They passed a night huddled close for warmth, and in the morning awoke to face another meal, this identical to that of the evening prior. Lucy was very hungry by this point, and yet he still could not deliver the fish to his mouth. Neither Mr. Broom nor Tomas commented, for they had each been through just the same ordeal, and knew Lucy would eat when he was ready. During breakfast, and afterward, Lucy noticed that Mr. Broom was watching him with a woebegone look on his face. This continued for such a time that Lucy asked if something was the matter. Mr. Broom said, “It’s just that, I find myself wondering if you’re aware you and I arrived here under similar circumstances.”
“I’m aware of it,” said Lucy.
“And how are you aware of this, may I ask?”
“Mr. Olderglough referenced it, as did the Baroness.”
Upon hearing that the Baroness had returned, Mr. Broom’s eyes darted away. He was silent for a long while before asking, “When did she come back?”
“Some weeks ago.”
“And how does she seem to you?”
“I had the impression she was relieved to have come home. At least at the beginning, this was the sense I had.”
“Do you mean to say that something has changed since then?”
“There has been a change.”
“And what is the change?”
Lucy was unsure how to describe it. “It seems to me that she is weakening.”
“She is ill?”
“Not physically ill, no.”
“How is she ill?”
Lucy said, “There is an increasing dearth of sensibility in regard to her actions.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She keeps unsavory acquaintances and engages in unnatural social acts.”
“Speak plainly.”
“I dare not.”
“Tell me all you know.”
“I shall not. All that I’ll say is that I believe there is an unwellness rampant in the castle.”
“What manner of unwellness?”
“A pervasive unpleasantness.”
“What is unpleasant?”
“It’s something which I can’t put into words other than to say I suspect all who live there are affected in time. Did you not feel imperiled at any point during your stay?”
“No.”
“Fixed in the clutches of something larger than yourself?”
“No.”
“And yet you chased death into the Very Large Hole, where you now find yourself living in rags and eating away at the belly of a raw fish and calling it supper, or breakfast, for that matter.”
Mr. Broom could not deny that he had suffered a degeneration. “But,” he said, “that might have happened regardless of my location. For love is the culprit, and love grows wherever it wishes.” He pointed. “Look at our friend Tomas, here. He finds himself in the same position as I, and yet he’s never so much as set foot in the castle.”
True enough, and yet Lucy couldn’t shake the notion that there was some malicious anathema afoot in the castle. He was visited by the image of the Baron, his bare body smeared with rodent’s blood, a memory which invoked a shudder. As though reading Lucy’s mind, Mr. Broom asked,
“And what of the Baron? Is he faring so poorly as his wife?”
Lucy said, “Much like she, there is evidence of decline, and it is my opinion that this decline will become dire.”
“And what is the nature of their partnership at present?”
“How do you mean?”
“Are they functionally married?”
“How do you mean?”
“Possibly you already know what I mean.”
“Possibly I do.”
“And are they?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve witnessed it.”
“I see. You’ll excuse me, please.” Mr. Broom stood and walked into the water, swimming away and vanishing in the darkness of the far cavern. Tomas gave Lucy a look of mild reproach.
“But what else could I have done?” Lucy asked.
“Lied,” said Tomas simply. And here Lucy slapped his knee, as in this one instance the thought to do so hadn’t occurred to him.