Egderus and the Historian

It was Markito who found him, sitting inside the old guard tower, his back propped against the doorframe so that he could see the cliff opposite. He told me the man was dead, but when we entered the enclosure my leg buckled and I fell against him, nearly knocking over the stool upon which he had evidently been propped. Markito grabbed for him, but the man's hand went out to steady himself. I had not yet seen his face. When I did, I nearly keeled over myself.

It was the Historian, my old infuation.

Let me just say, before I go on, that I have entrusted everything to Markito, a tiny man deformed like myself: somewhat more afflicted in that respect, but also more cheerful. He has joy, which I have lost; if I ever possessed it, I cannot remember. Such people are blessed, and a blessing to others. But Markito is also cunning enough to know that it is best not to let others know he is smart enough to know that. Markito will find a way to preserve this remarkable tale; I am too old and tired, also too much known. Already some suspect people have come sniffing around on account of rumors in the town that there is some treasure buried in these cliffs. This is true, of course, although the treasure is not what these covetous people think. Markito knows everything I can tell him, and what I cannot accomplish he will finish, at least as far as recording this extraordinary history is concerned.

Markito was almost correct: my friend was near death. He would not let me move him back to the house, even though it would soon get very cold: we could smell snow in the air. I saw he was sure he would die on the way, and I believe he was right. He also seemed to want to spend his last moments gazing upon that cliff face....

[======lacuna======]

Markito spent most of that day scrambling around the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. I hobbled back to the House to arrange for the Historian's final disposition. No one was to learn that this dead stranger was known to me.

We buried him beside the old tower on the bluff above the lake. Considering what followed, it might have been better to drop the body over the cliff behind the House, where his pursuers would have found it and given up the chase. But I could not conceive such a thing at the time.

Unhappily, his satchel had burst open in falling, and much of its contents almost certainly went into the lake. But Markito is a patient and thorough man, and what he brought back I am sure was all there was to be found — the Historian's notebook seemed to be intact, although its primitive binding was nearly gone; some leaves may have come loose from the beginning or the end — having read it through, I still cannot say.

There was an ancient piece of treated hide that may have been used to wrap other items, but there was nothing in or upon it when it was found. In the trees and bushes Markito said there were scraps so very old that most disintegrated when he touched them. One or two of these he managed to retrieve, but the writing on them was very obscure, and after a few days in the open air they crumbled to dust....

[Fragment ends here — Ed.]