The Vorrh

and temporary concealment.
    Returning to the house late one day, he found the cyclops standing near the stairs of the ground floor, looking in the direction of the prohibited door. It worried him; he knew that he should say something, or take some action, but it was a position he was neither designed nor equipped for, and he could find no frame of reference with which to begin the necessary conversation. He stood, jaw open, vaguely moving his limp arms in unison, like a broken gate in the wind, or a disused pump, trying to raise a spoonful of water from some immeasurable distance.
    ‘Herr Mutter, where are the old crates?’ Ishmael asked, stepping into the doubt and reversing it, making the question his own. ‘I wanted to check something before you return them tomorrow.’
    ‘They are in the tack room, next to the stables,’ the yeoman replied thinly.
    ‘Show me,’ demanded the cyclops as he walked towards the door. Mutter opened the door for the young master and pointed, expecting his honest direction to be noted and the matter closed.
    Instead, Ishmael strode out of the door and across the yard, leaving Mutter without words or action. The cyclops slid back the bolt on the tack room door and walked briskly inside. Mutter blinked hard, hoping that the rapid movement would return all things to their proper place, that this impossible thing would rewind and he would be exonerated of the stupid mistake he had just made. But alas, that was not the case. He dashed across the cobbles and erupted himself at the side of the escapee, who was casually examining the side of a long, thin crate. Showing no sign of agitation, the cyclops asked, ‘At what time will you take these away tomorrow?’
    ‘At eleven o’clock, sir,’ answered Mutter, automatically.
    The word ‘sir’ had entered Mutter’s mouth out of habit, and because there was no alternative. It was the first time Ishmael had been given status, and it marked a further shift in their dynamics – he knew now that the old man could be easily bent.
    ‘And where will you take them?’
    ‘To the warehouse.’
    ‘Good. I would like to go with you.’
    Mutter’s heart ceased its beating and leapfrogged into his mouth. The cyclops walked past him into the yard, stopped and looked up to the rooftops, then beyond them to the fleeting clouds.
    ‘But sir,’ Mutter stammered, ‘it’s impossible, the mistress…’
    ‘…will never know,’ finished Ishmael. ‘It’s not the mistress who pays your wages, or cares for your family, is it? It’s not the mistress who cares for me, not really. The person or persons who look after this house are responsible for our well-being, Mutter. It’s my family that employs yours. And now, I wish to make a brief visit to them, to see, for a moment, the one other place that I know to be connected to me.’
    ‘But sir! I was told to take nobody there. Not even my sons may visit before they are ready to be trained in my job.’
    ‘Sigmund,’ said the cyclops in curved, enduring tones. ‘Don’t you see that everything is changed now? I am no longer a child. I have the house. Soon enough, it will be me who employs you. Ghertrude need never know about our little trip.’
    Mutter was silent and horribly perplexed. He looked from his scuffed boots into the pleading eye, then back again.
    ‘Unless you’d prefer that I go by myself?’
    Mutter followed his gaze towards the gate and saw that it was held on a draw bolt, not double-locked as he had been instructed. He knew that the cyclops was agile and could reach the gate long before him; the only way to stop him would be to cuff him, or tackle him to the ground. He assumed that such an act would not be looked upon favourably by his unseen masters. He was beginning to panic, when Ishmael smiled and inflicted the coup de grâce.
    ‘I have no desire to get you into trouble, Sigmund. And I’m sure neither of us want Ghertrude to know about this afternoon’s little mistake; she is scared of me running away, and it makes her overreact. So, I shall say nothing tonight when she visits, and in the morning we will make a brief, discreet visit to the warehouse, yes? What do you think? Can we make our little adventure together and return without anybody knowing?’
    Mutter gave in; there was no alternative. The delighted cyclops clapped his hands together in satisfaction.
    ‘Excellent! Come then, let us go over my plan,’ he said, propelling the deflated old man towards the stables