Livy finished her story, and carried on with her meal. Horace sat silently, as if deep in thought. His wife, not wanting to interrupt anything, asked gently:

‘What do you make of it, dear?’

He munched down some salad before answering.

‘I wouldn’t put it past Wurtring to push things in that direction – we know how much he despises us, but Mr. Whippy?’ (That was one of their nicknames for Tollswhip, a figure of fun in their household). ‘He adores Her Ladyship. I can’t see him going against her for anything, unless of course he was convinced it was in her best interests. One’s never so vain, nor so presumptuous, as when one’s infatuated.’ He threw K a wink, before saying:

‘But what does our esteemed lawyer make of this, eh?’

‘That Wurtring sounds like a nasty piece of work. I’m glad not to have made his acquaintance yet. I can’t argue with your assessment of Tollswhip, though I haven’t known him long enough to judge. Honestly, I know very little about anything going on in the estate, or around its borders...’

‘No, and we shouldn’t expect you to – that’s understood.’

‘My only strong impression,’ K went on, emboldened, ‘is that Miss Livy is a very good storyteller!’

She smiled and frowned at this, and Horace clapped his hands joyfully.

‘Well said! We pride ourselves on art in this family – not politics, or wealth.’

‘Well, I thought she was very dull.’ Tybold piped up, trying his luck.

‘Not enough sword-fighting and dragon-slaying to pass muster for you?’ Horace asked, smiling broadly.

‘So, you’re a fan of stories, Mr. K?’ Delia asked.

‘Oh, absolutely. If I hadn’t gone down the route of the law, I think I should have liked to be a writer, or an actor…’

‘Good! Excellent!’ Horace burst out, sitting up in his seat and slamming his hand on the table excitedly. Mrs. Palmer chuckled at this.

‘We’re storytellers here, and performers.’ He went on, in a calmer voice, but just as eagerly. ‘The estate may keep us afloat, but it’s art that keeps us sailing on towards new horizons.’

‘Does the estate have no place for the arts?’ asked K.

‘In a manner of speaking, it’s all one big performance; choreographed to the point of tedium. There’s no spark of inspiration, save among the lower orders, but they’re kept out of sight and out of mind.’

‘Oh yes, I saw some of their games in the pits!’

‘There you are then! Already a well-travelled man, as far as officials round here go. You ought to have seen some of the fetes they used to put on in the old days – before their work hours were increased; most of their holidays abolished. Granted, every change (even the negatives) brings about something good. Those labourers used to take work more seriously – in a wearying sort of way. Now it’s consuming their time, they infuse it with more life, more colour – again, it’s become a performance.’

‘And what about the officials, the Tollswhips and their like?’

‘They cling to ritual, but their hearts aren’t in it. Or, it seems to me, they have very little heart at all. No – they’re the ones who are hollowing out the estate from the inside, wittingly or unwittingly turning it into a perfect machine without life or love.’

It was getting dark and dusky in the garden now, and Mrs. Palmer and Livy brought out candles to light the table. Dessert was served – apple pie – and some sweet, intensely-flavoured tea in little china cups. Owls hooted in the woods beyond, amid an evening chorus of birdsong and the gentle chirping of crickets. Out of this ensemble there arose one call, louder than all the others – a crisp, rattling sound, that was as familiar to K’s ears as something out of a dream. Horace’s ears pricked up again at the sound, and he sat stock-still for a second, more hound-like than ever. The call sounded again, close now, and all the family looked at each other knowingly. Horace gave a barking sort of laugh, and leapt gaily out of his seat the table (almost upsetting the tea things). He bounded over to the gate at the back of the garden and opened it silently on its hinges. There were some moments of murmured talk – K could only make out Horace’s low voice – before he returned to the candle-glow of the table, accompanied by a shadowy figure. Up close, K recognised the newcomer.

‘Macarius!’ he blurted out, feeling a bit embarrassed when all the Palmers chuckled at this.

‘Greetings Mr. K, greetings all.’ The old man nodded deferentially to his hosts. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve a slice of pie and cup of tea spare for me?’ His eyes alighted on the food with eagle-like precision.

‘Of course, John, make yourself at home,’ Delia said, rushing off for an extra chair. K was intrigued to hear what he took to be Macarius’ proper name for the first time.

‘I was wondering when we’d next see you, old friend. It’s been a few weeks now, hasn’t it?’ Horace said, as their latest guest helped himself to the dessert.

‘I don’t suppose you have any news for us?’ He was eyeing the old man over, almost hungrily, but Macarius’ gaze levelled itself on K.

‘Oh yes, news – but it can wait, present company excusing.’ He answered airily, and K felt as he had at certain times in his childhood, when his parents deemed the conversation unfit for his hearing, and had sent him away to his room. That childish part of him hoped very much that he wouldn’t be sent away now, but a more discreet side to his nature directed his attention away from these two confidential-sounding men, and he distracted himself with talking to Uriant for a bit. Soon, however, it was bedtime for the younger Palmers, for the sky had darkened and moths were throwing themselves at the candles. There was no moon out, and the wood stood out black against a starry sky. The temperature had dropped, and K shivered at the chill night air, but now Delia was coming out with blankets so they could sit up talking a while longer.

Horace lit his pipe again, for the last time that day, and carried on his conversation with Macarius in an undertone. When Livy finally excused herself, K felt at something of a loose end, and slipped inside to find Mrs. Palmer.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t suppose you could put me up for the night? He asked sheepishly. She looked almost insulted.

‘You didn’t think we’d send you back off to the estate at this time of night?’ She checked herself: ‘Sorry… we take hospitality somewhat for granted up here.’And she turned her head to one side, as if examining some very odd and strangely sympathetic form of alien life, or as if to say: ‘well, what shall we do with you?’ but in the event she simply showed him to their spare room – about the size of the office storage cupboard, with a narrow bed, a spindly bedside table, and a little pot of purplish flowers on the windowsill. K could just about shut the door in there to undress (he didn’t think about washing) before he heaved the covers over himself and fell fast asleep.

He awoke with the sun in his eyes, shining straight through the window by his head – it can’t have been long past four o’clock. Not one to lie in bed typically, still less in a strange place, K rolled onto his feet and took stock of his surroundings. He could hear someone pottering about in the house, so he drew on his coat and crept out into the next room.

He found Horace there, fully dressed and shaven, making some breakfast and fiddling about with a coffee pot. He greeted K with a bleary-eyed nod and grunt, pipe clamped between his lips. Once he had seated himself at the table and had his first sip of coffee, he addressed him in words.

‘Shift starts soon. You’re welcome to walk down with me, if you’re heading that way. Or you could hang around here. There should be plenty to amuse you out in the wilds, if you should feel inclined to stay and see the place.’

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Joseph found he was inclined to remain, and after sharing some coffee with Horace, and thanking him once more for his hospitality, he was soon wishing him a good day at work and seeing him off. When Delia rose, several hours later, K was all too happy to have breakfast with the rest of the family; though she would accept no help in the kitchen whatsoever. He was relieved to find they still ate things like eggs and bacon and toast – for he’d been anticipating another salad – and everyone had their fill. After that it was time for lessons, and since K was around, Mrs. Palmer asked if Livy might not take the morning off to show him around. Neither of them particularly wanted to push for this, but Delia insisted, and Livy didn’t dare make a fuss for fear of offending K. Thus they both found themselves drifting around in a stilted silence, while Livy pointed out the various local landmarks in their little hamlet.

Mostly it was just the homes of people they knew, but there was also a well, a potters’ field complete with kiln, a paddock for pigs, goats, and some geese, and a spindly watchtower which the local kids used most of all for their own amusement. K couldn’t help asking if they didn’t pay taxes or rely on the estate in some way; Livy looked at him vacantly, as if she hadn’t understood the question, and answered that this land was undeclared and had been set aside deliberately by the Lady. K already knew this, but it seemed a little ludicrous to his law-trained mind. Then again, this only made up a sort of layer of sediment floating on the surface of those depths of what one might call a soul. Education had introduced a host of concepts foreign to that deeper nature, which linked him closer than he knew to these people and this wilderness. That analytical approach he’d been trained in might have served him well on the estate, but it was useless to him here. He found it made it almost impossible to communicate any of those inner depths to Livy, and in his conversation skirted on the surface, boring her with the details of his job and other duties.

Fortunately they were both spared from these attempts at conversation by the appearance of several lads who were making their way to the estate. Livy slowed down as she saw them coming, and took a step or two further away from K.

‘Hello there.’ the foremost of them called out in a curious tone; half cheerful, half mocking. He had a wispy moustache on his slick, clever face, and though he was shorter and somewhat slighter than his companions, he strode ahead with the greater confidence, and K might have placed him as the leader of their group. He gave K a once-over and then diverted his attention exclusively to Livy. The other two greeted her warmly and surveyed her and K with a kind of reserved judgment bordering on indifference.

‘I heard your folks were hosting one of the stiffs; nice to see you’re giving him the tour.’ The short one was saying. Livy answered him very tersely.

‘Conducting a survey are we? “conditions among the paperless exhabitants of the estate” is it?’ He asked K in a loud voice, not looking at him. He went on in a sarcastic, supercilious tone:

‘I would stop for an interview, but I’m afraid I’d be late for my shift – and if one of us is late, or caught off-duty, we’re lucky to get paid anything for the week. Please excuse me, if you will, Mr...’

‘K. Joseph K.’ Joseph answered, as meekly as he was wont as a stranger in the area.

‘Alright, K. See you later. I don’t want to disrupt the important work you’re doing here on our home turf. Make sure you give Mr. K a nice stay, eh Livy?’ He turned aside on his heel and marched onwards, out of the hamlet. There was a brief silence in his wake before the other two set off after him, almost reluctantly. The older, and taller of these stopped for a second as he passed K, with an expression on his face as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. They merely bade Livy goodbye and were on their way again.

Things were even more awkward after that disagreeable encounter. Livy, for her part, was ashamed at being seen in the role of baby-sitter and companion to an estate man, and was very angry at Nick Pits (that was the sarcastic youth’s name) at having humiliated her in front of the others. Strangely enough, she took out some of this irritation on K, being sharper in her replies to him than usual. She would have liked him to apologise for being there, but she was hardly going to ask him to, and so he never did. Instead, he made matters worse by keeping the conversation as light and superficial as he could. When even his remarks about the weather and scenery were not cutting it, however, he found himself asking:

‘So those people were?’

‘The Greenwoods, and the other one was Nicholas Pits.’ She said, shedding some of her annoyance as they picked their way along by the edge of the forest, now.

‘They live here, and work at the estate? Same as you, or your dad?’

‘Dad’s one of the few – the very few – who actually have a salaried job. The rest of them are like me – insofar as they’re like me at all.’ She broke into a smile.

‘And that arrogant one… Nitpicks… is the ringleader, I guess?’

Livy burst out laughing at this.

‘Oh he’d like to think so. We put up with his nonsense, because we’re like a family out here, but no… I don’t think anyone looks up to him. I doubt anyone could think as highly of him as he does himself.’

They both laughed at this. After that they found there wasn’t much need for conversation, but made their way around in a contented, companionable silence.

There wasn’t much ground left to cover, so they took a little excursion into the woods themselves, feeling the change in atmosphere as the temperature dropped, and their eyes adjusted to a soft, mid-morning light – patchy and diffuse through the leafy canopy. The light seemed to be mingled inextricably, in shades of green and brown, with the damp and musty smells of sweetly rotting wood, fir and conifer – the fragrance of pines and the crunch of leaves underfoot. It was wild in there – untamed, but explored by the locals to some extent. They had charted some pathways through it, which were more clearly defined, but the rest was contested ground, and one felt one was up against whatever spirits dwelt in those woods – now or once upon a time – wherever one drifted from the well-worn lanes set out by human feet. The woods had their own acoustic, too, so that the sounds from outside were shielded somewhat, whereas within one could scarcely judge the distance or even the direction of any surreptitious noises of bird or beast. The effect on K, after the labyrinthine excesses of the estate, was both liberating and intimidating, and he was glad of his guide. Livy seemed more in her element there than he, but still she kept to the paths and hummed a tune under her breath – for comfort, or reassurance? She was happy enough to leave when K suggested they head back into the open air.

The world, once they had emerged from the woods, seemed pale and desaturated for a minute or so – as it does when one opens one’s eyes after lying a while under a bright sun. The settlement was spread out before them looking rather meagre and exposed to the elements – as if a storm, or a gust of strong wind might blow it away. Framed by the great expanse of fields around it, the place seemed very small and insecure indeed. The woods themselves, alien and ominous as they were, K reflected, were like a bulwark or an army encampment, under whose aegis the community here huddled for protection. Seen in another light, their wooden dwellings were like the first fringes of an arboreal expansion across the plain – like the groping fingers of a living organism. The overall effect he could not put into words, but only said:

‘This is a lovely place you have here.’

Livy nodded, kicking a pine cone along the path, lost in thought.

‘I’m sorry to have kept you from work today.’ He ventured, knowing full well he’d had nothing to do with the decision. Livy laughed again.

‘Oh, it’s a terrible sacrifice, giving up all that scrubbing and cleaning and washing dirty linen. You don’t need to apologise about that, K.’

She led the way back to the house, and in good time, for lunch was on the table. When this too proceeded in a calm, but to K, disquieting, silence, he found himself at a loss. Perhaps the last thing he’d expected in being suspended, and granted what he might have called ‘proper freedom’, was to end up loitering around a family home with nothing to do, feeling a burden to all around him. It was uncomfortable. It hurt his pride. Damn it, he was a professional! Slowly, gradually, as he sat among the children – noisy and boisterous after their morning lessons – dolefully chewing his salad, he came in touch with the sense of his own insignificance. Try not to laugh at him, good reader, for it was a big deal in his eyes.

In fact it was only a passing cloud, casting shade on his mood, that gave rise to such gloom. He felt he was missing something, but he didn’t know what. Not power, nor any creature comforts, but purpose, was lacking. I suspect he was succumbing to the local disease, an affliction which beset the young of the community more than anyone else – if you will, the demon or poltergeist of all sleepy rural settlements – boredom.

Yet out of this oppressive sense arose a deeper pang of something else, at once unexpected and ineluctable – a kind of longing or homesickness to be back at the estate. It hit him with as much force and urgency as if he’d just gone out of the house and remembered he’d left the gas on. It seemed to bypass emotion in the way instinct guides a homing pigeon to its rightful place. The impact of this came and went in an instant, but the idea had taken root – like cupid’s arrow.

He put his fork down beside his plate, coming out of his reverie, and told Delia and Livy that he’d have to head back to the estate that afternoon, to attend to an urgent matter. The women looked at him, a little taken aback, but perfectly willing to see him off, if it was important to him. Mrs. Palmer, through long experience, had come to recognise the same look and force of conviction in her husband from time to time, and knew there was no use discussing the matter. Livy simply thought K a very odd young man, and accepted it as if this latest turn fit into a pre-conceived pattern of oddities in his behaviour. Within ten minutes they were both seeing him off by the front porch, and Mrs. Palmer was attempting to give directions for the way back.

K tried to make a mental note of these, but being hopeless with directions, and impatient to get going, none of the points really sank in. Fortunately for him, the route was fairly simple, in that if he bore South-West he could just follow the wall round to one of the entrances, even if he went off-course. With this assurance in mind, he thanked his hosts and set off at a brisk pace, setting his back to the settlement, his feet pounding on the open earth.