THE BAREFOOT GIRLS

Chapter One

Harriet Bronwynn sat with her left foot over her right knee, probing the smooth, supple leather of a sole season'd and stain'd a rich nut brown from countless hours of walking barefoot through the deep woods surrounding Stephendale. She found the thorn and teased it out carefully with a needle. Having imbedded itself in the thickest part of the sole, just behind the longest of her strong, sensitive toes, it was short of the quick despite being almost a quarter of an inch long, and thus had caused her no pain.

Nevertheless, she had felt it as distinctly as she felt every pebble and every blade of grass she trod on, for her bare feet, tough as they were, were so sensitive she could almost taste the earth underneath them. That, for Harriet, was the great joy of going barefoot, and she went barefoot constantly, in all weathers, and on all terrain, walking, hiking, climbing, summer and winter, it was part of loving the outdoors and for her it was the best part. It was the nicest thing that God had yet given her and she was very thankfull.

Her life at Stephendale made no sense to her. She loathed the very idea of studying; and though now in the latter part of her second year, she had hardly open'd a book for any of her courses. She simply went to class and survived by what could only be term'd an instinct.

Sometimes she felt that she could have been happier in the run down nunnery which stood at the gates of this former High Anglican Seminary than in the now totally worldly institution which seem'd, in her self-conscious striving to be relevant to 1968, to be more than a little ashamed of the sisters whose tiny chapter was establisht by the same original endowment.

In her disenchantment with accademick values, Harriet had taken up riding and archery, and put more into these than into any of her classes. She was addicted to books on magick, folklore, and fantasy, and spent a good deal of time 'meditating', or trying to, but alas, she was also addicted to Cannabis, an unfortunate legacy of her late roommate Sarah.

Sarah had been a typical first year wash-out. Harriet had taught her the joys of going barefoot, and she had taught Harriet the joys of getting high. They had had a lovely year but Sarah, sadly, had not had her roommate's talent for getting by without any work and had been sent down. Harriet now had the room to herself. Her only reminder of her roommate was a picture that Sarah had painted of the two of them as what lookt like some sort of Amazon warriors. It still hung on the wall and she often stared at it longingly. She had no friends at all now. Perhaps she and Sarah had got on so well because they were both loners and neither of them cared for boys. She felt very empty now without Sarah -- still -- their relationship had been a little too close, and more than a little frightening.

Harriet's childhood had not been a happy one. Her mother had died when she was three. Her father had been an English teacher -- sensitive, involved, progressive, committed, and indeed caring as a teacher -- but hopeless as a father. Harriet had grown up as an outrageous tomboy, and when she was eight had fallen in with a rather nasty boy named Chad who had been left back into Harriet's class at school.

They spent much of that summer haunting an abandon'd quarry which had been partly flooded to form part of a large reservoir system served, and indeed surrounded, by a rarely used system of winding, hilly roads which the Water Authority had been most extravagant in paving. One late August afternoon, as they were cycling home from challenging each others quite prehensile bare feet in a typically reckless climbing contest, they happen'd upon the scene of a rather macabre accident which had claimed in and instant the lives of six drunken teenagers when the open, powder blue convertible wherein they were riding went off the road at high speed and struck one of the huge pine trees which otherwise lent so much charm to the watershed. The three in the rear might have survived had they been seated, but they had apparently been standing up, so that one had her brains dasht out against the trunk of another of the great trees, and another was impaled on a broken branch. The third, a girl who had been completely naked, had been decapitated by the windscreen.

Chad found her neatly severed head about 20 yards away in the woods, and taking it up by the long, honey colour'd tresses, that must have been blown back like a banner in the wind only a few minutes before, and admiring the fact that it shew'd no damage apart from its clean severance, but only a stupid, wide eyed, gaping expression, decided that he must have the skull for his room. Quickly finding a large spaghetti pot complete with lid amid some rubbish that someone had illegally tipt nearby, he placed the head in the pot and the pot in the basket of his bicycle and rode off toward Harriet's house, convincing her on the way to allow him to bury it to rot for a year in her fathers compost pile, carefully explaining that his home, although considerably closer, had no facilities that were nearly as suitable, and that there were other problems with it as well (although it would not, he reason'd to himself, have done any good to try to explain to her that it was too close to the scene, and to himself, to be safe).

Harriet's mind, however, had not even been on the head, for even as Chad had searcht the trash for some suitable casket for his gruesome prize, she had found the possible cause, and only living victim, of the crash. A young doe, her hindquarters horribly smasht, thrasht her head and forelimbs with an agony that moved Harriet to desperate pity and sent her franticly searching the rubbish herself for some weapon wherewith she might quickly end her life. Finding an iron pipe, she brake her neck with one stroke, but found herself shuddering half the way home at the thought of having had to do such a thing. At last she consoled herself in that the poor creature was now free among the dead along with the girl whose beautifully naked body Harriet's vivid imagination, once again set free, assigned to a great Warrior Queen, slain in her chariot in a fierce battle, whose sever'd head she and Chad, as her loyal subjects, were carrying back in great pomp, to a place of honour. Chad loved this fantasy so much that when the head had been inter'd with proper reverence they went on to play at other games related to the same imaginary war.

At length a policeman, driving by on patrol, reported himself to have been the first on the scene of the accident, almost two hours after Chad and Harriet had left it. It turn'd out that the victims of the tragedy had all been local young people but, as her parents had been away, at the time, it was some days before the instantly infamous "headless nude" as she was temporarily refer'd to in the newspapers which Mr. Bronwynn made a point of holding up to his classes on the first day of term as very negative examples of shamefully sensational 'yellow' journalism, was finally, and positively identify'd as the daughter of the headmaster of the school where he taught.

Mr. Bronwynn did not, however, think that a girl of Harriet's tender years should be exposed to anything so frightful, so he kept the newspapers away from her.

Chad was much more aware of the way events were unfolding, as his father, who was also a widower, was the none too conscientious and seldom sober Warden of the Watershed, and the house which was provided for him by the Water Authority was almost within sight of the very intense police activity which continued at the scene of the crash long after the wreckage had been clear'd away. By discreet and seemingly innocent inquiry, he had become aware of their anxiety to retrieve his grim trophy; and he began to feel that he might be in a deal of trouble if things fell out the wrong way. He therefore determined to keep as quiet as possible about the whole business, and noting that Harriet seem'd to have forgotten about it entirely, determined further that gallantry was best served by not troubling her about it at all.

A month later the headless body was reluctantly inter'd; and the chief of Upperdale's tiny constabulary felt compel'd to resign, as both his failure to find the head, and his inability to managed the press with sufficient tact, had lost him not only the confidence of the bereaved headmaster, but that of everyone else whose opinion matter'd as well.

Some fourteen months later Thomas Bronwynn was call'd, but not chosen, for jury duty; and finding himself with a free day at the end of the lief raking season, decided to turn over the compost pile. Within minutes he uncover'd the grinning skull that Chad had once hoped to harvest from the humus, but had unfortunately by then quite forgotten about himself.

It would hardly be fair to speculate in hindsight as to what Mr. Bronwynn should have done, but what he did do had the most profound and tragick consequences. To his credit it must be said that he acted with scrupulous honesty and integrity and that he and the police together learnt the full truth, or at least Harriet's version of it, immediately she return'd from school. Chad, however, maintain'd that he knew absolutely nothing about it. In the end no one, including poor Harriet, felt certain of anything, except that the head had been found in Bronwynn's compost heap, and there was certainly no denying that. Faced with the prospect of a number of criminal and civil actions, Mr. Bronwynn was forced to resign his position at the school and move to another state.

His relationship with Harriet was as utterly shatter'd as everything else in his life. His liberal views had welcomed, even indulged the barefoot tomboy in his daughter, but he could not cope with this unspeakable barbarity. She might as well have been exposed as a vicious cannibal, and indeed, realising that the infamous spaghetti pot had, after doing a stint as a garden play thing, found its way into the kitchen collection and been involved in the preparation of various meals, he felt a bit like a cannibal himself. He had lost his faith in everything he had believed in from the principles of progressive child rearing to the very value of honesty itself. He came to look upon Harriet with a mixture of guilt, revulsion, and fear. He drank himself to death within four years and Harriet went to live with her aunt.

Ruth Bronwynn was several years her brother's senior. She had never married and had spent most of her life as a private secretary to a lady of considerable wealth who had, upon her recent death, left her a small house on the edge of her lonely wooded estate. Harriet was taken into this house with great reluctance and it was made quite clear to her that her Aunt would have much prefer'd to spend the rest of her life alone. Her basic attitude towards her niece was much the same as her late brother's had unfortunately become, and she held her responsible for his early death. Harriet hated the prim, tidy, stuffy little house where everything seemed to be a gift from her aunts former mistress and therefore too sacred to touch; and she hated her aunt for scolding her and poking her with her stick, and making her read her lessons aloud to her, but most of all for trying to force her proud, perfectly formed, bare feet into the same sort of nasty, tight, pinching shoes that she herself wore and that Harriet was sure had been responsible fore pinching and deforming not only her ugly feet but her whole misshapen character.

It was a blessed relief for Harriet to find that in this backward rural community it was quite acceptable to go barefoot to school, and she took full advantage of the privilege, either sneaking out of the house unshod, or depositing her hated footwear in a hollow tree at the start of her three mile trek through the wooded estate to the village school on the other side of it. Harriet loved walking in these vast virgin pine forests which in fact surrounded her aunts tiny house on both sides of the long winding gravel road on which she often quite deliberately ran to toughen the bare soles that afforded her her only real pleasure.

Harriet did not mix much with her schoolmates. They were mostly peasants -- crude, stupid, inbred, and churlish -- at least in Harriet's opinion -- and she was made to feel very much an outsider even by the better ones. She did well in school, however, and her teacher, Miss Pollard, was determined to at last get someone in university. Harriet loved this woman who took such an interest in her. Miss Pollard was always helping her after school and giving her books to read. She even let Harriet take her into her private world in the forest, wisely deigning to walk barefoot herself and allowing Harriet to be her guide to its wonders. She felt Harriet's season'd soles with reverence and felt just the least bit guilty for presuming to make an academic of her. The task however had not been a difficult one and she could rest assured that Stephendale, being the quaint, tiny, tolerant, and, if the truth must be told, increasingly eccentric institution that it was, would be glad to acquire a specimen like Harriet, and would never ask her to wear shoes. In the end, although Harriet's interest in learning, based as it had been on a schoolgirl crush, evaporated the moment Miss Pollard kist her goodby, she was at least glad to be away from Aunt Ruth....

Studying the thorn, her mind return'd to the moment, now somewhat more than an hour ago, when it had enter'd her sole just as that weird whatever-he-was had enter'd her world.

"Who or what could he be -- if he were a he -- and what could he want with Conrad Kingslynn -- I hardly know Kingslynn -- and what could he want with me?" she mutter'd aloud to herself.

She try'd to remember clearly. The figure seem'd to be real enough, tall and apparently male, although the voice was high and childlike and there was no trace of a beard; yet he seem'd very old and wise. His face was finely wrinkled like a sheet of parchment which had been crumpled into a ball and smooth'd out again and it seem'd almost to glow in the cold, moonlit, February night. He did, she now thought, look somewhat like a rarely seen professor, who had been present at her interview but had said nothing to which she had been expected to reply -- simply smiling kindly and whispering to his more intimidating, and therefore more memorable, colleagues. Distinctive, but not disconcerting, he could, she mused, even have been the same man, but very differently drest. He was barefooted as she was, which had somehow reassured her, and although his bare feet shew'd but the slightest colour against the light snow which was dusted over the ground in the little clearing where she met him, she was sure they suffer'd no more from the cold than hers did. He was bareheaded as well with a full head of fairly long fine hair which seem'd even whiter than the snow and which framed his pale, peach colour'd face as subtly as the snow framed his quite perfect bare feet. His pale hands too were long and noble, as also was his nose. Thin lips and nostrils, sparkling blue eyes... so soft, so silky soft and warm... that as the feeling she had of him. Was it simply his beardless face? No, his robes as well, for though far out shone by his face and hands and feet, they were quite remarkable in themselves. She could not say at all what colour they were. They seem'd to change colour constantly as the moonlight shimmer'd among their voluminous folds. In a way they lookt like a very shiny silk, but they appear'd at the same time to be thick and warm. She could not fix in her mind anything about their cut -- she could not even say for sure how many layers there were for all those folds, but she got the impression of something like a long sleeved gown with a cloak over it in the same material.

His clear, high, boyish tones rang firm and confident, but with an accent she could not place. There had been so much about him to take in that she could not in fact remember very much of what he said. She could not remember if he had told her his name. He had, she thought, said something about his helping her to fulfil her wishes and her destiny, but again, most of this had gone right by her.

She did clearly remember that she was to return the following night and that she was to bring Conrad Kingslynn with her; but how, she thought, could she possibly manage that? She herself would be there -- of that she was determined -- but Kingslynn? She knew his face and his name -- but that was all. She had never spoken to him that she could remember. She saw him in Johnson's Modern History class and she though now that she had seen him in church. She had taken to going to St. Clair's, as it was very high, and very magickal, but she rarely lookt around, and never talkt to anyone there unless spoken to. In fact the only person there to whom she could ever remember having spoken was the Mother Superior, who noted Harriet's bare feet with outspoken approval and inform'd her that if she had anything to say about it, she and the tiny remnant of sisters who had recently come under her charge would soon be dispensing with their stockings and sandals and returning to the discipline which St. Clair herself had set for them. Still, now that she thought about it, she was sure that she had seen Conrad there. Well, that was one more thing they had in common. Johnson's class was tomorrow at 10:00 AM. She would have to think of something. She really hated the way this problem spoilt her anticipation of her next meeting with her fascinating new acquaintance. She decided to 'meditate' for a while, which meant sitting in a lotus position in front of the bubbling water pipe and at last went to bed, hoping that she could sort out the problem in her dreams.

She did indeed dream that night, and vividly, but her dreams had nothing to do with the problem she had determined to sleep on. Instead, she dreamt that she were with Sarah. They were alone in what appear'd to be some sort of tent or pavilion, small but quite richly decorated and illuminated by a glow of flickering firelight. There was a feeling that they were met together for a brief and precious moment of quiet amid some intense excitement which was still going on around them. They were drest in a sort of golden armour, exactly as in the picture that Sarah had painted. As in the picture -- and quite remarkable to Harriet -- below their golden greaves their bare feet were stain'd, or painted, a brilliant blue-green and their long, sculptured nails covered in bright shining gold. Sitting together on what might have been a bed or divan, they embraced and kist one another. Then they walkt out of their pavilion hand in hand into a circle of women all similarly clad in armour around a loose circle of perhaps a dozen small bonfires illuminating scores of brightly colour'd pavilions of varying sizes and degrees of magnificence which surrounded them on all sides and stretcht back as far into the distance as the light of the fires would penetrate. On the opposite side of the circle from Harriet and Sarah stood a pavilion many times grander than theirs. It was built upon a platform some ten or twelve feet high enclosed round about with hanging curtains as if it were a pavilion atop a pavilion. Upon a dias on the forward part of this platform, in front of the door hangings of the upper pavilion, stood a tall and beautiful woman in armour -- much more splendid than the rest. Her perfectly sculptured feet, like those of all the others, were bare below her magnificent, jewel encrusted greaves, but, unlike theirs, hers were dyed a gorgeous magenta purple. Her golden helmet was surmounted by a jewel'd crown, itself surmounted by a perfect sphere of sparkling blue crystal, quite as large as her head. She addrest the assembly in a strange language of which Harriet in her dream understood every word but when she awoke remember'd nothing. She remember'd only that she had felt an immense love for her and an immense pride, as in a great and noble Queen.


THE BAREFOOT GIRLS

Chapter Two

The lecturer paced about the podium; and, with an affected flourish drew a metal folding chair from behind it; and, sitting backwards, rested his dimpled chin on the back, and beam'd at his class with blue eyeds enthusiasm, as he launcht into a gushing praise of Woodrow Wilson. His adoring disciples in the first two rows sat forward and beam'd back at him. Conrad bury'd his face in his hands and groan'd in disgust. Johnson himself was bad enough, but Johnson going on about Wilson -- damn, what was he doing in this class. He had wanted to study mediĉval history but this, this made him sick. He hated Johnson, Wilson, academicks, democrats, egalitarians, the whole of the twentieth century, his liberated mother and her worthless gigolo of a boyfriend, and Susan, his former girlfriend who now sat among the starry eyed in the front row holding the hand of that loathsome halfbreed Ira. She was the reason he was sitting there: They had sign'd for the course together. Then everything had gone wrong.

His father had died scarcely a week into term and he had been away for almost a month. His mother had appear'd briefly, although they had been divorced for six years. She had had the bad taste to bring Gino, and he had thrown her out of his father's house. It was his house now. He had lived there with his father for the last three years and they had been happy years, unlike the previous three when the courts had forced him to live with his mother and Gino. He had never accepted his mother's point of view, and he lookt upon her as an adulteress. Conrad was a thoroughly committed reactionary, a devout Anglocatholick and an absolute monarchist. If he objected at all to being call'd a Fascist or a male Cauvinist, it was only because these were terms of reproach quite peculiar to the time he unfortunately found himself in. His attitude towards his mother, painful as it might be, follow'd as naturally from his beliefs as night follow'd day.

Harriet sat behind him, nervously watching him and watching the clock, and paying no more attention than he to the lecture. How would she approach him? What would she say? What would he think of her? What if he did not want to talk to her at all? What if he thought she liked him and was 'after' him? It was all too inconvenient and there was just no convenient way out of it. She both dreaded and long'd for the end of the lecture.

Finally, on impulse, she wrote him a note: DEAR MR. KINGSLYNN -- I MUST SPEAK WITH YOU AS SOON AS THIS LECTURE IS OVER -- HARRIET BRONWYNN. She instantly saw that its formality was ridiculous, but could think of nothing better. So without giving herself space to repent, she set it on the empty chair next to him (whereon her bare feet were propt) and nudged his thigh with her toes.

He turn'd around and smiled at her quickly, and having noticed that there was no one seated between themselves and the door at the back of the lecture theatre, he turned her note over and wrote: LET'S TAKE A WALK NOW -- I CAN'T TAKE ANY MORE OF JOHNSON. He roll'd the note into a tight spool and having once again turn'd, smiled, and nodded, placed it carefully between her toes and briefly claspt her foot in reassurance.

Retrieving the paper, she nodded back to him and they left quietly together.

"Well, Miss Bronwynn, grateful as I am to be out of that wretched class, I am still very curious. What can I do for you? Shall we have some coffee?" askt Conrad as they past the lounge on the ground floor.

"Yes, thanks -- a black one please if you would -- but let's not sit down in there please, I must talk privately and -- you must forgive me -- I really don't know how to begin."

"We'll go up to my room if you like. I'm free for the whole day now, so there's no hurry on my part."

Harriet had P.E. next, but had no intention of going and apart from that her schedule was equally blank. She felt greatly relieved that Conrad was willing to talk with her, and when she thankt him for the hot coffee, it seem'd to promise that she could share her sense of anticipation with the best of company. The first sip made her feel good right down to her bare feet, and as they walk'd down the hill in the clear, warm-for-February sunshine, she began to tell him about her adventure in the wood the night before.

Conrad said nothing until they reacht the comfortable seclusion of his room. Then, offering her a biscuit and a chair, he askt her to tell him all that she could remember about the strange figure who had apparently claim'd a role in both their destinies. There was something familiar about him, and as Harriet described him again in more careful detail, the penny began to drop.

Conrad too had had a disturbing dream the previous night. He had dreamt about his Uncle Regis, his father's elder brother, who lived alone in London with a housekeeper and a dog, and with whom Conrad had happily spent most of his last summer holiday. He adored his Uncle, his only living relative on his father's side of any real proximity and was fascinated by what he had seen of England. He had been thinking about going back to live with him there. In the dream, however, they were certainly not in any part of England that he had ever seen. He had found his Uncle with several other people in a rich, dark, wooden room with such furniture as he had never seen the like of before. There was in fact something about the dream that reminded him of dreams that he had had of his grandfather, whom he had lost when he was ten. Although his uncle seem'd fine in the dream, he had been very frighten'd for him upon awakening, and had fallen on his knees and pray'd for his safety. What Conrad remember'd only now was the stranger who had shewn him into the room where he had met his Uncle. Harriet seem'd to be describing him exactly.

He held his peace until she had finisht and then told her about this dream, wherein, he now felt, she might herself have been represented. They talk't about it and about Harriet's own dream as well, although hers seem'd unconnected. Then he began questioning her again, but she could remember little of what the stranger had staid, only that their destinies were to meet that night and then separate again, and something about "fulfilment" and each of them getting what they wanted. All that was clear was that he had insisted that she bring Conrad with her to the same spot where she herself had met him. It was not making any more sense with more tellings.

They fell silent. Conrad lookt very long and hard at Harriet and made a very conscious decision. He would trust her. It was not just the seeming coincidence of his dream. What decided him was Harriet herself. She was a lonely, quiet apparently friendless girl, and he could thus be sure that this was no sorority prank with a half dozen other girls giggling in the background. Although he was scarcely 21, he had known enough of life -- especially life among his contemporaries -- to know that there was a thin line between extending a cautious trust and being gullible. Nonetheless, he firmly believed that extending such trust -- within limits -- was a virtue. Apart from that, he was now intensely curious -- curious enough to risk being made a fool of, even if that were indeed the most probably outcome of their venture. Having promised to see it out with her, he suggested to Harriet that they speak no more about it until the time came, but instead have lunch, and return anon and get to know something about each other, as it would appear that someone at least thought they had something in common.

They hardly spoke in the dining hall, or indeed for some minutes after they return'd. Not knowing where to begin and being in no hurry, he let her look around his room while he found a bottle of Port and pour'd two glasses. Taking the glass and the imply'd invitation to browse, she attack'd the book case under the window at the head of his bed and spread herself prone upon it while she lookt through the illustrations in a life of Katherine the Great. Conrad sat at the foot of the bed sipping his port. Having rejected the idea of discussing her tasted in litterature, he decided instead to ask what it was she liked about going barefoot. Lightly caressing her clean, though woodstain'd soles with the initial question and continuing to massage them gently but deeply as she began telling him about the woods surrounding her Aunt Ruth's house, he soon had her telling him the whole story of her life.

Harriet could not have been happier at that moment. The massage felt delicious, and yet she was glad that he was not staring into her eyes.

Conrad was spellbound. He felt that his fingers probed not only a pair of well season'd soles but a far more scar'd and calloused, yet for all that not unlovely soul.

The spell had been broken only once, when their eyes met in laughter, and she commented on what a little shit Chad had been in denying any knowledge of the sever'd head in the compost head. She was glad of this. Sarah too had though it terribly funny, but then Sarah had been terribly stoned when she told her. In fact, had Harriet not been stoned herself, she might never have had the neve to tell it at all. Now Conrad was the second, and only the second, person she had ever told, and she had hardly had any of the port. Resuming her tale she turn'd her head away again and placed her bare feet firmly back on his knees.

They talkt the whole afternoon, had a quiet dinner at the refectory and repaired to Harriet's room for the last two hours before their appointment in the wood. It was dark now. Conrad's room had been green. Harrier's was golden yellow in the light of the simple globe that hung from the ceiling. They sat on golden cushions on a golden carpet. Harriet would have lit the water pipe but for the fact that she was out of hash. She settled for making them some coffee.

Conrad was just as glad of this. He noticed the painting on the wall and they talk'd a little more about Sarah, and about Harriet's dream. They talkt of their lives, there beliefs, and their likes and dislikes. Harriet insisted that he take off his shoes so that she could pay back the massage.

They discover'd that they had at lest a few things in common, and that they had seen each other at St. Clair's. Of the two of them, Conrad was certainly the more religious. He went to church every Sunday and said his prayers every night. The Church was the only thing he had to commit himself to. His father was dead and he had no king, he had only Christ and the saints to look up to. It was the faith of his father and of his heroes and therefore it was his. He was, in his own way, and very committed Christian.

Harriet had started going because Sarah had gone regularly and extol'd the experience as a great high -- especially if one where high already. Soul mates that they were, they had gone together -- both stoned, and both barefooted, under what they reverently consider'd appropriate long dresses and Sunday finery. Harriet had instantly loved the stately grandeur and other-worldliness, and now continued to go herself each Sunday.

Her faith was still shallow and superstitious, for the most part. She had decided to accept the propositions of the faith primarily because accepting them made going to St. Clair's a better experience. Nevertheless, she was becoming gradually absorbed with the idea that the Almighty had some plan for her, and once of twice just recently had try'd to speak to him 'privately' about it. She had presumed to remind Him however that as her father and her aunt had both been the sort of nominal Protestants who almost never set foot in any sort of church, she had had no Christian upbringing since her baptism at the behest of her maternal grandmother, who had suffer'd a stroke shortly after her daughter's death and been confined to a home for the profoundly daft ever since.

[Harriet's father had taken her to see this wretched woman only once and been horrify'd when Harriet had suggested that she should be put down like Chad's Father's beloved old bitch who had been left blind, witless, crippled, and incontinent in very much the same way as her grandmother by an apparently similar stroke. This had been some time before the sever'd head incident, but her father's forebodings about her had already begun.]

Thinking on this she had also askt God to remember her grandmother's piety and allow her to depart in peace, if indeed her soul had not departed already, while those monsters at the home maintain'd her body in a gruesome parody of life.

Sharing these thoughts with Conrad, she found that although his spiritual life was more develop'd their outlook on life was similar and that the magick of St. Clair's meant a great deal to both of them, as it was the only escape either of them had from a world they both found dreadfully boring.

At quarter to eight they turn'd out the light, put on their coats and set off for the spot in the wood where Harriet had had her encounter of the previous night. It was not far, perhaps less than half a mile beyond the rear gate of the quad which open'd directly beneath Harriet's room, but completely out of sight of any light other than the moon and stars.

Everything was exactly the same as it had been the night before, except that the snow had gone completely and left a remarkably dry carpet of leaves to caress Harriet's bare soles. She had no sooner taken note of this that the stranger came upon them from nowhere.


THE BAREFOOT GIRLS

Chapter Three

"Come, my children, it's cold here and we must be going," he said, opening his arms to them like a welcoming grandfather.

In only a moment, without thinking about it, or even realising what he had said or what they were doing, they had come up to him as if to warn themselves in his embrace, and been enfolded protectively in his cloak.

Conrad felt himself totally bereft of all his senses, including his normally strong sense of caution. He noticed nothing except the peacefull, womblike, comfort that enshrouded them and allow'd himself to be drawn into it.

Harriet, however, had the advantage of her bare feet, and with a sense of wonder, felt the cold carpet of dry leaves vanish from under them. For a moment her toes searcht about in nothingness before finding it replaced by a warm carpet of thick soft wool. In another moment the enveloping cloak was withdrawn from then, and its tall, stately wearer stept back silently to regard them.

They found themselves in a very old and comfortable, but totally foreign looking room, full of warn dark woods and rich sombre fabricks. The furniture was very square and heavy in its general appearance but this was offset by the fact that every possible surface was covered in light, whimsical carvings of men and animals, and the deeply stain'd wood that had lent itself to these carvings gave the feeling that it had seen the passage of many centuries during which the skillfully render'd figures had entertain'd men of many generations and been carest by countless hands. The woolen cushions gave the same impression, although the colours woven into them remain'd rich and vibrant. In various placed a number of frosted glass balls, much like very large paperweights seem'd to have been left randomly about, and it was from these that the soft light that fill'd the room appear'd to emanate.

The wall Conrad and Harriet found themselves facing was about twelve feet high, and perhaps twice as long. Three narrow windows were set into it. Each of these was perhaps two feet wide and beginning about two feet from the floor, rose up until its semi-octagonal top was an equal distance from the wooden ceiling that was suspended from a half dozen great carrier beams. Each window was set so deeply into the thickness of the wall that its inside shutters of framed tapestry -- now closed against the night -- would still be well within the wall when fully open'd against the sides of the window box. Below the shutters a 4" thick seat cushion was easily accommodated and above them the upper half of an octagon of cobalt blue glass was visible. Each of the side walls was perhaps 16 feet in length and held a hearth in its centre flank't by two closet doors, although only the hearth on the right held a fire at present. Centred in the long wall behind them was a very large wooden door, richly carved and ornately framed, on either side of which were very long, built in day beds, which took up the rest of the wall's length. These had upholstered mattresses match'd by high back bolsters, atop each of which was a wooden shelf.

Conrad had noticed the markt contrast between the absolute architectural order of the room and the chaos of its apparently randomly collected furniture, and was pondering the significance of this, when anon there came a knock at the huge door and their host answer'd it, speaking a few words in a strange language. A youth enter'd with a silver tray upon which was arranged a variety of cheeses, biscuits and fruit and set it on a low table in from of the right hand day bed. Then the barefoot servant, drest in the same iridescent robes as his apparent master, bow'd to him and departed as silently as a ghost.

"My name is Andrew, or at least that would be the English of it." began their host, breaking the uncomfortable silence with a string of animated chatter, "and this is -- well -- a sort of embassy that my order maintains here --and it's time we had something to eat -- or at least time I had something to ear. Won't you please join me?" He motion'd to Conrad and Harriet to sit down on the day bed and for himself drew up one of a pair of very curious chairs each of which was design'd like a sort of octagonal ottoman with three of its eight side panels extended up beyond the cushion to form a high back and two more extended up only high enough to form arm rests. Opening the front centre panel of the chair, he drew out a large decanter and three small glasses and pour'd them each a drink of strong dark fruity wine.

"What do you mean an 'embassy'? Where the devil are we?" started Conrad, suppressing the churning mixture of wonder and suspicion he actually felt behind all the bluster he could muster for an outburst the true intention of which was to convince any possible jokesters hiding in the wings that he was not such a fool as he felt at the moment.

"Please don't invoke the Devil. We are all Christians here." scolded Andrew, who had instantly discern'd the nature of Conrad's misgivings. "Our walls are just outside those of the city of Katharintisten, the capital of a large state ruled by the order of St. Katharine the Barefooted, and since those who represent my order to the court of their Sovereign Mother, Philippa IX, do in fact reside here and my order has sovereign rights over these grounds by ancient treaty, in was quite proper for me to refer to this building, in your language, as an embassy. Now please -- both of you have a drink and relax. We could have a very long night of questions ahead of us and I really do need some refreshment first. Here -- have some cheese."

Faced with this there was nothing for it but to begin sampling as their host suggested. It was very much the sort of thing one had at any buffet. Some of the food on the tray was indeed very good and none was outlandish or bizarre in any sense. On the other hand, none of it actually lookt or tasted quite like anything that was ever served at college or that might be had in town. There were grapes, to be sure, three kinds, but Conrad was sure he had never seen the like of any of them anywhere before, nor the like of any of the six or seven kinds of cheese. Unlike Harriet, Conrad found it impossible to just relax and eat, for even the food brought questions that he could neither think of a sensible way to ask nor comfortably set aide. In this they were quite different. Harriet felt safe with Andrew, so she had no need to question him -- not while her senses were so busy just enjoying everything from the sumptuous carpet under her toes to the tasty cheese in her mouth. She would have plenty of time to satisfy her intellectual curiosity after her sense had been satisfy'd. Harriet was rather accustom'd to dipping in and out of reality, and if this were all just a dream, she certainly wanted to get all the pleasure out of it that she could while it lasted. Every time Conrad try'd to relax and enjoy in the same way, he was nag'd by the obsessive suspicion that someone was trying to make a fool of him. Andrew was quite aware of this and was considering how to deal with it even as Conrad search'd for a non-stupid question. At last he felt that he had to say something.

"Well, this is all very nice, but how did you manage to bring us here; and, if I might ask, why?"

"As to how: I am afraid that I am just going to have to say that I managed, and leave it at that. There are a great many things about my work, and that of my order, that circumstances will not permit me to explain to you and you will have to accept that. I hope that this will not entirely prevent us from becoming friends some day, but I am all too aware of the difficulty this places in the way of your trusting me." reply'd Andrew, looking at Conrad intently. "As to why: That is something that will only fully reveal itself to you with time, but in short it is because I know you, Conrad, and I know that you will enjoy living here among us much more than you could ever have enjoy'd the world I took you out of. We have, moreover a problem which I am hoping that you might be able to help us with -- but that must wait."

"What can you possible know about me? We've never met. Have we? Are you trying to tell me you can read my mind? My thoughts?" Conrad was agitated now.

"I can sense your feelings, but no, I can not read your thoughts, not directly. I would not invade your privacy that way even if I could. It is much more a case of some of your prayers having been refer'd to me for an answer." said Andrew carefully.

"Are you an Angel?" askt Harriet, now bright eyed, for she had begun to be interested by the conversation.

Andrew smiled and shook his head, whispering a silent "No" but had time for no more before Conrad was on him.

"Do you really expect me to believe all this"

"No, I do not, not just now. That would be asking too much, but we do have to deal with your doubts before we can get any further. There are, we might say, three possibilities:

"The first is that this is all real. That is what I am telling you and ultimately, although not immediately, asking you to believe. You are now subject to a reality alternative to, but of the same general quality as the one you left behind in Stephendale.

"The second possibility is that you are dreaming all this, or that it emanates from your own mind, or perhaps has all been placed there by some mischievous hypnotist like me. -- An illusion.

"The third possibility is that this is all a very grand practical hoke of which you, Conrad Kingslynn, are the victim.

"You could put off deciding between the first two possibilities, just as Harriet has, but it is the third possibility that really bothers you isn't it. You see, I really do know you, Conrad."

Conrad blew out is breath. The fact that Andrew had himself brought up the hoax possibility tended to diminish its probability. He thought about what to say next and remember'd his decision to trust Harriet. So this was where that had got him. "Do I have any choices here?" He finally askt.

"No." said Andrew firmly, "you made your choices already and your heart and soul sang them out to highest heaven. You had no use for the world you were born into. Now you have been born again into another -- very much the one you always wanted. May God bless you in it."

"I'm sorry, but I still don't understand." said Conrad, "Have we died and gone -- wherever? Can we go home again? How far is it? How long are we here for? Forever? For life? For just tonight? You really haven't told us anything except this silly embassy business and we still don't know where we are."

Andrew could sense the fear building now in Conrad and, to an extent, in Harriet as well, and he lent forward and carefully made eye contact with each of them in the most reassuring way that he could before he began: "All right then, here we are. This is the part that may frighten you if you can believe it, or convince you that I am quite mad if you can't. For your sakes I would almost prefer the latter -- for a while -- but please listen carefully because the things that I must say will take on a real meaning -- though no longer such a frightful one -- as you grow with time to understand more about our world here." Seeing that Harriet's left hand had found its way into Conrad's right, he extended his own right hand and momentarily placed it atop theirs before leaning back to continue. "Although you might in fact come to be presumed dead by your former acquaintances and -- from their point of view -- perhaps in a sense you are, this is not your final reward. You are not in Heaven, nor in Hell, nor in Purgatory. Your eternal destinies still await you and -- I may happily add -- a great many years down the road for both of you. Like the places that await us after death, however, there is no way you could ever locate -- either in space or in time this city of Katharintisten from the benighted town of Stephendale. It is as near and as far as the Heavenly Jerusalem. You could not point to it off on the horizon or even out among the stars, because it does not have its existence within the same reality. This is your world now, and you will both spend your lives here. I am not free to take you back so here you will live and here you will die. I can only pray, as a fellow Christian, that heaven will then await you. I do honestly believe, however, that each of you has a better chance of attaining that goal now than you would have had, had I left you in the world whence I took you -- otherwise I could not in good conscience have taken you thence. I did not bring you here as a joke or to amuse myself but rather out of love for what I saw in each of you. You were both very carefully chosen and therefore I am quite certain that you will each find fulfillment here such as you never could have found whence you came."

There was another silence, this time broken by Harriet. "How can we know," she askt still holding tight to Conrad's hand with her fingers and gripping at the carpet with her toes as if to hold fast to some reality, "whether, as you yourself said, this is real or only some sort of dream? How do I know I won't wake up in Stephendale?"

"You cannot, perhaps, ever really know that. It is something you can only form a reasonable opinion on with time and experience but -- if you will remember my saying -- there is no pressing reason why you must decide now, or even in the near future, whether or not all this is real."

Conrad grew quiet, then suddenly reclaiming his hand from Harriet's grasp very nervously blest himself with it and began pacing the room as if looking for a way out of a trap. In another moment he resign'd himself, blest himself again and sat back down.

At this point Harriet, dearly wishing for some pot, and seeing no harm in asking, got up quietly and whisper'd in Andrew's ear. She was rebuked sharply for her trouble and jumpt back up into the corner of the day bed and the two walls. She graspt her bare feet with her fingers interlocking her toes and thus curl'd up in a ball, wept bitterly as she rockt herself on her tail.

"I suppose you think that very impressive," quipt Andrew.

"You bastard, how dare you kidnap me to a place where there isn't even any lousy pot?" she demanded in tears.

"How dreadful of me!" apologized Andrew in mock shame, "No one whose parents were marry'd would ever bring a respectable girl to a place where there wasn't any pot, would he?"

Harriet couldn't help but smile and neither could Conrad.

"I think it's time for the stronger wine." observed Andrew, pulling another decanter from under the chair. "Let me refill your classes with this." The wine he pour'd now was even more delicious than the first and it quickly had much the same effect as what Harriet had long'd for, as it allow'd them to discover an humourous side to even the most serious subjects.

They spent the next hours thoroughly enjoying themselves, mostly in telling funny stories about themselves. Of course the infamous headless nude cavorted again, seen in this telling from the point of view of the police, which only served to heighten the humour of it. Conrad told one or two school stories and even Andrew, bound as he was by the constraints of his order, was able to tell one of two "safe" stories about his apprenticeship which got a laugh. It was, all agreed, a very good job that Andrew had been so provident in provisioning the chair.

Harriet, however, was too proud, and too self critical a creature to allow her little bout of bad behaviour to go unexamined, and though she did not do so immediately, insisted at length on apologizing for it, if only because she hoped to thus find some satisfactory explanation for what had been so unlike her.

Andrew dismist her apology, explaining that although as a real being he might expect a certain standard of behaviour from others who shared the same reality, he could expect nothing from those in whose dreams he appear'd only as an illusion. As far as Harriet had been concern'd at the moment in question, it had become quite obvious that the whole episode was just a dream starting to go sour and she had taken the expedient of dismissing her now not so pleasant interlocutor by simply retreating into idiocy. "Under the circumstances," he said, "it was I who was being rude by not disappearing" When they had all had a laught Andrew explain'd that in his work such things were not at all uncommon and that only the previous day one of his guests had upset a tray of food by striking it with his cane, and another had thrown one of the spherical lamps though a window.

They continued to talk but Andrew deliberately kept the conversation light and frivolous from then on and at length drew out a third bottle from the chair. After one small glass of this last and sweetest liqueur, both his guests became quite drowsy and anon fell off to sleep at opposite ends of the day bed. Fetching a quilt from the small cabinet underneath the bed he threw it over them, having first loosen'd their clothes. He then turn'd off the last remaining lamp by simply inverting the sphere, and stepping silently out the door, left them to sleep peacefully for the rest of the night.

THE BAREFOOT GIRLS

Chapter Four

Andrew, as a good host, had actually taken far more care for the comfort of his guests than they might have supposed. He had been sure to shew them which of the seemingly insignificant cupboards that flankt the fireplaces actually conceal'd the toilet facilities (which had plumbing not all that unlike what they were accustom'd to) and he did not lock the main door, but simply order'd the night porter to awaken and fetch him should they venture out.

At dawn a breakfast tray and an urn of coffee -- which Andrew was sure they would want -- were silently substituted for the supper buffet by a barefoot porter who was careful not to disturb the sound sleep which enfolded them with dreams as richly embroider'd as the quilt that cover'd their entangled feet and legs. When they arose Conrad managed somehow to figure out how to work the tap on the urn without spilling the coffee, and Andrew, inform'd by the porter that they had begun to stir, allow'd half a watch to pass before knocking on the door and joining them in another cup, observing that they had elected to sit and talk between themselves rather than venture out into the hall. He had deem'd it important that he not intrude on their conversation for this time. When at last he did join them he did not allow them to draw him into anything but breakfast pleasantries until he had finisht his coffee and then, after asking Conrad to refrain from wearing shoes in the building, led them out into the hall with the promise that a surprise awaited them.

Conrad and Harriet had of course open'd the shutters and windows to behold Katharintisten by day and in so doing had noticed the immense size of the building they were in; nevertheless the view down the huge corridor they now stept into made them both gasp.

The visual effect was that of a perfectly straight tunnel of enormous length stretching out almost beyond their sight in both directions. Harriet felt a deliciously cool marble floor under her bare feet and noted that this floor was divided by brass strips into a huge pattern of interlocking octagons, and the octagonal theme was repeated again in the cross section of the great hall. The ceiling panels, painted in fresco with a regular pattern of gold stars on blue, were set in three rows, a flat centre row flankt by two angled rows so that in cross section that part above the heavy wooden wainscot form'd 5 sides of a perfect octagon with the uppermost ceiling panel being the same distance from the floor as the distance separating the walls -- perhaps 4 yards. The enormous length of the hall was accentuated by the regular spacing of the great doors on each side of it and by the huge beams that divided the ceiling panels. Finally Harriet noticed the frescoes above the wainscot. They depicted various figures in scenes which lookt as if they had some historical significance, and indeed there was writing on them of some mysterious kind which reinforced this impression, but what really stopt Harriet's breath was the fact that although most of the figures were drest like Andrew, many were drest like the women in the dream she had had two nights before!

They past by only 4 of these murals, however, as having turn'd to the left and proceeded down the corridor less than 100 feet, Andrew halted and knockt on only the second door that they came upon on their left; and a man's voice answer'd in English "Come in." Motioning to them to follow, Andrew open'd the great oak door and enter'd.

Conrad, who had been momentarily absorbed in the frescoes, was suddenly startled by the sound of Harriet shouting for joy: "Sarah! Sarah, how did you get here?" And as he ran in to see what was happening the room broke into a kakophony of greetings, introductions and excited barking.

The barking proved to be the contribution of Henrietta, his Uncle's bitch and there was Conrad's Uncle Regis himself, happily waving the cane which Conrad's first inquiry, after their initial embrace, incriminated as the weapon that had sent the food flying in Andrew's anecdote. Also present were Regis' faithful housekeeper, Pilár, and two persons whom neither Conrad nor Harriet had met before. One was a very mysterious young man who drest entirely in black, went by the impossible name of Thaddĉus Dupa, and seem'd very reluctant to say anything at all about himself beyond the fact that he was a recent Cambridge graduate. He spoke like a well educated Englishman but lookt rather European. His skin was very pale but his hair and eyes were almost a black as his clothes. He was accompanied by a very intense young girl of about 11 or 12 who was sometimes refer'd to as his niece and sometimes as his cousin. She was thin and sharp featured, though round faced, with thick blond hair and ice blue eyes. She spoke very little English: and Dupa was accustom'd to calling her 'Halka' and addressing her in a very crude form of Polish, which caused her to giggle and embarrass'd him, or seem'd to -- at least when others were present. Andrew seem'd to understand Dupa's asides to her and they made him smile. When Andrew himself had to address her he did so in Church Slavonic.

Halka evidenced a far greater respect for this ancient and noble tongue than for Dupa's pidgin Polish although it was clear that in fact she understood the latter much more easily. To save her feelings Andrew explain'd to everyone that Halka's language problems were quite unimportant as they would all be spending the next few months learning the language of the land in which they were now to live. This, he assured them was an Aryan tongue, equally related to English and Polish and, in its grammar at least, a good deal closer to the latter, so that Halka would, if anything be at an advantage. After the initial introductions were made and Andrew had invited all of them to supper that evening in his own suite, he was of a mind to take his leave so that his presence would not dampen their conversation. Harriet, however stopt him.

"Did you know," she askt, tugging at his robes and at the same time pushing Sarah towards him, "that Sarah here is an artist -- and a bit of a psychic?" -- she was proud of her friend -- "She painted a picture of the two of us drest just like the women in the murals outside in the hall. I've still got it -- or had it -- in my room at Stephendale."

Andrew lookt directly at Sarah as if trying to discern something. Beneath the straight homecut bangs that lent such a look of childlike simplicity to her long lank blackcherry hair, her pudgy face, markt as it was by a permanently reddish complexion that owed little to the sun, had blusht even a shade redder, and her sea green eyes were cast down to watch her equally sanguine bare toes curl over each other in modesty. Andrew, however, was intent on something beyond this shew of modesty, and he hoped in face that his own face did not betray the concern over the apparently minor revelation which had thus set his mind to racing.

"How interesting," he finally said with an indulgent smile. "It would certainly be a shame for you not to have it. I shall try to get it for you when I am next in Stephendale. We'll talk more about it at supper. Shall we. Now, however, I really must go see to some things. All right. Good bye for now." He set his hands briefly on both their shoulders in a fatherly way and then as he went through the door call'd back to everyone: "I'll collect you all for supper. Bye now."

After Andrew's departure, Regis, having listen'd with interest to Harriet's account of how she and Conrad had got there, related his own experience and that of the motley crew that were transported with him to the embassy the day before. To make a long story short, Andrew had simply knock'd on his door one evening in the guise of an university professor and convinced him that he had taken an interest in Conrad's career at Stephendale and wisht him well. He had claim'd to represent a foundation which took a philanthopick interest in a number of very carefully selected young people, including Conrad, and had prevail'd upon Regis to help him in his work by inviting Sarah and Thaddĉus {along with little Halka who lived with him} to tea, as both Sarah and Thaddĉus were staying in London at the time, and, for reasons Andrew promised to explain later, Regis was an ideal host for such a gathering. He had assured Regis that all the guests would be there and prepared him for the fact that he himself would be rather differently drest. When on the appointed day the group assembled as Andrew had said they would, he had requested that they ask God's blessing on the gathering and that, after the custom of the semi religious order to which he belong'd, they do so standing together in a tight group rather than at table. Immediately he had said "Amen", Andrew had enfolded the entire company in his cloak and in the twinkling of an eye both the venue and -- to Pilár's even greater surprise -- the food for their gathering had been changed and there they were standing over a buffet in the very room they were in now.

"Well, he certainly does know how to call down a blessing, doesn't he, blasted eunuch. Look where he's got us, will you," said Dupa, pacing the floor in his large heeled boots despite Andrew's request not to do so.

"You think he's a Eunuch then?" ask'd Conrad, seriously.

"Oh, he's a eunuch all right" put in Regis, scowling. "I cant say I've seen many, but I met one or two among Franco's Moors and he fits the bill. The question is, what else is he?

"Just what is a eunuch?" ask't Harriet innocently, reckoning that this might have been a word she had seen in a book on Byzantine history, but had been too lazy to look up and had never actually heard pronounced.

"It's a chap that's had his balls cut off" said Regis bluntly, looking right at her until the whole room, starting with Sarah, broke into laughter. "Might be so funny," he continued "if it were the fate that awaited us: -- Ach, bad thought. Time we had some more wine. Let's see what's left in the cupboard, shall we?"

They managed to find another bottle of the more humourous wine, in this room kept under the old, badly crackt sideboard which held the buffet and was carved with humourous grotesques which grew more humourous after the second glass. They were all soon even more stoned than even Sarah could remember having been in quite a while. Their fate no longer seem'd to matter very much, nor did anything else. Everything in fact seem'd terribly funny but none of them could remember much of anything from one minute to the next. It was on this happy group that Andrew walk't in to announce supper, and when Dupa was fool enough to mock him in a falsetto he gave a slight smile and a nod of recognition, having surmised what they had been up to.

Andrew's suite turn'd out to be directly across the hall from the one which stood between the one he now led them out of and the one Conrad and Harriet had first found themselves in. It was more orderly than the others and had the appearance of having been carefully decorated in bright greens. Unlike the other rooms it held a number of plants. Its basick architectural plan, however, was exactly the same.

The room held another person in the same dress and Andrew, and although considerably younger than Andrew, not nearly as youthful as the porters they had seen. Andrew introduced him as Nikonor, and Nikonor completed the introduction himself by saying that, since he, apart from Andrew, was the only member of the order in residence at the embassy who knew English, he would, for the next few months, be acting as their guide and tutor.

"You are all eunuchs, aren't you?" askt Dupa, gaping stupidly.

"Yes, we are a castrated order" answer'd Nikonor, flatly, "Does that disturb you?"

"That depends," answer'd Conrad, who, although he was so stoned his teeth felt numb, had felt his testicles jump as if an invisible snake had bitten them at the mention of that word, "on whether we're going to be expected to join that order."

"You needn't worry" said Andrew. "That would be quite impossible. it could, in fact, never be allow'd. No Conrad yours will be a much more ordinary destiny and you will have children and grandchildren but I can tell you this -- for I see it now as reveal'd to me -- that your youngest grandson will join our order and find his fulfillment among us. Mark my words in this -- for I say them in prophesy."

Conrad grew rigid. If he remember'd nothing else that was said that day, and he would in fact remember little, he would remember those words for he felt as though along with them a bolt of electricity had past to him from Andrew. Butt the effect past quickly, and the humourous side of things reasserted itself as the laughter of the wine bubbled back to the surface. Conrad was in fact so far gone that he actually try'd to remember what the aforemention'd grandson's name was before he remember'd that as yet he still had no descendants.

Andrew, if prest, would have had to admit a certain prejudice in favour of sober guests. This lot laught all through supper so foolishly that nothing could be discust seriously. Still, they ate ravenously, and that was something.

By mid evening their foolishness had finally bubbled out of them to the extent that Andrew was at last able to talk a bit of sense to his guests. It was time that he sorted out their living arrangements and got them some suitable clothing.

Harriet was to share with Sarah the suite wherein she and Conrad had spent their first night in the embassy. Conrad was told that he could stay with his Uncle in the suite that Regis' party had first occupy'd. It had never occur'd to Andrew that anyone would object to the idea that Regis and Conrad would have to put up with the inconvenience of the workmen having to repair the window that Sarah had broken, while she got an undamaged and slightly better furnish room. The suite in between them was assigned to Thaddĉus and Halka. As they were settling in the porters brought several changes of clothing for each of them and with Andrew and Nikonor translating their requests this was placed in whichever of the bed rooms each had chosen to occupy individually.

Had the wine they had consumed owed its formidable effects entirely to its alcohol content they had all by now been quite ill, but as this was not at all the case, they were only tired enough to take to their beds with pleasure in the anticipation of sleep, as after a very busy day.

Harriet and Sarah had had their clothing placed in the two rooms on either side of the window'd wall. Harriet had let Sarah have the larger of these as she was the messier girl. Although each of these rooms had a bed the girls did not choose to sleep in them, but instead spent the night on the same day bed whereupon Harriet had spent the previous night.

Harriet drew out the quilt from underneath the bed as Andrew had done for her and Conrad and she and Sarah, after they had cuddled and giggled and chatted for a while, took their pillows and lay down at opposite ends of this bed that was well half again as long as any they were used to. As they had done so many times at Stephendale, they massaged each others bare feet for a while and then cuddled them in sleep.

Sarah Inwater was truly happy now for the first time since she had left Stephendale. Nothing in the world -- in any world -- could have given her more pleasure at that moment than cuddling Harriet's bare feet. She kist the sensuous, earth-loving soles tenderly, and laying her cheek against their cool smooth leather in preference to her pillow, drifted off into the smiling sleep of the blissfully contented.
She dreamt of that warm day in early October when Harriet had first persuaded her to try going barefoot in the woods. Almost a year and a half had gone by since that wonderful afternoon and in all that time, unless she counted the soleless sandals of soft leather and cool brass that Harriet had bought for her to match her own, she had not worn shoes even once.

She could not now imagine how she could ever have worn shoes. Still, she would never have been alow'd to go barefoot at St. Ann's, the girls' school which she had attended for the six years prior to her very brief sojourn at Stephendale. Girls there were lookt upon as 'debs', 'dykes' or 'ducks'. Sarah was a very marginal 'duck', that is to say, she had a few marginal friends who were real 'ducks,' but she had never had a friend as close or as special as Harriet.

Like most of Andrew's acquisitions, Sarah was an orphan. She had lost her parents in a yachting accident when they had been the weekend guest of an irresponsible playboy who had fancy'd himself a sailor, only a week before she had longingly expected to be reunited with them on her first summer home from St. Ann's. Her father, whom she had loved very much, had, like Sarah herself, been an only child and an early orphan, and, as her upbringing had been a Christian one, she had consoled herself with the thought that he was now with his parents, who he had always spoken of with equal love. It was thus left for her mother's parents to take her in when she was just sort of thirteen and, for all too brief a time they provided her with as loving a home as she had known with her own parents. She had, indeed, already been accustom'd to spending most of her weekends with them as they lived quite close to St. Ann's. Unfortunately, her grandmother died when she was 15 and her grandfather, a wealthy banker, survived his spouse by less than a year. That left only her uncle Theodore who, being scarcely 10 years older than Sarah herself, was not only quite unpromising as heir to the family fortune but, more to the point, unmarry'd and totally unsuitable as a guardian for Sarah. Thus her grandfather had provided that his attorney should be her guardian and trustee and entrusted his servants to actually look after her. In effect this had meant that she had almost complete independence from the age of 16. St. Ann's placed few restrictions on the lives of senior prefects and it was there, in fact, that she became involved with cannabis. She was not, however, a 'wild' girl in any real sense, and spent almost all of her free time painting. It was to further her study of art that Sarah had agreed to attend Stephendale.

Her grandfather had wanted her to go there as it had been his Alma Mater but of course the Stephendale he had remembered was not at all the one she was to find. Her art teachers gave her decent enough marks, although they did not admire her realism, but she came a cropper in the various totally unrelated subjects which Stephendale, typical of the American University system, required her to study as well, and during the summer holidays she received the not unexpected communication to the effect that Stephendale was no longer willing to have her as a student. Predictable as their action might have been in this matter, Sarah wrote the board of governors a venomous letter reminding them of her grandfather's generosity toward their institution and suggesting that they would not have dared repay it so despitefully had he been alive. She then packt her things and set off, barefoot, for Europe, seeing such an adventure as the necessary formative experience for an artist.

In Paris she met Gabrielle, a Belgian interior decorator who taught at a small institution for commercial art in London and got Sarah admitted there as a student. She also insisted that Sarah stay at her flat and got her commissions for her paintings through her private business as well. These arrangements delighted Sarah until one night, after a heady evening of toasting her brilliant future in champaign, she awoke with a start to find Gabrielle in her bed, boldly invading her virginity with a tongue whose talents went far beyond flattery. Jumping out of the bed with a curse, she snatcht up the most essential of her possessions and went off to wait in the doorway of the college until it open'd in the morning. She had been fortunate in that her financial resources made it easy for her to find a flat nearby but her position at the college had become a very uncomfortable one.

When she had turn'd on Andrew and hurl'd the lamp through the window, it had not been because she had felt that she had been snatcht from the bosom of another alma mater, but because she had felt a desperate fear that she had fallen into the hands of another self serving trickster.

Sarah's real mistake with Gabrielle had been to assume that she could maintain control of the situation, for she had reckon'd long before this overt incident that the older woman's taste for her had little to do with her art. Sarah knew very well what a Lesbian was and what a Lesbian did. A girl at St. Ann's had had to learn such facts rather early, and she had been deeply insulted and somewhat taken aback when she had heard that word used with reference to Harriet and herself at Stephendale. They did no such thing and they were no such thing. Harriet was only the sister that she had never had. She stir'd slightly, kissing once more the proud bare feet that she so lovingly cuddled, and went back to sleep.

Henrietta's sleeping habits would seen strange to most humans, perhaps even to most dogs, for although she took great pleasure in sleeping, she was a very light sleeper, spending more than half the day in a dreamy half sleep interrupted by very brief periods of wakefulness during which she would get up, walk a few steps, perhaps investigate something, or perhaps not, and with very apparent relish settle herself back down for another dream. It was almost as if she had mist her calling--or her incarnation--and should have been a cat. She was, however, fully a spaniel as her father had been a pure-bred King Charles and her mother a cocker and as she favour'd her father, only a breeder could tell that she was not a pure-bred Charles herself. Yet lovely as she was, she had been abandon'd as a puppy and Regis had found her starving on his doorstep and taken her in. Her puppyhood, however had by this time long past and now, at the age of nine, she was slowing down into what was to be a long and comfortable old age. Fancying herself somewhat of a watch dog, she had elected not to sleep with Regis in the largest of the bedrooms but rather to remain in the main room of their suite. In her nocturnal perambulations she past first Regis' door and then Conrad's to listen for the reassuring sound of their snoring, but settled at last at the feet of Pilár on the left hand day bed and lickt Pilár's hard soles until her toes curled in response before drifting off to sleep.

Pilár prided herself on being a silent servant. Barefoot as Harriet, she had not had shoes on her feet since she had shed them in order to pass more easily through the Republican lines under the guise of a simple peasant girl during the Spanish Civil War. Nor had she a tongue in her head, for she had used hers for the last time to curse the republick the day her father and three brothers were murder'd along with their noble master, Don Eduardo, whose family theirs had served for five generations; and, as soon as she had spoken the curse, had had it cut from her mouth by the young leader of the raiding party, while his comrades held her. The republican band had been about to set fire to the estate buildings when Regia arrived at the head of a small company of Nationalists that quickly shot the lot of them to death without giving any quarter. Ordering their heads cut off he had them paraded before Pilár on a plank even as the company doctor tended to her monstrous wound. From that day Regis had taken full responsibility for the little servant girl, maim'd and orphan'd in her fourteenth year.

Even had she had words, her pain had been beyond them, and could only be control'd by a very copious use of opiates, which in turn had left her with an addiction which only her iron will could break; yet for all this Pilár did not regret the loss of her tongue, for it gave, in her superstitious mind, the force of a dying curse to her last utterance and thus she was quite confident that she would see the final end of the Republick even as she had seen the heads of its dreadful servants paraded before her on the plank. Serving as she did, moreover, as a spy, she had reason'd that she was better off without a tongue, as, barefoot illiterate that she became, there was no way that she could be compel'd to tell anyone anything, and the atrocity itself which had left her so conveniently speechless, was such that most men could easily believe it the work of their enemies but few could ever believe it the work of their comrades. She watcht, she listen'd, and she workt tirelessly to avenge her family; but when the war finally ended, she, like Spain, had had enough, enough of words, enough of language; enough in fact of both the evil thoughts and the grand ideas that this supposèd gift, whereof the knife had so neatly deprived her, allow'd her species to communicate. She now wanted neither speech nor language, nor the humanity which these defined and confer'd. Whenever spoken to she only mimed the removal of her tongue as if she herself had cut it out and gave a short foolish laugh. Regis, realising what she wanted, and respecting her decision, refrain'd henceforth from speaking to her either in English or in Spanish but communicated his wishes to her only by simple gestures, and only used her name when he was out of her sight.

In a way it could be said that he now treated her much as he treated Henrietta, and indeed he loved her in much the same way. At the end of the day, as Regis sat and read he would typically find both Henrietta's furry head and Pilár's bare feet in his lap waiting to share the comfort of his touch. Conrad, on his recent visit to England, had been given this same high honour by his uncle's mismatcht brace of bitches and it was his practice on Pilár's war harden'd but carpet polisht soles that had allow'd him to massage Harriet's so expertly at Stephendale.

Pilár had not, in abdicating so much of her humanity, become an idiot. She was a conscientious, if somewhat eccentric, housekeeper and a very good cook, for she had not in face lost so much of her tongue as to seriously affect her sense of taste. She was also a lover of musick, as it holp her mind create the vivid images that had for her replaced all verbal thought. Regis had in fact been told that the damage she had suffer'd was not so great that she could not, with therapy, regain the ability to speak after a fashion; but that was not her wish, and he would not permit anyone to trouble her further about it. Regis understood that Pilár was Pilár and that her silence, like her shoelessness, had some symbolick significance that was very important to her in defining who and what she was.

Pilár's toes brusht Henrietta's whiskers and awaken'd her from a reverie of one of the delightfull long walks that the two of them had shared along the forested footpaths of the greenbelt. Thinking how nice it was that Pilár could share in the barefoot pleasures of dogdom, she trundled off to her next resting place at the door to Regis' bedroom.

Regis Kingslynn was the proud product of a long line of reactionaries, and as the family historian--a position wherein he was carefully preparing his quite willing nephew to succeed him--he was acquainted with the accomplishments of most of his ancestors. The earliest of these had been Captain John Kingslynn, who had died defending the monarchy in the Civil War and whose son, Regis, of whom the present Regis was the fifth namesake, had emigrated to America during the Protectorate to escape the horrors of Puritanism. Another Kingslynn, whose name had been Conrad and who, through subsequent intermarriage also became an ancestor of the present Regis and Conrad had found it necessary to make the same voyage after the so call'd 'Glorious Revolution', as he had been a rather active supporter of James II. Despite the fact that they retain'd a certain sympathy for the Stuarts, and indeed for Catholicism, by the time of George III their loyalties were firmly vested in the Hanoverian Monarchy and in the Establisht Church of England, for at bottom they were Tories and had never really been anything else. The Kingslynns to a man had supported the Crown during the American Revolution and two of them had lost their lives in doing so. When that conflict ended in disaster for them, some had gone north into Canada, but Regis' great great great grandfather -- another Conrad -- had had a great deal of property in Maryland, which he managed, by a few deceptions, to hang on to, and determined to stay on and wait for another day when their cause might prevail. The Kingslynns had thought that that day had come in 1812 when the Napoleonick wars spill'd over into America and they rallied to the cause of George IV, but that day in fact brought only disaster for the Kingslynns once again, and another of their number was hang'd for his part in the burning of Washington. Although they managed thereafter to avoid the wrath of the republick they unhappily, but not unprofitably inhabited, they were never free of the Tory ghosts that haunted them. Regis had had a great uncle who left for London to become a priest and a chaplain at an English boys school, and another who had got himself into her Majesty's service as a soldier in India. His grandfather, however, being the youngest, had settled for a less honourable, though far more profitable profession as an arms smuggler during the American Civil War. He marry'd the daughter of a Kentucky Colonel and made up for his bachelor brothers by having what was, for a Kingslynn, a large family. There were three frivolous daughters, who managed to leave only scandals behind them in lieu of children. Then there was George Kingslynn, Regis' father and Conrad's grandfather. He was, for a Kingslynn, a quiet man, and a very good husband and father; and as a professor of languages raised two quite well educated sons. His wife died shortly after their younger son, Conrad, had given them a grandson of the same name, and being an avid fisherman, he retired to a small cottage on Lake Superior to pursue the hobby which was, ten years later, to bring about the end of his earthly life. Besides his three elder sisters, who had concluded their unedifying lives rather early, George Kingslynn also had a younger sister who would have been counted as surviving him had she not become a nun--perhaps in an effort to make amends for her elder sisters. She had been the former Mother Superior of Stephendale and had gone to her rest during Conrad's first year there.

Regis had been exactly 10 years old on the day that the Tsar was martyr'd and this, more than any of the horrors of the Great War that he heard about daily, was to have a lasting effect on him. He wept for the Third Rome that was now falling, and had he been a very few years older, he would gladly have gone to give his life fighting for the White Army against the reds. His chance would come, however, to strike a blow for the Old Order and he would wait.

When he was 17, he left for England, having got himself into Cambridge. He subsequently marry'd an English girl of good Tory stock and became himself a subject of his Majesty King George V. His marriage was a very loving and happy one; but tragicly his young wife, whose health had always been frail, died shortly after their fifth anniversary of complications to her second unsuccessful pregnancy. Regis was heartbroken. He sware he would never touch another woman, and in face never did, content with the thought that he would be reunited with his beloved Kitty in heaven. For a while he continued to go through the motions of teaching history in a second rate publick school, and try'd to pursue his intention of becoming a serious historical writer, but his heart was not in it.

Finally the Civil War began in Spain and Regis felt that that was just the sort of thing he wanted to get involved in. Hoping that the Nationalists would turn the unfortunate tide of recent history by smashing the Republick and restoring the Monarchy, he gave in his notice at the school, and went off to throw in his lot with Franco. He was quite aware that a good number of young Englishmen -- including one of the best of his former pupils, were joining the other side, but such was life.

Indeed it was because of the popularity of the Republican cause among so many of his countrymen -- whether one were to regard him as British, as he now regarded himself, or as American -- that Regis was seen from the first as a potential intelligence officer and was quickly clear'd, train'd, and commission'd as such with the rank of lieutenant. This sort of duty would not have been his first choice, for the things that he was call'd upon to do were not only far from glorious but at times seem'd scarcely even honourable, although he did them without complaint. he was soon largely out of all that, however, as on his very first day of leave after being commissioned he had met Don Eduardo and quickly became a close friend of this influential nobleman. Like Regis, Don Eduardo had read history at Cambridge -- although some twenty years earlier -- and he also was a lonely, childless widower. Within 6 months his new friend had used his considerable influence -- which included a nodding acquaintance with Franco himself, whom he even arranged for Regis to meet on one occasion -- to get Regis transfer'd to a post as a junior officer with a regular unit in his own thitherto quiet part of Andalusia. Regis had enjoy'd several quiet months during which, as a frequent house guest, he had got to know not only his noble host and benefactor but also Don Eduardo's quite cultured Major Domo, Manuél, who had also recently lost his wife and whose daughter Pilár was the only female in the household. After the frightful day that join'd his destiny with Pilár's he requested a transfer to the front lines, and his request was granted on condition that he return at least in part to intelligence work, thus giving Pilár the chance to serve as well.

Regis did not in fact see all that much action, but he was wounded in the knee at the final siege of Madrid so badly that the doctors were only just able to save his leg and he was thenceforth compel'd to use a cane in order to walk, and was very thankful to have Pilár to serve him.

As the war ended he knew that another much greater war was about to begin and as he could in no case take any active part in it he though it best that he and Pilár remain in Spain while it lasted. Spain's neutrality, however would not provide Regis any quiet haven, for Madrid was infested with the agents of every one of the belligerent powers and even in Andalusia Regis, as a Spanish officer, British subject, American expatriate, and casual acquaintance of a number of German officers (who, while quite junior in rank, were in one or two cases intelligence officers as Regis had been,) could not escape their constant attention. He could dismiss the Germans, and for that matter even the Americans as so many annoying pests; but having sword allegiance to George V, he owed the same to George VI. He felt compel'd to be of as much assistance to His Majesty's agents as he could be without violating his trust as one of Franco's officers. These loyalties did at times come into some conflict as his struggle to preserve both life and honour was at times as hard as it had been during the war that had actually raged in Spain.

Regis long'd to return to England, but he felt that he had to let first the war and then the subsequent Labour government run their ruinous courses before he did. He return'd with Churchill, taking Pilár with him, and took a house in Paddington.

Regis had known the England of George V, but the England of Elizabeth II was becoming a very different place. She was losing her Empire, her authority, and her pride. She was no longer ruled by the wisdom of her Aristocracy but by the folly of her fickle masses. Within a few years Regis saw a Parliament of knaves set aside all the sanctions against wickedness and vice with the apparent acquiescence of the Establish'd Church; and the Church of Rome, to which Regis had accommodated himself during his years in Spain, was itself no longer acceptable to him as a spiritual home. He had no trouble finding a parish where he could be comfortable, but only by pretending to himself that the wider church did not exist. It was the same story everywhere he went, one backwater of a boy's school after another 'reform'd' itself to the point where he could no longer comfortably teach there, and the type of history he wrote was less and less popular in academic circles. The saddest thing for Regis had been to watch Conrad falling under the spell of Merry Old England even as he had, and falling in love with the fast fading shadows of the thing he himself had fallen in love with forty years earlier. Perhaps those things had only been shadows themselves -- no, more than perhaps. How he envied his great uncles who had seen her Empire at its height. How he wisht he could have served the great Plantagenets to whose bones he had watcht Conrad genuflect as they slept away the ages in Westminster.

Regis slept fitfully as these thoughts invaded and disturb'd his dreams. He pray'd that Andrew had been telling them the truth but he could not yet believe it. At last he committed his difficulties to his Creator and return'd to sleep. Little Henrietta felt her master's unease and drew herself yet closer to his door.

THE BAREFOOT GIRLS

Chapter Five

The next morning Andrew and Nikonor awaken'd their guests to inform then that it was Sunday, or the equivalent, and that they must dress for Mass. In reply to their questions, they were inform'd that any selection of the clothes they had been given would be consider'd appropriate. It would in fact have been Sunday for them had they remain'd in London or in Stephendale, as the case might have been, as it had been Thursday when the Londoners had made their journey and Friday evening when the pair from Stephendale had made theirs, but it would be some time yet before any of them would find this at all noteworthy. Surprised only to find themselves fresh and sober, they had their first real look at the clothing that the porters had provided them. There were, for both sexes, a sort of trousers provided, of the general sort that they might have associated more with Hindus that with their own kind, but generally in darker colours. There were high collar'd tops to match these and over garments which in the case of the men lookt somewhat tunic-like from the rear but had jacket-like fronts that were deep cut and buttoning. The female equivalent of these had much the same general cut, being only on average longer and fuller skirted, although there were regular and in fact quite rigid differences in cut and design which did, in fact distinguish them by sex once these were known. Headwear, of sorts, was provided but no footwear as such, although for the men there were, as a variations of the trouser like legwear which was intended to be worn with bare feet, a few pairs of footed tights with soft leather soles. Regis and Conrad had chosen to wear such tights under their tunics and Harriet and Sarah correctly guest that they were supposed to wear the trousers under theirs.

Everyone realized that the high collar'd tops, some of which were button'd and others pull over, were to be worn under the plunging collar'd tunics, but Halka arrived in the hall with no legwear whatever, and Dupa had on both tights and trousers. Pilár made the same mistake as Halka, but as the tunics -- if one were to so call them -- they could also be seen as heavy dresses -- which they had chosen were quite long, this was not every noticeable. Dupa, however, in his instinctive attempt to recreate his usual mode of dress out of these new garments managed to look the greatest fool. He had on brown trousers and undertop with a dark green tunic -- not so terrible in themselves -- but insisted on wearing bright red tights under the brown trousers and to counterbalance his red feet over which he would have dearly loved to wear his great boots, but dared not do so -- he wore an almost matching red hat.

When they were assembled in the hall, Andrew and Nikonor hid their amusement. No infractions of Modesty or Manners had been made and more could be said to their guests on the subject of fashion later in the day. It did, however, occur to Andrew that unlike Harriet or Sarah, or for that matter Pilár, who had no use whatever for shoes, Halka had been accustom'd to wearing them and, as there were no footed tights included in any of the female wardrobes, he askt her if she would like him to make an effort to find her some soft, quiet footwear acceptable in the embassy.

"Nie," she reply'd, shaking her head and pursing her mouth, "Ja chciem chodzic' boso jak Sara!" Saying this, she slapt the bare sole of her left foot and pointed to the girl whose name was easiest for her.

Sarah smiled questioningly and pointed to herself with a nod, and when Andrew inform'd her to her delight that Halka had decided to go barefoot on her example her smile broaden'd to a grin. Andrew saw an opportunity to give everyone a foretaste of the lessons they would soon be starting and which he in fact secretly wisht he were to give himself rather than leave to Niconor and digrest: "The Slavonic word 'boso', meaning barefoot', comes from the same Aryan root which gives 'bare' in English. In our tongue the adverbial form is 'bhoze', very similar to the Slavonic form, and likewise restricted in meaning to our feet. St. Katherine the Barefooted, the foundress of the order which rules this land, is, in our language, Zankta Katharina Bhoza. Sibilants in radical positions are, like aspirants, always voiced, unless in contact with unvoiced inflectional endings and persona pronouns..." Andrew continued this rather technical discussion of linguistics until he had lost even Regis, who had been grounded in the subject by his father, who, had he been present, would have been fascinated.

Godlike as the attainments of his order would seem to be, and complete as the subjugation of his passions by the order's discipline had been, Andrew was still charmingly -- or irksomely -- human, and he had his limitations. He could be quite absent minded and just then he had forgot himself and got carry'd away, as a philologist, on his favourite subject. The teaching method that he had just given his guests a taste of was, however, the one that both he and Nikonor were to employ on a daily basis.

It was indeed to prove edifying to the men -- all three of whom had had a thorough grounding in Latin. It was a good deal less so for Harriet, who had never learned any language other than English, and even for Sarah, who, although fluent in French had been taught it by purely conversational methods. Halka's four moths in England has scarcely taught her forty words of English, but then she had lived very much in Dopa's shadow and he had had no more idea what to do with here than what to do with himself. He had been in process of obtaining refugee status for her from the Home Office, and if the truth must be told was meanwhile using her more or less as a servant. Regis and Conrad by now were able to piece together from Dupa's few cryptic remarks that Halka's mother had been Dopa's first cousin, and that theirs had been a marginally aristocratic family of Tsarist reactionaries whom the Communists held to have been Nazi collaborators as well. Both his parents and hers had apparently been executed as a result of this but he would not discuss any of the particulars. Conrad saw Dupa as a lonely, enigmatic character, and, somewhat, fascinated by his air of mystery, try'd to befriend him. When Harriet had mention'd to Sarah the idea that, in her understanding of what had happen'd to them, Conrad was, in a sense, her brother now, as they had been born again together from the womb of Andrew's cloak, Sarah had express'd her disgust at the idea that she by the same logic would have Dupa for a brother. Sarah in fact had taken a strong and instant dislike for him which Harriet could not understand, but both girls found themselves growing fond of little Halka, whom they tended to mother.

Andrew led them down to the very end of the great corridor and through a great door into a huge octagonal structure that served, as he inform'd them, as the embassy chapel. They were to learn that the Chapel was one of eight more or less identical octagonal towers, and that the corridor they had come along could be seen as the centre of one of eight identical sections of 'wall', which connected the towers to enclose the territory belonging to the order in a great octagonal park. Each such 'wall', they were told, had four main storeys above ground and well as basement and attic storeys and that each of the four main storeys had 64 suites of rooms on each side of its central corridor. As their rooms were not on the ground floor but on the first floor above, they enter'd not the main floor of the chapel but the lowest of three sets of balconies suspended by a system of pillars and arches, the whole chapel being abut fifty feet high from floor to star-studded ceiling. They were told, moreover that the tower had four more floors and an attic above the chapel wherein the priests and the chapel staff were housed.

There were much larger windows in the Chapel than they had in their rooms, and thus there was, at least during the day, neither a need for nor a use made of the spherical lamps, now jet black in their passive state, which, as in the corridors, were set at regular intervals along the wainscot shelf which merged into the window sills so that in even spacing three spheres sat on each window sill and one on the bit of shelf between windows. The semi-octagonal tops of these great stain'd glass windows rose up to touch the ribband which carry'd the balcony above. There were, however, a great many candles burning on and around the very magnificent altar. The vestments and hangings were all purple, which struck the new arrivals as somewhat odd, since for them Lent should not have started for another three days, but, as they were to learn, both the Kalendar and the liturgical rules were different here.

It was hardly possible for them to really observe anything about the details of the mass, as they could not understand anything of the language beyond a few words -- mostly proper names -- which were close enough in sound for them to guess at. The musick was totally enchanting, although quite different from anything that any of them had ever known before, the dominant tone of it being set by the slow, stately clanging of great, deep toned bells which set time for the high and hauntingly beautifull voices of what they took to be castratti quires which answer'd each other from various balconies. Such quires had not been heard in Europe in living memory, and the newcomers found their chanting quite delightfull once they got over the disconcerting realisation that they were listening to male soprani. In contrast to these, the priests themselves, who likewise sang their own parts in the mass, were quite obviously not eunuchs, as they wore long beards and sang in deep bass voices. Watching them perform the gracefull choreography of their age-old liturgy they began to share in its timeless peace.

When it was time for communion Andrew seem'd to sweep them up and push them foreward as he told them that as a general rule everyone was expected to receive. They had been sitting more or less by themselves, but as they join'd the throng it was apparent that although most of those present were members or Andrew's order, there were also others wearing similar clothing to that which they themselves had been given and a fair number wearing what they were told was the "dress" armour of the order of St. Katherine the barefooted.

The actual mechanics of communion were reminiscent of High Anglican practice: It was received in both kinds kneeling; and the Host itself was of a size similar to what was familiar to them, but of cruciform shape and somewhat thicker. Taking communion was the turning point for all of them: Not only for Regis and Conrad, who had been afraid of the hopes that Andrew had aroused in them; but for Dupa, who had felt it necessary to hide behind his cynicism; for Harriet and Sarah, who had, they thought, been simply enjoying an excursion into fantasy and hoping that they would not soon awaken from it; and for Halka and Pilár, whose sense of confusion had been so much the greater because they had had no way to communicate it to anyone. This was their world now, and it was as real as any, and God was willing to bless them in it. Their hopes were realised and their fears dispell'd. When they saw the same in each others eyes, their feeling of wholeness was all the more complete. Even Sarah could, at least for that moment, see Dupa as the brother that Harriet's reasoning would have made him to her. They all wanted to touch each other, and even Dupa was able to rise above the iron reserve which in tragic irony crippled rather than protected him in order to return Sarah's embrace. Human as they still were, it could hardly last, but for the rest of that Sunday at least, all was right with them.

At the end of the mass they were taken, along with the priests, the Embassy residents, and a very motley collection of guests, to a basement under the chapel where an huge feast had been prepared. Again it was a buffet, and, in response to a question from Sarah, Andrew explain'd that such formal dining as they were accustomed to was almost unknown in these lands. To their delight, this time there were huge quantities of roast beef and Andrew suggested that Regis take some back for Henrietta. Andrew explain'd that beef, by an ancient and universal law which wrought both to sanctify the positions of the nobility and the clergy and to provide for the sustenance of the poor, could here be prepared and provided only under the direction of the church and eaten only on Sundays.

While at the feast, they came upon half a dozen women in Katharinian armour, to whom Andrew appear'd (at least to those presently disadvantaged by the language barrier) to be attempting an introduction of Harriet and Sarah. Beside the women were two eunuchs in more or less the same armour, although their bare feet were died a bright red, rather than the various blues and greens seen on the feet of the female warriors. The apparent leader of this group smiled warmly at them, and lifting a bare right foot died in indigo, used it to pat first Harriet's toes and then Sarah's as if in greeting. Sarah smiled and very tentatively return'd the gesture. This, however, produced a peal of indulgent laughter from those in armour, and Andrew had to explain that the gesture extended by the indigo footed lady -- who in fact held a very high rank -- was a blessing, and not simply a greeting, and that a subordinate was definitely not expected to return it. Sarah's red face blusht a full shade redder as she faced the lady and curtsy'd. Harriet did likewise but less gracefully. This gesture, although foreign in form, was instantly understood, and the lady smiled and nodded back to them.

Little Halka lookt on with an awe tinged with envy, and as the men shew'd their respect by bowing to various degrees, she curtsy'd so low as to virtually genuflect. Andrew watcht her closely. He had had a destiny in mind for each of his principal acquisitions, but he had regarded Halka as being in more or less the same class as Henrietta or Pilár -- an allowable dependant. Halka was, in effect, Dupa's ward, and Andrew recognised him as having parental power over her, although he did rather hope that if she were to gravitate toward Harriet and Sarah, as she seem'd now to be doing, that Dupa would, at least when she grew older, take her wishes into consideration.

For the present, however, Andrew had other things to ponder. He would have to return to Stephendale soon -- at least to collect the painting. He also needed to speak with Regis and Conrad about what they wanted to happen to their earthly possessions, knowing that Conrad would not want his mother to have what had been his father's. After a very brief discussion -- for which neither felt a retreat from the buffet to be necessary -- they agree'd that they wanted everything to go to the Canadian Kingslynns, whom Regis had met, and of whom he was satisfy'd that they still defined themselves as United Empire Loyalists. Even as he nibbled at the food, Andrew came up with an acceptable plan for accomplishing their ends: He would in his quite respectable guise of Dr. Andrew Gregory, Professor Emeritus of Linguistics at Stephendale, witness documents handwritten and sign'd by both Regis and Conrad to the effect that they wisht all of their worldly goods to go to Charles Kingslynn and his heirs on Prince Edward's Island in the event of their demise and that the same Charles Kingslynn was to have their full power of attorney untill such time as they might return from an excursion they were undertaking to do historical research in the Middle East.

Andrew would personally deliver these documents to Regis' solicitor in London with the verbal explanation that they had wanted to put their affairs in order as they felt that their journey might be somewhat dangerous. Andrew then asked the others to consider their wishes in making similar arrangements.

The buffet lasted the whole afternoon and it was dark by the time it was over. Andrew's guests askt him many questions about the Embassy and about his order. Some he could answer and some he could not. He explain'd that the Embassy, like the city had stood for almost 17 centuries, but that the whole history of his order, and of the world for whose preservation they held themselves responsible, went back more than 35 centuries. History, however, was a subject that Nikonor would be taking up with them the following day.

During the buffet they noticed a number of men and women, including some uniformed Katharinians, who appear'd to be on the mend from various injuries and other ills -- so many, in fact that it might seem as though they were in some sort of hospital facility. In response to their questions , Andrew told them that this was in fact the case, as about a third of the members of his order were train'd in medicine and served as physicians -- quite free of charge, Andrew made sure to add -- to the general population; and thus that a sizeable portion of the building, in fact the whole of the next section past the chapel, did indeed serve as a hospital. The order had, Andrew explain'd a number of other monopolies -- generally in luxury goods -- whence they made enough profit to offset this expense.

At one point they found themselves passing a table where two of the bearded priests were apparently sampling some wine. Regis, remembering the story of Origen, askt, with a bit of reticence, whether the priests themselves were not members of the order that maintain'd the Embassy because of canonical impediments to the ordination of eunuchs.

Andrew reply'd quite openly that there were no such impediments in the ecclesiastical laws that obtain'd in these dominions, and that in fact the priests who served as chaplains to the Katharinian Order were required to be eunuchs. It was, in fact, a law of the Order, and not of the Church, which forbade its members from entering the priesthood. It was deem'd important that the appearance, as well as the fact of the Orders strict and total abstinence from any involvement in the hierarchy of the Church be maintain'd; and for this reason no eunuch priest was ever permitted even to celebrate in their chapel, much less serve them as a chaplain.

Just as the porters were beginning to clear away the buffet, Andrew inform'd his guests that there was yet another person to whom he would introduce them. He led them back across the huge room to the same great stairway that they had come down at the end of the mass. There they met another Katharinian dignitary, and noted that this lady's bare feet were dyed a rich purple colour. Andrew bow'd deeply to her. "This is the Regnalka Margarita Bhozetsa," he intoned reverently. "She is a second cousin to the Sovereign Mother, and, by the common reckoning, 23rd in line for the throne."

"A safe enough distance, I should hope," she reply'd in an English hardly more accented than Andrew's. She then gave them an easy smile and lifted a sumptuously painted foot to give the blessing of her order to all who were barefooted.

Andrew then motioned for all of them to genuflect, and when they arose again completed his introduction: "I have for many years," he said, "been honour'd to have the Regnalka as a pupil and, if it be not too bold of me to say so, a very dear friend. She has always had a keen interest in philology, and knowing something of my work, insisted on my teaching her English. I trust her as I would trust no one else outside my own order, and she is the only person here -- apart from members of my order, others born in the world whence you came, and the Sovereign Mother herself -- with whom you may ever discuss anything concerning your former lives.

A great bell rang and they return'd to the chapel with the Regnalka for something like Benediction. When this was over the Regnalka motion'd to them to follow her. They stept out into the great corridor of the ground floor of the section of the building wherein they were staying. "I, myself keep a room on this floor," she said, "when I am staying at the Embassy, and, from what Andrew tells me, it is almost directly under the rooms wherein you are staying -- just next to the closest stairway in fact. I have arranged for Andrew to bring you there tomorrow morning, but this evening I want to shew you all something in the hall just outside my door."

The paintings on the walls in this corridor were all of very grand ladies in the most sumptuous versions of Katharinian armour. Each panel had in its centre a magenta footed figure crown'd like the queen in Harriet's dream. At last they stopt and the Regnalka bow'd to the image directly in front of her and announced: "This is our Sovereign Mother, Philippa IX."

"That's her, Sarah," said Harriet, gesturing and genuflecting to the royal icon, "the lady in my dream, our mother, and our queen!"

"PLENREGNA MATRA," affirm'd the Regnalka, "Sovereign Mother."


[NEXT]