and throat clearing had not sufficed to distract the drinkers, this faint murmur caused all three to turn around at once. The first redhead stood up straight, somewhat painfully, and reached for a torch. His head was wobbling, he was squinting slightly, and intermittently let out strange noises. However, he seemed to be the leader, for the others looked at him and waited for him to make the first move.
“Well, well,” he muttered.
Then he turned to his companions with an apologetic look. The tallest one pointed a finger toward his pocket and the redhead’s face lit up as he repeated, Ah, well, well! And the three men flung their heads back to drink from flasks they pulled out from underneath their cloaks. Judging by the faces they were making, the liquid must have had a bitter taste, but the most remarkable thing was that they instantaneously sobered up, and stood solidly on their feet as if they had not just consumed half the cellar—all things which caused Alejandro and Jesús to raise an interested eyebrow, for they too were not averse to drinking.
They all looked at one another again in silence.
The leader of the group was a paunchy little man with a round face and round eyes, fair skin and countless freckles; accompanied by a fine double chin and an abundant mane of hair, sagging shoulders and an upturned nose; in a word, he was not particularly becoming. But no soldier can fail to discern the danger concealed by artless attire, and Alejandro and Jesús saw that the man’s gaze belied his bearing, that however inoffensive and good-natured he might seem, it would be dangerous to underestimate him, and that anyone who had made that mistake had probably not lived to brood over it; in short, they saw that this amiable inebriate was one of their own kind.
“I owe you an explanation,” said the man.
The tall, dark-haired man stepped forward, bowed briefly and said, “Marcus, at your service.”
The other redhead did likewise and said, “Paulus.”
To which their leader added, also bowing:
“Petrus, your humble servant.”
Then, somewhat brazenly:
“May I tempt you with a little upside-down champagne?”
A moment passed. Alejandro was still standing with his arms crossed, a stern expression on his face, rigid and silent as he confronted the strangers. Jesús . . . well, Jesús could not help but want to taste the champagne. There always comes a time when a man of reason discovers a penchant for extravagance, particularly when he has witnessed lakes evaporating without warning and mist writing sibylline messages on the sky. Moreover, in spite of the fantastical nature of the circumstances, he trusted these men.
Alejandro, his face inscrutable, took a step forward.
Another moment passed.
He took another step, and smiled.
“Alejandro de Yepes,” he said, holding his hand out to Petrus. “You are acquainted with my tutor, I believe? He just went by, behind you.”
“Oh, we met earlier,” replied Petrus, shaking his hand. “I am glad he appears to you as well.”
“Didn’t you see him?” Alejandro asked Jesús.
“No, sir,” he replied. “You saw the steward’s ghost?”
“Just behind that gentleman,” murmured Alejandro, “just behind him.”
He gestured invitingly at the barrel.
“If you would do us the honor of pouring some upside-down champagne.”
Should we be surprised by such composure? Alejandro had been hearing the voices of the dead for so long that it didn’t strike him as incongruous in the least that it was also possible to see them. Luis’s apparition, strolling along the rows of bottles, had had its effect, and now it was with a certain interest that Alejandro awaited what might come next.
They sat down around the makeshift table.
“You just have to focus,” said Petrus, slowly pouring champagne into two clean glasses.
“A nice little vintage,” Jesús pointed out, “it would be a mistake to deprive ourselves.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” said Paulus. “Once you’ve tasted champagne upside down, you can’t possibly go back to right side up.”
“Is that what you are doing with the snow, too?” asked Alejandro.
Petrus seemed astonished.
“It’s falling the right way, I believe.”
“He’s referring to Maria,” said Paulus.
“Ah,” said Petrus, “of course. Yes, yes, there is someone who makes the snow fall for us, hence its appearance which is, shall we say, rather personal, more meditative, blurring the perception of the enemy.”
“Airplane radar can penetrate snow,” Jesús pointed out.
“I’m not talking about that enemy,” said Petrus. “You will have observed that the climate has been somewhat changeable in recent years—storms, frost, floods.”
“Is that your Maria, too?” asked Jesús.
“No, no” said Petrus. “Maria only orders snow,