their pastures the freedom to grow as they see fit; consequently, their inner gardener is merely the servant of nature, a prism refracting and sublimating nature. But one thing Petrus knew for certain was that there was something about the channel’s wild grasses that couldn’t be summed up either by the freedom of natural things nor by any intention to magnify them—shimmering inlaid with a touch of adventure; a mystery that delighted with its perfume of enchanted revelation. Perhaps that something is inside me? he wondered, and for the second time in as many days two lines of verse came to him.
Wild grasses in the snow
Two children of November
I’m turning into a poet, he thought, amused. Two children, that’s not elfin, it’s human, he reflected. Suddenly, everything disappeared, the channel was empty once again, and he felt orphaned. Go on, he thought, I’m not good at crossings. He wedged himself into his seat to have a nap, but an image suddenly came to his mind, so clear that it caused him to sit bolt upright. A little girl was walking toward him, wrapped in an iridescent veil that drifted slowly around her. Marcus looked at Petrus, raising a questioning eyebrow, and the apparition vanished. However, it stayed in his mind and again he saw the serious little face—ten years old, perhaps—the dark golden skin, her mouth like a stain of new blood. Then the vision was gone.
“Everything all right?” asked Marcus.
He nodded, and eased into his seat again. No one spoke; before long, he dozed off.
He awoke with a start, driven by a feeling of urgency. It seemed as if he had slept long and deep, and he hoped the journey was nearly over.
“You slept for a good two hours, snoring like a trumpet,” said Marcus spitefully. “So, we couldn’t get any sleep.”
“Two hours?” echoed Petrus. “So there are four more hours to go?”
“Apparently snoring doesn’t affect the ability to do math,” said Marcus to Paulus.
“I’ll never last,” said Petrus.
“What do you mean, last?” asked Paulus.
“I have to do something about the tea I drank,” he replied, looking all around him.
Marcus and Paulus studied him with consternation.
“How many cups did you drink?” Marcus finally asked.
“I don’t know,” said Petrus, annoyed, “maybe a dozen. You’re not about to reproach me for being conscientious?”
“A dozen,” echoed Paulus.
“Didn’t you read the signs?” asked Marcus.
“Was it too much for you to read the signs?” asked Paulus.
“We were late,” said Petrus, “I wasn’t about to waste time reading poems.”
There was a silence.
“They weren’t poems?” he asked.
Marcus and Paulus didn’t reply.
“I didn’t read the signs,” he said. “I was busy drinking.”
“And eating,” said Marcus.
“Otherwise you would’ve learned that because of the length of the crossing, they recommended drinking only one cup of tea,” added Paulus.
“It’s highly concentrated,” said Marcus.
“And the toilets are at the way station, to be used before departure,” said Paulus.
“But usually we don’t need to explain that to anyone other than elfkins,” said Marcus finally.
When Marcus said, “highly concentrated,” Petrus began to suspect something.
“Did you see the grasses?” he asked.
“Grasses?” said Paulus.
“The wild grasses,” said Petrus.
“There were no wild grasses,” said Marcus.
Petrus registered his reply with interest, but his bladder, alas, now required all his attention.
“I can’t possibly hold it for four hours,” he said, beginning to sweat like a pig.
“Well, you will have to,” said Marcus.
“That’s a superelfin feat,” said Petrus, “I can’t.”
Paulus let out a whistle of irritation.
“Not on the barge, in any case,” he said.
“And especially not in the mists,” said Marcus.
Then he gave a sigh.
“Take off your clothes,” he said, “and do what you have to do inside them.”
“My clothes?” said Petrus, horrified.
“Then you’ll just have to hold it,” answered Marcus.
Petrus felt so pitiful, and the prospect of soiling his clothing yet again was so disgusting to him, that he wanted to believe he could do the impossible. For ten minutes, he wriggled like a worm on his seat, changing from horse to squirrel, then man, unable to find either a position or a shape that might bring him some relief.
“If you make yourself sick on top of it,” said Paulus, exasperated, “that wouldn’t be very smart, either.”
Petrus was about to reply when he noticed that the young wild boar elf was looking at him with interest. All I need is a spectator, he thought, annoyed. The boar’s parents had fallen asleep, but their offspring was watching him with his lovely brown eyes fringed with rebellious eyelashes and, in spite of the urgency of the moment, Petrus took note