fallen, leaving behind the mangled remains.”
“Oof, that's a nasty thought,” said another tavern regular. “On an empty stomach, especially.” Dick Craft had entered a few moments earlier and planted himself by his old friend Jack, whom he knew to be in funds.
“Now this great arm,” Jack went on, “stood up by itself, and hung on to the rail next to the stairs. It was inside some armor—”
“Armor!” Flint repeated with new assurance. “That could explain a part of it, too. When wet, it tends to lock up, you see. There was one suit—badly damaged by sea salt, it was, years ago, when John Fisher brought it over. Rusted during the crossing. Standing yet at the old house, I suppose. Heard of it from old Mr. Jones—never saw it myself. But what else can you tell us of this Otranto, Jack?” he finished, sucking the dregs in his pipe.
“Well, there's quite a lot about marriage, and how you might trade an old wife for a new one.”
“A useful sort of knowledge,” Tinder returned. “I believe that is a thing far more difficult to accomplish in the Popish countries, or even in Britain, than here. Assuming of course one has some reason. Marriage here is a civil proposition, while on the other side of the water it is yet the business of the clergy—as is the case with divorce. Now there, separations are favored; but here, most realize the parties might well get up to a great deal of mischief that way, so that we prefer—”
“There is also a young lady who's stabbed, and dies,” Jack interrupted.
“Is there?” Flint asked, warming to this new idea. “That is sad, very sad. Most often in books they are only abused, though sometimes it goes on for years, until it seems their woes are worse than Job's! And when they are saved at last, it is seen as a reward for steadfast goodness.”
“Not in Otranto,” Jack assured him. “Though I couldn't keep track of all the women—or the men, come to that. Some are noble, and some are not, but that keeps changing, too. All at once, an old friar is revealed to be the Count of Falconara! And then, it's learned Saint Nicholas has left something buried under a tree—”
“And what is that?”
“It is an enormous sword…” Jack paused for a much needed pull at his tankard, for his head had begun to throb.
“Convenient for the giant hand and great arm,” said Tinder, smiling. “It all seems to remind me, at least the way you tell it, Jack, of a Mr. Shandy and his Uncle Toby.”
“Then at the very end—”
Dick Craft spoke up in amazement. “What! Have you got there already, Jack? You only started yesterday!”
“Last night,” Jack admitted, “I found I'd opened up the wrong cover—then, by turning the whole thing the other way round, I found myself far advanced. I took it as a sign, of sorts. But as I was saying, at the very end there's wind and thunder, and people falling on their faces out of fear, and Saint Nicholas comes out of the clouds and takes up the ghost from the picture gallery. Finally the castle's new owner—for by then Duke Manfred has gone off to a convent—then, the new owner marries, hoping that his wife will help him to, to…” (here, Jack read from the final page) “to ‘indulge the melancholy that had taken possession of his soul.’ And there is the end of it.”
“A gloomy ending,” said Tinder reprovingly, moving his shoes, which had begun to steam, away from the hearth. “Though it could be the wife was happy, I imagine. Women often enjoy a swoon, or a cry. They are such sentimental creatures…”
“But why do you think they all stayed in this castle, sir, if living there brought such terrible luck?” asked Jack.
“A good question,” said Flint. “When they could have come here, where very little of this sort of thing happens. At least in my experience.”
“Except, perhaps, on Boar Island?” asked a young farmer from Lexington, who'd earlier wandered over to listen. He was known to the company, but he was not a confidant, and so could hardly have been surprised when they only stared back. “I've heard,” the smiling man went on, “it is a place where odd things often happen. It houses spirits, it's said. Demons, are they? And it is supposed to have wondrous decorations, like this armor you mention, sir. Can you tell me what else might be there?”
“Never you mind,”