the ground. “Yet if you do not truly know this trifle of a person, her suffering will not wound you—not so deep as I should like.”
It struck X that he should be grateful that he’d lost so much, for now what could be used against him?
The Countess stopped circling suddenly. She grinned at X, her mouth a crack spreading fast across her face.
She called to Oedipus and Rex.
“Idiots!” she said. “Bring me Plum!”
Plum wept as he was dragged past. X expected his friend to curse him—he had every right. Instead, Plum begged a favor of him.
“Don’t watch my sins on the ceiling,” he said. “Please. I’m so ashamed of what I was. If you care for me at all, you won’t watch.” One of the boxers had pinioned Plum’s hands behind his back, so his tears spilled unchecked down his cheeks. “All right, friend? All right?”
Oedipus and Rex pulled him onward. X lunged at the boxers, but was batted away. He heard someone call his name from the crowd, but could not see who it was.
Plum was laid out on the altar, and the Countess pressed down on his chest. The torches went out, releasing traces of black smoke. The ceiling crackled to life. Thousands of faces turned upward, expectant as flowers.
Plum’s sins began to play. X kept his promise: he didn’t watch. Sounds assaulted his ears, but he dropped deep into himself and heard only an indecipherable mass of noise, like a wave crashing. Again, he heard a voice calling his name.
Eventually, the ceiling went silent. The torches reignited with a whoosh. Plum lay convulsing with tears.
The Countess’s face was wild with ecstasy. She’d been fed by Plum’s sins. Rejuvenated. The streaks of gray had disappeared from her hair, and her skin shone magnificently. Even the pimple was gone. She leaned down, tore Plum’s shirt open—and saw the long, livid scar that ran the full length of his torso.
“Ah, yes, the Countess remembers thee,” she said.
“Whatever you’re going to do, just do it,” cried Plum. “Just do it.”
His cries were harrowing. X saw Shiloh weeping in the crowd. He saw the Knight standing forlornly in his half suit of armor, like a dragon that had lost its scales.
“Just do it!” Plum cried again. “Cut me if you’re going to cut me. Just do it!”
Oedipus’s fist shot out and struck Plum hard. X felt rage boil up in him, then realized that what Oedipus had done had been a kindness. He’d knocked Plum unconscious so he wouldn’t feel the pain.
The Countess, comprehending this, too, jabbed Oedipus’s shoulder with the knife.