Due to the danger inherent in attempting escape, and because of his age and general decrepitude, Tomas was not enthusiastic about this idea at first glance. He became sullen in the afternoon, and it seemed that a rift was afoot, but by the time evening rolled around he had found some deeper reserve of spirit and proclaimed, more loudly than was necessary, that he would join the expedition.
Surely there was a connection between his change of heart and news of Mewe, just as Mr. Broom’s decision to leave was informed by the knowledge that the Baroness had returned to the castle. Lucy, for his part, had made up his mind to leave before Mr. Broom had brought it up, even; and he would have gone on his own if need be, for his thoughts were of Klara alone, and his desire to win her back superseded all other concerns. Regarding preparations, there were none to speak of, other than for the men to come to an agreement about the specifics of the method of departure and escape. This was discussed at length, and resulted in disagreement but thankfully not division.
Mr. Broom was for action. He wished to lead the three, for he was, he said, the strongest of the group, a truth which neither Tomas nor Lucy could dispute, though they were the both of them left wondering just what Mr. Broom’s strength would avail anyone other than Broom himself. Beyond his physical capabilities Mr. Broom claimed, with an amount of humility or reluctance, to be in possession of second sight. He often felt its influence, he said, and believed that if he were to focus intently and utilize this gift to its utmost, then he would guide the group to freedom.
Tomas sat awhile, blinking. “This is news to me, my friend.”
“It’s not something one goes about boasting of.”
“And why not? Here we’ve been discussing topics such as our favorite numerals.” Tomas closed his eyes. “Tell me, please: what am I thinking about now?”
Mr. Broom shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”
Tomas stuck a hand behind his back. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“How does it work?”
“I believe I can find the way out of here,” Mr. Broom said.
“And yet you didn’t on any of our prior expeditions. And why not? Sheer modesty, I wouldn’t wonder.”
Mr. Broom had gone red in the face. “Perhaps you have a plan of your own.”
“Perhaps I do.”
“Do you or don’t you?”
Tomas drew himself up. “If anyone is to lead the expedition,” he said, “I believe that should be me.”
“Oh?” said Mr. Broom. “And why is that, can you tell me?”
“Because I am the eldest, and so I have the wisdom of time on my side.”
“The wisdom of time?” said Mr. Broom. Apparently he found the phrase humorous.
“That’s what I said,” Tomas answered sternly.
“Does one always accompany the other?”
“In my case I believe it does. Beyond that, and this is inarguable, I have journeyed upriver far more often than you have, and so am more familiar with the terrain.”
“That’s one way to put it. Another way might be to say that you are more familiar with failing to surpass the terrain.”
Tomas leveled a finger at Broom. “I saw the sun set thousands of times before you drew your first breath.”
“And so?”
“I was entering women when you were still soiling your short pants.”
“And so?”
“I slit a man’s throat before you could milk a cow.”
“I still can’t milk a cow. But I think your plan is pure foolishness.”
“It’s no more foolish than yours.”
“Yes, but my plan is mine, and so I prefer it.”
“And just as naturally, I do mine.”
Arriving thus at stalemate, the pair lured Lucy into the fray, asking which plan he himself thought best. Believing each one to be equally poor, Lucy admitted to having no preference at all, a statement which effectively offended both men, who together began to chastise him, for here they were busily concocting schemes while he sat by, marking time, contributing nothing whatsoever.
All this to say there was strife among them, and confidence was ebbing with each passing minute. In the end, Lucy did come up with a plan of his own, and as it happened, this was the idea they could all three of them agree on.