He was walking up the coastal road to the estate. I say road; it was more like a track – hopeless trying to get a car up there, still less a carriage. Joseph K was struggling, for the way was steep and a strong wind beat him back, but his steps held firm. His boots dug into the gravel-like substance on the ground, seeped and stuck in the runny chalk that ran off the cliffs on his right. On his left the ground fell away rapidly in a steep drop to the sea below. Not a bad day for a walk – despite the wind. The sun shone with a cool light – still low for it was early morning – and the sea looked inviting, despite its choppiness; it glittered and wrinkled like a well-worn garment, with unlikely warmth and brightness. Despite its remoteness, Joseph almost felt like diving into those depths. Anything to break the monotony of this trudge up the cliff trail.
There was still no sign of it: his clients’ estate. He wondered if it was worth the effort he’d taken to get there – boats, trains, and now this mammoth hike up what felt like a mountain in altitude and incline. Even as he thought on this, a fresh gust of wind threatened to hurl his hat into the abyss, and he managed to fix it to his head with one free hand just in time. But it appeared as though this was the wind’s last gasp; that it was dying down. Either that, or, as the path bent to the right, he was now shielded by the great landmass of the peninsula against currents rushing headlong from the Northern sea.
The land was beginning to level out now under his feet, and at the same time a freezing mist was descending over the way. In a short time Joseph could barely see 10 yards ahead through this frigid mist – chill and damp. What on Earth was the cause of it? He didn’t know, but he hoped it wouldn’t last. He’d be catching pneumonia if it did.
At last he found the cliff face on his right give way, as the path opened onto a broad plain – so it seemed with his limited vision. It was an absolute necessity now that he watch his every step, for if he wandered at all astray he could end up plummeting off the edge into the sea, but, mercifully, this narrow track widened as he went on gingerly, and he could only assume he was reaching its end.
Heading forward, his back now to the edge of the drop, he felt grass under his feet – Soft, dark green, and wet with dew. He had to be close to the estate now, surely! The mist parted a little, as if in confirmation, and he could see ahead of him a tall, thick hedge, carefully sculpted, with an archway some way to his right carved clean through it. Joseph passed under it eagerly, relieved to be near to his journey’s end.
He found himself in an open space, which he could not but take for the grounds of the estate. The mist was still heavy, but Joseph could see far enough to notice that he was in some sort of garden, with a great many bushes placed at regular intervals in every direction, and sculpted into tasteful topiary – no doubt by a host of gardeners. Joseph passed by many of these elegant shrubs – each about twice his height and too broad for three of him to encircle comfortably – but they were so placed that he couldn’t help getting disoriented after just a few minutes. No matter how straight he kept, he always seemed to circle back on himself. It was like wandering through a maze without walls, and he caught himself cursing the fog around him, not for the first time that morning. After giving vent to one particularly colourful expression of frustration, having found himself back at the archway for the third time running, he heard a voice rebuking him.
‘Mind, you oughtn’t use language like that! Especially not here!’
Joseph spun around in astonishment to locate the source of this voice. There appeared to be no one there.
‘Down here!’ The voice called – sounding very hoarse.
He looked down and, sure enough, lying, half-covered with leaves, under the foliage of one of those great bushes, was an old man. He shuffled out on his backside, and got to his feet at once.
‘The name’s Macarius.’ he said, smiling a senile smile. ‘At least, that’s what they call me on the estate.’ He squinted at Joseph, examining his clothes. ‘Why, you look like an outsider to me; in fact, you sound like an outsider. That was what got my attention. The sound of you plodding around like thunder in those boots woke me up! Yes,’ he said, now fingering the edge of one of Joseph’s lapels, ‘You’re not from the estate, are you?’
It was more a rhetorical question than a genuine enquiry, and before Joseph could gather his wits enough to reply, the old man began to move off, evidently losing interest. He went away muttering under his breath, and Joseph watched him go with some curiosity. The poor fellow was hardly dressed for the damp, chilly conditions up on the plain – he had a grimy old shirt with the top buttons missing, tucked into a pair of ankle-length, moth-eaten trousers, and nothing at all on his head or his feet. The former was balding on top, but framed on all sides with an immense quantity of beard, which was entirely white. More strange than his appearance, however, was his behaviour. He shuffled around in his bare feet from shrub to shrub, peeling back the leaves gently, and lapping up the dew that had gathered there with horrible sucking noises. The man was clearly dead thirsty, for he moved rapidly from leaf to leaf until he had covered all within reach on one shrub, before heading onto the next. Joseph felt some pity for him, yet he wondered why he didn’t try his luck begging on the estate, or even applying for work. He wasn’t at all sure what kind of organisation they had about the place, but he knew the tenants were very rich indeed. And, in a great estate in a location such as this there was surely enough work to go around.
He reasoned that the old man must be mad, which put his mind at ease with regards to the estate and its management. Still, that didn’t prevent him from running after the madman and asking for directions.
‘Hey there! Macarius!’ he called – the old man had already covered quite a distance.
‘What’s that?’ he called back, between sips.
‘Allow me to introduce myself’ Joseph said, drawing up next to him. ‘Joseph K – I’ve been hired up at the estate for my services as a lawyer, but the funny thing is that I’m not entirely sure where to go from here. I’m lost, do you see?’
‘Ah right, well that is a problem isn’t it? Well, Joseph, I’d suggest you take a left turn up past that tall shrub there,’ he pointed to one just within view, ‘and head straight as the crow flies until you see the stone steps.’
‘Right, thanks so much, that’s very kind of you.’ K said politely, not at all confident in the advice.
‘Don’t mention it! I’ll see you around, presumably. Fare well!’ And old Macarius was on his way again, without a glance back.
Joseph headed the way he’d been told, before he should forget just which shrub had been pointed out, and did his best to hold a straight line. This was no easy feat, for the garden had not been planted in any kind of geometric pattern that he could figure out, which meant he had no free lines of sight, or landmarks to let him know he was holding his course. Only once did he look back – to see if Macarius was still in the vicinity – but the fellow had gone. He followed his advice nonetheless, and by some miracle made it out of the garden onto a flat lawn, with a clear view of an impressive and imposing house ahead of him.
He thought it must be a house, but the building was so broad and extensive that it must have contained a great many things within it, and boast rooms of very diverse function. Handsome, and clearly quite ancient, it had to his mind a classical flavour to its architecture – raised on a rusticated foundation with a broad flight of steps leading to its main doors. Its very order and symmetry seemed to direct his path towards those steps and that entrance way which he saw was flanked with great stone columns of imposing grandeur.
There was nothing for it but to knock on those doors once he’d ascended the steps, though he carried through the motion with a certain reluctance. The sound of his knuckles on the wood seemed to penetrate all too clearly into the building’s interior, and before long he heard footsteps within. The door opened noiselessly, to reveal a tall, pale, and extremely thin footman of some sort, in a servant’s liveries.
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‘Mr K, please come in – His Lordship’s been expecting you.’ The footman rattled off, taking in his foreign appearance, and stepping aside to allow K entry to the gloomy entrance hall.
‘Allow me to take your bag to your room,’ he continued in a flat tone, ‘unless you’d like to keep it with you, of course.’
‘No, thank you, you may take it.’ Said K, stealing a look at the lad. He was certainly quite young, with a tired sort of appearance – he seemed to list to one side with a tilt to his head as if his slender neck couldn’t bear its full weight.
‘Your name is?’ he asked the boy,
‘Travis, sir’ he replied, hoisting the bag up on one shoulder and striding off down the entrance hall with quick strides.
‘I… uh...’ K muttered, and Travis looked backed in some surprise.
‘Oh! You’re expected in the estate manager’s office. Sorry, forgot to mention it. It’s that way.’ He gestured with his one free hand, and then proceed on his way, leaving Joseph alone yet again.
He took a walk through the door Travis had indicated, surprised to find himself in what looked like a long dining room. A few hundred diners could have been seated there comfortably; the ceiling was high and corniced; the tables stood in serried ranks, vacant, awaiting the house’s many inhabitants. Yet Joseph was confused on account of the floors and tabletops, which were covered in an abundance of dead leaves. These had, evidently, been blown in through the open windows that stretched almost from floor to ceiling along the right side of the room; and apparently no one had got round to sweeping them up. Joseph made to close the first of these windows, out of concern for the servants who would surely by blamed for the mess, but reason held him back – there was surely an explanation, and he oughtn’t meddle upon his first five minutes of entry into this strange, magnificent place. Thus he passed silently through the hall towards the single door in its opposite side, which looked pitifully small amid its surroundings. Another hallway, and he saw a sign declaring ‘estate manager’ with an arrow up towards a rotten old staircase.
Atop the stairs was a small office, which seemed to hang, as it were, from the floor above, so cramped it was; not deserving of a place either on the first or the ground levels, but squeezed in-between – clinging like a bat to the ceiling. The room itself was lined with wood; its owner no less lined, with wrinkles and creases of innumerable cares etched on his face. He himself was bat-like in his black garb – some vestment attached to his particular position by age-old tradition – one of the estate’s many peculiarities. The manager was unhappily endowed with a jutting nose and chin, a head of thick, raven-black hair above, and a low, mean mouth without lips that remained drawn throughout the whole of his meeting with the young lawyer.
‘Ah, Mr K. Please take a seat.’ He crowed in a deep voice, that cracked and popped glotally. Joseph could scarcely find the chair he was invited to sit in, so cramped and piled high with papers was the little room.
‘First things first,’ the estate manager began, without any introductions, ‘may I see your papers?’
‘Oh yes, of course.’ K muttered, rifling through his bag directly. Clearly there was some order to the chaos of the room, for the manager snatched up several forms from various piles and began to cross examine Joseph’s documents, making notes in a large book, before restoring these to their owner, and filing the others in a number of pigeon holes that lined the wall behind him. All this took only a matter of minutes, leaving Joseph in a sober silence.
‘You’ll find we do things the proper way up here on the estate.’ The manager boasted. ‘Those of us worth our salt, at any rate. You may call me Mr. Tollswhip. You’ll be reporting to me during your employment here, and let me tell you I expect only the best: the most diligent, efficient, and professional of workers. Nothing less is worthy of this great estate and its illustrious family. I consider it an honour to serve His Lordship, and my Lady too. You would do well to feel the same way, as a member of their worthy household.’ He stamped a paper quite violently after this pompous little speech, and Joseph didn’t dare utter a response.
‘Now,’ Tollswhip continued, in his brusque, robotic manner, ‘due to the tragic and exceptional situation we have found ourselves in, following the death of my Lord Postlethwaite II, you are being granted an unprecedented privilege; that is to say, a meeting with our Lord Postlethwaite III, commencing in approximately...’ he whipped out a pocket-watch, ‘ten minutes, to liaise with him on the legal proceedings concerning inheritance, wills, and so forth… just the bare outline, you understand? His Lordship has received a terrible loss,’ he went on, not allowing any space to be interrupted, ‘he may not be in the frame of mind to follow in any great detail this complicated business,’
Joseph stammered here a little, but Tollswhip ignored him: ‘which serves you well, considering you haven’t yet had a chance to acquaint yourself with the case at hand. No matter! All in good time; for the present we simply need someone to stand firm, with the utmost professionalism, and speak as little as possible about the details. You see, you are the only lawyer the estate can currently boast of in its employ. As such, it is your responsibility to rally round in our moments of need. I trust I can rely on you to find His Lordship’s waiting room?’
He posed this last question, after that rapid speech, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
‘You’ve only eight minutes to get there, after all...’
Joseph managed to get some directions out of him, despite a most displeased reaction to his ignorance, and practically ran to the receiving room of the ruling resident Lord Postlethwaite III. He arrived in the nick of time, with just enough spare to straighten up his appearance and take several deep breaths.
He was still gazing into a looking glass which hung on one of the walls of the waiting room, when a pair of double doors opened to his left. Who should stride out of them but Travis, the footman, welcoming K with a bow and announcing in a stately voice: ‘His Lordship is ready to see you now, sir’ before hissing, as K passed him in the doorway ‘look sharp, K, he’s in a foul mood!’
K was too busy wondering how best to heed this advice that he scarcely took stock of his new surroundings. He was in one of the royal receiving rooms – an enormous privilege to a newcomer – and within just half an hour of arriving on the estate. As such, he had a gnawing sense that how he carried himself and addressed his new master in this first meeting would determine his fortunes during his time there. He must not put a foot wrong: the pressure proved crippling, and he felt his knees wobbling with nerves as he trod the rich red carpet – or perhaps he was just exhausted from his journey. Either way, he just about collapsed into the chair Travis directed him towards, before glancing around the lofty chamber for the master of the estate.
All he could make out was an elegant looking cot on one side of the room. Two servants, standing like statues in a pair of niches, now advanced to either end of the cot; and one of them nodded at K to approach. Throwing Travis an interrogative look, where he stood by the doors, Joseph took his cue to advance towards the cot with as much dignity as he could carry off.
A little gurgle sounded from within, and Joseph craned his neck to get a glimpse of whatever was within; none the wiser of what everyone was standing around waiting for. He was just about to address a question to this effect when the doors swung open, admitting Mr. Tollswhip, who swept across the room sounding quite out of breath, stopped just short of the cot and gave a low bow before it. Remaining in this position for some moments, it was only when the infant within giggled appreciatively, that this solemn minister rose again to his feet and broke the silence in the room.
‘My Lord, I came as soon as your summons reached me. Forgive my not being here to present our latest acquisition – I had thought he was equipped to effect his own introduction. Apparently not.’ he added in an aggressive undertone.
‘My Lord, allow me to introduce Mr. Joseph K – one of the best and brightest from his legal firm; he’s here to handle the various legal complications arising from His late Lordship’s demise, and will be working under my close supervision. I remain, your most loyal servant.’ He finished, adding a literary stamp to this extraordinary way of addressing the now drooling infant in his crib. Tollswhip gave another low bow, and then elbowed K in the ribs by way of a prompt.
‘I, uh… will endeavour to give my utmost to serve this estate, and His Lordship’s memory. Thank you, my Lord.’ He stammered, imitating Tollswhip’s form of speaking, and giving a bow of his own. This seemed satisfactory – to the manager, at least, who immediately took an iron grip on his arm and began to lead him backwards out of the receiving room, bowing to the crib all the while. Once outside the humble mask evaporated and he laid into K with vehemence.
‘Skies above! You nearly jeopardised that one, didn’t you? If Travis, that blockheaded footman, hadn’t sent a word of distress to me you might really have blundered into disaster! I hope I won’t have to get into the habit of this – bailing you out of sticky situations, pah!’
Joseph was too confused to take in this critique, but a part of it caught him as strange.
‘Travis sent word to you? How did he manage that?’
Through the tubes of course! Our local communications system.’ Tollswhip gestured (a spasm of concealed rage) at a bell-like protuberance from the wall – some type of metal mouthpiece attached to a pipe.
‘I suppose I’ll have to teach you how to use one of them, shall I? Do me a favour, and only trouble me on matters of importance.’
‘How will I know what’s a matter of importance?’ K asked, still looking at the mouthpiece with curiosity.
‘I’ll be the judge!’ Tollswhip bellowed, and marched off down the hall, irate and unable to hold it in any longer.