King Stakh's Wild Hunt

“I must confess that such thoughts did enter my mind. It's possible I would even have gone on thinking them if I hadn't known that Varona was lying wounded.”

“That's just nonsense. Almost immediately after you left, he appeared at the table, green and dismal, but sober. Blood-letting helped. His bandaged head looked like a cabbage, only his nose and eyes were visible. Dubatoŭk said to him: ‘Well, young man, shame on you — got as drunk as a pig, picked a duel with me, but ran up against a man who gave you a dressing-down.’ Varona attempted to smile, but he staggered, so weak he was: ‘I myself see, Uncle, what a fool I am. And Biełarecki has taught me such a lesson that I'll never again pick a quarrel with people.’ Dubatoŭk only shook his head. ‘That's what vodka, with God's will, does to blockheads.’ And Varona said to him: ‘I think that I should ask his pardon. It turned out that we invited him to be our guest, but we tried to finish him off.’ Then he changed his mind, and went on: ‘No, I shan't ask to be forgiven, I am angry. And after all, he received satisfaction.’ But I can tell you that he sat together with us, and we drank till the very dawn. Dubatoŭk got so drunk that he recalled being a Christian during Nero's reign and all the time was trying to put his hands in the bowl of hot punch. He drank it hot, blowing out the flames as he drank. Your second in the duel, a blockhead of about 40, was weeping all the time and shouting, ‘Mother dear! Come and cuddle me, stroke my head. Your little son is being treated badly. They won't give him any more vodka.’ About three people fell asleep under the table. Not a single one of them left for even a minute, so neither Varona nor Dubatoŭk are in any way connected with the Wild Hunt.”

“And do you mean to say that you suspected Dubatoŭk, too?”

“And why not?” Śvieciłovič said sternly. “I trust nobody now. The question concerns Miss Nadzieja. Then why should Dubatoŭk be excluded from among the suspicious ones? What reason can there be for that? That he is kind? Well, a person can pretend kindness! I myself… during the duel didn't approach you, fearing that they might suspect something if they are the criminals. And in future I shall conceal our friendship. I suspected even you: what if… but I caught myself in time. A well-known ethnographer joins a band! Ha! In the same way Dubatoŭk might pretend being a little lamb. What displeased me most of all was that gift of his, the portrait of Raman the Elder. As if he had a definite purpose in view to unsettle the girl…”

“And why not?” I started. “That's really suspicious. Now she's even afraid to sit at the fireplace.”

“That's just it,” gloomily confirmed Śvieciłovič. “That means that he is not King Stach. This gift is the very thing that speaks in his favour. And the events at his house.”

“Listen,” I said. “And why not suppose that you yourself are King Stach? You left later than I did yesterday. You are jealous of me without any reason. Perhaps you are throwing dust in my eyes, while in fact, no sooner do I leave than you say: ‘To your horses, men!’”

I did not think so, not for an instant, but I didn't like this young man being so suspicious today, a young man usually so trusting and sincere.

Śvieciłovič looked at me as if he had gone out of his mind, understanding nothing, then he suddenly burst out laughing, and immediately he was his good old self again.

“That's it,” I answered in the same tone. “It's wrong to sin against such old men as Dubatoŭk, so don't. It doesn't take long to slander a person.”

“Alright, now I no longer suspect him,” he answered still laughing. “I said that they were with me, didn't I? At daybreak Varona began to feel very ill, his wound began to bleed again, he began to rave. An old quack doctor was sent for, then even a proper doctor was brought over. They weren't too lazy to ride off to the district centre for a doctor. He ‘passed sentence’: Varona must stay in bed a whole week. The doctor was told it was an accident.”

“So, who else could it have been?”

We turned over in our minds names of everybody in the entire region, but couldn't settle on anybody. We even thought of Bierman and although we understood that he is a lamb, decided to write a letter to a friend of Śvieciłovič's in the province, to learn how Bierman had lived there formerly and what kind of a man he is. That was necessary, for he was the only one among the people of the Janoŭski district about whom we knew absolutely nothing. We made all kinds of guesses, but could think of nothing.

“Who is the wealthiest person living in the environs of Marsh Firs?” I asked.

Śvieciłovič thought awhile: