Excerpt from Undermajordomo Minor by Patrick deWitt, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"When is the dinner service?" he asked.

"Six-thirty, sir."

"Unacceptable." The Count pressed a coin into Lucy's palm. "If you could scare me up some type of holdover, that would suit me."

Lucy studied the coin. It was a foreign currency, and quite useless to him. "Holdover, sir?" he said.

"Something to chew on."

"Something to eat."

"I like salt. A meat. Don't let the Countess see."

"No, sir."

"You're on your own if she does."

"Yes."

"And I suppose a bath is in order. Can you see to it?"

"Surely, sir."

"Fine. Now you fetch us our baggage and then get started on the rest. You seem a good lad, but how many have let me down in the past? Indeed: too many to name." He trundled up the hill on stumpy legs, and Lucy turned to watch the porter offload the trunks and cases. They were much the same age, and Lucy approached to assist him.

"What did he give you?" the porter asked, and Lucy showed him the coin. The porter smiled, and produced an identical valueless coin from his own pocket. They each cast their coin to the ground, and as the train pulled away from the station the porter swung onto the caboose. He bowed at Lucy, and Lucy bowed at him, and the both of them returned to their work.


Illustration by Chloe Cushman/National Post

The Count was listlessly fingering the contents of his steamer trunk. He was naked as the day he was born, and other than his height, looked much as he had at that initial emergence. The Countess, on the opposite side of the room, sat at the vanity, admiring her toiletries, laid out in some obscure codification of her own hostile design. In the corner, unseen behind a folding screen, Lucy was pouring out the final cauldron of water for the Count's bath. He had a sizeable salami up his sleeve and was waiting for the moment when the Countess was not about, that he might unsheathe and present it to the Count. He was hopeful this would happen sooner rather than later, as the salami was cold and oily and felt repugnant against his bare flesh.

The Count held a white silken shirt up before himself. He turned to face the Countess, who told him, "You'll want to go darker. You're so ruddy these days."

The Count sighed.

"You take too much tobacco," she said.

"It's more the drink, I fear."

"Well, whatever the culprit, you mustn't wear white if you can avoid it."

He stood before the tilted looking-glass, dolefully assessing his countenance. "So many pitfalls in a life," he said.

"Yes."

"The consequences of our appetites confound me. But, you know what my father said: 'A modesty of appetite represents a paucity of heart.'" He swapped the white for a blue shirt, and appeared pleased, for it truly did mask his hue. "I find myself wondering what Agnes is going to cook for dinner," he said, to no one.

Lucy stepped out from behind the screen. "Cold dill and yoghurt soup, sliced calf tongue in butter, pork knuckle in nettle sauce, and for dessert, a fruit tart."

The Count and Countess stared at Lucy.

"Did you know he was in the room?" the Count asked.

"I did not," said the Countess.

"Nor I."

"I wish I had known."

"As do I."

"I knocked before entering," said Lucy.

The Count said, "I heard nothing like a knock."

"Neither did I," said the Countess.

"You should knock harder," said the Count.

"I'm sorry, sir," Lucy said.

"Or offer a verbal greeting."

"I didn't want to disturb you."

"But you've done just that, haven't you?" said the Countess. She turned to the vanity, and in a spasm of pique began passionately combing her hair. The Count set his blue shirt to the side, for he had located something of consequence in his navel, and now worked fingers like pincers to remove it.

Excerpted from Undermajordomo Minor by Patrick deWitt. Copyright © 2015 by Patrick deWitt. Excerpted by permission of Ecco. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.