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(Sixteen) ◀◀◀◀◀ Epilogue ▶▶▶▶▶ (Index)
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...for although our fair isles are now mired in civic unrest, the people of Pluthiss need not fret like our mainland neighbors, at least where looms the issue of food scarcity. The natural bounty that has given us our financial fortune shall continue to provide for our home pantries, so long as we familiarize ourselves with the proper ways to prepare the Ssithifex snail.
Within the purple pages of this recipe pamphlet, the modern homemaker may discover a wide selection of tasty and simple "mollusc meals" that the entire family will enjoy. It introduces a variety of methods in preparing these snails for safe consumption, and includes a special chapter on home heliciculture for a more convenient means of harvesting. Yes, serpents willing, snail farming may prove to be a saving grace for our humble island population, and it is with great pride that I, Sthissisness, may present this guide as a means of...
...there was more to it, but Torrissio didn't want to hear it. He'd already heard quite enough from the words snail farming and asked the lad to cease his dictation then and there.
Another day, another disappointment.
He now reclined and ruminated on such melancholic matters in his Chesterfield chair, comfortably ensconced by the gently flickering glow of his fireplace, while that portrait of his beloved Columna watched him wordlessly from the mantelpiece. Meanwhile, Marvello III stood nearby, always at the ready, equally mum.
He did not dare speak while the master was nursing such a grouch.
"Can you believe this?" Torrissio wondered out loud, giving that day's transcription a frustrated rustle. "I mean, can we believe it? Can we take that blasted nephew of Mortegro's at his word? I'm certain the Necromage and his toadies were playing me like a fiddle to get back their beloved barmaid, and yet..."
Marvello III's stony countenance did not budge. However, his internal thought processes continued blazing with activity, the ongoing revitalization of a long-forgotten memory—a dormant pip of ancient history that germinated the moment he beheld the wan face of Sethys Esshalshamesh, a young man he'd personally seen to the hoosegow in Seriss some 8700 years ago.
He knew that Torrissio knew of Sethys Esshalshamesh, through a chance discovery of his sister's journals during an expedition to the ruins of Enthusiasm. He also knew that this Sethys held some knowledge of some something-or-other, some secret that Torrissio would've given his left foot (his good foot, presently) to learn.
This in mind, he decided that Sethys had lied about the contents of that ancient pamphlet, through the teeth. Not for the reasons Torrissio figured; no doubt the lad was only trying to protect something important. Frankly, Marvello III couldn't blame him.
But alas! Torrissio had yet to make the suitable inquiries, and so Marvello III had yet to contribute his trifling opinions on the matter.
He probably never would.
"Tuh. Seth Shumway," Torrissio spat. "Tuh! I almost feel sorry for him. Can you imagine having to be Seth Shumway for your entire life?"
"It is of my opinion that there are worse things to be, signore," Marvello III quipped, something else he was not programmed to do.
Sensing a slight (perhaps where none existed), Torrissio glowered while visions of pressing a magnet to that incorrigible metal head danced through his own. "Who asked you?" he snapped before returning to his silent rhetorical reflections, none the wiser for them.
end
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