Chapter 9

1.

 

 

 

KING THROBIUS GREW WEARY AND DECIDED TO SIT. With a gesture he brought a throne from the castle and caused it to be placed directly at his back. The implets who carried his train scurried frantically lest the throne pin the royal cloak to the turf, with consequences painful to themselves.

King Throbius settled himself upon the throne: a construction of ebony riveted with rosettes of black iron and pearl, surmounted by a fan of ostrich plumes. For a moment King Throbius sat upright, while the implets, working at speed, though with quarreling and bickering, arranged his train to its best display. He then leaned back to take his comfort.

Queen Bossum sauntered past on her way to the castle, where she would change to a costume suitable for the activities she had planned for the afternoon. She paused beside the throne and proffered a suggestion which King Throbius found persuasive. Queen Bossum continued to the castle and King Throbius summoned three of his officials: Triollet, the Lord High Steward; Mipps, Chief Victualler to the Royal Board; and Chaskervil, Keeper of the Bins.

The three responded with alacrity and listened in respectful silence while King Throbius issued his instructions. “Today is auspicious,” said King Throbius in his roundest tones. “We have discomfited the troll Mangeon, and minimized his predilection for certain wicked tricks. Mangeon will think twice before attempting new affronts!”

“It is a proud day!” declared Mipps.

“It is a day of triumph!” cried Triollet fervently.

“I concur with both my colleagues, in every respect!” stated Chaskervil.

“Just so,” said King Throbius. “We shall signal the occasion with a small but superb banquet of twenty courses, to be served upon the castle terrace, thirty guests and five hundred flicker-lamps. Address yourselves to the perfection of this event!”

“It shall be done!” cried Triollet.

The three officials hurried off to implement the royal command. King Throbius relaxed into his throne. He surveyed the meadow, that he might observe his subjects and appraise their conduct. He took note of Madouc, where she stood by Osfer’s table, sadly watching Sir Pellinore’s face dissolve into mist.

“Hm,” said King Throbius to himself. He stepped down from his throne and with a stately tread approached the table. “Madouc, I notice that your face shows little joy, even though your most ardent hope has been realized! You have learned the identity of your father, and your curiosity is gratified; am I not correct?”

Madouc gave her head a wistful shake. “I must now discover whether he is alive or dead and, if alive, where he abides. My quest has become more difficult than ever!”

“Nevertheless, you should be clapping your pretty hands for joy! We have demonstrated that the troll Mangeon is not included among your forbears. This, by itself, should induce an almost delirious euphoria.”

Madouc managed the quiver of a smile. “In this regard, Your Highness, I am happy beyond words!”

“Good!” King Throbius pulled at his beard and glanced around the meadow, to discover the whereabouts of Queen Bossum. At the moment she was nowhere in sight. King Throbius spoke in a somewhat lighter voice than before: “Tonight we shall celebrate Mangeon’s defeat! There will be a banquet both elegant and exclusive; only persons of special éclat will be present, all in full regalia. We will dine on the terrace under five hundred ghost-lanterns; the viands will be exquisite, equally so the wines! The feast will proceed until midnight, to be followed by a pavane under the moon, to melodies of the utmost sweetness.”

“It sounds very fine,” said Madouc.

“That is our intent. Now then: Since you are visiting the shee in a special capacity, and have achieved a certain reputation, you will be allowed to attend the banquet.” King Throbius stood back, smiling and toying with his beard. “You have heard the invitation; will you elect to be present?”

Madouc looked uneasily off across the meadow, uncertain how best to reply. She felt the king’s gaze on her face; darting a side-glance she discovered an expression which surprised her. It was like that she had once glimpsed in the red-brown eyes of a fox. Madouc blinked; when she looked back, King Throbius was as bland and stately as ever.

Once again King Throbius asked: “How say you? Will you attend the banquet? The queen’s own seamstress shall provide your gown: perhaps a delicious trifle woven of dandelion fluff, or a flutter of spider-silk stained with pomegranate.”

Madouc shook her head. “I thank Your Highness, but I am not ready for such a splendid affair. Your guests would be strange to me, with customs beyond my knowledge, and I might unwittingly give offense or make myself foolish.”

“Fairies are as tolerant as they are sympathetic,” said King Throbius.

“They are also known for their surprises. I fear all fairy revelry; in the morning: who knows? I might find myself a withered crone forty years old! Many thanks, Your Highness! But I must decline the invitation.”

King Throbius, smiling his easy smile, made a sign of equanimity. “You must act to your best desires. The day verges into afternoon. Yonder stands Twisk; go and say your goodbys; then you may take your leave of Thripsey Shee.”

“One question, Sire, as to the magical adjuncts you have allowed me.”

“They are transient. The pebble already has lost its force. The glamour lingers more lovingly, but tomorrow you may pull all you like at your ear, to no avail. Go now and consult your fractious mother.”

Madouc approached Twisk, who pretended an interest in the sheen of her silver fingernails. “Mother! I will soon be leaving Thripsey Shee.”

“A wise decision. I bid you farewell.”

“First, dear Mother, you must tell me more of Sir Pellinore.”

“As you like,” said Twisk without enthusiasm. “The sun is warm; let us sit in the shade of the beech tree.”

The two settled themselves cross-legged in the grass. Fairies one by one came to sit around them, that they might hear all that transpired and share in any new sensation. Sir Pom-pom also came slouching across the meadow, to stand leaning against the beech tree, where presently he was joined by Travante.

Twisk sat pensively chewing on a blade of grass. “There is little to tell, beyond what you already know. Still, this is what happened.”

Twisk told the tale in a musing voice, as if she were remembering the events of a bittersweet dream. She admitted that she had been taunting Mangeon, mocking his hideous face and denouncing his crimes, which included a sly tactic of creeping up behind some careless fairy maiden, trapping her in a net and carrying her off to his dismal manse, where she must serve his evil purposes until she became bedraggled and he tired of her.

One day while Twisk wandered in the forest Mangeon crept up behind her and flung his net, but Twisk skipped clear and fled, pursued at a humping jumping run by Mangeon.

Twisk eluded him without difficulty, hiding behind a tree while Mangeon blundered past. Twisk laughed to herself and started back to Madling Meadow. Along the way she passed through a pretty glade, where she came upon Sir Pellinore sitting by a still pool, watching dragonflies darting back and forth across the water, meanwhile plucking idle chords from his lute. Sir Pellinore carried only a short sword and no shield, but on a branch he had hung a black cloak embroidered with what Twisk took to be his arms: Three red roses on a blue field.

Twisk was favorably impressed by Sir Pellinore’s appearance and stepped demurely forward. Sir Pellinore jumped to his feet and welcomed her with a nice blend of courtesy and candid admiration which pleased her to such an extent that she joined him by the pool, where they sat side by side on a fallen log. Twisk asked his name and why he ventured so deeply into the Forest of Tantrevalles.

After an instant of hesitation he said: “You may know me as Sir Pellinore, a wandering knight of Aquitaine, in search of romantic adventure.”

“You are far from your native land,” said Twisk.

“For a vagabond, ‘here’ is as good as ‘there’,” said Sir Pellinore. “Furthermore—who knows?—I may well find my fortune in this secret old forest. I have already discovered the most beautiful creature ever to torment my imagination!”

Twisk smiled and looked at him through half-lowered lashes. “Your remarks are reassuring, but they come so easily that I wonder at their conviction. Can they really be sincere?”

“Were I made of stone I would still be convinced! Though my voice might be somewhat less melodious.”

Twisk laughed quietly and allowed her shoulder to brush that of Sir Pellinore. “In regard to fortune, the ogre Gois has robbed, pillaged and preempted thirty tons of gold, which in his vanity he used to create a monumental statue of himself. The ogre Carabara owns a crow which speaks ten languages, foretells the weather and gambles with dice, winning large sums from everyone it encounters. The ogre Throop is master of a dozen treasures, including a tapestry which each day shows a different scene, a fire which burns without fuel and a bed of air upon which he rests in comfort. According to rumor, he took a chalice sacred to the Christians from a fugitive monk, and many brave knights, from all over Christendom, have attempted to wrest this article from Throop.”

“And how have they fared?”

“Not well. Some challenge Throop to combat; usually they are killed by a pair of goblin knights. Others who bring gifts are allowed into Castle Doldil, but to what effect? All end up either in Throop’s great black soup kettle or in a cage, where they must amuse Throop and all three of his heads as they dine. Seek your fortune elsewhere; that is my advice.”

“I suspect that I have found the most marvellous fortune the world provides here in this very glade,” said Sir Pellinore.

“That is a graceful sentiment.”

Sir Pellinore clasped Twisk’s slender hand. “I would willingly enhance the occasion, were I not in awe of your fairy beauty, and also of your fairy magic.”

“Your fears are absurd,” said Twisk.

So for a time the two dallied in the glade, at last becoming languid.

Twisk tickled Sir Pellinore’s ear with a blade of grass. “And when you leave this glade, where will you go?”

“Perhaps north, perhaps south. Perhaps I will visit Throop in his den and avenge his murders, and also divest him of his wealth.”

Twisk cried out in sadness: “You are both brave and gallant, but you would only share the fate of all the others!”

“Is there no way to baffle this evil creature?”

“You may gain time by a ruse, but in the end he will trick you.”

“What is the ruse!”

“Appear before Castle Doldil with a gift. He then must offer you hospitality and return a guest gift of the same value. He will offer food and drink, but you must take only what he gives and no more by so much as a crumb; or then, with a great roar, he will accuse you of theft and that will be your doom. Heed my advice, Sir Pellinore! Look elsewhere for both vengeance and fortune!”

“You are persuasive!” Sir Pellinore bent to kiss the beautiful face so close to his own, but Twisk, looking over his shoulder, saw the distorted visage of Mangeon the troll glaring through the foliage. She gave a startled cry, and told Sir Pellinore what she had seen, but when he jumped to his feet, sword in hand, Mangeon had disappeared.

Twisk and Sir Pellinore at last parted. Twisk returned to Thripsey Shee; as for Sir Pellinore, she could only hope that he had not taken himself to Castle Doldil, in accordance with his stated inclination. “That,” said Twisk, “is all I know of Sir Pellinore.”

“But where should I look to find him now?”

Twisk gave one of her airy shrugs. “Who knows? Perhaps he set off to vanquish Throop; perhaps not. Only Throop will know the truth.”

“Would Throop remember after so long?”

“The shields of all his victim knights bedizen the walls of his hall; for recollection, Throop need only look along the ranked escutcheons. But he would tell you nothing unless you told him something of equal consequence in return.”

Madouc frowned. “Might not he simply seize me and drop me into his soup kettle?”

“Indeed! If you made free with his property.” Twisk rose to her feet. “My best advice is this: avoid Castle Doldil. Throop’s three heads are equally merciless.”

“Still, I am anxious to learn the fate of Sir Pellinore.”

“Alas!” sighed Twisk. “I can advise you no better! If through obstinate folly you risk the venture, remember what I told Sir Pellinore. First you must win past a pair of goblin knights mounted on griffins.”

“How shall I do this?”

Twisk spoke in irritation. “Have I not taught you the Tinkle-toe? Apply it at triple-force. After you have thwarted the goblins and their nightmare steeds, you may request admission to Castle Doldil. Throop will admit you with pleasure. Greet each of the three heads in turn, as they are jealous of their status. On the left is Pism, in the center is Pasm, to the right is Posm. You must mention that you come as a guest and that you bring a host gift. Thereafter, take only what is freely given and not an iota more. If you obey this rule, Throop is powerless to do you harm, by reason of a spell long ago imposed upon him. If he offers you a grape, do not take the stem. If he allows you a dish of cold porridge, and you discover a weevil in the meal, put it carefully aside or inquire as to its best disposition. Take no gift for which you cannot make a proper return. If you give your host gift first, he must respond with a gift of equal value. Above all, attempt no theft from Throop, for his eyes see everywhere.”

Sir Pom-pom spoke: “Does Throop for a fact hold the ‘Holy Grail’ in custody?”

“Possibly. Many have lost their lives in the quest! So it may be.”

Travante put a question. “What host gifts should we bring to Throop, to hold his rage in check?”

Twisk spoke in surprise. “You too intend to risk your life?”

“Why not? Is it unthinkable that Throop keeps my lost youth locked away in his great chest, along with his other valuables?”

“It is not unthinkable, but not probable either,” said Twisk.

“No matter; I will search where I can: the most likely places first.”

Twisk asked, half-mocking: “And what, of equal value, will you offer Throop in return?”

Travante considered. “What I seek is beyond value. I must ponder carefully.”

Sir Pom-pom asked: “What can I offer Throop that he might part with the ‘Holy Grail’?”

The fairies who had come to listen had lost interest and one by one had wandered away, until only three implets remained. After whispering together, they had become convulsed with mirth. Twisk turned to chide them. “Why, suddenly, are you so merry?”

One of the implets ran forward and, half-giggling, half-whispering, spoke into her ear, and Twisk herself began to smile. She looked across the meadow; King Throbius and Queen Bossum still discussed the forthcoming banquet with their high officials. Twisk gave the implet instructions; all three scuttled around to the back of the castle. Twisk, meanwhile, instructed both Travante and Madouc in regard to the host gifts which they must offer Throop.

The implets returned, again by a devious route, now carrying a bundle wrapped in a tatter of purple silk. They came stealthily, keeping to the shadows of the forest, where they called to Twisk in soft voices. “Come! Come! Come!”

Twisk spoke to the adventurers: “Let us move into a secluded place. King Throbius is extremely generous, most especially when he knows nothing of his given gifts.”

Secure from observation, Twisk unwrapped the parcel, revealing a golden vessel studded with carnelians and opals. Three spouts projected from the top, pointing in three directions.

“This is a vessel of great utility,” said Twisk. “The first spout pours mead, the second crisp ale and the third wine of good quality. The vessel has an unexpected adjunct, to prevent unauthorized use. When this onyx bead is pressed, the yield of all three spouts alters for the worse. The mead becomes a vile and vicious swill; the ale would seem to be brewed from mouse droppings; the wine has become a vinous acid, mingled with tincture of blister-beetles. To restore goodness to the drink, one must touch this garnet bead, and all is well. If the garnet bead is pressed during normal use, the three tipples take on a double excellence. The mead, so it is said, becomes a nectar of flowers saturated with sunlight. The ale takes on grandeur, while the wine is like the fabled elixir of life.”

Madouc inspected the vessel with awe. “And if one were to press the garnet bead twice?”

“No one dares to contemplate these levels of perfection. They are reserved for the Sublime Entities.”

“And what if the onyx bead were pressed twice?”

“Dark ichor of mephalim, cacodyl and cadaverine: these are the fluids yielded by the spouts.”

“And thrice?” suggested Sir Pom-pom.

Twisk made an impatient motion. “Such details need not concern us. Throop will covet the vessel, and it will become your host gift. I can do no more save urge you to travel south, rather than north to Castle Doldil. And now: the afternoon is on the wane!” Twisk kissed Madouc, and said: “You may keep the pink and white kerchief; it will provide you shelter. If you live, perhaps we shall meet again.”