Tales of the Wold Newton Universe by Philip José Farmer Page B

twenty/twenty vision,” he said somewhat bitterly.
    “And the rest?” I said.
    “The town of Esterholz is not so difficult. Would you care to try?”
    “Another English-German hybrid pun,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. “Ester sounds much like Easter, hence the risen Christ. And the wood is the holz, of course. Holt, archaic English for a small wood or copse, by the way, comes from the same Germanic root as holz.”
    “And the Weste (waistcoat)?” Ralph said.
    “I would guess that that means to take the road west of Esterholz,” I said somewhat more confidently.
    “Excellent, Doctor,” he said. “And the Quaker?”
    “I really don’t know,” I said, chagrined because Lisa had been looking admiringly at me.
    He gave his short barking laughter and said, “And neither do I, my dear fellow! I am sure that some of these symbols, perhaps most, have a meaning which will not be apparent until we have studied the neighborhood.”
    Seven kilometers southeast of Uelzen, we turned into the village of Esterholz and then west onto the road to Wrestede. Looking at the hands tearing loose the package from the other pair, I suddenly cried out, “Of course! Wrestede! Suggesting the English, wrested! The hands are wresting the package away! Then that means that Scarletin is a prisoner somewhere between Esterholz and Wrestede!”
    “Give that man the big stuffed teddy bear,” Ralph said. “OK, toots, so where is Scarletin?”
    I fell silent. The others said nothing, but the increasing tension was making us sweat. We all looked waxy and pale in the light of the sinking sun. In half an hour, night would be on us.
    “Slow down so I can read the names on the gateways of the farms,” Ralph said. The driver obeyed, and presently Ralph said, “Ach!”
    I could see nothing which reminded me of a Quaker.
    “The owner of that farm is named Fuchs (fox),” I said.
    “Yes, and the founder of the Society of Friends, or The Quakers, was George Fox,” he said.
    He added a moment later, “As I remember it, it was in this area that some particularly bestial—or should I say human?—murders occurred in 1845. A man named Wilhelm Graustock was finally caught and convicted.”
    I had never heard of this case, but, as I was to find out, Ralph had an immense knowledge of sensational literature. He seemed to know the details of every horror committed in the last two centuries.
    “What is the connection between Herr Graustock and this figure which is obviously Tarzan?” I said.
    “Graustock is remarkably similar in sound to Greystoke,” he said. “As you may or may not know, the lord of the jungle was also Lord Greystoke of the British peerage. As a fact, Graustock and Greystoke both mean exactly the same thing, a gray stick or pole. They have common Germanic roots. Ach, there it is! The descendants of the infamous butcher still hold his property, but are, I believe, singularly peaceful farmers.”
    “And the man on all fours by a banana tree?” Strasse growled. It hurt him to ask, but he could not push back his curiosity.
    Ralph burst out laughing again. “Another example of redundancy, I believe. And the most difficult to figure out. A tough one, sweetheart. Want to put in your two pfennigs’ worth?”
    “Aw, go find a fireplug,” Strasse said, at which Ralph laughed even more loudly.
    “Unless I’m mistaken,” Ralph said, “the next two images stand for a word, not a thing. They symbolize nebanan (next door). The question is, next door to what? The Graustock farm or the places indicated by the balloon and the battle tableau and the antebellum scene? I see nothing as yet which indicates that we are on or about to hit the bullseye. Continue at the same speed driver.”
    There was silence for a minute. I refused to speak because of my pride. Finally, Lisa said, “For heaven’s sake, Herr von Wau Wau, I’m dying of curiosity! How did you ever get nebanan?”
    “The man on all fours with his head close to the