6 - Luce

       Though twilight is trailing its violet fingers along the skyline, there are yet voices within my labyrinth? I shake my head, chuckling softly. I have warned Nila many times, that, having once found his way through it in a short time, he shall not do so again. So many visitors blithely enter the tall hedges of yew, thinking they need only keep a solid wall to their right in order to traverse the paths successfully. But were that the case, it would hardly be a maze, would it? I myself would feel quite disappointed by such a design in a labyrinth.
       What Nila also seems to forget, is that trees may be removed and planted anew. These living walls are, indeed, living, and so little time is needed for a new wall to merge itself with the older walls around it.
       It was quite early in the day when he entered my gardens – scarcely past noon, I should think – and he had several persons with him, as I recall. I hear only two voices now, that of Nila and some young man, though I suspect there is a third set of shoes treading the winding paths. Nila has always a great deal of diversity in the company he keeps, so I am not at all surprised that they should have split up within the maze. I wonder if the third person is silent from deep thought or from despair? Even when one knows the way, it takes some time to follow the path through the neatly trimmed yew into the center, with its lovely little pool and low flowering trees, and from there out again. Visitors can hardly believe the amount of space my grounds cover, and it is impossible to judge the size of the maze from the outside. It is entirely possible that one could be lost for days within the unchanging viridian walls – though I rarely allow such to occur. My gardeners are under instruction to assist any who remain there after dark, for it would ruin the effect to have starving persons lying ruined along the path, or some dead end to be more than dead in name alone! I delight in the numbing sensations created by the endless unchanging walls, the corners one is never sure one has seen before, shining evergreen needles standing erect to trap perfect rectangles of blue sky.
       I stroll into the maze, making my way first toward the voices. It is scarcely a quarter of an hour before I reach them, Nila looking calm though relieved to see me, his guest appearing quite annoyed.
       “Finally! I was just telling Niles that I could hardly believe there were no servants to assist one in a maze so vast as this. It follows no rules at all! It is hardly fun if a labyrinth is unsolvable.”
       Nila glances at the fellow, and shakes his head tiredly. “Benjamin, my friend... if it were unsolvable, would my dear Luce have found us so quickly? Even you seem to realize that he is here to guide us out, which he could only do if there were some logic to these paths.”
       The man is about to retort, but stops short of doing so, and his shoulders droop in resignation. “Of course. I see that.”
       Chuckling quietly, I lay a hand on Nila's shoulder. “Do come this way, gentlemen. We shall have you out in a few minutes, and my servants will provide you with refreshment after your long walk.”

       I settle the two men in a side garden at some little distance. Paper lanterns are hung from white birch limbs near a Moorish mosaic table, to which my servants are bringing food and drink. The young man is quickly forgetting his peevishness, and I see there is some grace in his manner, which had led Nila to proffer his company for the day. Still, I doubt he shall do so again – it is clear in Nila's face that he has tired of the boy. My poor dear, you subject yourself to so many wearinesses, that you might find just that one in a hundred who will bring fresh entertainment into our little society!
       “I believe there is still one of my company who remains in your labyrinth, my dear Luce,” Nila informs me, with a slight sense of apology, and... I should almost think trepidation? How odd. “Yet I do not think you need go after him if you do not wish.” This hurriedly, as though anxious to persuade me to leave the man alone. “He seemed quite content to wander the paths in silent contemplation, and so he has done for hours now alone. We heard his footsteps nearby several times, so he seems to be well enough, though he has not spoken a word that we have heard.”
       I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. Not many have the tranquility of mind to do such as this. “In that event, I shall give instructions to my servants that they not disturb him. But who is this man, that can remain in such peace despite being utterly lost?”
       Nila pauses a moment, hesitating. I do not think he wishes to tell me! How foolish of him. I shall know soon enough, whether he tells me or not.
       “It's that priest,” Benjamin replies, with a roll of his eyes as he takes a long sip of wine. “Douglas? He hardly spoke a word to the rest of us. Comes from a wealthy parish, and if it is the one I think it is, it is filled with a particularly snobbish set.”
       Nila gives the man a withering glance, then sighs and turns to address me. “Father Mark Douglas. You may have heard the name – he attended a small fête of mine some weeks ago. He is well acquainted with Claude Demetriou, the painter.”
       I nod in acknowledgment, and a smile spreads in my mind, though I refrain from showing it to Nila. Little wonder he was loathe to tell me! I know full well that he and some of the others feel that I do not always handle delicate persons properly, that I rush them into situations they are far from ready for, and deny my compatriots the pleasures of a slow decay. They are entirely mistaken – I read all, including them, far better than anyone else, and play upon their strings as skillfully as any musician. I “spoil” such prizes only when it will bring to the fore something far more interesting from the others standing nearby. Nila, Mephisto, the others... they somehow still do not realize that there are times when they, not the smaller men around them, are the puppets upon the stage.
       “I believe I shall go in to find him – though I promise to leave him be, if such is his desire.”
       Nila nods resignedly, lifting a pastry to his lips idly, acting in vague distraction rather than active desire. Benjamin is showing far more relish for the delicacies before him, though I know he could not possibly appreciate them half so much, with his pale senses and lack of focus on the world around him.

       I return to the labyrinth, and walk among the darkening paths for several minutes before I can gain some sort of bearing on the priest's location. He does tread almost silently, but my sense of hearing has been refined over these long centuries, and I can hear him a little distance, perhaps four or five walls between us. I cannot hear words, but I can hear the punctuated breath of someone who is not speaking aloud, but mouthing sounds... prayers? Yet I still sense no desperation here. Perhaps he is meditating on some seemingly divine interpretation of his wanderings upon the earth.
       I approach him gradually, not desiring to come up from behind and startle him, for even if I made enough sound while walking for him to hear, I suspect he would not notice it, so deep in concentration does he seem. So I maneuver to reveal myself from an oncoming perspective, giving his eyes a minute or two to become cognizant of my presence.
       His pace is unhurried, but his eyes are not unfocused, as I had expected. When first I see him, he has paused to gently finger the bright red berries which star the dark surface of the yew needles. He plucks one, rolling it between two fingertips, before pressing into it to let the sticky juices burst the scarlet flesh. His lips are moving faintly, his brow lightly creased in thought. He is quite an attractive figure, slim and neatly dressed. Blond hair, slightly mussed through inattention, vivid green eyes. Surprisingly young, especially given the prestige of the commission he has been lately afforded. Hardly out of seminary, I suspect.
       As he lets the ruined berry slip from his fingers to the ground below, he lifts his gaze and sees me – though the squint of his gaze informs me that he can hardly see me clearly. It is turning to dusk, and I am certain his eyes have grown weak from too long spent reading by lamplight, late into nights that felt no need for sleep. “Hello there? I am afraid I do not recognize you, though my eyes have difficulty seeing in this light. Has it grown so late?”
       “Quite late – the sun has gone to its rest, and only the memory of it yet lights the sky,” I reply with a genial smile. “I am Luce, the master of these grounds. Shall I lead you out of the labyrinth, that you might find rest for the night? Or do you prefer to continue your meditations within its circling walls?”
       The man smiles, bows slightly. “I am Father Mark Douglas – Master Niles brought several of us here this afternoon, and I am afraid I became lost in my own thoughts, and neglected to remain with the others. But I have hardly minded, for the day has been a wonderful one for meditation, as you seem to have guessed. I do suppose I ought to return to my residence for the evening, that I might set down some of these thoughts to paper, before they slip from my mind...”
       “Yet I can see that you are loathe to leave, even now? It is no trouble – I often walk here myself, for hours on end. I, as you, find it restful to the mind, to lose awareness of one's place in the world. When the surroundings fade to incomprehension, and thus meaninglessness, the thoughts constrained within it find new outlets.”