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

"Is my bath ready?" he asked Lucy.

"It is, sir."

The Count padded around the screen and submerged a thumb in the water. Finding the temperature to his liking, he daintily drew a leg over the lip of the tub and eased into the bath, emitting a puff of air as he did so. "Tell me more about this tart, boy," he said.

"It's a peach tart, sir, soaked in brandy."

The Count raised his eyebrows. "Brandy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you yourself ever tried it?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what is your opinion of it?"

"I have a high opinion of Agnes's tart, sir." And this was true — Agnes's tart was her lone certainty. The Count seemed pleased to hear as much; he drew up his lips like a purse's drawstring. In a whisper, he asked,

"Did you bring the meat?"


Illustration by Chloe Cushman/National Post

Lucy nodded, and patted his sleeve. "It's here, sir." Now the Count made a beckoning gesture, that Lucy should come nearer and produce the salami, but before this could be accomplished the Countess, whom neither Lucy nor the Count had heard approaching, was standing beside the screen, watching them with a sour expression.

"He was going to scrub my feet," the Count explained.

"Scrub your own feet. Boy, come with me."

Lucy followed her across the room and soon found himself regarding the clammy folds of the Countess's naked flesh as he untied her corset. Once freed from the garment she sat awhile, expanding. Sniffing at the air, she said, "You smell like a salami, boy."

"Yes, and I'm sorry about that, ma'am."

"It's something you're aware of, then?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Oughtn't you do something about it?"

"I surely will, ma'am."

"It is not insurmountable. One doesn't have to smell like a salami if one doesn't wish it."

"No, you're absolutely right, ma'am."

"Fine," she said. "And now, away with you. I should like a rest before the evening's festivities. Wake me up one hour before dinner service." Bowing, he turned and crossed the room, stalling as he passed the screen, behind which the Count waved frantically from the bath. Lucy moved closer, rotating his wrist to and fro that the salami might come loose; but the cuff was snug, so that the tubular meat became lodged in his sleeve. He was fumbling with his cufflink when the Countess, who had been watching his progress, thwarted his delivery: "I said away, boy — away!" He made a helpless face at the Count and exited the room, very nearly colliding with Mr Olderglough, who was happening past. They walked together, towards the scullery.

"How does it go, boy?"

"They are as you said, sir."

"Are they not, though?"

"Indeed, and they are."

"Tell me."

Lucy regaled his superior with details of his experience up to that moment, leaving out his having a salami in his sleeve, for it was an unfortunate, even shameful fact; and beyond that, he had taken it from the larder without asking permission. Mr Olderglough listened to the rest, his head down as he took it in. At tale's end, he said, "Gluttons of the basest category."

"Yes, sir," said Lucy. "And what of the Duke and Duchess?" He had seen them only in passing, when they entered the castle some hours earlier. They appeared to be of a piece with the Count and Countess in terms of temperament, though were ever more stylish and healthful; the Duchess in
particular was something of a pouty beauty, horse-limbed and taller than the Duke by a head.

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.