Historian's Tale

I see you have adopted the methods of your former master — wasn't he known as the Good Doctor? What is your sweet scriptor's name? Markito? Dear Egderus, he's prettier than you, but not as pretty as you were then, the last time I saw you, when we almost... O my dear, how often I've thought of you, your sweet mouth, your deer's eyes, how the tears rolled down your face when you drove me away! I loved you for saving me, of course, but had our meeting been different, I would have loved you a better way.

(Pain, cannot speak.)

Now I am more lame than you, little Egderus, and only because I was careless. They tried to teach me not to be careless, but I was never a good student, except on my own projects. It was the same heedlessness that brought me into the Good Doctor's clutches. But that also brought me to you, did it not? So yesterday's evil blesses me today.

And perhaps my demise will mean a great victory for you, in some way that neither of us can foresee. As a historian, which many people believed me to be, I saw that such things have always happened, all the time. And as a man who can no longer walk, I perceive the abyss beneath the feet of everyone who can, though they do not see it, and would be unable to move if they could. Perhaps you've known this all along, and can only wonder why it took me all this time to find it out.

I was unable to get very far from the town before being caught again. But I had learned a trick or two from your evil master. My new captor was a farm boy, as ugly as he was stupid, and it was no great feat to kill him. I had never killed a man before, but it was easy once I realized... I was willing to do it. Or anything else, for that matter, to keep that evil man from taking me again. I hope our little prank caused him some... discomfort in return. If he is dead, I hope he suffered at the end. In a way, I welcome my own end, as it will free me finally from the very idea of him.

I doubt I have time for a long story, but ask me what you will.

Robenc? I do not know the name.

Did he? I thought it was only you. To say true, little brother, I remember only three people from those awful days — the Good Doctor, the Bone-Snapper, and you. I —

(Pain, cannot speak.)

How I've longed for this day, dearest friend, and now there is no time! At the bottom of the cliff, perhaps in the water, though I hope not, is a satchel. It went over the edge when I fell. In it are the most precious artifacts to be found in this world, because they do not come from this world: that other world was so magnificent as to make the Golias in all his splendor look like a farmer dressed up for a neighbor's wedding.

I have stolen these things. I don't believe they will be missed soon, but when they are, there may be some trouble for you. I am sorry for that.

Who they belonged to is explained in my notebook. Maybe Markito here could go fetch the satchel? I believe it's important that everything in it be kept dry, and not be permitted to freeze.

(Cries out. Pain longer, deeper. E examines him. Blood on his chin now.)

(Mumbles, nonsense sounds.) ...I was drunk, giving a speech... funny stories, making things up! ... some drinking place, surrounded by friends. Well — they laughed at my jokes. I was brilliant, my tongue sang by itself, the perfect phrases just tumbling out... They were all looking at me... their eyes shining...

Maybe...

(Stops breathing.)