Undermajordomo Minor Read Online Free PDF

and so the man could gain access to her bag, from which he removed unknown objects, passing these to the smaller man, who tucked the booty away in his long coat. After gleaning all he could or cared to, the larger man returned the bag to the woman’s grip and stepped to the side, that he might focus on the body to the woman’s left. It was in this workaday manner that the duo robbed each person on the bench opposite Lucy; and now they were doubling back to do the same to him and his benchmates.
    As the men drew closer, a fearsome unease came over Lucy, for he had not a clue what he should do. He might put up a fight, but there were two men against his one, and it was a safe assumption that these bandits were all the more familiar with the ways of violence than he. Mightn’t he leave the compartment? Simply stand and go, without a glance back over his shoulder? But no, the men would notice his exit, and perhaps it was that they wouldn’t want him to leave. What option remained, then? In the end he could think of no alternative other than feigning sleep and letting the men make away with his meager possessions. A shameful conclusion, it was true, but still preferable to the other chilling possibilities, and so there Lucy sat, awaiting the inevitable.
    The men were just setting upon him when a train traveling on the westbound track hurtled past, rocking the compartment, drenching it in flashing light, and disturbing most everyone’s rest. The thieves quit the compartment like shadows thrown across the wall; and though many passengers were momentarily awakened by the passing train, none had seen the pair go, and so none realized they had been robbed. Lucy looked about for a body to speak with, but all had resumed sleeping. He buttoned his coat to the throat and looked out the window at the world of night. The moon held its position admirably and unwaveringly, pegged as it was to its corner of the sky.

8
    L ucy awoke in thin winter sunlight, lying on his side, now. The train had stopped any number of times and the compartment was empty except for a shabbily dressed man sitting on the bench across from him. The man was staring at Lucy expectantly, as though waiting for him to awaken, that they might make discourse. But Lucy didn’t want to speak to anyone just yet, and so resumed his window-gazing.
    They were above the snow line, well beyond the first pass and into the deeper ranges where the drifts formed impossible meringue shapes and were painted blue and green in their shadows. The first- and second-class compartments were heated with engine runoff, but not so the third; the wind rattled the windows, and Lucy could make out his breath before him.
    Lucy studied the man in the reflection of the pane. He seemed to be neither young nor old, or rather, young and old—his eyes were adolescent, full of verve and mischief, yet the flesh beneath the sockets drooped to water-filled crescents; his hair was thick, swept back in a high-crested roll, but its ink-black coloring was run through with white strands, these creeping upward from the sideburns to the crown. The man could have been eighty years old or he could have been forty. He removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and blew his nose; as he returned the handkerchief to his coat, the visual of fingers slipping past a lapel reminded Lucy of the thieves from the night prior, a recollection which must have upsethis composure, for the man asked, “Are you quite all right, boy?”
    â€œI am, sir,” said Lucy, “but tell me, please, did you pass the night on this train?”
    â€œI did.”
    â€œYou’ll want to check your purse, then, for there were two thieves preying upon the passengers while we slumbered.”
    A look of dread came over the man. “Oh, dear,” he said. “Is it really so?” He patted the pockets of his coat and trousers; finding his possessions accounted for, he told Lucy, “No, all is