Episode 4
[Note to Miss V: I made some last minute changes, detail stuff, so if you could update the master doc, that would be keen. --R]
(Letter from Mr. Josiah Wales to Mr. Robert Ross, Cardershire, 7 February 18--)
Dear Robbie,
I'm now a schoolteacher. God have mercy on my soul, I think I might have had an easier time on a mission to convert the Pope. At least there I would have some idea of what I was doing. Miss Fate made some time last evening to speak with me and she decided to take me on the spot. The strange thing is, it almost felt as though Miss Fate were applying to me for the position of my employer. It was a very strange interview.
The strangest part is what I have to ask you about. Please keep what I'm about to write under your hat. Have you heard any further rumors about any of the remaining staff or older students here? According to Miss Fate, one of them--all I know is that it's a "he"--had the terrible luck of being Pet to quite a nasty cobra, and is now hiding out here. She told me this in strictest confidence, and normally I would not break my word, but for my own sake I have to know, have you heard this fellow's name and is he going to recognize me? Or, God forbid, if that snake shows up here, is my game going to be up?
Miss Fate was very upfront and clear that there was no room here for anyone with any "sympathies" of any sort. If there's the risk of my being found out, I should probably pick up and head for Dover immediately, as the best I can hope for is the sack, and I don't fancy a position as an oakum picker for Her Majesty.
Write as soon as you can,
Josey
(Letter from Mr. Roland Ireland to Fr. John Gray, Cardershire Academy, 7 February 18--)
Dear Father Gray,
I had very much hoped to be able to come see you and the prospective students this week, but I am afraid I have been ill. I was also looking forward to seeing my parents. Luckily I was planning on surprising them and did not tell them of my plans, so they will be spared the disappointment I feel so keenly.
I think spring term is quite impossible. I do hope the young people you have recommended to me will be all right with the delay. I will notify you as soon as we can place a firm date for the reopening of the school. In the meantime keep your eyes open, as we still have plenty of places to fill.
Please give my love to Mum and Dad, but do not tell them I have been sick. You know how Mum worries.
Thank you,
Roland
(From the journals of Mr. Roland Ireland, Cardershire Academy, 8 February 18--)
Was able to sit up and write one letter yesterday before exhaustion drove me back to my bed. I am no longer feverish, only weak and afflicted with the most disgusting cough, which makes it appear as though I have been struck with a curse to make me spew slugs out my mouth. Utterly foul.
Miss Yount has returned from her stay in Germany. She came and sat with me for a bit, which was very kind of her. Having nursed her mother through a prolonged and ultimately fatal illness, she is excellent company in the sickroom, gentle, attentive, and cheerful. Miss Fate is now ill herself (fortunately not too seriously, at least so she insists), doubtless partly from the unbearable strain she has been under of late. I feel wretched both at being responsible for her illness and for letting her down at a time like this. Well, I feel wretched regardless, but I cannot help feeling deeply ashamed, succumbing so helplessly, at failing to be able to carry out even the most elementary duties to my school, my position, and my friends.
Miss Yount has just reappeared with a pot of lapsang (not rose-hip, thank God!) and some sort of German dish called an "onion cake," which sounds revolting but smells delicious.
(Letter from Mr. Robert Ross to Mr. Josiah Wales, Davos, 10 February 18--)
Dear Josey,
I haven't heard anything about this, but if the fellow is a Pet, I probably wouldn't know his name anyway. Do you know anything else about him? If he's meant to be one of the teachers, of course, that would be unusual enough that you should have an actual name for me soon enough.
If you must leave quickly, send me a telegram and I will wire you money for you fare to Paris. The Comtesse de Bremont and Varano both offer you hospitality, should you need it.
Write as soon as you can,
Robbie
(Letter from Mr. Josiah Wales to Mr. Robert Ross, Cardershire, 12 February 18--)
Dear Robbie,
I'm still at the Earl's estate, waiting for Ada send the few things I have down to the school, and so haven't had a chance to learn anything else about the identity of the mystery Pet. He may be avoiding everyone's company for all I know--no surprise, poor fellow, if Miss Fate wasn't exaggerating or misinterpreting his story.
I have met a couple of the teachers: Miss Yount, who teaches Mathematics, and Miss Testavalia, who teaches Music. Miss Yount speaks German, having gone to the university at Heidelberg, and Miss Testavalia of course speaks Italian, so I have had some occasion to practice and keep the rust off my tongue.
Please thank Varano and the Comtesse for me. Their offer of hospitality takes a great load off my mind, as does your kind offer of assistance.
Your grateful friend,
Josey
(From the journals of Mr. Roland Ireland, Cardershire Academy, 13 February 18--)
I have decided I must be done with being ill. Even with the reprieve until next term, there is still too much to attend to for me too be a lay-a-bed. Miss Fate--who is still bedridden herself--wishes me to interview a friend of hers (for such a solitary creature, she is simply replete with useful friends and friends of friends!) for the American History position, and I must speak to the young man she engaged to be our Modern Language master. Miss Fate tells me he's a Mormon but assures me he's no religious fanatic, which is good, as I don't like to think what quarrels he might get into with the good-tempered but extremely devout Mr. Hughes if he were to start a mission for himself here at the school. (Never mind the missions Mr. Hughes has attempted to start himself.)
Miss Fate also tells me my Latin master has gotten up to some drunken foolishness at the Barley Rig, but spares me the details--for his sake or mine I'm not sure. And then there is the business of our unfortunate master of Greek. Again, Miss Fate tells me no real details, but that such a fine young Pet should have the misfortune to find himself leg-shackled to a brute of a hyena with a reputation for venom is a tragedy that no longer shocks in this degraded age. So I must speak with him as well, to let him know his circumstances are not completely unknown to me, but that he need not fear on that account, and that I intend that no harm should come to him at this school. The trick is how to do it without giving him any cause for shame or uneasiness. Perhaps I should consult with Miss Fate in this, but then again, she has had so much to do, and I have already worn her away to the point that she takes my place in the sickroom. At times like this I do miss my mum, and Father Gray, their kind hearts and good advice. Ah well, I'm a grown boy now, more's the pity.
(Letter from Mr. Robert Ross to Mr. Josiah Wales, Davos, 16 February 18--)
Dear Josey,
I made a few discreet inquiries, but have found nothing certain. A few people seem to recall Lord Montgomery having a Pet--small fellow, spectacles, very red hair--who used to be a teacher of some sort, and who wisely turned tail and fled about a year ago, but no one remembers his name or knows what became of him. You would not have met Montgomery, he was a member of Somerset's circle. I myself have only the vaguest recollection of him, a cobra with a vicious idea of fun. Varano banned him from his nursery a few years ago and most of his friends followed suit soon after, as did most of the reputable toy shops. In fact, I hear the only reason Montgomery wasn't arrested after the raid on the Cleveland Street shop and forced to bolt for Homburg with the rest of Somerset's cronies was that he'd been banned from it some months before--and if he got banned from Cleveland Street, he must be a truly venomous piece of work.
If your mystery Pet turns out to be Montgomery's forfeiture, he has my sympathy, and I very much hope he has shaken Montgomery off for good. At any rate, I do not think you are at risk of being recognized by him, or Montgomery for that matter, should he show up.
I may be returning to London in a few months. I've taken on the job of attempting to clear Oscar's debts, both for his sake and the sake of his family. Poor Constance, she had no idea. It must have been like being struck by lightning, and Cyril is old enough to begin to understand the nature of his father's disgrace, I think, which must be very hard on him.
You must write and tell me how you get on once the school year starts, whether or not you strike terror in the hearts of your pupils or the other way round.
Your friend,
Robbie
(Letter from Mr. Josiah Wales to Mr. Robert Ross, Cardershire, 22 February 18--)
Dear Robbie,
I am finally going to meet the headmaster, Roland Ireland; he invited the Greek master, also new, and myself in for a little talk in his office this afternoon. I think I may enjoy it here, if the school takes its lead from the personalities of the headmaster and headmistress.
Miss Fate is forthright and capable, if more than a bit petsier than I had expected. She actually puts me very much in mind of my first mother, Patience. I have no doubt that she will run the school with the same cool steadiness as Patience ran the homestead. I remember once when I was fourteen, Obadiah and I got in a fight in the parlor of Mother Sarah’s house--we were always getting into ferocious quarrels over nothing and then best friends again five minutes afterwards. I don’t even remember what the fight was about, I just remember that I had a hatchet and he had a kitchen knife, and we were fighting fit to kill one another. So Sarah ran off in a terror to get someone to stop us. Usually it was Mother Naomi who broke up our fights, but she was in town. So Patience came in and stood in the doorway and yelled, "Don’t bleed on the carpet! I don’t care what you do, don’t bleed on the carpet!" Sarah was shocked, of course, but Patience just said,''Whatever they do to each other, it’ll heal up quick, but we’ll never be able to get blood out of that carpet, and that’s a very fine carpet," and went back to her own house.
I am very curious to meet Mr. Ireland. Miss Testavalia (who everyone calls Miss "Tessvalley") and Miss Yount were telling me he uses some unusual tricks to keep order in his classes, though they wouldn’t tell me any specifics. I gather they enjoy watching what new teachers make of his odd ways. I confess I am quite curious to see what the man is like, as they all seems to like him--and I am already hearing tales of his former house that should make a teacher’s blood run cold, and if he could bring that pack to heel he must be an interesting man indeed.
I will write more later and tell you what I find of him.
Your friend,
Josey
(Backstory: Robbie, Josey and Varano)
They are sitting at a window overlooking the piazza. Varano's Pet Andrea, dismissed with a gesture, leaves silently, never raising his eyes.
Robbie watches him leave. A handsome enough creature, barefoot and bare-chested, lanky-graceful. When the door closes behind him, Robbie turns to Varano with an amazed chuckle. "Sun and stars, I've never seen him so well behaved! What have you done to him, Varano? Is he ill?"
"He's behaving himself now, he wasn't this morning."
"I can see that."
"It's the weather. The warmer the day, the worse he is, calculating little ferret. You should have seen him yesterday--he was a demon until noon and then happily spent the rest of the day running about the house in his underpants."
"You can only blame yourself. You set the rules, he just follows them."
"Or not," growls Varano. The amusement in his scowl and the affection in his voice are unmistakable. "He's being careful now because he didn't intend to lose the shirt, and now there's only his trousers and his underpants between himself and the stocks."
Robbie, seeing Josey's confusion, explains, "Every time he misbehaves, he loses an article of clothing. When he's naked, he's thrown into the stocks until he can act like a proper Pet again. Since he can't stay still to save his life, as a torture it's second only to being boiled alive, or so you'd think, hearing the row he makes over it."
Josey nods, quiet as a Pet himself. In his head, his Italian is clear, but somehow it thickens on his tongue, until he would rather fall silent than struggle with it. He has alcohol in his hand and for a moment doesn't know what to do with it, feels stupid and awkward. Varano looks at him and smiles until Josey smiles back, a mutual acknowlegement of how strange this is for him, almost frightening, and how happy to he is to be here.
"So," says Robbie, "when does the new toy arrive?"
"Next month. There has been some complication in his forfeiture, some problem in the courts. Ridiculous, these French."
"He is French then?"
"Yes, from Savoy."
"May I ask his name?"
"Marius. He's a beautiful kite," Varano cannot help smiling a little. "You should see him, very fine skin. He looks like a china doll but he is amazingly sturdy."
"Kites usually are, I understand."
"Perhaps. I shall, of course, want him to myself for a bit, but after that--have you considered my offer? I would be very pleased to have you study with me."
"I...very much appreciate the offer, sir, but for the time being, I can't accept." Robbie glances at Josey, trying to gauge his reaction, this young American who should be disgusted by this conversation but isn't.
"Sir, is it? You are formal with me now?" He pauses. "Is it because of Oscar?" Robbie sighs impatiently, retreats behind his face, looks away. Varano turns to Josey, "What do you think?"
Startled, "I--I couldn't say. I really know nothing about it."
"You understand what we are talking about, yes?"
Embarrassed now, "...yes."
"But you know nothing about it."
"No...no, not, um, not really."
"Hmm," Varano considers Josey a moment, "Please, I will be right back," and leaves.
Josey turns to Robbie who shrugs and says nothing. In a moment Varano returns, holding something behind his back.
"Give me your hand," he says to Josey.
Again Josey, now alarmed, looks to Robbie, now amused, who again shrugs and says nothing. Reluctantly, Josey puts out his hand. Varano takes it, holds it firmly--palm up and open--raises from behind his back a leather-bound paddle, and smacks hard enough to sting down to the bone. Then, before Josey can gasp and pull his hand away, Varano turns the paddle over and strokes his hand with the other side, covered in dense, dark fur.
"There," says Varano, satisfied, "You know about it. Now what do you think?"
Josey thinks it is the softest fur he has ever felt in his life.
(Letter from Mr. Josiah Wales to Mr. Robert Ross, Cardershire, 7 February 18--)
Dear Robbie,
I'm now a schoolteacher. God have mercy on my soul, I think I might have had an easier time on a mission to convert the Pope. At least there I would have some idea of what I was doing. Miss Fate made some time last evening to speak with me and she decided to take me on the spot. The strange thing is, it almost felt as though Miss Fate were applying to me for the position of my employer. It was a very strange interview.
The strangest part is what I have to ask you about. Please keep what I'm about to write under your hat. Have you heard any further rumors about any of the remaining staff or older students here? According to Miss Fate, one of them--all I know is that it's a "he"--had the terrible luck of being Pet to quite a nasty cobra, and is now hiding out here. She told me this in strictest confidence, and normally I would not break my word, but for my own sake I have to know, have you heard this fellow's name and is he going to recognize me? Or, God forbid, if that snake shows up here, is my game going to be up?
Miss Fate was very upfront and clear that there was no room here for anyone with any "sympathies" of any sort. If there's the risk of my being found out, I should probably pick up and head for Dover immediately, as the best I can hope for is the sack, and I don't fancy a position as an oakum picker for Her Majesty.
Write as soon as you can,
Josey
(Letter from Mr. Roland Ireland to Fr. John Gray, Cardershire Academy, 7 February 18--)
Dear Father Gray,
I had very much hoped to be able to come see you and the prospective students this week, but I am afraid I have been ill. I was also looking forward to seeing my parents. Luckily I was planning on surprising them and did not tell them of my plans, so they will be spared the disappointment I feel so keenly.
I think spring term is quite impossible. I do hope the young people you have recommended to me will be all right with the delay. I will notify you as soon as we can place a firm date for the reopening of the school. In the meantime keep your eyes open, as we still have plenty of places to fill.
Please give my love to Mum and Dad, but do not tell them I have been sick. You know how Mum worries.
Thank you,
Roland
(From the journals of Mr. Roland Ireland, Cardershire Academy, 8 February 18--)
Was able to sit up and write one letter yesterday before exhaustion drove me back to my bed. I am no longer feverish, only weak and afflicted with the most disgusting cough, which makes it appear as though I have been struck with a curse to make me spew slugs out my mouth. Utterly foul.
Miss Yount has returned from her stay in Germany. She came and sat with me for a bit, which was very kind of her. Having nursed her mother through a prolonged and ultimately fatal illness, she is excellent company in the sickroom, gentle, attentive, and cheerful. Miss Fate is now ill herself (fortunately not too seriously, at least so she insists), doubtless partly from the unbearable strain she has been under of late. I feel wretched both at being responsible for her illness and for letting her down at a time like this. Well, I feel wretched regardless, but I cannot help feeling deeply ashamed, succumbing so helplessly, at failing to be able to carry out even the most elementary duties to my school, my position, and my friends.
Miss Yount has just reappeared with a pot of lapsang (not rose-hip, thank God!) and some sort of German dish called an "onion cake," which sounds revolting but smells delicious.
(Letter from Mr. Robert Ross to Mr. Josiah Wales, Davos, 10 February 18--)
Dear Josey,
I haven't heard anything about this, but if the fellow is a Pet, I probably wouldn't know his name anyway. Do you know anything else about him? If he's meant to be one of the teachers, of course, that would be unusual enough that you should have an actual name for me soon enough.
If you must leave quickly, send me a telegram and I will wire you money for you fare to Paris. The Comtesse de Bremont and Varano both offer you hospitality, should you need it.
Write as soon as you can,
Robbie
(Letter from Mr. Josiah Wales to Mr. Robert Ross, Cardershire, 12 February 18--)
Dear Robbie,
I'm still at the Earl's estate, waiting for Ada send the few things I have down to the school, and so haven't had a chance to learn anything else about the identity of the mystery Pet. He may be avoiding everyone's company for all I know--no surprise, poor fellow, if Miss Fate wasn't exaggerating or misinterpreting his story.
I have met a couple of the teachers: Miss Yount, who teaches Mathematics, and Miss Testavalia, who teaches Music. Miss Yount speaks German, having gone to the university at Heidelberg, and Miss Testavalia of course speaks Italian, so I have had some occasion to practice and keep the rust off my tongue.
Please thank Varano and the Comtesse for me. Their offer of hospitality takes a great load off my mind, as does your kind offer of assistance.
Your grateful friend,
Josey
(From the journals of Mr. Roland Ireland, Cardershire Academy, 13 February 18--)
I have decided I must be done with being ill. Even with the reprieve until next term, there is still too much to attend to for me too be a lay-a-bed. Miss Fate--who is still bedridden herself--wishes me to interview a friend of hers (for such a solitary creature, she is simply replete with useful friends and friends of friends!) for the American History position, and I must speak to the young man she engaged to be our Modern Language master. Miss Fate tells me he's a Mormon but assures me he's no religious fanatic, which is good, as I don't like to think what quarrels he might get into with the good-tempered but extremely devout Mr. Hughes if he were to start a mission for himself here at the school. (Never mind the missions Mr. Hughes has attempted to start himself.)
Miss Fate also tells me my Latin master has gotten up to some drunken foolishness at the Barley Rig, but spares me the details--for his sake or mine I'm not sure. And then there is the business of our unfortunate master of Greek. Again, Miss Fate tells me no real details, but that such a fine young Pet should have the misfortune to find himself leg-shackled to a brute of a hyena with a reputation for venom is a tragedy that no longer shocks in this degraded age. So I must speak with him as well, to let him know his circumstances are not completely unknown to me, but that he need not fear on that account, and that I intend that no harm should come to him at this school. The trick is how to do it without giving him any cause for shame or uneasiness. Perhaps I should consult with Miss Fate in this, but then again, she has had so much to do, and I have already worn her away to the point that she takes my place in the sickroom. At times like this I do miss my mum, and Father Gray, their kind hearts and good advice. Ah well, I'm a grown boy now, more's the pity.
(Letter from Mr. Robert Ross to Mr. Josiah Wales, Davos, 16 February 18--)
Dear Josey,
I made a few discreet inquiries, but have found nothing certain. A few people seem to recall Lord Montgomery having a Pet--small fellow, spectacles, very red hair--who used to be a teacher of some sort, and who wisely turned tail and fled about a year ago, but no one remembers his name or knows what became of him. You would not have met Montgomery, he was a member of Somerset's circle. I myself have only the vaguest recollection of him, a cobra with a vicious idea of fun. Varano banned him from his nursery a few years ago and most of his friends followed suit soon after, as did most of the reputable toy shops. In fact, I hear the only reason Montgomery wasn't arrested after the raid on the Cleveland Street shop and forced to bolt for Homburg with the rest of Somerset's cronies was that he'd been banned from it some months before--and if he got banned from Cleveland Street, he must be a truly venomous piece of work.
If your mystery Pet turns out to be Montgomery's forfeiture, he has my sympathy, and I very much hope he has shaken Montgomery off for good. At any rate, I do not think you are at risk of being recognized by him, or Montgomery for that matter, should he show up.
I may be returning to London in a few months. I've taken on the job of attempting to clear Oscar's debts, both for his sake and the sake of his family. Poor Constance, she had no idea. It must have been like being struck by lightning, and Cyril is old enough to begin to understand the nature of his father's disgrace, I think, which must be very hard on him.
You must write and tell me how you get on once the school year starts, whether or not you strike terror in the hearts of your pupils or the other way round.
Your friend,
Robbie
(Letter from Mr. Josiah Wales to Mr. Robert Ross, Cardershire, 22 February 18--)
Dear Robbie,
I am finally going to meet the headmaster, Roland Ireland; he invited the Greek master, also new, and myself in for a little talk in his office this afternoon. I think I may enjoy it here, if the school takes its lead from the personalities of the headmaster and headmistress.
Miss Fate is forthright and capable, if more than a bit petsier than I had expected. She actually puts me very much in mind of my first mother, Patience. I have no doubt that she will run the school with the same cool steadiness as Patience ran the homestead. I remember once when I was fourteen, Obadiah and I got in a fight in the parlor of Mother Sarah’s house--we were always getting into ferocious quarrels over nothing and then best friends again five minutes afterwards. I don’t even remember what the fight was about, I just remember that I had a hatchet and he had a kitchen knife, and we were fighting fit to kill one another. So Sarah ran off in a terror to get someone to stop us. Usually it was Mother Naomi who broke up our fights, but she was in town. So Patience came in and stood in the doorway and yelled, "Don’t bleed on the carpet! I don’t care what you do, don’t bleed on the carpet!" Sarah was shocked, of course, but Patience just said,''Whatever they do to each other, it’ll heal up quick, but we’ll never be able to get blood out of that carpet, and that’s a very fine carpet," and went back to her own house.
I am very curious to meet Mr. Ireland. Miss Testavalia (who everyone calls Miss "Tessvalley") and Miss Yount were telling me he uses some unusual tricks to keep order in his classes, though they wouldn’t tell me any specifics. I gather they enjoy watching what new teachers make of his odd ways. I confess I am quite curious to see what the man is like, as they all seems to like him--and I am already hearing tales of his former house that should make a teacher’s blood run cold, and if he could bring that pack to heel he must be an interesting man indeed.
I will write more later and tell you what I find of him.
Your friend,
Josey
(Backstory: Robbie, Josey and Varano)
They are sitting at a window overlooking the piazza. Varano's Pet Andrea, dismissed with a gesture, leaves silently, never raising his eyes.
Robbie watches him leave. A handsome enough creature, barefoot and bare-chested, lanky-graceful. When the door closes behind him, Robbie turns to Varano with an amazed chuckle. "Sun and stars, I've never seen him so well behaved! What have you done to him, Varano? Is he ill?"
"He's behaving himself now, he wasn't this morning."
"I can see that."
"It's the weather. The warmer the day, the worse he is, calculating little ferret. You should have seen him yesterday--he was a demon until noon and then happily spent the rest of the day running about the house in his underpants."
"You can only blame yourself. You set the rules, he just follows them."
"Or not," growls Varano. The amusement in his scowl and the affection in his voice are unmistakable. "He's being careful now because he didn't intend to lose the shirt, and now there's only his trousers and his underpants between himself and the stocks."
Robbie, seeing Josey's confusion, explains, "Every time he misbehaves, he loses an article of clothing. When he's naked, he's thrown into the stocks until he can act like a proper Pet again. Since he can't stay still to save his life, as a torture it's second only to being boiled alive, or so you'd think, hearing the row he makes over it."
Josey nods, quiet as a Pet himself. In his head, his Italian is clear, but somehow it thickens on his tongue, until he would rather fall silent than struggle with it. He has alcohol in his hand and for a moment doesn't know what to do with it, feels stupid and awkward. Varano looks at him and smiles until Josey smiles back, a mutual acknowlegement of how strange this is for him, almost frightening, and how happy to he is to be here.
"So," says Robbie, "when does the new toy arrive?"
"Next month. There has been some complication in his forfeiture, some problem in the courts. Ridiculous, these French."
"He is French then?"
"Yes, from Savoy."
"May I ask his name?"
"Marius. He's a beautiful kite," Varano cannot help smiling a little. "You should see him, very fine skin. He looks like a china doll but he is amazingly sturdy."
"Kites usually are, I understand."
"Perhaps. I shall, of course, want him to myself for a bit, but after that--have you considered my offer? I would be very pleased to have you study with me."
"I...very much appreciate the offer, sir, but for the time being, I can't accept." Robbie glances at Josey, trying to gauge his reaction, this young American who should be disgusted by this conversation but isn't.
"Sir, is it? You are formal with me now?" He pauses. "Is it because of Oscar?" Robbie sighs impatiently, retreats behind his face, looks away. Varano turns to Josey, "What do you think?"
Startled, "I--I couldn't say. I really know nothing about it."
"You understand what we are talking about, yes?"
Embarrassed now, "...yes."
"But you know nothing about it."
"No...no, not, um, not really."
"Hmm," Varano considers Josey a moment, "Please, I will be right back," and leaves.
Josey turns to Robbie who shrugs and says nothing. In a moment Varano returns, holding something behind his back.
"Give me your hand," he says to Josey.
Again Josey, now alarmed, looks to Robbie, now amused, who again shrugs and says nothing. Reluctantly, Josey puts out his hand. Varano takes it, holds it firmly--palm up and open--raises from behind his back a leather-bound paddle, and smacks hard enough to sting down to the bone. Then, before Josey can gasp and pull his hand away, Varano turns the paddle over and strokes his hand with the other side, covered in dense, dark fur.
"There," says Varano, satisfied, "You know about it. Now what do you think?"
Josey thinks it is the softest fur he has ever felt in his life.
