fortress than a palace, if one thinks ideally of the latter as being characterized first by stateliness.
Sebastian’s robust residence suggested it could hold off an army—not one armed with nuclear weapons, certainly, or perhaps even howitzers, but certainly swords, maces, and battle-axes, and maybe even flintlocks, would be no threat to anyone within its walls.
We arrived before a great entrance gate, but could not use it until its massive door was lowered over the moat, which, probably because I had been staring up, I had not noticed before. McCoy stopped the car by colliding with an abutment. He blew the horn, and hard upon the echo the enormous door, made of thick wood bound and studded with iron, began its creaking descent. I was disappointed, when it was altogether down, not to be able to see into a courtyard, for another large door intruded.
We crossed the drawbridge, found a winding staircase in the tower to the left, and climbed, emerging eventually into a windowless room. As yet we had heard or seen no living thing, but now two men, in even more gaudy operetta uniforms than the police had worn, entered through one of the several doors in the far wall. They were husky young officers with ruddy cheeks; except for their eyes (respectively ferret and hound) and noses (Roman and snub), they might have been twins.
“Good day, Mr. McCoy,” said the one in the lead. “Perhaps you have explained the procedure to Mr. Wren.”
“More or less,” said my companion. He turned to me. “They search you, and then you put on the kimono.”
The second officer assigned himself to me. He was the one with the beady bright eyes and large nose. “How do you do,” said he, clicking his heels. “Mr. Wren. I am Lieutenant Blok. Please to come along to the changing room, if you will.”
He led me to one of the doors. McCoy, lurching along behind the other officer, gave me a smirk. The changing room was a small chamber furnished with a chair and a plain table that held what looked like a stack of navy-blue towels.
I stood there and did nothing for a while, not knowing quite what the drill was, and not wanting to be notably quick in stripping myself before a man.
As if reading me, Blok after a moment asked politely, “Would you prefer a female guard?”
Funny, but this offer did not seem as flattering to my sense of my own virility as it might have. “Certainly not,” I replied, and in no time at all was down to my briefs—the rather gaudily striped pair I had purchased, for a song, from a sidewalk vendor’s cardboard box on Fourteenth Street: how could I have known, upon donning them two mornings ago, that they would not be doffed until I was in a castle in a foreign land, about to meet an absolute monarch?
As each of my few articles of clothing came off it was handed to Lieutenant Blok, who examined it carefully. He now received my socks, which after two days might well have been a bit high.
“You must understand,” I said to this spotless officer in his shining boots, “I was whisked over here—” and then I remembered that as a secret agent I should probably not volunteer such details, though Rasmussen, with the same negligence that had characterized this assignment from the first, had failed to give me any such instructions. “I’m an impulsive traveler,” I said. “I jumped on the plane before I had a chance to shower.”
Blok made no reply, just continued solemnly to inspect the socks—as if one could conceal a lethal weapon there, despite the sizable hole in each toe.
And I’m sorry to say that I finally had to surrender even the striped drawers for the same search, and then was obliged to bend and spread my nether cheeks, should I be concealing a vial of explosive.
3
W HEN BLOK FINISHED HIS inspection he bowed and left the room, and immediately in came a little officer resplendent in braid and wearing a sword. He clicked his heels.
“Mr. Wren, I am General Anton Popescu, commander of the Life
Sebastian’s robust residence suggested it could hold off an army—not one armed with nuclear weapons, certainly, or perhaps even howitzers, but certainly swords, maces, and battle-axes, and maybe even flintlocks, would be no threat to anyone within its walls.
We arrived before a great entrance gate, but could not use it until its massive door was lowered over the moat, which, probably because I had been staring up, I had not noticed before. McCoy stopped the car by colliding with an abutment. He blew the horn, and hard upon the echo the enormous door, made of thick wood bound and studded with iron, began its creaking descent. I was disappointed, when it was altogether down, not to be able to see into a courtyard, for another large door intruded.
We crossed the drawbridge, found a winding staircase in the tower to the left, and climbed, emerging eventually into a windowless room. As yet we had heard or seen no living thing, but now two men, in even more gaudy operetta uniforms than the police had worn, entered through one of the several doors in the far wall. They were husky young officers with ruddy cheeks; except for their eyes (respectively ferret and hound) and noses (Roman and snub), they might have been twins.
“Good day, Mr. McCoy,” said the one in the lead. “Perhaps you have explained the procedure to Mr. Wren.”
“More or less,” said my companion. He turned to me. “They search you, and then you put on the kimono.”
The second officer assigned himself to me. He was the one with the beady bright eyes and large nose. “How do you do,” said he, clicking his heels. “Mr. Wren. I am Lieutenant Blok. Please to come along to the changing room, if you will.”
He led me to one of the doors. McCoy, lurching along behind the other officer, gave me a smirk. The changing room was a small chamber furnished with a chair and a plain table that held what looked like a stack of navy-blue towels.
I stood there and did nothing for a while, not knowing quite what the drill was, and not wanting to be notably quick in stripping myself before a man.
As if reading me, Blok after a moment asked politely, “Would you prefer a female guard?”
Funny, but this offer did not seem as flattering to my sense of my own virility as it might have. “Certainly not,” I replied, and in no time at all was down to my briefs—the rather gaudily striped pair I had purchased, for a song, from a sidewalk vendor’s cardboard box on Fourteenth Street: how could I have known, upon donning them two mornings ago, that they would not be doffed until I was in a castle in a foreign land, about to meet an absolute monarch?
As each of my few articles of clothing came off it was handed to Lieutenant Blok, who examined it carefully. He now received my socks, which after two days might well have been a bit high.
“You must understand,” I said to this spotless officer in his shining boots, “I was whisked over here—” and then I remembered that as a secret agent I should probably not volunteer such details, though Rasmussen, with the same negligence that had characterized this assignment from the first, had failed to give me any such instructions. “I’m an impulsive traveler,” I said. “I jumped on the plane before I had a chance to shower.”
Blok made no reply, just continued solemnly to inspect the socks—as if one could conceal a lethal weapon there, despite the sizable hole in each toe.
And I’m sorry to say that I finally had to surrender even the striped drawers for the same search, and then was obliged to bend and spread my nether cheeks, should I be concealing a vial of explosive.
3
W HEN BLOK FINISHED HIS inspection he bowed and left the room, and immediately in came a little officer resplendent in braid and wearing a sword. He clicked his heels.
“Mr. Wren, I am General Anton Popescu, commander of the Life
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