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Situated as he was in a world that had known the great thinkers of Ancient Greece, that could recall the words of unrivalled bards, that bore witness to the ever-increasing knowledge of scientific minds, Ozias Midwinter could hardly claim to be in possession of any uncommon intelligence. Circumstance and Necessity had merely acted on him as harsh teachers, while the animal Instinct of Survival was brute enough to cajole one into learning one’s lessons. He could turn his hand to many a trick, it was true, but he was too superstitious to make order of the world, too unsettled and temperamental to convert thought into long-lasting theory, and too uncultivated to capture the imaginations of the polite and comfortable society.
It must be said too, however, that Ozias Midwinter was no fool, no dunce. He had seen enough to the world to be sharpened by its rough edges, to pick up its dust and grit, to admire its gems, and make notes on its rules for successes and failures. Had he been an arrogant man, he might also have found plenty to boast about in his learning to read, in his subsequent way with words and with numbers, in his ability to be the level head when necessary. And though Ozias Midwinter wasn’t boastful, even he could acknowledge he was not the barbarian many saw him to be having cast their eyes on only his face.
His life-hardened namesake had perceived something worthwhile in his eyes after all, something more than an extra coin in his pocket or an extra slice of bread in his belly, for he had put uncommon effort into keeping the young Ozias alive when he could have easily found himself another runaway on the roads. He had said something too, one long ago cold, mizzling evening, a bottle in his hand but his mind not yet corrupted by the drink – boy, you’re only as sharp as the company you keep, and you’re a lucky one. I’m as sharp as sword the executioner saved for rich folk, I am. And you – well, you ain’t completely dull.
This fragment from his wandering life had visited him as he wandered in rather different – dare he say happier – circumstances, in the company of Allan Armadale, on a slightly overcast but nevertheless warm afternoon. They had no place to be beside the country and provisions enough to keep their bellies full and their thirst quenched until late evening at the very least. There was no one to move them along, to chase them off from any place they chose to rest, and if such a person emerged, Ozias was almost certain Allan would make good of matter in some careless, cheerful way. All was pleasant and precious, almost fragile with contentment.
‘I say, Midwinter, would you come and look at this?’ Allan called from up ahead, returning Ozias to the ground beneath his feet and the trees and the man before his eyes.
‘What is it?’
‘A pool – no, not a thing like in the dream – look, I should quite like to plunge in there right at this very moment, for I am sure there would be all manner of treasure at the bottom.’
Ozias cast an eye over the murky water, thick green algae obscuring much of it, the rest looking uninvitingly dank – the sort of pool one comes to in desperate times or to conceal unspeakable, desperate acts. He flicked his eyes to Allan whose face reflected no such darkness, only a gleam of delight, a wild fancy. He was talking fast, of concealed jewels and pocket change and Excalibur and a lost wedding ring of a princess that he would return and receive an offer of a knighthood in thanks which he would naturally refuse as undeserved only to cause great offense and be convinced into taking it anyway and of a child’s model sailing boat and of a locked chest filled with – something.
‘Were it not for my dislike of water in the ears – I know, it is rather silly of me when I do so love to sail, but Midwinter, I cannot help it – but were it not for that, I should go in at this very moment and prove it to you, my good fellow, and bring you out such a treasure that you should never disbelieve me again.’
‘I rather think you’d come out with someone’s lost shoe and a dreadful chill.’
‘Not I. No, I tell you – here,’ he gripped Ozias’s arm and pointed to a spot in the middle of the pool. ‘There, right there, if you can see, is a plate made of solid gold, lost, thousands of years ago by a fleeing knight. And there, is your shoe, only it is filled with diamonds stuffed inside by a girl who didn’t want to share it with her younger sister – and there –’
Allan prattled on and for a moment, when Ozias looked at the pool, perhaps there was a tinge of gold, just faint enough that when he blinked, it was gone again. Or perhaps it was merely a refection of Allan’s hair, repeated in the water by the half-covered sun.
‘And now we have marvelled at this treasure trove, shall we go on, Midwinter? And shall we take this path – ah, yes, the one the landlady told us about – or this one, which is, yes, overgrown, but if the map is right, should take us on down and out to where those old ruins are, though it is an old map, and the landlady did say you have to watch out for the bogs and the rabbit holes and the brambles and the likelihood of taking a wrong turn – and yet, I cannot help but think it is the right one.’
Allan looked at Ozias and there it was again, that echo of the past: you are only as sharp as the company you keep.
He ought to lead them down the safest path, avoid the snares and mud and thorns. He ought to leave this man whose kindness he could not deserve and go back to the jagged, broken-edged world he was meant for. And yet, there was Allan, smiling, golden, and ridiculous, and Ozias felt the glowing, aching spread of what could only be love though his chest.
He turned from the past, let it slink away like a banished dog and while Ozias knew it would be waiting, inevitably, round some future corner, he let it go, have its fun in preparing to bite him later. Sharpness, wit, cleverness be damned, he followed Allan Armadale towards the brambled path, took the offered arm, clung to the warmth in a smile.