Chapter V
From Kaspara Vitatus to Cuirnif

1
The Seventeen Virgins

The chase went far and long, and led into that dismal tract of bone-colored hills known as the Pale Rugates. Cugel finally used a clever trick to baffle pursuit, sliding from his steed and hiding among the rocks while his enemies pounded past in chase of the riderless mount.

Cugel lay in hiding until the angry band returned toward Kaspara Vitatus, bickering among themselves. He emerged into the open; then, after shaking his fist and shouting curses after the now distant figures, he turned and continued south through the Pale Rugates.

The region was as stark and grim as the surface of a dead sun, and thus avoided by such creatures as sindics, shambs, erbs and visps, for Cugel a single and melancholy source of satisfaction.

Step after step marched Cugel, one leg in front of the other: up slope to overlook an endless succession of barren swells, down again into the hollow where at rare intervals a seep of water nourished a sickly vegetation. Here Cugel found ramp, burdock, squallix and an occasional newt, which sufficed against starvation.

Day followed day. The sun rising cool and dim swam up into the dark-blue sky, from time to time seeming to flicker with a film of blue-black luster, finally to settle like an enormous purple pearl into the west. When dark made further progress impractical, Cugel wrapped himself in his cloak and slept as best he could.

On the afternoon of the seventh day Cugel limped down a slope into an ancient orchard. Cugel found and devoured a few withered hag-apples, then set off along the trace of an old road.

The track proceeded a mile, to lead out upon a bluff overlooking a broad plain. Directly below, a river skirted a small town, curved away to the southwest and finally disappeared into the haze.

Cugel surveyed the landscape with keen attention. Out upon the plain he saw carefully tended garden plots, each precisely square and of identical size; along the river drifted a fisherman’s punt. A placid scene, thought Cugel. On the other hand, the town was built to a strange and archaic architecture, and the scrupulous precision with which the houses surrounded the square suggested a like inflexibility in the inhabitants. The houses themselves were no less uniform, each a construction of two, or three, or even four squat bulbs of diminishing size, one on the other, the lowest always painted blue, the second dark red, the third and fourth respectively a dull mustard ocher and black; and each house terminated in a spire of fancifully twisted iron rods, of greater or lesser height. An inn on the riverbank showed a style somewhat looser and easier, with a pleasant garden surrounding. Along the river road to the east Cugel now noticed the approach of a caravan of six high-wheeled wagons, and his uncertainty dissolved; the town was evidently tolerant of strangers, and Cugel confidently set off down the hill.

At the outskirts to town he halted and drew forth his old purse, which he yet retained though it hung loose and limp. Cugel examined the contents: five terces, a sum hardly adequate to his needs. Cugel reflected a moment, then collected a handful of pebbles which he dropped into the purse, to create a reassuring rotundity. He dusted his breeches, adjusted his green hunter’s cap, and proceeded.

He entered the town without challenge or even attention. Crossing the square, he halted to inspect a contrivance even more peculiar than the quaint architecture: a stone fire-pit in which several logs blazed high, rimmed by five lamps on iron stands, each with five wicks, and above an intricate linkage of mirrors and lenses, the purpose of which surpassed Cugel’s comprehension. Two young men tended the device with diligence, trimming the twenty-five wicks, prodding the fire, adjusting screws and levers which in turn controlled the mirrors and lenses. They wore what appeared to be the local costume: voluminous blue knee-length breeches, red shirts, brass-buttoned black vests and broad-brimmed hats; after disinterested glances they paid Cugel no heed, and he continued to the inn.

In the adjacent garden two dozen folk of the town sat at tables, eating and drinking with great gusto. Cugel watched them a moment or two; their punctilio and elegant gestures suggested the manners of an age far past. Like their houses, they were a sort unique to Cugel’s experience, pale and thin, with egg-shaped heads, long noses, dark expressive eyes and ears cropped in various styles. The men were uniformly bald and their pates glistened in the red sunlight. The women parted their black hair in the middle, then cut it abruptly short a half-inch above the ears: a style which Cugel considered unbecoming. Watching the folk eat and drink, Cugel was unfavorably reminded of the fare which had sustained him across the Pale Rugates, and he gave no further thought to his terces. He strode into the garden and seated himself at a table. A portly man in a blue apron approached, frowning somewhat at Cugel’s disheveled appearance. Cugel immediately brought forth two terces which he handed to the man. “This is for yourself, my good fellow, to insure expeditious service. I have just completed an arduous journey; I am famished with hunger. You may bring me a platter identical to that which the gentleman yonder is enjoying, together with a selection of side-dishes and a bottle of wine. Then be so good as to ask the innkeeper to prepare me a comfortable chamber.” Cugel carelessly brought forth his purse and dropped it upon the table where its weight produced an impressive implication. “I will also require a bath, fresh linen and a barber.”

“I myself am Maier the innkeeper,” said the portly man in a gracious voice. “I will see to your wishes immediately.”

“Excellent,” said Cugel. “I am favorably impressed with your establishment, and perhaps will remain several days.”

The innkeeper bowed in gratification and hurried off to supervise the preparation of Cugel’s dinner.

Cugel made an excellent meal, though the second course, a dish of crayfish stuffed with mince and slivers of scarlet mangoneel, he found a trifle too rich. The roast fowl however could not be faulted and the wine pleased Cugel to such an extent that he ordered a second flask. Maier the innkeeper served the bottle himself and accepted Cugel’s compliments with a trace of complacency. “There is no better wine in Gundar! It is admittedly expensive, but you are a person who appreciates the best.”

“Precisely true,” said Cugel. “Sit down and take a glass with me. I confess to curiosity in regard to this remarkable town.”

The innkeeper willingly followed Cugel’s suggestion. “I am puzzled that you find Gundar remarkable. I have lived here all my life and it seems ordinary enough to me.”

“I will cite three circumstances which I consider worthy of note,” said Cugel, now somewhat expansive by reason of the wine. “First: the bulbous construction of your buildings. Secondly: the contrivance of lenses above the fire, which at the very least must stimulate a stranger’s interest. Thirdly: the fact that the men of Gundar are all stark bald.”

The innkeeper nodded thoughtfully. “The architecture at least is quickly explained. The ancient Gunds lived in enormous gourds. When a section of the wall became weak it was replaced with a board, until in due course the folk found themselves living in houses fashioned completely of wood, and the style has persisted. As for the fire and the projectors, do you not know the world-wide Order of Solar Emosynaries? We stimulate the vitality of the sun; so long as our beam of sympathetic vibration regulates solar combustion, it will never expire. Similar stations exist at other locations: at Blue Azor; on the Isle of Brazel; at the walled city Munt; and in the observatory of the Grand Starkeeper at Vir Vassilis.”

Cugel shook his head sadly. “I hear that conditions have changed. Brazel has long since sunk beneath the waves. Munt was destroyed a thousand years ago by the Dystropes. I have never heard of either Blue Azor or Vir Vassilis, though I am widely traveled. Possibly, here at Gundar, you are the solitary Solar Emosynaries yet in existence.”

“This is dismal news,” declared Maier. “The noticeable enfeeblement of the sun is hereby explained. Perhaps we had best double the fire under our regulator.”

Cugel poured more wine. “A question leaps to mind. If, as I suspect, this is the single Solar Emosynary station yet in operation, who or what regulates the sun when it has passed below the horizon?”

The innkeeper shook his head. “I can offer no explanation. It may be that during the hours of night the sun itself relaxes and, as it were, sleeps, although this is of course sheerest speculation.”

“Allow me to offer another hypothesis,” said Cugel. “Conceivably the waning of the sun has advanced beyond all possibility of regulation, so that your efforts, though formerly useful, are now ineffective.”

Maier threw up his hands in perplexity. “These complications surpass my scope, but yonder stands the Nolde Huruska.” He directed Cugel’s attention to a large man with a deep chest and bristling black beard, who stood at the entrance. “Excuse me a moment.” He rose to his feet and approaching the Nolde spoke for several minutes, indicating Cugel from time to time. The Nolde finally made a brusque gesture and marched across the garden to confront Cugel. He spoke in a heavy voice: “I understand you to assert that no Emosynaries exist other than ourselves?”

“I stated nothing so definitely,” said Cugel, somewhat on the defensive. “I remarked that I had traveled widely and that no other such ‘Emosynary’ agency has come to my attention; and I innocently speculated that possibly none now operate.”

“At Gundar we conceive ‘innocence’ as a positive quality, not merely an insipid absence of guilt,” stated the Nolde. “We are not the fools that certain untidy ruffians might suppose.”

Cugel suppressed the hot remark which rose to his lips, and contented himself with a shrug. Maier walked away with the Nolde and for several minutes the two men conferred, with frequent glances in Cugel’s direction. Then the Nolde departed and the innkeeper returned to Cugel’s table. “A somewhat brusque man, the Nolde of Gundar,” he told Cugel, “but very competent withal.”

“It would be presumptuous of me to comment,” said Cugel. “What, precisely, is his function?”

“At Gundar we place great store upon precision and methodicity,” explained Maier. “We feel that the absence of order encourages disorder; and the official responsible for the inhibition of caprice and abnormality is the Nolde … What was our previous conversation? Ah yes, you mentioned our notorious baldness. I can offer no definite explanation. According to our savants, the condition signifies the final perfection of the human race. Other folk give credence to an ancient legend. A pair of magicians, Astherlin and Mauldred, vied for the favor of the Gunds. Astherlin promised the boon of extreme hairiness, so that the folk of Gundar need never wear garments. Mauldred, to the contrary, offered the Gunds baldness, with all the consequent advantages, and easily won the contest; in fact Mauldred became the first Nolde of Gundar, the post now filled, as you know, by Huruska.” Maier the innkeeper pursed his lips and looked off across the garden. “Huruska, a distrustful sort, has reminded me of my fixed rule to ask all transient guests to settle their accounts on a daily basis. I naturally assured him of your complete reliability, but simply in order to appease Huruska, I will tender the reckoning in the morning.”

“This is tantamount to an insult,” declared Cugel haughtily. “Must we truckle to the whims of Huruska? Not I, you may be assured! I will settle my account in the usual manner.”

The innkeeper blinked. “May I ask how long you intend to stay at Gundar?”

“My journey takes me south, by the most expeditious transport available, which I assume to be riverboat.”

“The town Lumarth lies ten days by caravan across the Lirrh Aing. The Isk river also flows past Lumarth, but is judged inconvenient by virtue of three intervening localities. The Lallo Marsh is infested with stinging insects; the tree-dwarfs of the Santalba Forest pelt passing boats with refuse; and the Desperate Rapids shatter both bones and boats.”

“In this case I will travel by caravan,” said Cugel. “Meanwhile I will remain here, unless the persecutions of Huruska become intolerable.”

Maier licked his lips and looked over his shoulder. “I assured Huruska that I would adhere to the strict letter of my rule. He will surely make a great issue of the matter unless —”

Cugel made a gracious gesture. “Bring me seals. I will close up my purse which contains a fortune in opals and alumes. We will deposit the purse in the strong-box and you may hold it for surety. Even Huruska cannot now protest!”

Maier held up his hands in awe. “I could not undertake so large a responsibility!”

“Dismiss all fear,” said Cugel. “I have protected the purse with a spell; the instant a criminal breaks the seal the jewels are transformed into pebbles.”

Maier dubiously accepted Cugel’s purse on these terms. They jointly saw the seals applied and the purse deposited into Maier’s strong-box.

Cugel now repaired to his chamber, where he bathed, commanded the services of a barber and dressed in fresh garments. Setting his cap at an appropriate angle, he strolled out upon the square.

His steps led him to the Solar Emosynary station. As before, two young men worked diligently, one stoking the blaze and adjusting the five lamps, while the other held the regulatory beam fixed upon the low sun.

Cugel inspected the contrivance from all angles, and presently the person who fed the blaze called out: “Are you not that notable traveler who today expressed doubts as to the efficacy of the Emosynary System?”

Cugel spoke carefully: “I told Maier and Huruska this: that Brazel is sunk below the Melantine Gulf and almost gone from memory; that the walled city Munt was long ago laid waste; that I am acquainted with neither Blue Azor, nor Vir Vassilis. These were my only positive statements.”

The young fire-stoker petulantly threw an arm-load of logs into the fire-pit. “Still we are told that you consider our efforts impractical.”

“I would not go so far,” said Cugel politely. “Even if the other Emosynary agencies are abandoned, it is possible that the Gundar regulator suffices; who knows?”

“I will tell you this,” declared the stoker. “We work without recompense, and in our spare time we must cut and transport fuel. The process is tedious.”

The operator of the aiming device amplified his friend’s complaint. “Huruska and the elders do none of the work; they merely ordain that we toil, which of course is the easiest part of the project. Janred and I are of a sophisticated new generation; on principle we reject all dogmatic doctrines. I for one consider the Solar Emosynary system a waste of time and effort.”

“If the other agencies are abandoned,” argued Janred the stoker, “who or what regulates the sun when it has passed beyond the horizon? The system is pure balderdash.”

The operator of the lenses declared: “I will now demonstrate as much, and free us all from this thankless toil!” He worked a lever. “Notice I direct the regulatory beam away from the sun. Look! It shines as before, without the slightest attention on our part!”

Cugel inspected the sun, and for a fact it seemed to glow as before, flickering from time to time, and shivering like an old man with the ague. The two young men watched with similar interest, and as minutes passed, they began to murmur in satisfaction. “We are vindicated! The sun has not gone out!”

Even as they watched, the sun, perhaps fortuitously, underwent a cachectic spasm, and lurched alarmingly toward the horizon. Behind them sounded a bellow of outrage and the Nolde Huruska ran forward. “What is the meaning of this irresponsibility? Direct the regulator aright and instantly! Would you have us groping for the rest of our lives in the dark?”

The stoker resentfully jerked his thumb toward Cugel. “He convinced us that the system was unnecessary, and that our work was futile.”

“What!” Huruska swung his formidable body about and confronted Cugel. “Only hours ago you set foot in Gundar, and already you are disrupting the fabric of our existence! I warn you, our patience is not illimitable! Be off with you and do not approach the Emosynary agency a second time!”

Choking with fury, Cugel swung on his heel and marched off across the square.

At the caravan terminal he inquired as to transport southward, but the caravan which had arrived at noon would on the morrow depart eastward the way it had come.

Cugel returned to the inn and stepped into the tavern. He noticed three men playing a card game and posted himself as an observer. The game proved to be a simple version of Zampolio, and presently Cugel asked if he might join the play. “But only if the stakes are not too high,” he protested. “I am not particularly skillful and I dislike losing more than a terce or two.”

“Bah,” exclaimed one of the players. “What is money? Who will spend it when we are dead?”

“If we take all your gold, then you need not carry it further,” another remarked jocularly.

“All of us must learn,” the third player assured Cugel. “You are fortunate to have the three premier experts of Gundar as instructors.”

Cugel drew back in alarm. “I refuse to lose more than a single terce!”

“Come now! Don’t be a prig!”

“Very well,” said Cugel. “I will risk it. But these cards are tattered and dirty. By chance I have a fresh set in my pouch.”

“Excellent! The game proceeds!”

Two hours later the three Gunds threw down their cards, gave Cugel long hard looks, then as if with a single mind rose to their feet and departed the tavern. Inspecting his gains, Cugel counted thirty-two terces and a few odd coppers. In a cheerful frame of mind he retired to his chamber for the night.

In the morning, as he consumed his breakfast, he noticed the arrival of the Nolde Huruska, who immediately engaged Maier the innkeeper in conversation. A few minutes later Huruska approached Cugel’s table and stared down at Cugel with a somewhat menacing grin, while Maier stood anxiously a few paces to the rear.

Cugel spoke in a voice of strained politeness: “Well, what is it this time? The sun has risen; my innocence in the matter of the regulatory beam has been established.”

“I am now concerned with another matter. Are you acquainted with the penalties for fraud?”

Cugel shrugged. “The matter is of no interest to me.”

“They are severe and I will revert to them in a moment. First, let me inquire: did you entrust to Maier a purse purportedly containing valuable jewels?”

“I did indeed. The property is protected by a spell, I may add; if the seal is broken the gems become ordinary pebbles.”

Huruska exhibited the purse. “Notice, the seal is intact. I cut a slit in the leather and looked within. The contents were then and are now —” with a flourish Huruska turned the purse out upon the table “— pebbles identical to those in the road yonder.”

Cugel exclaimed in outrage: “The jewels are now worthless rubble! I hold you responsible and you must make recompense!”

Huruska uttered an offensive laugh. “If you can change gems to pebbles, you can change pebbles to gems. Maier will now tender the bill. If you refuse to pay, I intend to have you nailed into the enclosure under the gallows until such time as you change your mind.”

“Your insinuations are both disgusting and absurd,” declared Cugel. “Innkeeper, present your account! Let us finish with this farrago once and for all.”

Maier came forward with a slip of paper. “I make the total to be eleven terces, plus whatever gratuities might seem in order.”

“There will be no gratuities,” said Cugel. “Do you harass all your guests in this fashion?” He flung eleven terces down upon the table. “Take your money and leave me in peace.”

Maier sheepishly gathered up the coins; Huruska made an inarticulate sound and turned away. Cugel, upon finishing his breakfast, went out once more to stroll across the square. Here he met an individual whom he recognized to be the pot-boy in the tavern, and Cugel signaled him to a halt. “You seem an alert and knowledgeable fellow,” said Cugel. “May I inquire your name?”

“I am generally known as ‘Zeller’.”

“I would guess you to be well-acquainted with the folk of Gundar.”

“I consider myself well-informed. Why do you ask?”

“First,” said Cugel, “let me ask if you care to turn your knowledge to profit?”

“Certainly, so long as I evade the attention of the Nolde.”

“Very good. I notice a disused booth yonder which should serve our purpose. In one hour we shall put our enterprise into operation.”

Cugel returned to the inn where at his request Maier brought a board, brush and paint. Cugel composed a sign:

THE EMINENT SEER CUGEL

Counsels, Interprets, Prognosticates.

ASK! YOU WILL BE ANSWERED!

CONSULTATIONS: Three Terces.

Cugel hung the sign above the booth, arranged curtains and waited for customers. The pot-boy, meanwhile, had inconspicuously secreted himself at the back.

Almost immediately folk crossing the square halted to read the sign. A woman of early middle-age presently came forward.

“Three terces is a large sum. What results can you guarantee?”

“None whatever, by the very nature of things. I am a skilled voyant, I have acquaintance with the arts of magic, but knowledge comes to me from unknown and uncontrollable sources.”

The woman paid over her money. “Three terces is cheap if you can resolve my worries. My daughter all her life has enjoyed the best of health but now she ails, and suffers a morose condition. All my remedies are to no avail. What must I do?”

“A moment, madam, while I meditate.” Cugel drew the curtain and leaned back to where he could hear the pot-boy’s whispered remarks, then once again drew aside the curtains.

“I have made myself one with the cosmos! Knowledge has entered my mind! Your daughter Dilian is pregnant. For an additional three terces I will supply the father’s name.”

“This is a fee I pay with pleasure,” declared the woman grimly. She paid, received the information and marched purposefully away.

Another woman approached, paid three terces, and Cugel addressed himself to her problem: “My husband assured me that he had put by a canister of gold coins against the future, but upon his death I could find not so much as a copper. Where has he hidden the gold?”

Cugel closed the curtains, took counsel with the pot-boy, and again appeared to the woman. “I have discouraging news for you. Your husband Finister spent much of his hoarded gold at the tavern. With the rest he purchased an amethyst brooch for a woman named Varletta.”

The news of Cugel’s remarkable abilities spread rapidly and trade was brisk. Shortly before noon, a large woman, muffled and veiled, approached the booth, paid three terces, and asked in a high-pitched, if husky, voice: “Read me my fortune!”

Cugel drew the curtains and consulted the pot-boy, who was at a loss. “It is no one I know. I can tell you nothing.”

“No matter,” said Cugel. “My suspicions are verified.” He drew aside the curtain. “The portents are unclear and I refuse to take your money.” Cugel returned the fee. “I can tell you this much: you are an individual of domineering character and no great intelligence. Ahead lies what? Honors? A long voyage by water? Revenge on your enemies? Wealth? The image is distorted; I may be reading my own future.”

The woman tore away her veils and stood revealed as the Nolde Huruska. “Master Cugel, you are lucky indeed that you returned my money, otherwise I would have taken you up for deceptive practices. In any event, I deem your activities mischievous, and contrary to the public interest. Gundar is in an uproar because of your revelations; there will be no more of them. Take down your sign, and be happily thankful that you have escaped so easily.”

“I will be glad to terminate my enterprise,” said Cugel with dignity. “The work is taxing.”

Huruska stalked away in a huff. Cugel divided his earnings with the pot-boy, and in a spirit of mutual satisfaction they departed the booth.

Cugel dined on the best that the inn afforded, but later when he went into the tavern he discovered a noticeable lack of amiability among the patrons and presently went off to his chamber.

The next morning as he took breakfast a caravan of ten wagons arrived in town. The principal cargo appeared to be a bevy of seventeen beautiful maidens, who rode upon two of the wagons. Three other wagons served as dormitories, while the remaining five were loaded with stores, trunks, bales and cases. The caravan master, a portly mild-seeming man with flowing brown hair and a silky beard, assisted his delightful charges to the ground and led them all to the inn, where Maier served up an ample breakfast of spiced porridge, preserved quince, and tea.

Cugel watched the group as they made their meal and reflected that a journey to almost any destination in such company would be a pleasant journey indeed.

The Nolde Huruska appeared, and went to pay his respects to the caravan-leader. The two conversed amiably at some length, while Cugel waited impatiently.

Huruska at last departed. The maidens, having finished their meal, went off to stroll about the square. Cugel crossed to the table where the caravan-leader sat. “Sir, my name is Cugel, and I would appreciate a few words with you.”

“By all means! Please be seated. Will you take a glass of this excellent tea?”

“Thank you. First, may I inquire the destination of your caravan?”

The caravan-leader showed surprise at Cugel’s ignorance. “We are bound for Lumarth; these are the ‘Seventeen Virgins of Symnathis’ who traditionally grace the Grand Pageant.”

“I am a stranger to this region,” Cugel explained. “Hence I know nothing of the local customs. In any event, I myself am bound for Lumarth and would be pleased to travel with your caravan.”

The caravan-leader gave an affable assent. “I would be delighted to have you with us.”

“Excellent!” said Cugel. “Then all is arranged.”

The caravan-leader stroked his silky brown beard. “I must warn you that my fees are somewhat higher than usual, owing to the expensive amenities I am obliged to provide these seventeen fastidious maidens.”

“Indeed,” said Cugel. “How much do you require?”

“The journey occupies the better part of ten days, and my minimum charge is twenty terces per diem, for a total of two hundred terces, plus a twenty terce supplement for wine.”

“This is far more than I can afford,” said Cugel in a bleak voice. “At the moment I command only a third of this sum. Is there some means by which I might earn my passage?”

“Unfortunately not,” said the caravan-leader. “Only this morning the position of armed guard was open, which even paid a small stipend, but Huruska the Nolde, who wishes to visit Lumarth, has agreed to serve in this capacity and the post is now filled.”

Cugel made a sound of disappointment and raised his eyes to the sky. When at last he could bring himself to speak he asked: “When do you plan to depart?”

“Tomorrow at dawn, with absolute punctuality. I am sorry that we will not have the pleasure of your company.”

“I share the sorrow,” said Cugel. He returned to his own table and sat brooding. Presently he went into the tavern, where various card games were in progress. Cugel attempted to join the play, but in every case his request was denied. In a surly mood he went to the counter where Maier the innkeeper unpacked a crate of earthenware goblets. Cugel tried to initiate a conversation but for once Maier could take no time from his labors. “The Nolde Huruska goes off on a journey and tonight his friends mark the occasion with a farewell party, for which I must make careful preparations.”

Cugel took a mug of beer to a side table and gave himself to reflection. After a few moments he went out the back exit and surveyed the prospect, which here overlooked the Isk River. Cugel sauntered down to the water’s edge and discovered a dock at which the fishermen moored their punts and dried their nets. Cugel looked up and down the river, then returned up the path to the inn, to spend the rest of the day watching the seventeen maidens as they strolled about the square, or sipped sweet lime tea in the garden of the inn.

The sun set; twilight the color of old wine darkened into night. Cugel set about his preparations, which were quickly achieved, inasmuch as the essence of his plan lay in its simplicity.

The caravan-leader, whose name, so Cugel learned, was Shimilko, assembled his exquisite company for their evening meal, then herded them carefully to the dormitory wagons, despite the pouts and protests of those who wished to remain at the inn and enjoy the festivities of the evening.

In the tavern the farewell party in honor of Huruska had already commenced. Cugel seated himself in a dark corner and presently attracted the attention of the perspiring Maier. Cugel produced ten terces. “I admit that I harbored ungrateful thoughts toward Huruska,” he said. “Now I wish to express my good wishes — in absolute anonymity, however! Whenever Huruska starts upon a mug of ale, I want you to place a full mug before him, so that his evening will be incessantly merry. If he asks who has bought the drink you are only to reply: ‘One of your friends wishes to pay you a compliment.’ Is this clear?”

“Absolutely, and I will do as you command. It is a large-hearted gesture, which Huruska will appreciate.”

The evening progressed. Huruska’s friends sang jovial songs and proposed a dozen toasts, in all of which Huruska joined. As Cugel had required, whenever Huruska so much as started to drink from a mug, another was placed at his elbow, and Cugel marveled at the scope of Huruska’s internal reservoirs.

At last Huruska was prompted to excuse himself from the company. He staggered out the back exit and made his way to that stone wall with a trough below, which had been placed for the convenience of the tavern’s patrons.

As Huruska faced the wall Cugel stepped behind him and flung a fisherman’s net over Huruska’s head, then expertly dropped a noose around Huruska’s burly shoulders, followed by other turns and ties. Huruska’s bellows were drowned by the song at this moment being sung in his honor.

Cugel dragged the cursing hulk down the path to the dock, and rolled him over and into a punt. Untying the mooring line, Cugel pushed the punt out into the current of the river. “At the very least,” Cugel told himself, “two parts of my prophecy are accurate; Huruska has been honored in the tavern and now is about to enjoy a voyage by water.”

He returned to the tavern where Huruska’s absence had at last been noticed. Maier expressed the opinion that, with an early departure in the offing, Huruska had prudently retired to bed, and all conceded that this was no doubt the case.

The next morning Cugel arose an hour before dawn. He took a quick breakfast, paid Maier his score, then went to where Shimilko ordered his caravan.

“I bring news from Huruska,” said Cugel. “Owing to an unfortunate set of personal circumstances, he finds himself unable to make the journey, and has commended me to that post for which you had engaged him.”

Shimilko shook his head in wonder. “A pity! Yesterday he seemed so enthusiastic! Well, we all must be flexible, and since Huruska cannot join us, I am pleased to accept you in his stead. As soon as we start, I will instruct you in your duties, which are straightforward. You must stand guard by night and take your rest by day, although in the case of danger I naturally expect you to join in the defense of the caravan.”

“These duties are well within my competence,” said Cugel. “I am ready to depart at your convenience.”

“Yonder rises the sun,” declared Shimilko. “Let us be off and away for Lumarth.”

Ten days later Shimilko’s caravan passed through the Methune Gap, and the great Vale of Coram opened before them. The brimming Isk wound back and forth, reflecting a sultry sheen; in the distance loomed the long dark mass of the Draven Forest. Closer at hand five domes of shimmering nacreous gloss marked the site of Lumarth.

Shimilko addressed himself to the company. “Below lies what remains of the old city Lumarth. Do not be deceived by the domes; they indicate temples at one time sacred to the five demons Yaunt, Jastenave, Phampoun, Adelmar and Suul, and hence were preserved during the Sampathissic Wars.

“The folk of Lumarth are unlike any of your experience. Many are small sorcerers, though Chaladet the Grand Thearch has proscribed magic within the city precincts. You may conceive these people to be languid and wan, and dazed by excess sensation, and you will be correct. All are obsessively rigid in regard to ritual, and all subscribe to a Doctrine of Absolute Altruism, which compels them to virtue and benevolence. For this reason they are known as the ‘Kind Folk’. A final word in regard to our journey, which luckily has gone without untoward incident. The wagoneers have driven with skill; Cugel has vigilantly guarded us by night, and I am well pleased. So then: onward to Lumarth, and let meticulous discretion be the slogan!”

The caravan traversed a narrow track down into the valley, then proceeded along an avenue of rutted stone under an arch of enormous black mimosa trees.

At a mouldering portal opening upon the plaza the caravan was met by five tall men in gowns of embroidered silks, the splendid double-crowned headgear of the Coramese Thurists lending them an impressive dignity. The five men were much alike, with pale transparent skins, thin high-bridged noses, slender limbs and pensive gray eyes. One who wore a gorgeous gown of mustard-yellow, crimson and black raised two fingers in a calm salute. “My friend Shimilko, you have arrived securely with all your blessed cargo. We are well-served and very pleased.”

“The Lirrh-Aing was so placid as almost to be dull,” said Shimilko. “To be sure, I was fortunate in securing the services of Cugel, who guarded us so well by night that never were our slumbers interrupted.”

“Well done, Cugel!” said the head Thurist. “We will at this time take custody of the precious maidens. Tomorrow you may render your account to the bursar. The Wayfarer’s Inn lies yonder, and I counsel you to its comforts.”

“Just so! We will all be the better for a few days rest!”

However, Cugel chose not to so indulge himself. At the door to the inn he told Shimilko: “Here we part company, for I must continue along the way. Affairs press on me and Almery lies far to the west.”

“But your stipend, Cugel! You must wait at least until tomorrow, when I can collect certain monies from the bursar. Until then, I am without funds.”

Cugel hesitated, but at last was prevailed upon to stay.

An hour later a messenger strode into the inn. “Master Shimilko, you and your company are required to appear instantly before the Grand Thearch on a matter of utmost importance.”

Shimilko looked up in alarm. “Whatever is the matter?”

“I am obliged to tell you nothing more.”

With a long face Shimilko led his company across the plaza to the loggia before the old palace, where Chaladet sat on a massive chair. To either side stood the College of Thurists and all regarded Shimilko with somber expressions.

“What is the meaning of this summons?” inquired Shimilko. “Why do you regard me with such gravity?”

The Grand Thearch spoke in a deep voice: “Shimilko, the seventeen maidens conveyed by you from Symnathis to Lumarth have been examined, and I regret to say that of the seventeen, only two can be classified as virgins. The remaining fifteen have been sexually deflorated.”

Shimilko could hardly speak for consternation. “Impossible!” he sputtered. “At Symnathis I undertook the most elaborate precautions. I can display three separate documents certifying the purity of each. There can be no doubt! You are in error!”

“We are not in error, Master Shimilko. Conditions are as we describe, and may easily be verified.”

“‘Impossible’ and ‘incredible’ are the only two words which come to mind,” cried Shimilko. “Have you questioned the girls themselves?”

“Of course. They merely raise their eyes to the ceiling and whistle between their teeth. Shimilko, how do you explain this heinous outrage?”

“I am perplexed to the point of confusion! The girls embarked upon the journey as pure as the day they were born. This is fact! During each waking instant they never left my area of perception. This is also fact.”

“And when you slept?”

“The implausibility is no less extreme. The teamsters invariably retired together in a group. I shared my wagon with the chief teamster and each of us will vouch for the other. Cugel meanwhile kept watch over the entire camp.”

“Alone?”

“A single guard suffices, even though the nocturnal hours are slow and dismal. Cugel, however, never complained.”

“Cugel is evidently the culprit!”

Shimilko smilingly shook his head. “Cugel’s duties left him no time for illicit activity.”

“What if Cugel scamped his duties?”

Shimilko responded patiently: “Remember, each girl rested secure in her private cubicle with a door between herself and Cugel.”

“Well then — what if Cugel opened this door and quietly entered the cubicle?”

Shimilko considered a dubious moment, and pulled at his silky beard. “In such a case, I suppose the matter might be possible.”

The Grand Thearch turned his gaze upon Cugel. “I insist that you make an exact statement upon this sorry affair.”

Cugel cried out indignantly: “The investigation is a travesty! My honor has been assailed!”

Chaladet fixed Cugel with a benign, if somewhat chilly stare. “You will be allowed redemption. Thurists, I place this person in your custody. See to it that he has every opportunity to regain his dignity and self-esteem!”

Cugel roared out a protest which the Grand Thearch ignored. From his great dais he looked thoughtfully off across the square. “Is it the third or fourth month?”

“The chronolog has only just left the month of Yaunt, to enter the time of Phampoun.”

“So be it. By diligence, this licentious rogue may yet earn our love and respect.”

A pair of Thurists grasped Cugel’s arms and led him across the square. Cugel jerked this way and that to no avail. “Where are you taking me? What is this nonsense?”

One of the Thurists replied in a kindly voice: “We are taking you to the temple of Phampoun, and it is far from nonsense.”

“I do not care for any of this,” said Cugel. “Take your hands off of me; I intend to leave Lumarth at once.”

“You shall be so assisted.”

The group marched up worn marble steps, through an enormous arched portal, into an echoing hall, distinguished only by the high dome and an adytum or altar at the far end. Cugel was led into a side-chamber, illuminated by high circular windows and paneled with dark blue wood. An old man in a white gown entered the room and asked: “What have we here? A person suffering affliction?”

“Yes; Cugel has committed a series of abominable crimes, of which he wishes to purge himself.”

“A total mis-statement!” cried Cugel. “No proof has been adduced and in any event I was inveigled against my better judgment.”

The Thurists, paying no heed, departed, and Cugel was left with the old man, who hobbled to a bench and seated himself. Cugel started to speak but the old man held up his hand. “Calm yourself! You must remember that we are a benevolent people, lacking all spite or malice. We exist only to help other sentient beings! If a person commits a crime, we are racked with sorrow for the criminal, whom we believe to be the true victim, and we work without compromise that he may renew himself.”

“An enlightened viewpoint!” declared Cugel. “Already I feel regeneration!”

“Excellent! Your remarks validate our philosophy; certainly you have negotiated what I will refer to as Phase One of the program.”

Cugel frowned. “There are other phases? Are they really necessary?”

“Absolutely; these are Phases Two and Three. I should explain that Lumarth has not always adhered to such a policy. During the high years of the Great Magics the city fell under the sway of Yasbane the Obviator, who breached openings into five demon-realms and constructed the five temples of Lumarth. You stand now in the Temple of Phampoun.”

“Odd,” said Cugel, “that a folk so benevolent are such fervent demonists.”

“Nothing could be farther from the truth. The Kind Folk of Lumarth expelled Yasbane, to establish the Era of Love, which must now persist until the final waning of the sun. Our love extends to all, even Yasbane’s five demons, whom we hope to rescue from their malevolent evil. You will be the latest in a long line of noble individuals who have worked to this end, and such is Phase Two of the program.”

Cugel stood limp in consternation. “Such work far exceeds my competence!”

“Everyone feels the same sensation,” said the old man. “Nevertheless Phampoun must be instructed in kindness, consideration and decency; by making this effort, you will know a surge of happy redemption.”

“And Phase Three?” croaked Cugel. “What of that?”

“When you achieve your mission, then you shall be gloriously accepted into our brotherhood!” The old man ignored Cugel’s groan of dismay. “Let me see now: the month of Yaunt is just ending, and we enter the month of Phampoun, who is perhaps the most irascible of the five by reason of his sensitive eyes. He becomes enraged by so much as a single glimmer, and you must attempt your persuasions in absolute darkness. Do you have any further questions?”

“Yes indeed! Suppose Phampoun refuses to mend his ways?”

“This is ‘negativistic thinking’ which we Kind Folk refuse to recognize. Ignore everything you may have heard in regard to Phampoun’s macabre habits! Go forth in confidence!”

Cugel cried out in anguish: “How will I return to enjoy my honors and rewards?”

“No doubt Phampoun, when contrite, will send you aloft by a means at his disposal,” said the old man. “Now I bid you farewell.”

“One moment! Where is my food and drink? How will I survive?”

“Again we will leave these matters to the discretion of Phampoun.” The old man touched a button; the floor opened under Cugel’s feet; he slid down a spiral chute at dizzying velocity. The air gradually became syrupy; Cugel struck a film of invisible constriction which burst with a sound like a cork leaving a bottle, and Cugel emerged into a chamber of medium size, illuminated by the glow of a single lamp.

Cugel stood stiff and rigid, hardly daring to breathe. On a dais across the chamber Phampoun sat sleeping in a massive chair, two black hemispheres shuttering his enormous eyes against the light. The grey torso wallowed almost the length of the dais; the massive splayed legs were planted flat to the floor. Arms, as large around as Cugel himself, terminated in fingers three feet long, each bedecked with a hundred jeweled rings. Phampoun’s head was as large as a wheelbarrow, with a huge snout and an enormous loose-wattled mouth. The two eyes, each the size of a dishpan, could not be seen for the protective hemispheres.

Cugel, holding his breath in fear and also against the stench which hung in the air, looked cautiously about the room. A cord ran from the lamp, across the ceiling, to dangle beside Phampoun’s fingers; almost as a reflex Cugel detached the cord from the lamp. He saw a single egress from the chamber: a low iron door directly behind Phampoun’s chair. The chute by which he had entered was now invisible.

The flaps beside Phampoun’s mouth twitched and lifted; a homunculus growing from the end of Phampoun’s tongue peered forth. It stared at Cugel with beady black eyes. “Ha, has time gone by so swiftly?” The creature, leaning forward, consulted a mark on the wall. “It has indeed; I have overslept and Phampoun will be cross. What is your name and what are your crimes? These details are of interest to Phampoun — which is to say myself, though from whimsy I usually call myself Pulsifer, as if I were a separate entity.”

Cugel spoke in a voice of brave conviction: “I am Cugel, inspector for the new regime which now holds sway in Lumarth. I descended to verify Phampoun’s comfort, and since all is well, I will now return aloft. Where is the exit?”

Pulsifer asked plaintively: “You have no crimes to relate? This is harsh news. Both Phampoun and I enjoy great evils. Not long ago a certain sea-trader, whose name evades me, held us enthralled for over an hour.”

“And then what occurred?”

“Best not to ask.” Pulsifer busied himself polishing one of Phampoun’s tusks with a small brush. He thrust his head forth and inspected the mottled visage above him. “Phampoun still sleeps soundly; he ingested a prodigious meal before retiring. Excuse me while I check the progress of Phampoun’s digestion.” Pulsifer ducked back behind Phampoun’s wattles and revealed himself only by a vibration in the corded grey neck. Presently he returned to view. “He is quite famished, or so it would appear. I had best wake him; he will wish to converse with you before …”

“Before what?”

“No matter.”

“A moment,” said Cugel. “I am interested in conversing with you rather than Phampoun.”

“Indeed?” asked Pulsifer, and polished Phampoun’s fang with great vigor. “This is pleasant to hear; I receive few compliments.”

“Strange! I see much in you to commend. Necessarily your career goes hand in hand with that of Phampoun, but perhaps you have goals and ambitions of your own?”

Pulsifer propped up Phampoun’s lip with his cleaning brush and relaxed upon the ledge so created. “Sometimes I feel that I would enjoy seeing something of the outer world. We have ascended several times to the surface, but always by night when heavy clouds obscure the stars, and even then Phampoun complains of the excessive glare, and he quickly returns below.”

“A pity,” said Cugel. “By day there is much to see. The scenery surrounding Lumarth is pleasant. The Kind Folk are about to present their Grand Pageant of Ultimate Contrasts, which is said to be most picturesque.”

Pulsifer gave his head a wistful shake. “I doubt if ever I will see such events. Have you witnessed many horrid crimes?”

“Indeed I have. For instance I recall a dwarf of the Batvar Forest who rode a pelgrane —”

Pulsifer interrupted him with a gesture. “A moment. Phampoun will want to hear this.” He leaned precariously from the cavernous mouth to peer up toward the shuttered eyeballs. “Is he, or more accurately, am I awake? I thought I noticed a twitch. In any event, though I have enjoyed our conversation, we must get on with our duties. Hm, the light cord is disarranged. Perhaps you will be good enough to extinguish the light.”

“There is no hurry,” said Cugel. “Phampoun sleeps peacefully; let him enjoy his rest. I have something to show you, a game of chance. Are you acquainted with ‘Zampolio’?”

Pulsifer signified in the negative, and Cugel produced his cards. “Notice carefully! I deal you four cards and I take four cards, which we conceal from each other.” Cugel explained the rules of the game. “Necessarily we play for coins of gold or some such commodity, to make the game interesting. I therefore wager five terces, which you must match.”

“Yonder in two sacks is Phampoun’s gold, or with equal propriety, my gold, since I am an integral adjunct to this vast hulk. Take forth gold sufficient to equal your terces.”

The game proceeded. Pulsifer won the first sally, to his delight, then lost the next, which prompted him to fill the air with dismal complaints; then he won again and again until Cugel declared himself lacking further funds. “You are a clever and skillful player; it is a joy to match wits with you! Still, I feel I could beat you if I had the terces I left above in the temple.”

Pulsifer, somewhat puffed and vainglorious, scoffed at Cugel’s boast. “I fear that I am too clever for you! Here, take back your terces and we will play the game once again.”

“No; this is not the way sportsmen behave; I am too proud to accept your money. Let me suggest a solution to the problem. In the temple above is my sack of terces and a sack of sweetmeats which you might wish to consume as we continue the game. Let us go fetch these articles, then I defy you to win as before!”

Pulsifer leaned far out to inspect Phampoun’s visage. “He appears quite comfortable, though his organs are roiling with hunger.”

“He sleeps as soundly as ever,” declared Cugel. “Let us hurry. If he wakes our game will be spoiled.”

Pulsifer hesitated. “What of Phampoun’s gold? We dare not leave it unguarded!”

“We will take it with us, and it will never be outside the range of our vigilance.”

“Very well; place it here on the dais.”

“So, and now I am ready. How do we go aloft?”

“Merely press the leaden bulb beside the arm of the chair, but please make no untoward disturbance. Phampoun might well be exasperated should he awake in unfamiliar surroundings.”

“He has never rested easier! We go aloft!” He pressed the button; the dais shivered and creaked and floated up a dark shaft which opened above them. Presently they burst through the valve of the constrictive essence which Cugel had penetrated on his way down the chute. At once a glimmer of scarlet light seeped into the shaft and a moment later the dais glided to a halt level with the altar in the Temple of Phampoun.

“Now then, my sack of terces,” said Cugel. “Exactly where did I leave it? Just over yonder, I believe. Notice! Through the great arches you may overlook the main plaza of Lumarth, and those are the Kind Folk going about their ordinary affairs. What is your opinion of all this?”

“Most interesting, although I am unfamiliar with such extensive vistas. In fact, I feel almost a sense of vertigo. What is the source of the savage red glare?”

“That is the light of our ancient sun, now westering toward sunset.”

“It does not appeal to me. Please be quick about your business; I have suddenly become most uneasy.”

“I will make haste,” said Cugel.

The sun, sinking low, sent a shaft of light through the portal, to play full upon the altar. Cugel, stepping behind the massive chair, twitched away the two shutters which guarded Phampoun’s eyes, and the milky orbs glistened in the sunlight.

For an instant Phampoun lay quiet. His muscles knotted, his legs jerked, his mouth gaped wide, and he emitted an explosion of sound: a grinding scream which propelled Pulsifer forth to vibrate like a flag in the wind. Phampoun lunged from the altar to fall sprawling and rolling across the floor of the temple, all the while maintaining his cataclysmic outcries. He pulled himself erect, and pounding the tiled floor with his great feet, he sprang here and there and at last burst through the stone walls as if they were paper, while the Kind Folk in the square stood petrified.

Cugel, taking the two sacks of gold, departed the temple by a side entrance. For a moment he watched Phampoun careering around the square, screaming and flailing at the sun. Pulsifer, desperately gripping a pair of tusks, attempted to steer the maddened demon, who, ignoring all restraint, plunged eastward through the city, trampling down trees, bursting through houses as if they failed to exist.

Cugel walked briskly down to the Isk and made his way out upon a dock. He selected a skiff of good proportions, equipped with mast, sail and oars, and prepared to clamber aboard. A punt approached the dock from upriver, poled vigorously by a large man in tattered garments. Cugel turned away, pretending no more than a casual interest in the view, until he might board the skiff without attracting attention.

The punt touched the dock; the boatman climbed up a ladder.

Cugel continued to gaze across the water, affecting indifference to all except the river vistas.

The man, panting and grunting, came to a sudden halt. Cugel felt his intent inspection, and finally turning, looked into the congested face of Huruska, the Nolde of Gundar, though his face was barely recognizable for the bites Huruska had suffered from the insects of the Lallo Marsh.

Huruska stared long and hard at Cugel. “This is a most gratifying occasion!” he said huskily. “I feared that we would never meet again. And what do you carry in those leather bags?” He wrested a bag from Cugel. “Gold from the weight. Your prophecy has been totally vindicated! First honors and a voyage by water, now wealth and revenge! Prepare to die!”

“One moment!” cried Cugel. “You have neglected properly to moor the punt! This is disorderly conduct!”

Huruska turned to look, and Cugel thrust him off the dock into the water.

Cursing and raving, Huruska struggled for the shore while Cugel fumbled with the knots in the mooring-line of the skiff. The line at last came loose; Cugel pulled the skiff close as Huruska came charging down the dock like a bull. Cugel had no choice but to abandon his gold, jump into the skiff, push off and ply the oars while Huruska stood waving his arms in rage.

Cugel pensively hoisted the sail; the wind carried him down the river and around a bend. Cugel’s last view of Lumarth, in the dying light of afternoon, included the low lustrous domes of the demon temples and the dark outline of Huruska standing on the dock. From afar the screams of Phampoun were still to be heard and occasionally the thud of toppling masonry.

2
The Bagful of Dreams

The River Isk, departing Lumarth, wandered in wide curves across the Plain of Red Flowers, bearing generally south. For six halcyon days Cugel sailed his skiff down the brimming river, stopping by night at one or another of the river-bank inns.

On the seventh day the river swung to the west, and passed by erratic sweeps and reaches through that land of rock spires and forested hillocks known as the Chaim Purpure. The wind blew, if at all, in unpredictable gusts, and Cugel, dropping the sail, was content to drift with the current, guiding the craft with an occasional stroke of the oars.

The villages of the plain were left behind; the region was uninhabited. In view of the crumbled tombs along the shore, the groves of cypress and yew, the quiet conversations to be overheard by night, Cugel was pleased to be afloat rather than afoot, and drifted out of the Chaim Purpure with great relief.

At the village Troon, the river emptied into the Tsombol Marsh, and Cugel sold the skiff for ten terces. To repair his fortunes he took employment with the town butcher, performing the more distasteful tasks attendant upon the trade. However, the pay was adequate and Cugel steeled himself to his undignified duties. He worked to such good effect that he was called upon to prepare the feast served at an important religious festival.

Through oversight, or stress of circumstance, Cugel used two sacred beasts in the preparation of his special ragout. Halfway through the banquet the mistake was discovered and once again Cugel left town under a cloud.

After hiding all night behind the abattoir to evade the hysterical mobs, Cugel set off at best speed across the Tsombol Marsh.

The road went by an indirect route, swinging around bogs and stagnant ponds, veering to follow the bed of an ancient highway, in effect doubling the length of the journey. A wind from the north blew the sky clear of all obscurity, so that the landscape showed in remarkable clarity. Cugel took no pleasure in the view, especially when, looking ahead, he spied a far pelgrane cruising down the wind.

As the afternoon advanced the wind abated, leaving an unnatural stillness across the marsh. From behind tussocks water-wefkins called out to Cugel, using the sweet voices of unhappy maidens: “Cugel, oh Cugel! Why do you travel in haste? Come to my bower and comb my beautiful hair!”

And: “Cugel, oh Cugel! Where do you go? Take me with you, to share your joyous adventures!”

And: “Cugel, beloved Cugel! The day is dying; the year is at an end! Come visit me behind the tussock, and we will console each other without constraint!”

Cugel only walked the faster, anxious to discover shelter for the night.

As the sun trembled at the edge of Tsombol Marsh Cugel came upon a small inn, secluded under five dire oaks. He gratefully took lodging for the night, and the innkeeper served a fair supper of stewed herbs, spitted reed-birds, seed-cake and thick burdock beer.

As Cugel ate, the innkeeper stood by with hands on hips. “I see by your conduct that you are a gentleman of high place; still you hop across Tsombol Marsh on foot like a bumpkin. I am puzzled by the incongruity.”

“It is easily explained,” said Cugel. “I consider myself the single honest man in a world of rogues and blackguards, present company excepted. In these conditions it is hard to accumulate wealth.”

The innkeeper pulled at his chin, and turned away. When he came to serve Cugel a dessert of currant cake, he paused long enough to say: “Your difficulties have aroused my sympathy. Tonight I will reflect on the matter.”

The innkeeper was as good as his word. In the morning, after Cugel had finished his breakfast, the innkeeper took him into the stable-yard and displayed a large dun-colored beast with powerful hind legs and a tufted tail, already bridled and saddled for riding.

“This is the least I can do for you,” said the innkeeper. “I will sell this beast at a nominal figure. Agreed, it lacks elegance, and in fact is a hybrid of dounge and felukhary. Still, it moves with an easy stride; it feeds upon inexpensive wastes, and is notorious for its stubborn loyalty.”

Cugel moved politely away. “I appreciate your altruism, but for such a creature any price whatever is excessive. Notice the sores at the base of its tail, the eczema along its back, and, unless I am mistaken, it lacks an eye. Also, its odor is not all it might be.”

“Trifles!” declared the innkeeper. “Do you want a dependable steed to carry you across the Plain of Standing Stones, or an adjunct to your vanity? The beast becomes your property for a mere thirty terces.”

Cugel jumped back in shock. “When a fine Cambalese wheriot sells for twenty? My dear fellow, your generosity outreaches my ability to pay!”

The innkeeper’s face expressed only patience. “Here, in the middle of Tsombol Marsh, you will buy not even the smell of a dead wheriot.”

“Let us discard euphemism,” said Cugel. “Your price is an outrage.”

For an instant the innkeeper’s face lost its genial cast and he spoke in a grumbling voice: “Every person to whom I sell this steed takes the same advantage of my kindliness.”

Cugel was puzzled by the remark. Nevertheless, sensing irresolution, he pressed his advantage. “In spite of a dozen misgivings, I offer a generous twelve terces!”

“Done!” cried the innkeeper almost before Cugel had finished speaking. “I repeat, you will discover this beast to be totally loyal, even beyond your expectations.”

Cugel paid over twelve terces and gingerly mounted the creature. The landlord gave him a benign farewell. “May you enjoy a safe and comfortable journey!”

Cugel replied in like fashion. “May your enterprises prosper!”

In order to make a brave departure, Cugel tried to rein the beast up and around in a caracole, but it merely squatted low to the ground, then padded out upon the road.

Cugel rode a mile in comfort, and another, and taking all with all, was favorably impressed with his acquisition. “No question but what the beast walks on soft feet; now let us discover if it will canter at speed.”

He shook out the reins; the beast set off down the road, its gait a unique prancing strut, with tail arched and head held high.

Cugel kicked his heels into the creature’s heaving flanks. “Faster then! Let us test your mettle!”

The beast sprang forward with great energy, and the breeze blew Cugel’s cloak flapping behind his shoulders.

A massive dire oak stood beside a bend in the road: an object which the beast seemed to identify as a landmark. It increased its pace, only to stop short and elevate its hind-quarters, thus projecting Cugel into the ditch. When he managed to stagger back up on the road, he discovered the beast cavorting across the marsh, in the general direction of the inn.

“A loyal creature indeed!” grumbled Cugel. “It is unswervingly faithful to the comfort of its barn.” He found his green velvet cap, clapped it back upon his head and once more trudged south along the road.

During the late afternoon Cugel came to a village of a dozen mud huts populated by a squat long-armed folk, distinguished by great shocks of whitewashed hair.

Cugel gauged the height of the sun, then examined the terrain ahead, which extended in a dreary succession of tussock and pond to the edge of vision. Putting aside all qualms he approached the largest and most pretentious of the huts.

The master of the house sat on a bench to the side, whitewashing the hair of one of his children into radiating tufts like the petals of a white chrysanthemum, while other urchins played nearby in the mud.

“Good afternoon,” said Cugel. “Are you able to provide me food and lodging for the night? I naturally intend adequate payment.”

“I will feel privileged to do so,” replied the householder. “This is the most commodious hut of Samsetiska, and I am known for my fund of anecdotes. Do you care to inspect the premises?”

“I would be pleased to rest an hour in my chamber before indulging myself in a hot bath.”

His host blew out his cheeks, and wiping the whitewash from his hands beckoned Cugel into the hut. He pointed to a heap of reeds at the side of the room. “There is your bed; recline for as long as you like. As for a bath, the ponds of the swamp are infested with threlkoids and wire-worms, and cannot be recommended.”

“In that case I must do without,” said Cugel. “However, I have not eaten since breakfast, and I am willing to take my evening meal as soon as possible.”

“My spouse has gone trapping in the swamp,” said his host. “It is premature to discuss supper until we learn what she has gleaned from her toil.”

In due course the woman returned carrying a sack and a wicker basket. She built up a fire and prepared the evening meal, while Erwig the householder brought forth a two-string guitar and entertained Cugel with ballads of the region.

At last the woman called Cugel and Erwig into the hut, where she served bowls of gruel, dishes of fried moss and ganions, with slices of coarse black bread.

After the meal Erwig thrust his spouse and children out into the night, explaining: “What we have to say is unsuitable for unsophisticated ears. Cugel is an important traveler and does not wish to measure his every word.”

Bringing out an earthenware jug, Erwig poured two tots of arrak, one of which he placed before Cugel, then disposed himself for conversation. “Whence came you and where are you bound?”

Cugel tasted the arrak, which scorched the entire interior of his glottal cavity. “I am native to Almery, to which I now return.”

Erwig scratched his head in perplexity. “I cannot divine why you go so far afield, only to retrace your steps.”

“Certain enemies worked mischief upon me,” said Cugel. “Upon my return, I intend an appropriate revenge.”

“Such acts soothe the spirit like no others,” agreed Erwig. “An immediate obstacle is the Plain of Standing Stones, by reason of asms which haunt the area. I might add that pelgrane are also common.”

Cugel gave his sword a nervous twitch. “What is the distance to the Plain of Standing Stones?”

“Four miles south the ground rises and the Plain begins. The track proceeds from sarsen to sarsen for a distance of fifteen miles. A stout-hearted traveler will cross the plain in four to five hours, assuming that he is not delayed or devoured. The town Cuirnif lies another two hours beyond.”

“An inch of foreknowledge is worth ten miles of afterthought —”

“Well spoken!” cried Erwig, swallowing a gulp of arrak. “My own opinion, to an exactitude! Cugel, you are astute!”

“— and in this regard, may I inquire your opinion of Cuirnif?”

“The folk are peculiar in many ways,” said Erwig. “They preen themselves upon the gentility of their habits, yet they refuse to whitewash their hair, and they are slack in their religious observances. For instance, they make obeisance to Divine Wiulio with the right hand, not on the buttock, but on the abdomen, which we here consider a slipshod practice. What are your own views?”

“The rite should be conducted as you describe,” said Cugel. “No other method carries weight.”

Erwig refilled Cugel’s glass. “I consider this an important endorsement of our views!”

The door opened and Erwig’s spouse looked into the hut. “The night is dark. A bitter wind blows from the north, and a black beast prowls at the edge of the marsh.”

“Stand among the shadows; divine Wiulio protects his own. It is unthinkable that you and your brats should annoy our guest.”

The woman grudgingly closed the door and returned into the night. Erwig pulled himself forward on his stool and swallowed a quantity of arrak. “The folk of Cuirnif, as I say, are strange enough, but their ruler, Duke Orbal, surpasses them in every category. He devotes himself to the study of marvels and prodigies, and every jack-leg magician with two spells in his head is feted and celebrated and treated to the best of the city.”

“Most odd!” declared Cugel.

Again the door opened and the woman looked into the hut. Erwig put down his glass and frowned over his shoulder. “What is it this time?”

“The beast is now moving among the huts. For all we know it may also worship Wiulio.”

Erwig attempted argument, but the woman’s face became obdurate. “Your guest might as well forego his niceties now as later, since we all, in any event, must sleep on the same heap of reeds.” She opened wide the door and commanded her urchins into the hut. Erwig, assured that no further conversation was possible, threw himself down upon the reeds, and Cugel followed soon after.

In the morning Cugel breakfasted on ash-cake and herb tea, and prepared to take his departure. Erwig accompanied him to the road. “You have made a favorable impression upon me, and I will assist you across the Plain of Standing Stones. At the first opportunity take up a pebble the size of your fist and make the trigrammatic sign upon it. If you are attacked, hold high the pebble and cry out: ‘Stand aside! I carry a sacred object!’ At the first sarsen, deposit the stone and select another from the pile, again make the sign and carry it to the second sarsen, and so across the plain.”

“So much is clear,” said Cugel. “But perhaps you should show me the most powerful version of the sign, and thus refresh my memory.”

Erwig scratched a mark in the dirt. “Simple, precise, correct! The folk of Cuirnif omit this loop and scrawl in every which direction.”

“Slackness, once again!” said Cugel.

“So then, Cugel: farewell! The next time you pass be certain to halt at my hut! My crock of arrak has a loose stopper!”

“I would not forego the pleasure for a thousand terces. And now, as to my indebtedness —”

Erwig held up his hand. “I accept no terces from my guests!” He jerked and his eyes bulged as his spouse came up and prodded him in the ribs. “Ah well,” said Erwig. “Give the woman a terce or two; it will cheer her as she performs her tasks.”

Cugel paid over five terces, to the woman’s enormous satisfaction, and so departed the village.

After four miles the road angled up to a gray plain studded at intervals with twelve-foot pillars of gray stone. Cugel found a large pebble, and placing his right hand on his buttock made a profound salute to the object. He scratched upon it a sign somewhat similar to that drawn for him by Erwig and intoned: “I commend this pebble to the attention of Wiulio! I request that it protect me across this dismal plain!”

He scrutinized the landscape, but aside from the sarsens and the long black shadows laid by the red morning sun, he discovered nothing worthy of attention, and thankfully set off along the track.

He had traveled no more than a hundred yards when he felt a presence and whirling about discovered an asm of eight fangs almost on his heels. Cugel held high the pebble and cried out: “Away with you! I carry a sacred object and I do not care to be molested!”

The asm spoke in a soft blurred voice: “Wrong! You carry an ordinary pebble. I watched and you scamped the rite. Flee if you wish! I need the exercise.”

The asm advanced. Cugel threw the stone with all his force. It struck the black forehead between the bristling antennae, and the asm fell flat; before it could rise Cugel had severed its head.

He started to proceed, then turned back and took up the stone. “Who knows who guided the throw so accurately? Wiulio deserves the benefit of the doubt.”

At the first sarsen he exchanged stones as Erwig had recommended, and this time he made the trigrammatic sign with care and precision.

Without interference he crossed to the next sarsen and so continued across the plain.

The sun made its way to the zenith, rested a period, then descended into the west. Cugel marched unmolested from sarsen to sarsen. On several occasions he noted pelgrane sliding across the sky, and each time flung himself flat to avoid attention.

The Plain of Standing Stones ended at the brink of a scarp overlooking a wide valley. With safety close at hand Cugel relaxed his vigilance, only to be startled by a scream of triumph from the sky. He darted a horrified glance over his shoulder, then plunged over the edge of the scarp into a ravine, where he dodged among rocks and pressed himself into the shadows. Down swooped the pelgrane, past and beyond Cugel’s hiding place. Warbling in joy, it alighted at the base of the scarp, to evoke instant outcries and curses from a human throat.

Keeping to concealment Cugel descended the slope, to discover that the pelgrane now pursued a portly black-haired man in a suit of black and white diaper. This person at last took nimble refuge behind a thick-boled olophar tree, and the pelgrane chased him first one way, then another, clashing its fangs and snatching with its clawed hands.

For all his rotundity, the man showed remarkable deftness of foot and the pelgrane began to scream in frustration. It halted to glare through the crotch of the tree and snap out with its long maw.

On a whimsical impulse Cugel stole out upon a shelf of rock; then, selecting an appropriate moment, he jumped to land with both feet on the creature’s head, forcing the neck down into the crotch of the olophar tree. He called out to the startled man: “Quick! Fetch a stout cord! We will bind this winged horror in place!”

The man in the black and white diaper cried out: “Why show mercy? It must be killed and instantly! Move your foot, so that I may hack away its head.”

“Not so fast,” said Cugel. “For all its faults, it is a valuable specimen by which I hope to profit.”

“Profit?” The idea had not occurred to the portly gentleman. “I must assert my prior claim! I was just about to stun the beast when you interfered.”

Cugel said: “In that case I will take my weight off the creature’s neck and go my way.”

The man in the black-and-white suit made an irritable gesture. “Certain persons will go to any extreme merely to score a rhetorical point. Hold fast then! I have a suitable cord over yonder.”

The two men dropped a branch over the pelgrane’s head and bound it securely in place. The portly gentleman, who had introduced himself as Iolo the Dream-taker, asked: “Exactly what value do you place upon this horrid creature, and why?”

Cugel said: “It has come to my attention that Orbal, Duke of Ombalique, is an amateur of oddities. Surely he would pay well for such a monster, perhaps as much as a hundred terces.”

“Your theories are sound,” Iolo admitted. “Are you sure that the bonds are secure?”

As Cugel tested the ropes he noticed an ornament consisting of a blue glass egg on a golden chain attached to the creature’s crest. As he removed the object, Iolo’s hand darted out, but Cugel shouldered him aside. He disengaged the amulet, but Iolo caught hold of the chain and the two glared eye to eye.

“Release your grip upon my property,” said Cugel in an icy voice.

Iolo protested vigorously. “The object is mine since I saw it first.”

“Nonsense! I took it from the crest and you tried to snatch it from my hand.”

Iolo stamped his foot. “I will not be domineered!” He sought to wrest the blue egg from Cugel’s grasp. Cugel lost his grip and the object was thrown against the hillside where it broke in a bright blue explosion to create a hole into the hillside. Instantly a golden-gray tentacle thrust forth and seized Cugel’s leg.

Iolo sprang back and from a safe distance watched Cugel’s efforts to avoid being drawn into the hole. Cugel saved himself at the last moment by clinging to a stump. He called out: “Iolo, make haste! Fetch a cord and tie the tentacle to this stump; otherwise it will drag me into the hill!”

Iolo folded his arms and spoke in a measured voice: “Avarice has brought this plight upon you. It may be a divine judgment and I am reluctant to interfere.”

“What? When you fought tooth and nail to wrench the object from my hand?”

Iolo frowned and pursed his lips. “In any case I own a single rope: that which ties my pelgrane.”

“Kill the pelgrane!” panted Cugel. “Put the cord to its most urgent use!”

“You yourself valued this pelgrane at a hundred terces. The worth of the rope is ten terces.”

“Very well,” said Cugel through gritted teeth. “Ten terces for the rope, but I cannot pay a hundred terces for a dead pelgrane, since I carry only forty-five.”

“So be it. Pay over the forty-five terces. What surety can you offer for the remainder?”

Cugel managed to toss over his purse of terces. He displayed the opal ear-bangle which Iolo promptly demanded, but which Cugel refused to relinquish until the tentacle had been tied to the stump.

With poor grace Iolo hacked the head off the pelgrane, then brought over the rope and secured the tentacle to the stump, thus easing the strain upon Cugel’s leg.

“The ear-bangle, if you please!” said Iolo, and he poised his knife significantly near the rope.

Cugel tossed over the jewel. “There you have it: all my wealth. Now, please free me from this tentacle.”

“I am a cautious man,” said Iolo. “I must consider the matter from several perspectives.” He set about making camp for the night.

Cugel called out a plaintive appeal: “Do you remember how I rescued you from the pelgrane?”

“Indeed I do! An important philosophical question has thereby been raised. You disturbed a stasis and now a tentacle grips your leg, which is, in a sense, the new stasis. I will reflect carefully upon the matter.”

Cugel argued to no avail. Iolo built up a campfire over which he cooked a stew of herbs and grasses, which he ate with half a cold fowl and draughts of wine from a leather bottle.

Leaning back against a tree he gave his attention to Cugel. “No doubt you are on your way to Duke Orbal’s Grand Exposition of Marvels?”

“I am a traveler, no more,” said Cugel. “What is this ‘Grand Exposition’?”

Iolo gave Cugel a pitying glance for his stupidity. “Each year Duke Orbal presides over a competition of wonder-workers. This year the prize is one thousand terces, which I intend to win with my ‘Bagful of Dreams’.”

“Your ‘Bagful of Dreams’ I assume to be a jocularity, or something on the order of a romantic metaphor?”

“Nothing of the sort!” declared Iolo in scorn.

“A kaleidoscopic projection? A program of impersonations? A hallucinatory gas?”

“None of these. I carry with me a number of pure unadulterated dreams, coalesced and crystallized.”

From his satchel Iolo brought a sack of soft brown leather, from which he took an object resembling a pale blue snowflake an inch in diameter. He held it up into the firelight where Cugel could admire its fleeting lusters. “I will ply Duke Orbal with my dreams, and how can I fail to win over all other contestants?”

“Your chances would seem to be good. How do you gather these dreams?”

“The process is secret; still I can describe the general procedure. I live beside Lake Lelt in the Land of Dai-Passant. On calm nights the surface of the water thickens to a film which reflects the stars as small globules of shine. By using a suitable cantrap, I am able to lift up impalpable threads composed of pure starlight and water-skein. I weave this thread into nets and then I go forth in search of dreams. I hide under valances and in the leaves of outdoor bowers; I crouch on roofs; I wander through sleeping houses. Always I am ready to net the dreams as they drift past. Each morning I carry these wonderful wisps to my laboratory and there I sort them out and work my processes. In due course I achieve a crystal of a hundred dreams, and with these confections I hope to enthrall Duke Orbal.”

“I would offer congratulations were it not for this tentacle gripping my leg,” said Cugel.

“That is a generous emotion,” said Iolo. He fed several logs into the fire, chanted a spell of protection against creatures of the night, and composed himself for sleep.

An hour passed. Cugel tried by various means to ease the grip of the tentacle, without success, nor could he draw his sword or bring ‘Spatterlight’ from his pouch.

At last he sat back and considered new approaches to the solution of his problem.

By dint of stretching and straining he obtained a twig, with which he dragged close a long dead branch, which allowed him to reach another of equal length. Tying the two together with a string from his pouch, he contrived a pole exactly long enough to reach Iolo’s recumbent form.

Working with care Cugel drew Iolo’s satchel across the ground, finally to within reach of his fingers. First he brought out Iolo’s wallet, to find two hundred terces, which he transferred to his own purse; next the opal ear-bangle, which he dropped into the pocket of his shirt; then the bagful of dreams.

The satchel contained nothing more of value, save that portion of cold fowl which Iolo had reserved for his breakfast and the leather bottle of wine, both of which Cugel put aside for his own use. He returned the satchel to where he had found it, then separated the branches and tossed them aside. Lacking a better hiding place for the bagful of dreams, Cugel tied the string to the bag and lowered it into the mysterious hole. He ate the fowl and drank the wine, then made himself as comfortable as possible.

The night wore on. Cugel heard the plaintive call of a night-jar and also the moan of a six-legged shamb, at some distance.

In due course the sky glowed purple and the sun appeared. Iolo roused himself, yawned, ran his fingers through his tousled hair, blew up the fire and gave Cugel a civil greeting. “And how passed the night?”

“As well as could be expected. It is useless, after all, to complain against inexorable reality.”

“Exactly so. I have given considerable thought to your case, and I have arrived at a decision which will please you. This is my plan. I shall proceed into Cuirnif and there drive a hard bargain for the ear-bangle. After satisfying your account, I will return and pay over to you whatever sums may be in excess.”

Cugel suggested an alternative scheme. “Let us go into Cuirnif together; then you will be spared the inconvenience of a return trip.”

Iolo shook his head. “My plan must prevail.” He went to the satchel for his breakfast and so discovered the loss of his property. He uttered a plangent cry and stared at Cugel. “My terces, my dreams! They are gone, all gone! How do you account for this?”

“Very simply. At approximately four minutes after midnight a robber came from the forest and made off with the contents of your satchel.”

Iolo tore at his beard with the fingers of both hands. “My precious dreams! Why did you not cry out an alarm?”

Cugel scratched his head. “In all candor I did not dare disturb the stasis.”

Iolo jumped to his feet and looked through the forest in all directions. He turned back to Cugel. “What sort of man was this robber?”

“In certain respects he seemed a kindly man; after taking possession of your belongings, he presented me with half a cold fowl and a bottle of wine, which I consumed with gratitude.”

“You consumed my breakfast!”

Cugel shrugged. “I could not be sure of this, and in fact I did not inquire. We held a brief conversation and I learned that like ourselves he is bound for Cuirnif and the Exposition of Marvels.”

“Ah, ah ha! Would you recognize this person were you to see him again?”

“Without a doubt.”

Iolo became instantly energetic. “Let us see as to this tentacle. Perhaps we can pry it loose.” He seized the tip of the golden-gray member and bracing himself worked to lift it from Cugel’s leg. For several minutes he toiled, kicking and prying, paying no heed to Cugel’s cries of pain. Finally the tentacle relaxed and Cugel crawled to safety.

With great caution Iolo approached the hole and peered down into the depths. “I see only a glimmer of far lights. The hole is mysterious! … What is this bit of string which leads into the hole?”

“I tied a rock to the string and tried to plumb the bottom of the hole,” Cugel explained. “It amounts to nothing.”

Iolo tugged at the string, which first yielded, then resisted, then broke, and Iolo was left looking at the frayed end. “Odd! The string is corroded, as if through contact with some acrid substance.”

“Most peculiar!” said Cugel.

Iolo threw the string back into the hole. “Come, we can waste no more time! Let us hasten into Cuirnif and seek out the scoundrel who stole my valuables.”

The road left the forest and passed through a district of fields and orchards. Peasants looked up in wonder as the two passed by: the portly Iolo dressed in black and white diaper and the lank Cugel with a black cloak hanging from his spare shoulders and a fine dark green cap gracing his saturnine visage.

Along the way Iolo put ever more searching questions in regard to the robber. Cugel had lost interest in the subject and gave back ambiguous, even contradictory, answers, and Iolo’s questions became ever more searching.

Upon entering Cuirnif, Cugel noticed an inn which seemed to offer comfortable accommodation. He told Iolo: “Here our paths diverge, since I plan to stop at the inn yonder.”

“The Five Owls? It is the dearest inn of Cuirnif! How will you pay your account?”

Cugel made a confident gesture. “Is not a thousand terces the grand prize at the Exposition?”

“Certainly, but what marvel do you plan to display? I warn you, the Duke has no patience with charlatans.”

“I am not a man who tells all he knows,” said Cugel. “I will disclose none of my plans at this moment.”

“But what of the robber?” cried Iolo. “Were we not to search Cuirnif high and low?”

“The Five Owls is as good a vantage as any, since the robber will surely visit the common room to boast of his exploits and squander your terces on drink. Meanwhile, I wish you easy roofs and convenient dreams.” Cugel bowed politely and took his leave of Iolo.

At the Five Owls Cugel selected a suitable chamber, where he refreshed himself and ordered his attire. Then, repairing to the common room, he made a leisurely meal upon the best the house could provide.

The innkeeper stopped by to make sure that all was in order and Cugel complimented him upon his table. “In fact, all taken with all, Cuirnif must be considered a place favored by the elements. The prospect is pleasant, the air is bracing, and Duke Orbal would seem to be an indulgent ruler.”

The innkeeper gave a somewhat noncommital assent. “As you indicate, Duke Orbal is never exasperated, truculent, suspicious, nor harsh unless in his wisdom he feels so inclined, whereupon all mildness is put aside in the interests of justice. Glance up to the crest of the hill; what do you see?”

“Four tubes, or stand-pipes, approximately thirty yards tall and one yard in diameter.”

“Your eye is accurate. Into these tubes are dropped insubordinate members of society, without regard for who stands below or who may be coming after. Hence, while you may converse with Duke Orbal or even venture a modest pleasantry, never ignore his commands. Criminals, of course, are given short shrift.”

Cugel, from habit, looked uneasily over his shoulder. “Such strictures will hardly apply to me, a stranger in town.”

The innkeeper gave a skeptical grunt. “I assume that you came to witness the Exposition of Marvels?”

“Quite so! I may even try for the grand prize. In this regard, can you recommend a dependable hostler?”

“Certainly.” The innkeeper provided explicit directions.

“I also wish to hire a gang of strong and willing workers,” said Cugel. “Where may these be recruited?”

The innkeeper pointed across the square to a dingy tavern. “In the yard of the ‘Howling Dog’ all the riffraff in town take counsel together. Here you will find workers sufficient to your purposes.”

“While I visit the hostler, be good enough to send a boy across to hire twelve of these sturdy fellows.”

“As you wish.”

At the hostler’s Cugel rented a large six-wheeled wagon and a team of strong farlocks. When he returned with the wagon to the Five Owls, he found waiting a work-force of twelve individuals of miscellaneous sort, including a man not only senile but also lacking a leg. Another, in the throes of intoxication, fought away imaginary insects. Cugel discharged these two on the spot. The group also included Iolo the Dream-taker, who scrutinized Cugel with the liveliest suspicion.

Cugel asked: “My dear fellow, what do you do in such sordid company?”

“I take employment so that I may eat,” said Iolo. “May I ask how you came by the funds to pay for so much skilled labor? Also, I notice that from your ear hangs that gem which only last night was my property!”

“It is the second of a pair,” said Cugel. “As you know, the robber took the first along with your other valuables.”

Iolo curled his lip. “I am more than ever anxious to meet this quixotic robber who takes my gem but leaves you in possession of yours.”

“He was indeed a remarkable person. I believe that I glimpsed him not an hour ago, riding hard out of town.”

Iolo again curled his lip. “What do you propose to do with this wagon?”

“If you care to earn a wage, you will soon find out for yourself.”

Cugel drove the wagon and the gang of workers out of Cuirnif along the road to the mysterious hole, where he found all as before. He ordered trenches dug into the hillside; crating was installed, after which that block of soil surrounding and including the hole, the stump and the tentacle, was dragged up on the bed of the wagon.

During the middle stages of the project Iolo’s manner changed. He began calling orders to the workmen and addressed Cugel with cordiality. “A noble idea, Cugel! We shall profit greatly!”

Cugel raised his eyebrows. “I hope indeed to win the grand prize. Your wage, however, will be relatively modest, even scant, unless you work more briskly.”

“What!” stormed Iolo. “Surely you agree that this hole is half my property!”

“I agree to nothing of the sort. Say no more of the matter, or you will be discharged on the spot.”

Grumbling and fuming Iolo returned to work. In due course Cugel conveyed the block of soil, with the hole, stump and tentacle, back to Cuirnif. Along the way he purchased an old tarpaulin with which he concealed the hole, the better to magnify the eventual effect of his display.

At the site of the Grand Exposition Cugel slid his exhibit off the wagon and into the shelter of a pavilion, after which he paid off his men, to the dissatisfaction of those who had cultivated extravagant hopes.

Cugel refused to listen to complaints. “The pay is sufficient! If it were ten times as much, every last terce would still end up in the till at the ‘Howling Dog’.”

“One moment!” cried Iolo. “You and I must arrive at an understanding!”

Cugel merely jumped up on the wagon and drove it back to the hostelry. Some of the men pursued him a few steps; others threw stones, without effect.

On the following day trumpets and gongs announced the formal opening of the exposition. Duke Orbal arrived at the plaza wearing a splendid robe of magenta plush trimmed with white feathers, and a hat of pale blue velvet three feet in diameter, with silver tassels around the brim and a cockade of silver puff.

Mounting a rostrum, Duke Orbal addressed the crowd. “As all know, I am considered an eccentric, what with my enthusiasm for marvels and prodigies, but, after all, when the preoccupation is analyzed, is it all so absurd? Think back across the aeons to the times of the Vapurials, the Green and Purple College, the mighty magicians among whose number we include Amberlin, the second Chidule of Porphyrhyncos, Morreion, Calanctus the Calm, and of course the Great Phandaal. These were the days of power, and they are not likely to return except in nostalgic recollection. Hence this, my Grand Exposition of Marvels, and withal, a pale recollection of the way things were.

“Still, all taken with all, I see by my schedule that we have a stimulating program, and no doubt I will find difficulty in awarding the grand prize.”

Duke Orbal glanced at a paper. “We will inspect Zaraflam’s ‘Nimble Squadrons’, Bazzard’s ‘Unlikely Musicians’, Xallops and his ‘Compendium of Universal Knowledge’. Iolo will offer his ‘Bagful of Dreams’, and, finally, Cugel will present for our amazement that to which he gives the tantalizing title: ‘Nowhere’. A most provocative program! And now without further ado we will proceed to evaluate Zaraflam’s ‘Nimble Squadrons’.”

The crowd surged around the first pavilion and Zaraflam brought forth his ‘Nimble Squadrons’: a parade of cockroaches smartly turned out in red, white, and black uniforms. The sergeants brandished cutlasses; the foot soldiers carried muskets; the squadrons marched and countermarched in intricate evolutions.

“Halt!” bawled Zaraflam.

The cockroaches stopped short.

“Present arms!”

The cockroaches obeyed.

“Fire a salute in honor of Duke Orbal!”

The sergeants raised their cutlasses; the footmen elevated their muskets. Down came the cutlasses; the muskets exploded, emitting little puffs of white smoke.

“Excellent!” declared Duke Orbal. “Zaraflam, I commend your painstaking accuracy!”

“A thousand thanks, your Grace! Have I won the grand prize?”

“It is still too early to predict. Now, to Bazzard and his ‘Unlikely Musicians’!”

The spectators moved on to the second pavilion where Bazzard presently appeared, his face woebegone. “Your Grace and noble citizens of Cuirnif! My ‘Unlikely Musicians’ were fish from the Cantic Sea and I felt sure of the grand prize when I brought them to Cuirnif. However, during the night a leak drained the tank dry. The fish are dead and their music is lost forever! I still wish to remain in contention for the prize; hence I will simulate the songs of my former troupe. Please adjudicate the music on this basis.”

Duke Orbal made an austere sign. “Impossible. Bazzard’s exhibit is hereby declared invalid. We now move on to Xallops and his remarkable ‘Compendium’.”

Xallops stepped forward from his pavilion. “Your Grace, ladies and gentlemen of Cuirnif! My entry at this exposition is truly remarkable; however, unlike Zaraflam and Bazzard, I can take no personal credit for its existence. By trade I am a ransacker of ancient tombs, where the risks are great and rewards few. By great good luck I chanced upon that crypt where several aeons ago the sorcerer Zinqzin was laid to rest. From this dungeon I rescued the volume which I now display to your astounded eyes.”

Xallops whisked away a cloth to reveal a great book bound in black leather. “On command this volume must reveal information of any and every sort; it knows each trivial detail, from the time the stars first caught fire to the present date. Ask; you shall be answered!”

“Remarkable!” declared Duke Orbal. “Present before us the Lost Ode of Psyrme!”

“Certainly,” said the book in a rasping voice. It threw back its covers to reveal a page covered with crabbed and interlocked characters.

Duke Orbal put a perplexed question: “This is beyond my comprehension; you may furnish a translation.”

“The request is denied,” said the book. “Such poetry is too sweet for ordinary ears.”

Duke Orbal glanced at Xallops, who spoke quickly to the book: “Show us scenes from aeons past.”

“As you like. Reverting to the Nineteenth Aeon of the Fifty-second Cycle, I display a view across Linxfade Valley, toward Kolghut’s Tower of Frozen Blood.”

“The detail is both notable and exact!” declared Duke Orbal. “I am curious to gaze upon the semblance of Kolghut himself.”

“Nothing could be easier. Here is the terrace of the Temple at Tanutra. Kolghut stands beside the flowering wail-bush. In the chair sits the Empress Noxon, now in her hundred and fortieth year. She has tasted no water in her entire lifetime, and eats only bitter blossom, with occasionally a morsel of boiled eel.”

“Bah!” said Duke Orbal. “A most hideous old creature! Who are those gentlemen ranked behind her?”

“They constitute her retinue of lovers. Every month one of their number is executed and a new stalwart is recruited to take his place. Competition is keen to win the affectionate regard of the Empress.”

“Bah!” muttered Duke Orbal. “Show us rather a beautiful court lady of the Yellow Age.”

The book spoke a petulant syllable in an unknown language. The page turned to reveal a travertine promenade beside a slow river.

“This view reveals to good advantage the topiary of the time. Notice here, and here!” With a luminous arrow the book indicated a row of massive trees clipped into globular shapes. “Those are irix, the sap of which may be used as an effective vermifuge. The species is now extinct. Along the concourse you will observe a multitude of persons. Those with black stockings and long white beards are Alulian slaves, whose ancestors arrived from far Canopus. They are also extinct. In the middle distance stands a beautiful woman named Jiao Jaro. She is indicated by a red dot over her head, although her face is turned toward the river.”

“This is hardly satisfactory,” grumbled Duke Orbal. “Xallops, can you not control the perversity of your exhibit?”

“I fear not, your Grace.”

Duke Orbal gave a sniff of displeasure. “A final question! Who among the folk now residing in Cuirnif presents the greatest threat to the welfare of my realm?”

“I am a repository of information, not an oracle,” stated the book. “However, I will remark that among those present stands a fox-faced vagabond with a crafty expression, whose habits would bring a blush to the cheeks of the Empress Noxon herself. His name —”

Cugel leapt forward and pointed across the plaza. “The robber! There he goes now! Summon the constables! Sound the gong!”

While everyone turned to look, Cugel slammed shut the book and dug his knuckles into the cover. The book grunted in annoyance.

Duke Orbal turned back with a frown of perplexity. “I saw no robber.”

“In that case, I was surely mistaken. But yonder waits Iolo with his famous ‘Bagful of Dreams’!”

The Duke moved on to Iolo’s pavilion, followed by the enthralled onlookers. Duke Orbal said: “Iolo the Dream-taker, your fame has preceded you all the distance from Dai-Passant! I hereby tender you an official welcome!”

Iolo answered in an anguished voice: “Your Grace, I have sorry news to relate. For the whole of one year I prepared for this day, hoping to win the grand prize. The blast of midnight winds, the outrage of householders, the terrifying attentions of ghosts, shrees, roof-runners and fermins: all of these have caused me discomfort! I have roamed the dark hours in pursuit of my dreams! I have lurked beside dormers, crawled through attics, hovered over couches; I have suffered scratches and contusions; but never have I counted the cost if through my enterprise I were able to capture some particularly choice specimen.

“Each dream trapped in my net I carefully examined; for every dream cherished and saved I released a dozen, and finally from my store of superlatives I fashioned my wonderful crystals, and these I brought down the long road from Dai-Passant. Then, only last night, under the most mysterious circumstances, my precious goods were stolen by a robber only Cugel claims to have seen.

“I now point out that the dreams, whether near or far, represent marvels of truly superlative quality, and I feel that a careful description of the items —”

Duke Orbal held up his hand. “I must reiterate the judgment rendered upon Bazzard. A stringent rule stipulates that neither imaginary nor purported marvels qualify for the competition. Perhaps we will have the opportunity to adjudicate your dreams on another occasion. Now we must pass on to Cugel’s pavilion and investigate his provocative ‘Nowhere’.”

Cugel stepped up on the dais before his exhibit. “Your Grace, I present for your inspection a legitimate marvel: not a straggle of insects, not a pedantic almanac, but an authentic miracle.” Cugel whisked away the cloth. “Behold!”

The Duke made a puzzled sound. “A pile of dirt? A stump? What is that odd-looking member emerging from the hole?”

“Your Grace, I have here an opening into an unknown space, with the arm of one of its denizens. Inspect this tentacle! It pulses with the life of another cosmos! Notice the golden luster of the dorsal surface, the green and lavender of these encrustations. On the underside you will discover three colors of a sort never before seen!”

With a nonplussed expression Duke Orbal pulled at his chin. “This is all very well, but where is the rest of the creature? You present not a marvel, but the fraction of a marvel! I can make no judgment on the basis of a tail, or a hindquarters, or a proboscis, whatever the member may be. Additionally, you claim that the hole enters a far cosmos; still I see only a hole, resembling nothing so much as the den of a wysen-imp.”

Iolo thrust himself forward. “May I venture an opinion? As I reflect upon events, I have become convinced that Cugel himself stole my Dreams!”

“Your remarks interest no one,” said Cugel. “Kindly hold your tongue while I continue my demonstration.”

Iolo was not to be subdued so easily. He turned to Duke Orbal and cried in a poignant voice: “Hear me out, if you will! I am convinced that the ‘robber’ is no more than a figment of Cugel’s imagination! He took my dreams and hid them, and where else but in the hole itself? For evidence I cite that length of string which leads into the hole.”

Duke Orbal inspected Cugel with a frown. “Are these charges true? Answer exactly, since all can be verified.”

Cugel chose his words with care. “I can only affirm what I myself know. Conceivably the robber hid Iolo’s dreams in the hole while I was otherwise occupied. For what purpose? Who can say?”

Duke Orbal asked in a gentle voice: “Has anyone thought to search the hole for this elusive ‘bag of dreams’?”

Cugel gave an indifferent shrug. “Iolo may enter now and search to his heart’s content.”

“You claim this hole!” retorted Iolo. “It therefore becomes your duty to protect the public!”

For several minutes an animated argument took place, until Duke Orbal intervened. “Both parties have raised persuasive points; I feel, however, that I must rule against Cugel. I therefore decree that he search his premises for the missing dreams and recover them if possible.”

Cugel disputed the decision with such vigor that Duke Orbal turned to glance along the skyline, whereupon Cugel moderated his position. “The judgment of your Grace of course must prevail, and if I must, I will cast about for Iolo’s lost dreams, although his theories are clearly absurd.”

“Please do so, at once.”

Cugel obtained a long pole, to which he attached a grapple. Gingerly thrusting his contrivance into the hole, he raked back and forth, but succeeded only in stimulating the tentacle, which thrashed from side to side.

Iolo suddenly cried out in excitement. “I notice a remarkable fact! The block of earth is at most six feet in breadth, yet Cugel plunged into the hole a pole twelve feet in length! What trickery does he practice now?”

Cugel replied in even tones: “I promised Duke Orbal a marvel and a wonderment, and I believe that I have done so.”

Duke Orbal nodded gravely. “Well said, Cugel! Your exhibit is provocative! Still, you offer us only a tantalizing glimpse: a bottomless hole, a length of tentacle, a strange color, a far-off light — to the effect that your exhibit seems somewhat makeshift and impromptu. Contrast, if you will, the precision of Zaraflam’s cockroaches!” He held up his hand as Cugel started to protest. “You display a hole: admitted, and a fine hole it is. But how does this hole differ from any other? Can I in justice award the prize on such a basis?”

“The matter may be resolved in a manner to satisfy us all,” said Cugel. “Let Iolo enter the hole, to assure himself that his dreams are indeed elsewhere. Then, on his return, he will bear witness to the truly marvelous nature of my exhibit.”

Iolo made an instant protest. “Cugel claims the exhibit; let him make the exploration!”

Duke Orbal raised his hand for silence. “I pronounce a decree to the effect that Cugel must immediately enter his exhibit in search of Iolo’s properties, and likewise make a careful study of the environment, for the benefit of us all.”

“Your Grace!” protested Cugel. “This is no simple matter! The tentacle almost fills the hole!”

“I see sufficient room for an agile man to slide past.”

“Your Grace, to be candid, I do not care to enter the hole, by reason of extreme fear.”

Duke Orbal again glanced up at the tubes which stood in a row along the skyline. He spoke over his shoulder to a burly man in a maroon and black uniform. “Which of the tubes is most suitable for use at this time?”

“The second tube from the right, your Grace, is only one-quarter occupied.”

Cugel declared in a trembling voice: “I fear, but I have conquered my fear! I will seek Iolo’s lost dreams!”

“Excellent,” said Duke Orbal with a tight-lipped grin. “Please do not delay; my patience wears thin.”

Cugel tentatively thrust a leg into the hole, but the motion of the tentacle caused him to snatch it out again. Duke Orbal muttered a few words to his constable, who brought up a winch. The tentacle was hauled forth from the hole a good five yards.

Duke Orbal instructed Cugel: “Straddle the tentacle, seize it with hands and legs and it will draw you back through the hole.”

In desperation Cugel clambered upon the tentacle. The tension of the winch was relaxed and Cugel was pulled into the hole.

The light of Earth curled away from the opening and made no entrance; Cugel was plunged into a condition of near-total darkness, where, however, by some paradoxical condition he was able to sense the scope of his new environment in detail.

He stood on a surface at once flat, yet rough, with rises and dips and hummocks like the face of a windy sea. The black spongy stuff underfoot showed small cavities and tunnels in which Cugel sensed the motion of innumerable near-invisible points of light. Where the sponge rose high, the crest curled over like breaking surf, or stood ragged and crusty; in either case, the fringes glowed red, pale blue and several colors Cugel had never before observed. No horizon could be detected and the local concepts of distance, proportion, and size were not germane to Cugel’s understanding.

Overhead hung dead Nothingness. The single feature of note, a large disk the color of rain, floated at the zenith, an object so dim as to be almost invisible. At an indeterminate distance — a mile? ten miles? a hundred yards? — a hummock of some bulk overlooked the entire panorama. On closer inspection Cugel saw this hummock to be a prodigious mound of gelatinous flesh, inside which floated a globular organ apparently analogous to an eye. From the base of this creature a hundred tentacles extended far and wide across the black sponge. One of these tentacles passed near Cugel’s feet, through the intracosmic gap, and out upon the soil of Earth.

Cugel discovered Iolo’s sack of dreams, not three feet distant. The black sponge, bruised by the impact, had welled a liquid which had dissolved a hole in the leather, allowing the star-shaped dreams to spill out upon the sponge. In groping with the pole, Cugel had damaged a growth of brown palps. The resulting exudation had dripped upon the dreams and when Cugel picked up one of the fragile flakes, he saw that its edges glowed with eery fringes of color. The combination of oozes which had permeated the object caused his fingers to itch and tingle.

A score of small luminous nodes swarmed around his head, and a soft voice addressed him by name. “Cugel, what a pleasure that you have come to visit us! What is your opinion of our pleasant land?”

Cugel looked about in wonder; how could a denizen of this place know his name? At a distance of ten yards he noticed a small hummock of plasm not unlike the monstrous bulk with the floating eye.

Luminous nodes circled his head and the voice sounded in his ears: “You are perplexed, but remember, here we do things differently. We transfer our thoughts in small modules; if you look closely you will see them speeding through the fluxion: dainty little animalcules eager to unload their weight of enlightenment. There! Notice! Directly before your eyes hovers an excellent example. It is a thought of your own regarding which you are dubious; hence it hesitates, and awaits your decision.”

“What if I speak?” asked Cugel. “Will this not facilitate matters?”

“To the contrary! Sound is considered offensive and everyone deplores the slightest murmur.”

“This is all very well,” grumbled Cugel, “but —”

“Silence, please! Send forth animalcules only!”

Cugel dispatched a whole host of luminous purports: “I will do my best. Perhaps you can inform me how far this land extends?”

“Not with certainty. At times I send forth animalcules to explore the far places; they report an infinite landscape similar to that which you see.”

“Duke Orbal of Ombalique has commanded me to gather information and he will be interested in your remarks. Are valuable substances to be found here?”

“To a certain extent. There is proscedel and diphany and an occasional coruscation of zamanders.”

“My first concern, of course, is to collect information for Duke Orbal, and I must also rescue Iolo’s dreams; still I would be pleased to acquire a valuable trinket or two, if only to remind myself of our pleasant association.”

“Understandable! I sympathize with your objectives.”

“In that case, how may I obtain a quantity of such substances?”

“Easily. Simply send off animalcules to gather up your requirements.” The creature emitted a whole host of pale plasms which darted away in all directions and presently returned with several dozen small spheres sparkling with a frosty blue light. “Here are zamanders of the first water,” said the creature. “Accept them with my compliments.”

Cugel placed the gems in his pouch. “This is a most convenient system for gaining wealth. I also wish to obtain a certain amount of diphany.”

“Send forth animalcules! Why exert yourself needlessly?”

“We think along similar lines.” Cugel dispatched several hundred animalcules which presently returned with twenty small ingots of the precious metal.

Cugel examined his pouch. “I still have room for a quantity of proscedel. With your permission I will send out the requisite animalcules.”

“I would not dream of interfering,” asserted the creature.

The animalcules sped forth, and before long returned with sufficient proscedel to fill Cugel’s pouch. The creature said thoughtfully: “This is at least half of Uthaw’s treasure; however, he appears not to have noticed its absence.”

“‘Uthaw’?” inquired Cugel. “Do you refer to yonder monstrous hulk?”

“Yes, that is Uthaw, who sometimes is both coarse and irascible.”

Uthaw’s eye rolled toward Cugel and bulged through the outer membrane. A tide of animalcules arrived pulsing with significance. “I notice that Cugel has stolen my treasure, which I denounce as a breach of hospitality! In retribution, he must dig twenty-two zamanders from below the Shivering Trillows. He must then sift eight pounds of prime proscedel from the Dust of Time. Finally he must scrape eight acres of diphany bloom from the face of the High Disk.”

Cugel sent forth animalcules. “Lord Uthaw, the penalty is harsh but just. A moment while I go to fetch the necessary tools!” He gathered up the dreams and sprang to the aperture. Seizing the tentacle he cried through the hole: “Pull the tentacle, work the winch! I have rescued the dreams!”

The tentacle convulsed and thrashed, effectively blocking the opening. Cugel turned and putting his fingers to his mouth emitted a piercing whistle. Uthaw’s eye rolled upward and the tentacle fell limp.

The winch heaved at the tentacle and Cugel was drawn back through the hole. Uthaw, recovering his senses, jerked his tentacle so violently that the rope snapped; the winch was sent flying; and several persons were swept from their feet. Uthaw jerked back his tentacle and the hole immediately closed.

Cugel cast the sack of dream-flakes contemptuously at the feet of Iolo. “There you are, ingrate! Take your vapid hallucinations and go your way! Let us hear no more of you!”

Cugel turned to Duke Orbal. “I am now able to render a report upon the other cosmos. The ground is composed of a black spongelike substance and flickers with a trillion infinitesimal glimmers. My research discovered no limits to the extent of the land. A pale disk, barely visible, covers a quarter of the sky. The denizens are, first and foremost, an ill-natured hulk named Uthaw, and others more or less similar. No sound is allowed and meaning is conveyed by animalcules, which also procure the necessities of life. In essence, these are my discoveries, and now, with utmost respect, I claim the grand prize of one thousand terces.”

From behind his back Cugel heard Iolo’s mocking laughter. Duke Orbal shook his head. “My dear Cugel, what you suggest is impossible. To what exhibit do you refer? The boxful of dirt yonder? It lacks all pretensions to singularity.”

“But you saw the hole! With your winch you pulled the tentacle! In accordance with your orders, I entered the hole and explored the region!”

“True enough, but hole and tentacle are both vanished. I do not for a moment suggest mendacity, but your report is not easily verified. I can hardly award honors to an entity so fugitive as the memory of a non-existent hole! I fear that on this occasion I must pass you by. The prize will be awarded to Zaraflam and his remarkable cockroaches.”

“A moment, your Grace!” Iolo called out. “Remember, I am entered in the competition! At last I am able to display my products! Here is a particularly choice item, distilled from a hundred dreams captured early in the morning from a bevy of beautiful maidens asleep in a bower of fragrant vines.”

“Very well,” said Duke Orbal. “I will delay the award until I test the quality of your visions. What is the procedure? Must I compose myself for slumber?”

“Not at all! The ingestion of the dream during waking hours produces not a hallucination, but a mood: a sensibility fresh, new and sweet: an allurement of the faculties, an indescribable exhilaration. Still, why should you not be comfortable as you test my dreams? You there! Fetch a couch! And you, a cushion for his Grace’s noble head. You! Be good enough to take his Grace’s hat.”

Cugel saw no profit in remaining. He moved to the outskirts of the throng.

Iolo brought forth his dream and for a moment seemed puzzled by the ooze still adhering to the object, then decided to ignore the matter, and paid no further heed, except to rub his fingers as if after contact with some viscid substance.

Making a series of grand gestures, Iolo approached the great chair where Duke Orbal sat at his ease. “I will arrange the dream for its most convenient ingestion,” said Iolo. “I place a quantity into each ear; I insert a trifle up each nostril; I arrange the balance under your Grace’s illustrious tongue. Now, if your Grace will relax, in half a minute the quintessence of a hundred exquisite dreams will be made known.”

Duke Orbal became rigid. His fingers clenched the arms of the chair. His back arched and his eyes bulged from their sockets. He turned over backward, then rolled, jerked, jumped and bounded about the plaza before the amazed eyes of his subjects.

Iolo called out in a brassy voice: “Where is Cugel? Fetch that scoundrel Cugel!”

But Cugel had already departed Cuirnif and was nowhere to be found.