3.

 

 

 

TRANQUILITY HAD COME TO THE ELDER ISLES. From east to west, from north to south, throughout the numerous islands—after turbulent centuries of invasion, raid, siege, treachery, feud, rapine, arson and murder—town, coast and countryside alike were at peace.

Two isolated localities were special cases. The first of these was Wysrod, where King Audry’s diffident troops marched up and down the dank glens and patrolled the stony fells in their efforts to defeat the coarse and insolent Celts, who jeered from the heights and moved through the winter mists like wraiths. The second node of trouble affected the highlands of North and South Ulfland, where the Ska outcast Torqual and his band of cutthroats committed atrocious crimes as the mood came upon them.

Otherwise the eight realms enjoyed what was at least a nominal amity. Few folk, however, considered the peace other than temporary and highly fragile. The general pessimism was based upon King Casmir’s known intent to restore the throne Evandig and the Round Table, Cairbra an Meadhan—otherwise known as the ‘Board of Notables’—to its rightful place in the Old Hall at Haidion. King Casmir’s ambitions went farther: he intended to bring all the Elder Isles under his rule.

Casmir’s plans were clear and almost explicit. He would strike hard into Dahaut, and hope to win a quick, easy and decisive victory over King Audry’s enfeebled forces. Casmir would then merge the resources of Dahaut with his own and deal with King Aillas at his leisure.

Casmir was given pause only by the policy of King Aillas, whose competence Casmir had come to respect. Aillas had asserted that the safety of his own realm, which now embraced Troicinet, the Isle of Scola, Dascinet, North and South Ulfland, depended upon the separate existence of both Dahaut and Lyonesse. Further, he had let it be known that, in the event of war, he would instantly range himself on the side of the party under attack, so that the aggressor must infallibly be defeated and his realm destroyed.

Casmir, assuming an attitude of benign indifference, merely intensified his preparations: reinforcing his armies, strengthening his fortresses and establishing supply depots at strategic points. Even more ominous, he gradually began to concentrate his power in the northeast provinces of Lyonesse, though the process was sufficiently deliberate that it could not be considered a provocation.

Aillas noted these events with foreboding. He had no illusions in regard to King Casmir and his objectives; first, he would bring Pomperol and Blaloc into his camp either through alliance, facilitated by a royal marriage, or perhaps through intimidation alone. By such a process he had absorbed the old kingdom of Caduz: now a province of Lyonesse.

Aillas decided that Casmir’s ominous pressure must be counteracted. To this end he despatched Prince Dhrun with a suitable escort of dignitaries first to Falu Ffail at Avallon, thence to confer with bibulous King Milo at Twissamy in Blaloc, then to King Kestrel’s court at Gargano in Pomperol. In each instance, Dhrun delivered the same message, asserting the hope of King Aillas for continued peace, and promising full assistance in the event of attack from any quarter. In order that the declaration should not be considered provocative, Dhrun had been instructed to make the same pledge to King Casmir of Lyonesse.

Dhrun had long been invited to Prince Cassander’s birthday celebration and had returned a conditional acceptance. As it happened, his mission went expeditiously and so, with time to spare, Dhrun set off at best speed toward Sarris.

The journey took him down Icnield Way to Tatwillow Town on Old Street; here he took leave of his escort, who would continue south to Slute Skeme and there take ship to Domreis across the Lir. Accompanied only by his squire Amery, Dhrun rode westward along Old Street to the village Tawn Twillett. Leaving Amery at the inn, he turned aside and rode north up Twamble Lane, into the Forest of Tantrevalles. After two miles he came out on Lally Meadow, where Trilda, the manse of Shimrod the Magician, was situated at the back of a flower garden.

Dhrun dismounted at the gate which gave upon the garden. Trilda was silent; a wisp of smoke from the chimney, however, indicated that Shimrod was in residency. Dhrun pulled on a dangling chain, to prompt a deep reverberating chime to sound from deep inside the manse.

A minute passed. As Dhrun waited, he admired the garden, which he knew to be tended during the night by a pair of goblin gardeners.

The door opened; Shimrod appeared. He welcomed Dhrun with affection and took him into the manse. Shimrod, so Dhrun learned, had been making ready to depart Trilda on business of his own. He agreed to accompany Dhrun first to Sarris, and then on to Lyonesse Town. Here they would go their separate ways: Dhrun across the Lir to Domreis, Shimrod to Swer Smod, Murgen’s castle on the stony flanks of the Teach tac Teach.

Three days passed by, and the time came to depart Trilda. Shimrod set out guardian creatures to protect the manse and its contents from marauders, then he and Dhrun rode away through the forest.

At Tawn Twillett they encountered another party on the route to Sarris, consisting of Prince Bittern of Pomperol, Prince Chalmes of Montferrone, with their respective escorts. Dhrun, his squire Amery, and Shimrod joined the company and all traveled onward together.

Immediately upon their arrival at Sarris they were conducted to the Great Hall, that they might participate in the reception. They went to stand at the side of the hall, waiting for an opportunity to approach the dais. Dhrun took occasion to study the royal family, whom he had not seen for several years. King Casmir had changed little; he was as Dhrun remembered him: burly, florid; his round blue eyes as cold and secret as if formed of glass. Queen Sollace sat like a great opulent statue, and somewhat more massive than the image in Dhrun’s recollection. Her skin, as before, was as white as lard; her hair, rolled and piled on top of her head, was a billow of pale gold. Prince Cassander had become a swashbuckling young gallant: vain, self-important, perhaps a trifle arrogant. His appearance had changed little; his curls were as brassily yellow as ever; his eyes, like those of King Casmir, were round, an iota too close together, and somewhat minatory, or so it seemed.

And there, at the end of the dais, sat Princess Madouc, bored, aloof, half-sulking and clearly longing to be elsewhere. Dhrun studied her a moment or two, wondering how much she knew in regard to the facts of her birth. Probably nothing, he surmised; who would inform her? Certainly not Casmir. So there sat Madouc, oblivious to the fairy blood which ran in her veins and which so noticeably set her apart from all the others on the dais. Indeed, thought Dhrun, she was a fascinating little creature, and by no means ill-favored.

The press at the royal dais diminished; the three princes went to present themselves to their hosts. Cassander’s greeting to Dhrun was crisp but not unfriendly: “Ah, Dhrun, my good fellow! I am pleased to see you here! We must have a good chat before the day is out; certainly before you leave!”

“I will look forward to the occasion,” said Dhrun.

King Casmir’s manner was more restrained, and even somewhat sardonic. “I have received reports in regard to your travels. It appears that you have become a diplomat at a very early age.”

“Hardly that, Your Majesty! I am no more than the messenger of King Aillas, whose sentiments to you are the same as he has extended to the other sovereigns of the Elder Isles. He wishes you a long reign and continued enjoyment of the peace and prosperity which now comforts us all. He further pledges that if you are wantonly attacked or invaded, and stand in danger, he will come to your aid with the full might of his united realms.”

Casmir gave back a curt nod. “The undertaking is generous! Still, has he considered every contingency? Does he not have the slightest qualm that a pledge of such scope might in the end prove too far-reaching, or even dangerous?”

“I believe he feels that when peace-loving rulers stand firmly united against an aggressive threat, they ensure their mutual safety, and that danger lies in any other course. How could it be otherwise?”

“Is it not obvious? There is no predicting the future. King Aillas might someday find himself committed to excursions far more perilous than any he now envisions.”

“No doubt that is possible, Your Majesty! I shall report your concerns to King Aillas. At the moment we can only hope that the reverse is a more probable event, and that our undertaking will help to keep the peace everywhere across the Elder Isles.”

King Casmir said tonelessly: “What is peace? Balance three iron skewers tip to tip, one upon the other; at the summit, emplace an egg, so that it too poises static in mid-air, and there you have the condition of peace in this world of men.”

Dhrun bowed once more and moved on to Queen Sollace. She favored him with a vague smile and a languid wave. “In view of your important affairs, we had given up hope of seeing you.”

“I did my best to arrive on time, Your Highness. I would not like to miss so happy an occasion.”

“You should visit us more often! After all, you and Cassander have much in common.”

“That is true, Your Highness. I will try to do as you suggest.”

Dhrun bowed and moved aside, and found himself facing Madouc. Her expression, as she looked at him, was blank.

Dhrun spoke reproachfully: “You do not remember me?”

“I do—but I can’t remember when or where. Tell me.”

“We met at Domreis. I am Dhrun.”

Madouc’s face came alive with excitement. “Of course! You were younger!”

“And so were you. Noticeably younger.”

Madouc turned a quick glance toward Queen Sollace. Leaning back in her throne, she was speaking over her shoulder to Father Umphred.

Madouc said: “We met even before, long ago, in the Forest of Tantrevalles. At that time we were the same age! What do you think of that?”

Dhrun stared dumbfounded. At last, trying to keep his voice light, he said: “That meeting I do not recall.”

“I expect not,” said Madouc. “It was of very short duration. Probably we no more than looked at each other.”

Dhrun grimaced. This was not a topic to be bruited about within the hearing of King Casmir. At last he found his voice. “How did you chance upon this extraordinary notion?”

Madouc grinned, clearly amused by Dhrun’s perturbation. “My mother told me. You may rest easy; she also explained that I must keep the secret secure.”

Dhrun heaved a sigh. Madouc knew the truth—but how much of the truth? He said: “Whatever the case, we can’t discuss it here.”

“My mother said that he—” Madouc jerked her head toward Casmir “—would kill you if he knew. Is that your understanding?”

Dhrun turned a furtive glance toward Casmir. “I don’t know. We can’t talk about it now.”

Madouc gave an absent-minded nod. “As you like. Tell me something. Yonder stands a tall gentleman wearing a green cape. Like you he seems familiar, as if I have known him from somewhere before in my life. But I cannot remember the occasion.”

“That is Shimrod the Magician. No doubt you encountered him at Castle Miraldra at the same time you met me.”

“He has a most amusing face,” said Madouc. “I think that I would like him.”

“I am sure of it! He is an excellent fellow.” Dhrun looked to the side. “I must move on; others are waiting to speak to you.”

“There is still a moment or two,” said Madouc. “Will you talk with me later?”

“Whenever you like!”

Madouc darted a glance toward Lady Desdea. “What I would like is not what they want me to do. I am supposed to be on display, and make a good impression, especially upon Prince Bittern and Prince Chalmes and those others who are trying to estimate my value as a spouse.” Madouc spoke bitterly and the words came in a rush. “I like none of them! Prince Bittern has the face of a dead mackerel. Prince Chalmes struts and puffs and scratches his fleas. Prince Garcelin’s fat belly wags back and forth as he walks. Prince Dildreth of Man has a tiny mouth with big red lips and bad teeth. Prince Morleduc of Ting has sores on his neck, and little narrow eyes; I think he has a bad disposition, but perhaps he has sores elsewhere, which pain him when he sits. Duke Ccnac of Knook Keep is yellow as a Tartar. Duke Femus of Galway has a roaring voice and a gray beard and he says he is willing to marry me now.” Madouc looked at Dhrun sadly. “You are laughing at me!”

“Are all the persons you meet so distasteful?”

“Not all.”

“But Prince Dhrun is the worst?”

Madouc compressed her lips against a smile. “He is not as fat as Garcelin; he is livelier than Bittern; he wears no grey beard like Duke Femus nor does he roar; and his disposition seems better than that of Prince Morleduc.”

“That is because I have no sores on my rump.”

“Still—taken all with all—Prince Dhrun is not the worst of the lot.” From the corner of her eye, Madouc noticed that Queen Sollace had turned her head, and was listening to the conversation with both ears. Father Umphred, standing at her back, beamed and nodded his head, as if in enjoyment of some private joke.

Madouc gave her head a haughty toss and turned back to Dhrun. “I hope that we will have occasion to speak again.”

“I will make sure that we do.”

Dhrun rejoined Shimrod.

“So then: how did it go?” asked Shimrod.

“The formalities are complete,” said Dhrun. “I congratulated Cassander, warned King Casmir, flattered Queen Sollace and conversed with Princess Madouc, who is far and away the most amusing of the lot, and who also had the most provocative things to say.”

“I watched you with admiration,” said Shimrod. “You were the consummate diplomat in every detail. A skilled mummer could have done no better!”

“Do not feel deprived! There is still time for you to present yourself. Madouc especially wants to meet you.”

“Really? Or are you concocting a fanciful tale?”

“Not at all! Even from across the room she finds you amusing.”

“And that is a compliment?”

“I took it for such, although I must say that Madouc’s humor is somewhat wry and unexpected. She mentioned, quite casually, that she and I had met before, in the Forest of Tantrevalles. Then she sat grinning like a mischievous imp at my stupefaction.”

“Amazing! Where did she gain the information?”

“The circumstances are not quite clear to me. Apparently she has visited the forest and met her mother, who provided the relevant facts.”

“This is not good news. If she is as giddy and careless as her mother would seem to be, and lets the news slip to King Casmir, your life will at once become precarious. Madouc must be enjoined to silence.”

Dhrun looked dubiously toward Madouc, now engaged with the Duke Cypris of Skroy and his lady, the Duchess Pargot. “She is not so frivolous as she appears, and surely she will not betray me to King Casmir.”

“Still, I will caution her.” Shimrod watched Madouc for a moment. “She deals graciously enough with those two old personages, who would seem to be rather tiresome.”

“I suspect that the rumors about her are very wide of the mark.”

“So it would seem. I find her quite appealing, at least from this distance.”

Dhrun said pensively: “Someday a man will look deep into her blue eyes and there he will drown, and never be saved.”

The Duke and Duchess of Skroy moved on. Madouc, noticing that she was the topic of discussion, sat as demurely erect on the gilt and ivory throne as ever Lady Desdea might have hoped. As it happened, she had made a favorable impression upon both Duke Cypris and Lady Pargot, and they spoke of Madouc with approval to their friends, Lord Uls of Glyvern Ware and his stately spouse Lady Elsiflor. “How the rumors have flown about Madouc!” declared Lady Pargot. “She is said to be bold as old vinegar and wild as a lion. I insist that the reports are either malicious or exaggerated.”

“True!” stated Duke Cypris. “We found her as modestly innocent as a little flower.”

Lady Pargot went on. “Her hair is like a tumble of bright copper; she is truly quite striking!”

“Still, the girl is thin,” Lord Uls pointed out. “For adequacy and advantage, a female needs proper amplitude.”

Duke Cypris gave qualified agreement. “A learned Moor has worked out the exact formula, though I forget the numbers: so many square inches of skin to so many hands in height. The effect must be sumptuous but neither expansive nor rotund.”

“Quite so. That would be carrying the doctrine too far.”

Lady Elsiflor gave a disapproving sniff. “I would not allow any Moor to count the areas of my skin, no matter how long his beard, nor yet might he measure my stature in hands, as if I were a mare.”

The Duchess Pargot spoke querulously: “Is there not a certain lack of dignity to the exposition?”

Lady Elsiflor agreed. “As for the Princess, I doubt if she will ever conform to the Moorish ideal. But for her pretty face, she might pass for a boy.”

“All in good time!” declared Lord Uls. “She is still young in years.”

Duchess Pargot turned a sidelong glance toward King Casmir, whom she disliked. “Still they are already shopping her about, I find it quite premature.”

“It is no more than display,” declared Lord Uls bluffly. “They bait the hook and cast the line in order to learn which fish will strike.”

The heralds blew the six-note fanfare: ‘Recedens Regal’. King Casmir and Queen Sollace stood from their thrones and retired from the hall, that they might change into garments appropriate for the banquet. Madouc tried to slip away, but Devonet called out: “Princess Madouc, what of you? Shall we sit together at the banquet?”

Lady Desdea looked around. “Other plans have been made. Come, Your Highness! You must freshen yourself and don your beautiful garden frock.”

“I am well enough now,” growled Madouc. “There is no need to change.”

“Your opinions for once are irrelevant, in that they run counter to the queen’s requirements.”

“Why does she insist upon foolishness and waste? I will wear out these clothes changing them back and forth.”

“The queen has the best of reasons for all her decisions. Come along with you.”

Madouc sullenly allowed herself to be divested of her blue gown and dressed in a costume which, so she grudgingly decided, she liked equally well: a white blouse tied at the elbows with brown ribbons; a bodice of black velvet with a double row of small copper medallions down the front; a full pleated skirt of a bronze-russet similar to but less intense than the color of her curls.

Lady Desdea took her to the queen’s drawing room, where they waited until Queen Sollace had completed her own change of costume. Then, with Devonet and Chlodys following modestly behind, the group repaired to the south lawn. Here, in the shade of three enormous old oaks and only a few yards from the placid Glame, a lavish collation had been laid out upon a long trestle. Here and there around the lawn were arranged small tables, set with napery, baskets of fruit, ewers of wine, as well as plates, goblets, bowls and utensils. Three dozen stewards clad in livery of lavender and green stood at their posts, stiff as sentinels, awaiting the signal from the Seneschal to commence service. Meanwhile, the company of guests stood in knots and groups awaiting the arrival of the royal party.

On the green lawn and against the sunny blue of the sky the colors of their costumes made a gorgeous display. There were blues both light and dark, of lapis and of turquoise; purple, magenta and green; tawny orange, tan, buff and fusk; mustard ochre, the yellow of daffodil, rose pink, scarlet and pomegranate red. There were shirts and pleated bargoons of fine white silk, or Egyptian lawn; the hats were brave with many brims, sweeps, tiers, and plumes. Lady Desdea wore a relatively sedate gown of heather gray embroidered with red and black flowerets. As the royal party arrived on the lawn she took occasion to confer with Queen Sollace, who issued instructions to which Lady Desdea gave a bow of compliant understanding. She turned to speak with Madouc, only to discover that Madouc was nowhere to be seen.

Lady Desdea exclaimed in vexation and called to Devonet. “Where is the Princess Madouc? A moment ago she stood by my side; she has darted away, like a weasel through the hedge!”

Devonet replied in a voice of whimsical and confidential scorn: “No doubt she trotted off to the privy.”

“Ah! Always at the most awkward time!”

Devonet went on: “She said she had severely wanted to go for the last two hours.”

Lady Desdea frowned. Devonet’s manner was altogether too flippant, too knowing and too familiar. She said crisply: “All else aside, Princess Madouc is a cherished member of the royal family. We must be careful to avoid disrespect in our references!”

“I was only telling you the facts,” said Devonet lamely.

“Just so. Still, I hope that you will take my remarks to heart.” Lady Desdea swept away and went to post herself where she could intercept Madouc immediately upon her return from within the palace.

Minutes passed. Lady Desdea became impatient: where was the perverse little brat? What could she be up to?

King Casmir and Queen Sollace settled themselves at the royal table; the Seneschal nodded to the High Steward who clapped his hands together. Those guests still standing about the lawn seated themselves wherever convenient, in the company of relatives or friends, or with other persons whom they found congenial. Stewards in pairs stalked here and there with platters and trenchers, one to carry, another to serve.

Contrary to the intentions of Queen Sollace, Prince Bittern escorted the young Duchess Clavessa Montfoy of Sansiverre—this a small kingdom immediately north of Aquitaine. The duchess wore a striking gown of scarlet embroidered with black, purple and green peacocks which suited her to remarkable advantage. She was tall, vivacious of movement, with luxuriant black hair, flashing black eyes, and an enthusiastic manner which stimulated Prince Bittern’s most eager volubility.

Queen Sollace watched with cold disfavor. She had planned that Bittern should sit with Princess Madouc, that he might make her better acquaintance. Evidently this was not to be, and Sollace gave Lady Desdea a look of moist reproach, prompting Lady Desdea to peer even more earnestly toward the structure of Sarris. Why did the princess tarry so long?

In point of fact, Madouc had tarried not an instant. As soon as Lady Desdea had turned her back, she slipped around the outskirts of the company to where Dhrun and Shimrod stood, beside the most remote of the oak trees. Madouc’s arrival took them by surprise. “You come up on us with neither ceremony nor premonition,” said Dhrun. “Luckily we were exchanging no secrets.”

“I took care to use my best stealth,” said Madouc. “I am free at last, until someone searches me out.” She went to stand behind the bole of the oak. “Even now I am not safe; Lady Desdea can see through stone walls.”

“In that case, before you are dragged away, I will introduce my friend, Master Shimrod,” said Dhrun. “He too can see through stone walls, and whenever he likes.”

Madouc performed a prim curtsey, and Shimrod bowed. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I do not meet princesses every day!”

Madouc gave a rueful grimace. “I had rather be a magician, and see through walls. Is it difficult to learn?”

“Quite difficult, but much depends upon the student. I have tried to teach Dhrun a sleight or two, but with only fair success.”

“My mind is not flexible,” said Dhrun. “I cannot think so many thoughts at once.”

“That is the way of it, more often than not, and luckily so,” said Shimrod. “Otherwise, everyone would be a magician and the world would be an extraordinary place.”

Madouc considered. “Sometimes I think as many as seventeen thoughts all together.”

“That is good thinking!” said Shimrod. “Murgen occasionally manages thirteen, or even fourteen, but afterward collapses into a stupor.”

Madouc looked at him sadly. “You are laughing at me.”

“I would never dare laugh at a royal princess! That would be impertinence!”

“No one would care. I am a royal princess only because Casmir makes the pretense—and only so that he can marry me to Prince Bittern, or someone similar.”

Dhrun looked off across the lawn. “Bittern is fickle; he would make a poor match. Already he has turned his attention elsewhere. For the moment you are safe.”

“I must issue a warning,” said Shimrod. “Casmir is aware that you are a changeling, but he knows nothing of Suldrun’s first-born son. Should he gain so much as an inkling, Dhrun would be in great danger.”

Madouc peered around the tree to where King Casmir sat with Sir Ccnac of Knook Keep and Sir Lodweg of Cockaigne. “My mother cited the same warning. You need not worry; the secret is safe.”

“How did you happen to meet your mother?”

“I chanced to be in the forest, and there I met a wefkin named Zocco who taught me how to call my mother, and I did so.”

“She came?”

“Instantly. At first she seemed a bit cross, but in the end she decided to be proud of me. She is beautiful, if somewhat airy in her manners. Nor can I help but think her capricious, giving away her lovely baby as if it were a sausage—especially when that lovely baby was I. When I brought the subject up, she seemed more amused than otherwise, and claimed that I was subject to tantrums which made the change only sensible.”

“But you have outgrown these tantrums?”

“Oh yes, quite.”

Shimrod mused upon the subject. “A fairy’s thoughts can never be guessed. I have tried and failed; there is better hope of catching up quicksilver in your fingers.”

Madouc said wisely: “Magicians must consort often with fairies, since both are adepts in magic.”

Shimrod gave his head a smiling shake. “We use different magics. When first I wandered the world, such creatures were new to me. I enjoyed their frolics and pretty fancies. Now I am more settled, and I no longer try to fathom fairy logic. Someday, if you like, I will explain the difference between fairy magic and sandestin magic, which is used by most magicians.”

“Hm,” said Madouc. “I thought that magic was magic, and that was all there was to it!”

“Not so. Sometimes simple magic seems hard and hard magic seems simple. It is all very complicated. For instance—by your feet I see three dandelions. Pluck their pretty little blossoms.”

Madouc bent and picked the three yellow blooms.

“Hold them between your two hands,” said Shimrod. “Now, bring your hands to your face and kiss both thumbs together.”

Madouc raised her hands to her face and kissed her thumbs. Instantly the soft blossoms became hard and heavy inside her hands. “Oh! They have changed! May I look?”

“You may look.”

Madouc, opening her hands, discovered three heavy gold coins in place of the dandelion blossoms. “That is a fine trick! Can I do it myself?”

Shimrod shook his head. “Not now. It is not so easy as it seems. But you may keep the gold.”

“Thank you,” said Madouc. She inspected the coins somewhat dubiously. “If I should try to spend the coins, would they become flowers again?”

“If the magic had been done by fairies: perhaps, perhaps not. By sandestin magic, your coins are gold and will remain gold. In fact, the sandestin may well have purloined them from King Casmir’s strongbox, to save himself effort.”

Madouc smiled. “More than ever I am anxious to learn some of these skills. It is useless asking my mother; she lacks all patience. I inquired about my father, but she claimed to remember nothing, not even his name.”

“Your mother seems a trifle airy, or even absent-minded.”

Madouc gave a regretful sigh. “Absent-minded or worse, and I still can show no pedigree, either long or short.”

“Fairies are often careless in their connections,” murmured Shimrod. “It is a sad case.”

“Just so. My maidens-in-attendance call me ‘bastard’,” said Madouc ruefully. “I can only laugh at their ignorance, since they are referring to the wrong father.”

“That is coarse conduct,” said Shimrod. “I should think that Queen Sollace would disapprove.”

Madouc shrugged. “In these cases I dispense my own justice. Tonight, Chlodys and Devonet will find toads and turtles in their beds.”

“The penalty is just, and would seem persuasive.”

“Their minds are weak,” said Madouc. “They refuse to learn, and tomorrow I will hear it all over again. At first opportunity I intend to search out my pedigree, no matter where it lies hidden.”

Dhrun asked: “Where will you search? The evidence would seem to be scant, even non-existent.”

“I have not thought the matter through,” said Madouc. “Probably I will apply again to my mother and hope to stimulate her memory. If all else fails—” Madouc stopped short. “Chlodys has seen me! Look how she scampers off with the news!”

Dhrun frowned. “Your present company is not necessarily a scandal.”

“No matter! They want me to beguile Prince Bittern, or perhaps Prince Garcelin, who sits yonder gnawing a pig’s foot.”

“The remedy is simple,” said Shimrod. “Let us sit at a table and gnaw pigs’ feet of our own. They will hesitate to alter such definite arrangements.”

“It is worth a trial,” said Madouc. “However, I will gnaw no pig’s foot. I much prefer a roast pheasant well-basted with butter.”

“So do I,” said Dhrun. “A few leeks to the side and some bread will suit me nicely.”

“Well then: let us dine,” said Shimrod.

The three seated themselves at a table in the shade of the oak, and were served from great silver salvers by the stewards.

Lady Desdea meanwhile had gone to take instruction from Queen Sollace. The two engaged in a hurried conference, after which Lady Desdea marched purposefully across the lawn to the table where Madouc sat with Dhrun and Shimrod. She stopped beside Madouc and spoke in a voice carefully controlled: “Your Highness, I must inform you that Prince Bittern has urgently begged that you do him the honour of dining in his company. The queen desires that you accede to his request, and at once.”

“You must be mistaken,” said Madouc. “Prince Bittern is absolutely fascinated by that tall lady with the long nose.”

“That is the distinguished Duchess Clavessa Montfoy. However, please take note: Prince Cassander has persuaded her to take a turn on the river before proceeding with the banquet. Prince Bittern now sits alone.”

Madouc turned to look; indeed, Prince Cassander and the Duchess Clavessa were strolling off toward the dock, where three punts floated in the shade of a weeping-willow. The Duchess Clavessa, although perplexed by Prince Cassander’s proposal, continued to exercise her usual effervescence, and chattered away at a great rate. Prince Cassander was less effusive; he conducted himself with urbane politeness but no great zest. As for Prince Bittern, he sat looking after the Duchess Clavessa, slack-jawed and glum.

Lady Desdea told Madouc: “As you see, Prince Bittern is anxiously awaiting your presence.”

“Not so! You misread his posture. He is anxious to join Cassander and Duchess Clavessa on the river.”

Lady Desdea’s eyes glittered. “You must obey the queen! She feels that your place is properly with Prince Bittern.”

Dhrun spoke in cold tones: “You would seem to imply that the princess now sits in unsuitable or demeaning company. If this discourtesy is carried any farther, I will instantly protest to King Casmir, and ask him to deal with what would seem a gross breach of etiquette.”

Lady Desdea blinked and drew back. She performed a stiff bow. “Naturally I intended no discourtesy. I am only an instrument of the queen’s wishes.”

“The queen, then, must be at some misapprehension. The princess does not wish to deprive us of her company, and she seems quite at her ease; why create a fiasco?”

Lady Desdea could proceed no farther. She curtsied and departed.

With a drooping mouth Madouc watched her go. “She will take vengeance—needlework and more needlework for hours on end.” Madouc turned a thoughtful glance upon Shimrod. “Can you teach me to transform Lady Desdea into an owl, if only for a day or so?”

“Transformations are complicated,” said Shimrod. “Each step is critical; if a single syllable went awry, Lady Desdea might become a harpy or an orc, with the whole countryside at peril. You must delay transformations until you are more experienced.”

“I am apt at magic, according to my mother. She taught me the ‘Tinkle-toe Impspring’, that I might fend off bandits or louts.”

“I don’t know that particular effect,” said Shimrod. “At least, not by that name.”

“It is simple enough.” Madouc looked here and there, around the lawn and down the slope toward the river. Near the dock she took note of Prince Cassander, who was politely seating Duchess Clavessa in a punt, while at the same time making a gallant remark. Madouc arranged thumb and finger, muttered: “Fwip!” and jerked her chin. Prince Cassander gave a startled outcry and jumped into the river.

“That was the ‘low strength’ or ‘low virtue’ method,” said Madouc. “The other two ‘virtues’ are more notable. I saw Zocco the wefkin jump a good six feet into the air.”

“That is a fine technique,” said Shimrod. “It is neat, quick and of nice effect. Evidently you have not used the ‘Tinkle-toe’ in any of its virtues upon Lady Desdea?”

“No. It seems a bit extreme, and I would not want her to jump past her ordinary ability.”

“Let me think,” said Shimrod. “There is a lesser effect known as the ‘Sissle-way’, which also comes in three gradations: the ‘Subsurrus’, the ‘Sissle-way Ordinary’, and the ‘Chatter-fang’.”

“I would like to learn this effect.”

“The sleight is definite but subtle. You must whisper the activator—schkt—then point your little finger, thus and so, and then you must hiss softly—like this.”

Madouc jerked and twitched, her teeth rattling and vibrating. “Ow-wow!” said Madouc.

“That,” said Shimrod, “is the first virtue, or the ‘Subsurrus’. As you have noticed, the effect is transient. For greater urgency, one uses the ‘Ordinary’, with a double hiss: ‘Sss-sss’. The third level is, of course, the ‘Chatter-fang’, where the activator is used twice.”

Dhrun asked: “And what of three hisses and three activators?”

“Nothing. The effect is vitiated. Speak the activator, if you like, but do not hiss, since you might startle some unsuspecting person.”

“Schkt,” said Madouc. “Is that correct?”

“It is close. Try again, like this: Schkt.”

“Schkt.”

“Precisely right, but you must practice until it becomes second nature.”

“Schkt. Schkt. Schkt.”

“Well done! Do not hiss, please.”

They paused to watch Prince Cassander slouching despondently across the lawn toward Sarris. Meanwhile Duchess Clavessa had rejoined Prince Bittern, and had resumed her conversation where it had been left off.

“All worked out well,” said Shimrod. “And here is the steward with a platter of roast pheasants. This is culinary magic with which I cannot compete. Steward, be so good as to serve us all, and do not stint.”