The Trial of Katterfelto by Michael Redhill

Author:Michael Redhill [Redhill, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Canada
Published: 2025-09-02T00:00:00+00:00

18.

THE END OF OUR CLEVELODE DAYS

We had, with the aid of handbills, pressed upon the public that our final appearance would take place on August 29. We were forced to perform to a sizeable crowd on the thirtieth, and once more, to perhaps twenty souls, on the thirty-first. We still had plenty of time to pack our cabinet and hie ourselves to Nottingham, where our engagement was to begin on the twelfth of September. I inspected my gold at Hiram and Son and instructed them to distribute any interest accrued to parties needing aid, at their discretion, and to convert the rest to tender. I had come to know Hiram quite well by the end of the summer and had dined at his home twice. Hiram, being quite observant, was honoured to be asked to play a role.

My so-called betrayal of the Doctor no longer weighed upon me, as now I felt I had reason to pursue more aggressively my line concerning Siri’s dilemma. Direct confrontation and expressing my strongly held feelings had done nothing but ruin a potato, so I thought now to combine what I knew with incontestable evidence. I had to prove to him that she was self-made without giving him more reason not to trust me. I hit upon the subject of his snoring. As all snorers do, he reviled me for even suggesting it.

I do not snore, Sir. I am the most alert of sleepers. A falling leaf is my rooster. (His breath smelled of Black Eagle porter, of which he had laid in a supply, buying it at riverside from an agent of the brewery. They had even set up a temporary beer hall, a shack with rooves made of sticks and hay.)

I wouldn’t bring it up, said I, unless ’twere part of a matter of more import. Although, Sir, I hear snorers are quite deaf to their own sounds.

If I am keeping you awake, why not move back more into the woods? Sleep with your zig-zag trees. And what is a matter of more import?

The Oracle, Sir. I worry that you are somehow…distressing it. With your vibrations.

He haw-hawed that vigorously. She has sent you a letter, has she? To complain?

Worse, I said. She’s been talking inside her case.

That wiped the smile off his lips. He turned a shade of ash. Don’t be ridiculous.

You must not be able to hear her above your snoring.

I have just told you, Mr. Gossatch, I do not snore.

Sir, you make the sound of a cat caught in a hurricane.

His eyes shuttled back and forth between mine, humiliated, calculating.

She speaks, I continued, over you, like she’s trying to drown you out. From inside the case. While you’ve slept and your ears have been occupied with your own noises, I’ve written it all down. But you already know Siri is real, don’t you Sir? You’ve known from the first. And as she has brought us fame and wealth, we are in debt to her. She has reached out to us.

To me, he croaked with theatrical brio.

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