magic to be renewed.’
With wonder and breath-held silence, they went through the streets as if they were tiptoeing through the room of a sleeping child. They would have liked to get lost in the town, lost in its mood, because reality is the greatest misunderstanding of them all.
2
Mistletoe had a sudden uncertain premonition. She was about to say something about Malasso when Lao pointed to the lights of a pub in the middle of a lane.
They stepped into its roar like waking from a dream. Loud drunken conversations crowded the smoky air and a rock anthem thundered from the jukebox. Dark walls were plastered with fading posters of dancing girls, music concerts, and festivals. The place smelled of spilt beer.
Faces turned as Lao and Mistletoe walked in. Lao felt the gazes returning him to the world of colour, as if the air was suddenly charged. Amid the smoke he felt the weight of a mute judgement. It was as if their presence in the pub had contravened some unspoken law.
Lao and Mistletoe stopped and looked round, assessing the quality of the mood, feeling for its dangers. For a long moment, in spite of the anthemic roar from the jukebox, silence seemed to prevail.
Deciding that what one decrees from within is what the world sees in you, and at that moment happening to see himself as a prince from an infinite kingdom, Lao regained the integrity of his being. He cast a protective spell around Mistletoe, as she cast one around him.
So they strode into the depths of the pub like enchanters, altering reality by altering themselves. All at once they seemed like regulars who had been away for a long time. They went to the counter and ordered two pints of the local beer and looked around, as if they were curious about the new faces they saw leaning against the walls, standing in clusters, darkening the ceiling with smoke.
3
Lao engaged one of the bartenders in conversation. He asked about the copper tankards that were ranged on shelves along the walls according to their sizes. Etched on the side of some was the figure of a goat-footed man, on others a noble stag. The barman told him that every year, on midsummer nights, they had drinking competitions in the open air. The winner, in addition to their prize, got to drink from a tankard. It was a tradition that went back a thousand years. But this year the winner had been a complete unknown; and when he won he had disappeared back to where he came from without drinking from the winner’s tankard or collecting his prize, like a figure from a fairy tale.
‘What was the prize?’ Lao asked.
The barman gave an obscene leer.
‘It’s a secret. Only the mayor knows.’
The publican had to go and serve someone. Mistletoe and Lao drank their beer in silence, leaning against the counter.
The pub had changed its mind about them.
4
They soon discovered a pool table at the back of the pub. On the walls there were dusty swords, ancient poignards, muskets, an armorial shield, and the stuffed head of a stag with branching antlers.
To their surprise, among the players they saw their driver, Bruno the Second. He was coming to the end of a game with one of the bulky denizens of the establishment. Bruno was not surprised to see them.
‘I knew you two would turn up here sooner or later,’ he said.
He seemed different from the fresh-faced young man who had driven them from Basel station to their hotel. He seemed more himself.
‘I’m glad you came. We’re not having a very good game. This man is a lazy player – don’t worry, he doesn’t speak English. Would you like to play? A bet would be nice, don’t you think?’
Lao was immediately interested. He liked the occasional gamble, though he hadn’t played pool in years and was very rusty. But he was fond of it, the sociability it called for, the concentration it demanded, the precision it required. It was a game of courage and canniness, risk and rhythm, intuition and intelligence. He enjoyed its theatricality. Being upset when
With wonder and breath-held silence, they went through the streets as if they were tiptoeing through the room of a sleeping child. They would have liked to get lost in the town, lost in its mood, because reality is the greatest misunderstanding of them all.
2
Mistletoe had a sudden uncertain premonition. She was about to say something about Malasso when Lao pointed to the lights of a pub in the middle of a lane.
They stepped into its roar like waking from a dream. Loud drunken conversations crowded the smoky air and a rock anthem thundered from the jukebox. Dark walls were plastered with fading posters of dancing girls, music concerts, and festivals. The place smelled of spilt beer.
Faces turned as Lao and Mistletoe walked in. Lao felt the gazes returning him to the world of colour, as if the air was suddenly charged. Amid the smoke he felt the weight of a mute judgement. It was as if their presence in the pub had contravened some unspoken law.
Lao and Mistletoe stopped and looked round, assessing the quality of the mood, feeling for its dangers. For a long moment, in spite of the anthemic roar from the jukebox, silence seemed to prevail.
Deciding that what one decrees from within is what the world sees in you, and at that moment happening to see himself as a prince from an infinite kingdom, Lao regained the integrity of his being. He cast a protective spell around Mistletoe, as she cast one around him.
So they strode into the depths of the pub like enchanters, altering reality by altering themselves. All at once they seemed like regulars who had been away for a long time. They went to the counter and ordered two pints of the local beer and looked around, as if they were curious about the new faces they saw leaning against the walls, standing in clusters, darkening the ceiling with smoke.
3
Lao engaged one of the bartenders in conversation. He asked about the copper tankards that were ranged on shelves along the walls according to their sizes. Etched on the side of some was the figure of a goat-footed man, on others a noble stag. The barman told him that every year, on midsummer nights, they had drinking competitions in the open air. The winner, in addition to their prize, got to drink from a tankard. It was a tradition that went back a thousand years. But this year the winner had been a complete unknown; and when he won he had disappeared back to where he came from without drinking from the winner’s tankard or collecting his prize, like a figure from a fairy tale.
‘What was the prize?’ Lao asked.
The barman gave an obscene leer.
‘It’s a secret. Only the mayor knows.’
The publican had to go and serve someone. Mistletoe and Lao drank their beer in silence, leaning against the counter.
The pub had changed its mind about them.
4
They soon discovered a pool table at the back of the pub. On the walls there were dusty swords, ancient poignards, muskets, an armorial shield, and the stuffed head of a stag with branching antlers.
To their surprise, among the players they saw their driver, Bruno the Second. He was coming to the end of a game with one of the bulky denizens of the establishment. Bruno was not surprised to see them.
‘I knew you two would turn up here sooner or later,’ he said.
He seemed different from the fresh-faced young man who had driven them from Basel station to their hotel. He seemed more himself.
‘I’m glad you came. We’re not having a very good game. This man is a lazy player – don’t worry, he doesn’t speak English. Would you like to play? A bet would be nice, don’t you think?’
Lao was immediately interested. He liked the occasional gamble, though he hadn’t played pool in years and was very rusty. But he was fond of it, the sociability it called for, the concentration it demanded, the precision it required. It was a game of courage and canniness, risk and rhythm, intuition and intelligence. He enjoyed its theatricality. Being upset when
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