To the Scales!
The San Sebastian Chronicles, Part XX
We spilled into the yard between the house and the smith’s barn the way we’d come while Lady Paz and the positively gravitational Ugo took some circuitous back route, arriving a minute or so later. We gathered all together and then were led by Ugo at Lady Paz’s direction to a large postal scale, three longsteps on a side, with a dial at eye level on one side perched on an iron post. We milled around while Ugo checked the thing’s calibration with a neat sequence involving various bags of sand labeled with different weights and the twisting of a small key on the back of the device’s dial. This process was delayed somewhat by the fact that both the bags and the dial had marking for the metric system as well as San Sebastian’s inscrutable traditional units of weight, pondres, fliches, semisses, pennans, unicane, etc. and Ugo, like many Sebastianos, found himself doing some ponderous conversions, at one point having to start over entirely.
Continued from…
The sky had become overcast with low clouds down from the mountains while we had been inside, but the weather was still warm. We had finished the beer on our walk to this place, but I encouraged the others to begin work on some heavier foods — cheeses I used as an example — and the more voluminous libations, such as the less-alcoholic wines. This task they had not objected to in the slightest.
Lady Paz tapped me on the shoulder shortly after I’d lit my pipe.
“There’s still the matter of the fare, sir. And your name?”
“Of course, madame, please excuse my rudeness. In all the foofaraw about the weight and the mules, I’d forgotten to introduce us. I am Hauptsergente Charlemagne Mant, San Sebastian army. With me there is Undercorporal Desotto, my adjutant and batman. Those two are a British and American. Volunteers for the country, but now enlisted on our journey. And, as I mentioned, that is the, em, former regimental chaplain, Father Koblenza, a fine youngish Jesuit. Quite an addition to our journey. And, oh yes, that ganglous, overcooked noodle there is First Corporal-Major Tomasso, a subaltern I suppose you could say, at best. He is our bugler and bugletrist. How he achieved that rank I don’t know. I believe they hand out stripes with breakfast in the Margravial Bugle Corps. Not the same as it was, that unit.”
“Very well. That’s five. Plus two lightened mules. One hundred koroni.”
I spit smoke.
“A hundred! This is too dear! I can’t believe it. Lady Paz, I won’t presume to tell you your business but would would pay twenty koroni to go up a balloon on a wire.”
Lady Paz let out a sniff. “Hauptsergente, please. I have fixed costs and a base price. One hundred koroni to go up. People pay it every day. And a hundred more to come down.”
“Two hundred!” I tried to keep my voice down, but Desotto was coming over now.
“Hauptsergente, it is a simple matter. If fifteen tourists with no mules, then they split the fare and it is reasonable. The fewer passengers and more cargo, then the remaining passengers bear a larger fare. So, you see, it is the cargo. That is the important thing. The cargo you carry. In fact, the fare can change depending on the cargo. How quickly you need to take it up, or how quickly, usually, it needs to be brought down. And who it’s for. And what it is…”
I understood.
Desotto arrived.
“Desotto, stop the smorgasbord and get the mules. We are marching up. Lady Paz here thinks we are smugglers and thinks she can charge us two hundred koroni for the balloon ride up and back,” I said.
“That is quite an accusation!” said Desotto.
Lady Paz was unmoved. “I’ve made no accusations, army men. Because I don’t even know what you carry. Or why you are travelling. When I do not know such things, this is the price. But, you can rest assured, neither Ugo nor I will inspect your cargo. So are we in agreement?”
“But we are merely pilgrims!” Desotto said. “You can inspect our cargo, it is only standard outfitting for such a journey. Of course we have a lot of food and liquor because we thought it would be six or seven days’ travel.”
“Pilgrims?” asked Paz.
I tried to explain, “Well, what Desotto means is it is a personal trip.” I didn’t want to have this trail lead to Nuzzo or Gabler or giant, shadowy, butter-churning.
“Yes, for a confession,” Desotto nodded.
No, not a confession Desotto! I thought, but I couldn’t quite think of how to get this line of questioning out of the ditch.
“Confession? There’s a priest right there. You could save yourself the trip and buy champagne with your two hundred koroni in paper gains.”
Gus arrived, saying, “Pardon me. Shall we start weighing? Ugo has bid us over.”
“And you are Gus?” said Paz.
“Augustus Sloane-Fox, Lord Hinchingbrooke, madame,” Gus said with a bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. And might I compliment you on your airship. Quite a feat of engineering. Did you construct it yourself?”
“Please excuse us, Gus, we are discussing the fare. The corporal here was explaining how you are all on a pilgrimage.”
“Are we? How R.C.!”
Lady Paz cocked an eyebrow at me.
I stammered, “Well, you see, I hadn’t yet told Lord Gus here the exact nature of the journey. You see he’s actually a stretcher-bearer — ”
“Stretchers? Expecting some action then? Robbers perhaps? Or customs agents?”
“Not at all, it’s wartime though, and — ”
“Yes, and if it is wartime, why are you off on a pilgrimage instead of fighting at the front?”
Johnny had now arrived. He took off his garrison cap and said, “Pilgrimage? Listen I don’t begrudge you guys yer saints and yer prayers and all that Papist stuff. But where I’m from we ran away from all that black magic. I’m not to keen on going to see no statue bleedingfromitseyesornuthinlike’eeyet.”
“There will be no bleeding statues,” I pleaded. “It is not strictly a pilgrimage. Not a voluntary one anyway.”
“So it is a confession?” Paz asked.
“Holy heck, not one o’ them too!” Johnny rolled back on his heels.
“Did someone say confession? It’s my specialty!” Father Koblenza smiled. He, Tomasso, and Gus had now joined the group.
“When you are done, there is some question about the weight of my bugle,” said Tomasso from the back. I shot him a glare.
I went on, “With all due respect, Lady Paz, our journey is a matter of private business and as you are a common carrier, I beg you we not delve further into it as I do not see how it is any of your concern.”
“Of course not. Two hundred koroni it is.”
Well, that just started a damned pandemonium. Who would pay what share? Johnny had no money. Why should I not pay for us all? Desotto hadn’t gotten a requisition for any cash. Tomasso would not sell his bugle. Father had not a pfenniggi. Gus would have to send a courier to Geneva. And all the while, it was getting later in the afternoon.
“Alright!” I shouted. The audience calmed. “If you must know, it is not a confession. It is not purely a pilgrimage. It is a penance. I already did my confession, and for my penance, I was bidden, by our new regimental chaplain in residence, who has apparently taken up the mantle of Donatus, to travel to the monastery at San Romedio and to say certain prayers there as a condition of my reconciliation with the church.”
There was a moment’s pause during which a bird chirped happily.
“What did you do, kill your father? Cain only had to wander the Land of Nod,” said Lady Paz.
Father Koblenza raised his hand before speaking, “It is the truth what he says. I know because I too am on a journey to San Romedio to perform a penance, one bidden by the same priest, in fact.”
I pointed excitedly at Father. “Yes, yes. He knows what I mean. I did not kill my father. This confessor, he’s gone mad with his penances! Mad!”
“I would not go that far, Charlemagne,” said Koblenza, “but it did seem a little harsh. But no matter! We will bear it. A small price to pay for a state of grace, isn’t that right?”
I could tell he was going through the motions, but I went along. “Yes, I suppose so, I sighed.”
“Well, if you will pardon me for asking, and for the coming coarse language, why the Hell do you need this whole caravan to go say some prayers? Shouldn’t you be marching up the mountain on your own, wearing a hairshirt and flagellating yourself?” the lady asked.
“Well, that would be most old fashioned,” Koblenza murmured.
I could only shrug and open my palms for a moment. “Company?”
Lady Paz let out a raspy guffaw, “Well, that is — ”
Just then we heard two high-pitched shouts from across the meadow. There, two thin yet pot-bellied men were waving. They were dressed in regular business clothes. The sort you might see on the streets in Lucho worn by men in the shabbier professions: street vendors, in-home kitchen appurtenance salesmen, demolition scavengers, and the like. They walked up to us, animatedly as if they were in a hurry, but somehow arriving no faster.
“Hello,” said one.
“Did anyone see that momentous pile of shit on the road back in the valley? Stupendous!” said the other.
“Biggest shit I’ve ever seen,” said the first.
We all murmured and nodded. We had seen the shit.
“Are we too late for the balloon ship to the mountains?” one of the newly arrived itinerants asked.
“No,” said Paz. “You’re just in time. And it is your lucky day, for your fellow passengers are on the most ridiculous, asinine, inexplicable, expeditionary errand I have ever encountered since I opened this modum onerariis. So incredibly gossamer is this journey’s reason for being, in fact, that I believe it is a lie and a cover story for something far more nefarious.”
Desotto, Koblenza, and I objected strenuously to this characterization, but Paz waved us off. Johnny, Gus, and Tomasso had opened another bottle of wine and were enjoying the show.
“Nonetheless, as the good Hauptsergente here has pointed out, as a common carrier, it is beyond my warrant to inquire as to the reason for any passenger’s journey. It is, however, within my right under the law — Is it not, Hauptsergente? — to set my own fare as I see fit, and to condition that fare as I wish, within certain limitations not applicable here.”
I had to agree.
“So, my condition is this: If you allow Ugo and me to inspect your luggage for contraband and I find none, I will waive the fare for the journey in its entirety, save for a favor.” Ugo was now behind her, nodding, with his arms crossed under his impossibly muscled chest. She continued, “But, rest assured, I will not report you to the authorities no matter what I might find. I only wish to know whether you intend on making five thousand koroni for this journey in untaxed cigars or bullets or Scottish whiskey. If so, my originally quoted fare, if not likely much more, will be reinstated, as fair compensation for my role in the enterprise I’m sure you would agree. If, however, you would rather insist on your rights and continue without an inspection, you can pay the going rate as I have quoted some time ago now, as I can then rightly claim ignorance as to your cargo should men with badges and pistols come knocking at my door tomorrow. Any questions?”
“Well, what is the favor?” I asked.
“And what will you inspect, exactly? Only our suitcases, or our pockets and other clothing as well?” asked one of the new arrivals, a bit too eagerly.
To see who was such an obvious idiot, we all turned around in time to see one of the two vagabonds smack the other twice across the shoulder and look away from him strenuously, shaking his head, then saying to us at large, “Never mind. Never mind. We will pay the fare. We will just pay the fare.”
There was silence from the crowd that he seemed unable to stop from filling with his voice. “But! But, we have nothing in our suitcases nonetheless. Not a thing.”
He fumbled exasperatedly with the clasps on his wicker suitcase. A moment later, the other vagrant started doing the same with his. After some swearing and a skinned knuckle, they presented to us their opened luggage, totally empty save for rose-colored silk lining.
The only slightly smarter one then added, “We have rucksacks as well, you can see. In them are only sandwiches.”
“And toilet paper,” added the other. “You can see them if you wish.”
“But we will just pay the fare, so no full inspection necessary,” the first one clarified.
At our collective stupefication, they shut their luggage, smiled, and rocked on their feet.
Johnny tried to help in a scratchy, wine-amplified whisper, “Guys, the fare is two hundred bucks. Or crowns or whatever y’all use fer big nickels.”
The two ragamuffins’ eyes widened. One opened his mouth but nothing came out.
After another moment or two, Lady Paz granted them a reprieve. “I will deal with you two in a moment.”
“As for the favor, Hauptsergente, it is this. Since you are on such a holy and righteous journey, each of you will receive a free berth on the air gondola. Consider it my contribution to your journey and to the bestowal of God’s graces on my fellow Sebastianos and their friends.” We smiled and nodded as Lady Paz continued, “All I ask is that when it comes time to board, each of you tell me, as a condition of your embarkation, of one good thing you have done in your life.”
“That is all?” Desotto asked.
“Yes,” said Paz. “One good thing you’ve done. That is all.”
Seeing each of us nodding, I accepted for the group.
“Very well then. Oh, I’ve almost forgotten. Ugo!” She nodded toward the two twitchy tatterdemalions. Ugo held a wink again and sized them up, minutely adjusting his thumb and forefinger to their foreshortened shapes.
He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose, the wind thence rustling the leaves on the meadow floor. “One mule,” he bellowed.
Lady Paz clapped again. “You’ve heard him. One mule is all. Now hurry! The sun is falling. Ugo, take them to the scales. You two tramps back there. Who are you?”
Paz marched toward the new passengers.
Desotto looked at me at winced, “One mule?”
I looked at the pair of scruffy road-rodents. One caught my eye. His nodding was hastily and unconvincingly converted into an itchy head as he saw my scowl. They then began a discussion with Paz as she and the inimitable Ugo lumbered up to them.
I spoke up to my group. “Well, you heard our demipilotessinariette. One mule. So load him up good and stuff your rucksacks. Also, finish some more cheese and wine. We can sleep it off on the gondola. And hurry along! I would like to depart while there is still light in the sky.” I turned to the priest. “Father, can you carry a pack?”
“Oh, most certainly. It is nothing compared to a cross.”
“Can you help me polish off a bottle of wine?”
“Well, as long as I don’t break my fast, I suppose. Just a glass?”
“Two?”
“Well, let’s get started then and see where the road takes us. Or the ether ark, in this case.”
With that we all headed to the smith’s barn. The clouds overhead were darkening and now only a few feet above the treetops. There was a mist beginning to fall upon us and still much to do.
Continued…
