The landing of extraterrestrial space ships is, perhaps contrary to popular belief, not an especially common event in Paris and its environs. There are, however, those who are not easily disturbed by uncommon events. This is why it was fortunate that the space ship chose Bertrand du Corbeau's fields in which to land.
It was sunset, which seemed to Bertrand most fitting. The evening chores were just finished, and he had paused at the door of the stables to watch the sky change colors. So absorbed was he in this sight that the space ship's landing might have gone unnoticed, but M. Agneau drew him out of his reverie with an excited bleating.
"What's that, mon ami?" said Bertrand, glancing down at the lamb, who pranced wobblily at his feet. The animal bleated again, then trotted off across the courtyard, taking mincing steps through the light dusting of snow that had fallen just before suppertime. Bertrand followed.
M. Agneau did not lead him back to the house, as Bertrand expected. Instead, they rounded the corner of the stable and headed back toward the broad field where the flock of sheep often grazed in summer. M. Agneau fell to seeking under the snow for a mouthful of grass. Bertrand was about to call to the lamb, to point out that it was late for supper and soon late for bedtime and that they must be returning to the house now, when a peculiar noise reached his ears. It sounded something like the old-fashioned trains he had seen in his youthful days--or perhaps something more like the train à grand vitesse that he had ridden in once, years ago--or perhaps like the helicopter that had once brought him to Marseilles--no, that wasn't quite it. But the thought of the helicopter prompted him to look up, and it was a good thing he did, for looking up removed all question of what was making the sound. It was clearly coming from the odd-shaped mass--it seemed a vehicle of some sort--falling from the sky toward Bertrand's field. So Bertrand called to the lamb, then, and when M. Agneau came to him he bent and scooped the animal up in his arms, and then they quickly backed away toward the house and stable, giving the strange ship plenty of room to land. For Bertrand could see now that it was a ship of some sort, though an odd sort to hover in the air as it now did, thumbing its nose at gravity. And Bertrand could see that landing was its intention.
Because this ship was so enormously vast, it was not until half a minute after it had finished landing that Bertrand realized it was not alone: there were two smaller craft settling to the ground on either side of it, funny-shaped things, even more so than the large one. "Most peculiar," he chuckled to M. Agneau. "But I am glad that they did not try to land in the courtyard. I do not think the large one should have easily fit there." M. Agneau shivered and squirmed. Deciding that it was safe now that the ships had settled and grown still, Bertrand advanced out into the field again.
Before he reached the larger ship, there was movement at one of the smaller ones, something like an aeroplane but with two sets of wings, and after a moment a helmeted head emerged from the craft. Bertrand set M. Agneau down, and the lamb skipped away toward the house. After a few more moments, the helmeted head and the body attached to it were leaping free of the ship. The pilot removed the helmet and glanced around, and then he saw Bertrand and waved.
"Bonsoir, monsieur. . . ." said the pilot, taking an uncertain half-step towards him.
A look of wonder and delight passed over Bertrand's face at the stranger's words. "Bienvenue!" He strode over to the pilot, continuing in French, "Welcome! Welcome, stranger, to the home of Bertrand du Corbeau! I am sorry I did not greet you sooner, good sir. I was so overcome with wonder at your mode of transportation that I forgot entirely my hospitality. Do come in, let me bring you something, a glass of wine perhaps, we have already supped but food can be brought if you are hungry from your journey."
The pilot stared at Bertrand for a moment, fixing him with a look of utter confusion. Finally he spoke: "You . . . how did you know we were coming?"
"What, know? No, of course I did not know. But that does not excuse my lack of hospitality, does it? Of course not. I do hope you'll excuse me, young sir. And I must say, if you'll pardon my saying it, that it is wondrous, most wondrous indeed, to see the likes of you, and to hear my native French from your own mouth. How is it that you know our language, if I may ask? But come, come in, let me bring you something."
"I, um, minored in French," the stranger muttered as Bertrand attempted to lead him away, "in college. But wait, if you didn't know we were coming, then . . . why aren't you surprised?"
"Well of course I'm surprised. But there are surprises, and then there are surprises, no? Why shouldn't this be one of the pleasant sort? I am fond of entertaining guests, so I am pleasantly surprised."
The pilot was watching Bertrand with suspicion now, and he glanced back toward the largest of the three ships. "But you don't know who we are?"
"Why, no, I don't, do I? You must excuse me, monsieur, but I have entirely forgotten to let you introduce yourself. Have I introduced myself? I can't recall, perhaps I haven't. Du Corbeau is my name, monsieur, Bertrand du Corbeau. And who may you be?"
"I think," he said, "I'd better let your nephew have the honor of the introductions." Reaching into a pocket of his garment, he drew out a sealed envelope. Bertrand accepted the envelope in astonishment. Nephew? He had not heard from his nephew in--what? Years? Or perhaps months. It was difficult to recall. Eagerly he broke the seal and hurriedly read the letter within. It was brief and to the point, though not without the requisite courtesies and formulae: the lad knew his etiquette, Bertrand could not deny, but he had always had rather a short attention span as well.
But it was certainly a gracious letter, and Bertrand, when he had finished reading, smiled up at the pilot. "Friends of Thayer's," he murmured. "How nice. Of course, monsieur, a friend of Thayer's is always a welcome guest at the du Corbeau estate. Won't you come in? And the others with you?"
Looking relieved, the pilot pulled a little silvery cylinder out of another pocket and began speaking towards it: "All clear, everyone. Four, engage the cloaking field. Zee, watch the ships. The rest of you, come out and meet our host."
Bertrand cocked his head to watch in fascination as the cylinder disappeared back into the pocket; noticing his interest, the pilot gave a funny little smile, but he did not bring the device out again. Bertrand's attention was soon diverted, anyway, by the people that were now emerging from the largest ship: four of them, two men and two women. Another man approached from the second of the small ships. When they had joined the first of the strangers, Bertrand led the way into the house, chatting merrily all the way there, asking after his nephew and his sister. They had little to say of Llessur, or at least they seemed little willing to say what they might of her. But of Thayer they brought much news to cheer his old uncle's heart.
Bertrand forgot their names half a minute after he'd learned them, but he was accustomed to do that and so it didn't bother him. They were kind enough to tell them to him again, and even a third time when he asked as graciously as he knew how. The housekeeper brought in leftovers from the evening's supper--"Simple fare, mes amis, simple fare," Bertrand said, "but hearty. Please, eat, you must be famished from your long journey, n'est-ce pas?"
The first stranger--ah, that was M. Cochran, it was, Bertrand remembered it now, but then he had to ask again for the first name--was looking a bit uncomfortable as he tried to explain the importance of keeping the ships in the field hidden from unfriendly eyes. And it seemed that any and all eyes were to be considered unfriendly. Bertrand did not quite see the urgency of this matter: such wondrous things the ships were, that it was a shame for them to go unseen. But he agreed to do as his guests asked of him. And while they ate, he went on talking. "Please," he said when he thought he had finally mastered all their names, "you must call me Bertie, Uncle Bertie. That is what Thayer always called me when he was still tout petit. A good lad, my nephew. Oh, a bit headstrong, bien sur, but a good boy." And then he thought he marked the younger of the women hiding a smile behind her hand, but she looked away before he could catch her eye.
Then in the midst of raising a spoon of his soupe à l'oignon to his mouth, M. Cochran let out a startled yelp and dropped the spoon back down to the bowl. "What in the . . ."
Mme. Boyd chuckled and said, "Looks like you have a new friend, Josh." And then Bertrand saw whom she meant, for M. Agneau's head peeked up from under the table as he braced his front hoofs on M. Cochran's lap, bleating as if in response to Mme. Boyd's words.
"He licked me," M. Cochran grumbled, trying to dislodge the lamb from his lap.
"Oh yes," Bertrand said with a smile, "M. Agneau is a most amiable fellow. And he does indeed seem to have taken a liking to you, monsieur." M. Cochran managed only a rueful grin before finally managing to shoo the lamb away. M. Agneau bleated again and meandered away, only to topple onto his side a few steps further when his always-precarious balance finally deserted him for the moment.
The younger woman giggled at that--Mlle. Bush, Bertrand recalled. "They tip over," she murmured.
After they had dined, there was luggage to be carried in. Bertrand gallantly offered to help, but M. Cochran assured him it wouldn't be necessary, so he waited and watched them from the doorway as they made the trips to and from their ships. At a moment when he was alone there, a sudden flurry of wings announced the arrival of M. Rouille, who settled onto Bertrand's shoulder and let out with a loud caw.
"Yes, yes," said Bertrand, reaching a hand up to the rust-tinged black feathers of the crow. "You don't like company, mon ami, I know, but you must learn to like it. Be gracious to our guests."
Mlle. Bush arrived at the doorway just then, carrying a small travel bag over one shoulder and a leather case in the other hand. She glanced curiously at the bird on Bertrand's shoulder. "Another pet?" she asked.
"A friend, mademoiselle," he answered. "A companion in a household too often more empty than I should like. M. Rouille is his name--no, no, I wouldn't try to touch him; he can be rather testy."
"Ah," she smiled. "A crow and a lamb. Is that all?"
"All within the house, mademoiselle. The horses and the sheep keep to the stable mostly."
"Oh," she looked at him uncertainly. "Of course."
Then footsteps approached the door and M. Cochran appeared with his luggage. He cast a wary glance at M. Rouille and another such glance all around the foyer beyond the doorway, then, apparently relieved to see no more pets beside the bird on Bertrand's shoulder, nodded to Bertrand. "Where should we put our things?"
Bertrand led them to the south wing of the house, where the guest rooms were, and opened the first six doors. "You'll be comfortable here, I'm sure," he said. "I am sorry that I didn't send the maids in earlier today to air the rooms out; I hope you won't find them too stuffy. But I didn't know that you would be coming, you see. Or--did I? I don't think I did. I can't quite recall."
"No, you didn't, Uncle Bertie," Mlle. Bush said with a smile. "It's okay though; we'll be just fine. Thank you for letting us stay here tonight. I hope you don't mind too much, making room for us on such short notice."
"Mind? Why, no, my dear; I'm overjoyed to have company, always overjoyed, and it's never difficult to make room, in so big a house with only Messrs. Rouille and Agneau and me to fill it up. Why, I only wish you could stay longer."
"We do have business in Paris," M. Cochran reminded him.
"But maybe you could be of help to us about that business," said Mlle. Bush quickly. M. Cochran shot a warning glance at her, but she ignored it. "We've got to find somebody, and we hardly know where to start looking. If you know anyone in Paris that we could talk to . . . or perhaps if you could help us find our way around the city?"
"Of course, mademoiselle! It would be a delight to accompany you; I should be pleased to be of assistance."
"Well," said M. Cochran, "we could use your help, yes. But it's a very sensitive matter; we don't want word leaking to the wrong people about what we're searching for, you understand?"
"Ah, but of course, monsieur," said Bertrand. "Have no fear for me! I can keep a secret, yes. Why, I suspect I even keep secrets from myself sometimes; perhaps that is why I am so often forgetting things, no?"
Mlle. Bush grinned a little at that, but M. Cochran didn't look much reassured. "We'll see how things go," he said, "and talk about it again in the morning. But anyway, M. du Corbeau--"
"Uncle Bertie," Bertrand insisted.
"--Bertie," M. Cochran amended, "thank you again for your hospitality."
And Bertrand assured them again that it was his pleasure to have them there, and in the meantime the other four guests arrived to their rooms, drawn by the sounds of their voices, and then at last he bade them all good night and turned to head back to his own room. But before he had reached the end of the hall he heard a muffled yelp, and turning back he saw M. Cochran's door open suddenly and M. Agneau come skidding out through it. Bertrand's chuckles mingled with M. Rouille's caws as the lamb wobbled over to him. "Now, M. Agneau," he chided, "let our guests be." Then with his two companions, Bertrand made his way back to his room and soon gave in to sleep, content with the delight of unexpected company.