5.

 

 

 

IN THE MORNING MADOUC, SIR POM-POM AND TRAVANTE BREAKFASTED within the pavilion. It was thought best that neither Nisby nor Sir Jaucinet be aroused to take nourishment for which they might or might not feel appetite. The same considerations applied even more persuasively to the shadowy figure in the black cloak, who by day was as bizarre and incomprehensible as by night. Under the wide brim of his hat opened a void into which no one cared to look too closely.

After breakfast Madouc marshalled Nisby, Sir Jaucinet and the nameless shadow-thing out into the road. Sir Jaucinet’s horse had broken loose during the night and was nowhere to be seen.

Madouc reduced the pavilion to a kerchief; the party set off to the south down Wamble Way, Sir Pom-pom and Travante taking the lead, Madouc coming after, followed by Nisby, then Sir Jaucinet, and finally the individual in the black cloak.

Shortly before noon, the group once again entered Madling Meadow, which, as before, seemed only a grassy expanse with a hummock at the center. Madouc called softly: “Twisk! Twisk! Twisk!”

Mists and vapors confused their eyes, dissipating to reveal the fairy castle, with banners at every turret. The festival decorations celebrating Falael’s rehabilitation were no longer in evidence; as for Falael, he had abandoned his post for the moment and sat under a birch tree to the edge of the meadow, using a twig to reach inaccessible areas of his back.

Twisk appeared beside Madouc, today wearing pale blue pantaloons riding low on her hips and a shirt of white diaphane. “You have wasted no time,” said Twisk. She inspected Madouc’s captives. “How the sight of those three takes me back in memory! But there are changes! Nisby has become a man; Sir Jaucinet seems dedicated to wistful yearning.”

Madouc said: “It is the effect of his plaintive eyes and the long droop of his mustaches.”

Twisk averted her eyes from the third member of the group. “As for yonder odd creature, King Throbius shall judge. Come; we must interrupt his contemplations, but that is the way of it.”

The group trooped across the meadow to a place at the front of the castle. Fairies of the shee came from all directions: bounding, flitting, turning cartwheels and somersaults, to crowd close and babble questions; to pry, pinch and poke. From his place under the birch tree Falael came at a hop and a run, to mount his post the more readily to observe events.

At the main portal to the castle a pair of young heralds stood proudly on duty. They were splendid in livery of black and yellow diaper and carried clarions turned from fairy silver. At Twisk’s behest they turned toward the castle and blew three brilliant fanfares of coruscating harmonies.

The heralds lowered their horns and wiped their mouths with the back of their hands, grinning all the while at Twisk.

A silence of expectation held the area, broken only by the giggles of three implets who were trying to tie small green frogs into Sir Jaucinet’s mustaches. Twisk chided the implets and sent them away. Madouc went to remove the frogs but was interrupted by the appearance of King Throbius on a balcony, fifty feet above the meadow. In a stern voice he called to the heralds: “What means this wanton summons? I was engrossed in meditation!”

One of the heralds called up to the balcony: “It was Twisk! She ordered us to disturb your rest.”

The other herald corroborated the statement. “She told us to blow a great blast that would startle you from your bed to the floor.”

Twisk gave an indifferent shrug. “Blame me, if you like; however, I acted on the insistence of Madouc, whom you may remember.”

Madouc, with an injured glance toward Twisk, stepped forward. “I am here!”

“So I see! What of that?”

“Do you not remember? I went to Idilra Post that I might learn the identity of my father!” She indicated the three individuals at her back. “Here is Nisby the peasant, Sir Jaucinet the knight; also this mysterious shape of no category, nor yet any face.”

“I remember the case distinctly!” said King Throbius. He looked across the area with disapproval. “Fairies! Why do you thrust and crush and press with such rude energy? One and all, stand back! Now then: Twisk! You must make a sure and careful inspection.”

“One glance was enough,” said Twisk.

“And your findings?”

“I recognize Nisby and Sir Jaucinet. As for the shadow, his face is invisible, which in itself is a significant index.”

“It is indeed unique. The case has aspects of interest.”

King Throbius stepped back from the balcony and a moment later came out upon the meadow. Again the fairies crowded about, to chortle and murmur, to mow and leer, until King Throbius issued orders so furious that his subjects shrank back abashed.

“Now then!” said King Throbius. “We will proceed. Madouc, for you this must be a happy occasion! Soon you will be able to claim one of these three for your beloved father.”

Madouc dubiously considered the possibilities. “Sir Jaucinet undoubtedly boasts the best pedigree; still I cannot believe that I am related to someone who looks like a sick sheep.”

“All will be made known,” said King Throbius confidently. He looked to right and left. “Osfer! Where are you?”

“I have expected your call, Your Highness! I stand directly behind your royal back.”

“Come forward, Osfer, into the purview of my eyes. We must exercise your craft. Madouc’s paternity is in question and we must definitely resolve the issue.”

Osfer stepped forward: a fairy of middle maturity, brown of skin and gnarled of limb, with eyes of amber and a nose which hooked almost to meet an up-jutting chin. “Sire, your orders?”

“Go to your workshop; return with dishes of Matronian nephrite, to the number of five; bring probers, nitsnips, and a gill of your Number Six Elixir.”

“Your Highness, I presumed to anticipate your commands, and I already have these items at hand.”

“Very good, Osfer. Order your varlets to bring hither a table; let it be spread with a cloth of gray murvaille.”

“The order has been effected, Sire. The table stands ready at your left hand.”

King Throbius turned to inspect the arrangements. “Well done, Osfer. Now then: bring out your best extractor; we shall need fibrils of coming and going. When all is ready, we will contrive our matrices.”

“In minutes only, Your Highness! I move with the speed of flashing nymodes when urgency is the call!”

“Do so now! Madouc is hard-put to restrain her eagerness; it is as if she were dancing upon thorns.”

“A pathetic case, to be sure,” said Osfer. “But soon indeed she will be able to embrace her father.”

In a subdued voice Madouc spoke to King Throbius: “Enlighten me, Your Highness! How will you prove the case?”

“Be attentive; all will be made known. Twisk, why are you so exercised?”

“Osfer is molesting me!”

“Not so, Your Highness! You were about to order matrices; I had already started to apply the drain to Twisk.”

“Of course. Twisk, we must have three minims of your blood; be stoic.”

“I am loth to endure these martyrdoms! Is it truly needful?”

King Throbius made a meaningful sign; hissing between her teeth Twisk gingerly allowed Osfer to ply his instruments. He took a quantity of blood from her slender wrist, which he then discharged into one of the nephrite dishes. By processes too swift for Madouc to follow, he used the blood to nurture a fragile construction of fibers and small blue, red and green plasms.

Osfer turned proudly to King Throbius. “It is perfection in all respects! Each quirk and phase of Twisk’s somewhat devious nature are open for inspection.”

“You have done well.” King Throbius turned to Madouc. “Now it is your turn; from your blood Osfer will grow a matrix that is yours alone.”

Madouc cried out between clenched teeth. “My turn has come and gone! He has already done his worst to me!”

Presently a matrix somewhat similar to that derived from Twisk appeared on a second plate.

“Next, let us try Sir Jaucinet!” said King Throbius. “Soon we shall see who is father to whom!”

Osfer drew blood from Sir Jaucinet’s nerveless arm and constructed the matrix peculiar to the lord of Castle Cloud.

King Throbius turned to Madouc. “There you see three matrices, representing the innate fabric of yourself, your mother Twisk and this noble knight. By the most subtle means, Osfer will now subtract the influence of Twisk from your matrix, to create a new matrix. If your father is Sir Jaucinet, the new matrix will be identical to his, and you will know the truth of your paternity. Osfer, you may proceed.”

“Sire, I have completed the operation. Behold the two matrices!”

“I assume they are identical?” said King Throbius.

“Not at all, and in no particular!”

“Aha!” said King Throbius. “So much for Sir Jaucinet; he may be excused. Liberate him from your thrall, Madouc; bid him be on his way.”

Madouc obeyed the instruction. Sir Jaucinet gave instant vent to peevish complaints, and demanded reasons for the many inconveniences to which he had been put.

“I can give you no easy response,” said Madouc. “It is a long and detailed story.”

“What of the frogs in my mustache?” demanded Sir Jaucinet. “Is their presence such a complicated affair?”

“Not altogether,” Madouc admitted. “Still, King Throbius has ordered your departure, and you had best hurry, since the afternoon is waning and the way is long.”

Sir Jaucinet, his expression one of deep chagrin, turned on his heel. “Wait!” called King Throbius. “Osfer, apply the ‘Four-fold Spell’ to speed good Sir Jaucinet on his journey.”

“Indeed, Sire, while he conferred with Madouc, I applied the ‘Six-fold Spell’,” said Osfer.

“Good work, Osfer!” King Throbius spoke to Sir Jaucinet: “As you march home, each of your strides will carry you six yards, and you will arrive at Castle Cloud well before you expected.”

Sir Jaucinet bowed stiffly; first to King Throbius and then to Osfer. For Madouc he spared only a glance of moist-eyed reproach; then he was gone, bounding across Madling Meadow on six-fold strides, and was soon lost to sight.

King Throbius turned to Osfer. “Now then: let us deal with the peasant Nisby.”

“Sire, you will note on this dish the matrix of Nisby, which I have already taken the liberty of constructing.”

Madouc went to look. To her dismay, Nisby’s matrix resembled her not at all, and everyone agreed that her paternity surely resided elsewhere than with Nisby. Glumly Madouc liberated him from his nerveless apathy; Osfer applied the ‘Six-fold Spell’ and Nisby was sent on his way.

King Throbius addressed Madouc in a somber voice: “My dear, I have taken your interest to heart, and I cannot say that I am pleased with our findings. You have been sired neither by Sir Jaucinet nor by Nisby; hence, we are left with this shadowy weirdling with vacancy for a face. The Third Statute of Logic, sometimes known as the ‘Law of Exclusion’, forces me to declare him your father. You may liberate him and hold your reunion at whatever time and place suits your best convenience; no doubt you will have much to tell each other.”

Madouc cried out in a troubled voice: “Your logic is naturally superb, but should we not also test this creature’s matrix?”

King Throbius spoke to Osfer: “What is your opinion?”

“I suggest a third matrix, if only to create a philosophical symmetry.”

King Throbius said: “I am not opposed, though the test will be redundant. However, you may approach Madouc’s father, draw three minims of blood and erect a matrix for all to see.”

Osfer gingerly approached the black-cloaked figure, then halted in bafflement.

King Throbius called out: “Why do you delay? We are anxious to demonstrate Madouc’s paternity!”

“I am in a quandary,” said Osfer. “He wears cloak, boots and gloves; he lacks neck, face and scalp. In order to draw his blood, I must remove the cloak, and expose his person. Shall I proceed?”

“Proceed, by all means!” commanded King Throbius. “Ordinarily we would respect his modesty, but delicacy must be put aside, along with the cloak. Madouc, you may avert your eyes if you wish.”

“I will see what needs to be seen,” said Madouc. She ignored Sir Pom-pom’s disparaging snort. “Continue with the work.”

Osfer, with little fingers extended, in the manner of a fastidious tailor, unclasped the buckle at the neck of the cloak, which then fell somewhat apart. Osfer looked into the gap and gave a startled exclamation. With a single sweep he drew the cloak aside, to reveal a squat gray-faced troll with a bottle nose, pendulous cheeks and eyes like small balls of black glass. His arms were long and knotted; his splayed legs were thrust into tall boots. Osfer cried out: “It is Mangeon the troll!”

Twisk gave a thin wailing shriek of distress. “Now I understand all! With what ignoble cunning he took his lewd revenge!”

Madouc quavered: “Despite all logic, can this truly be my father?”

“We shall see!” said King Throbius. “Osfer, build the matrix!”

“Sire, I have preceded your command! The matrix is already formed! You may examine it as you see fit, and compare it with that provided by Madouc.”

King Throbius peered down at the two matrices. He spoke in perplexity. “How can it be? Does madness rule the world? Does the sun rise in the west? Is water wet and fire hot, or is it all in reverse? Logic has played us all false! This matrix is more at discord than both of the others together! I am baffled!”

Madouc could not restrain a yelp of happy relief. “Sir Jaucinet is not my father. Nisby is not my father. This repulsive halfling is not my father. Who then is my father?”

King Throbius examined Twisk with a speculative eye. “Can you clarify this puzzle?”

The dispirited Twisk could only shake her head. “The time is long past. I cannot remember every trifle.”

“Still, one of these trifles produced Madouc.”

“So much is conceded,” said Twisk, “but memories blend; faces merge. When I shut my eyes, I hear whispers: beguilements, adoration, sighs of love requited—but I find no name for these voices.”

King Throbius noticed Madouc’s disconsolate face. He said: “Do not despair! There remains yet another arrow in the quiver! But first I must deal with this odious troll.”

Twisk spoke with fervor. “He deserves no mercy; he caused me great unease.”

King Throbius pulled at his beard. “It is a complex situation, since I cannot decide which of our laws he has violated. His trickery was instigated in part by Twisk herself, but his response seems inordinately rude. Flirts through the ages have notoriously enjoyed immunity.” King Throbius paced back and forth, and the implets who carried his train were hard-put to carry out their duties. Osfer meanwhile took Mangeon somewhat aside, along with several of his thaumaturgical instruments.

King Throbius came to a halt. He raised his hand in a majestic gesture. “I have arrived at a judgment. Mangeon’s conduct has been sordid and disreputable. Further, he has affronted the dignity of Thripsey Shee. The penalty must be consonant with the offense; still we must take note of contributory circumstances. We will therefore allow Mangeon tranquility and scope for remorse; we will urge him, whether he is so inclined or not, along the narrow path of restraint. Osfer, do you understand the nature of my indication, or must I spell it out in full detail?”

“Sire, I have understood you fully, and indeed I have already implemented your sentence, in full and final scope.”

“Osfer, you are a marvel of efficiency!” King Throbius turned to Madouc. “You may now release Mangeon from his paralysis.”

Madouc touched Mangeon with the pebble. Instantly he gave vent to furious roaring complaint. “I deplore the outrages committed upon my person! They represent an irresponsible philosophy!”

King Throbius spoke with dignity: “You are free to depart; be happy on this account!”

“I am free, but to what purpose?” roared Mangeon. “How now will I occupy the long hours of day and night? With poetry? By observing the flight of butterflies? Your judgment was incorrect!”

King Throbius made a peremptory gesture. “I will hear no more! Be off to your ill-smelling hovel.”

Mangeon threw his arms into the air and ran off across the meadow, to disappear up Wamble Way.

King Throbius returned to Madouc. “We must re-examine your case. Osfer, I suggest simulacra and the subtractive effect.”

“Exactly my opinion, Your Highness! I have prepared for the process.”

“Proceed, if you will.”

Osfer placed three silver plates upon the table. Twisk watched with a frown of foreboding. “What is this new plan, and what does it entail?”

Osfer replied in soothing tones. “It is the most elegant and subtle procedure of all! Soon you will look into the face of Madouc’s father.”

Twisk frowned in annoyance. “Why did you not work this sleight before and spare me the anguish of the blood-letting?”

“It is not so simple as we might like it to be. Step forward, if you will.”

“What? Not again! You shall have no more of my vital fluids! Do you wish me to become a wisp, a wraith, a desiccation?”

King Throbius called a sharp command and Twisk, writhing and moaning, at last allowed Osfer to draw off another three minims of her blood.

Osfer worked his thaumaturgy and up from the plate rose a simulacrum of Twisk’s lovely head.

Next, Osfer signalled to Madouc. “Come!”

Madouc cried out: “I too am dangerously weak! If blood is needed, drain Sir Pom-pom, or even King Throbius himself.”

“That is an impractical suggestion,” said King Throbius. “It is your blood which is needed! Quickly! We cannot waste all day!”

Madouc, scowling and wincing, allowed Osfer to draw three minims of her blood, from which Osfer contrived a second simulacrum.

“Now then!” said Osfer. “We proceed as follows: Madouc is the sum of Twisk and an unknown father. Therefore, if we subtract the influence of Twisk from Madouc, what remains will depict the visage of Madouc’s father, at least in general terms and perhaps blurred by discrepancies. So, stand back all, since I must work with a delicate touch!”

Osfer moved the two representations so that they faced each other, then arranged four panels of grass-cloth to form a screen around the two heads. “I now adjure all to silence! Any distraction will alter the precision of my work!”

Osfer arranged his instruments, uttered eight staccato syllables, and clapped his hands. “The spell has been effected.” Osfer removed the screens. One of the silver plates was empty. “Twisk’s image has been subtracted from that of Madouc. What remains is the likeness of Madouc’s sire!”

Madouc stared at the residual face. With only half the substance, it was vague and colorless, as if formed of mist. The features seemed to represent a young man with irregular features in a rather gaunt long-jawed face and a suggestion of reckless optimism in his expression. His hair was cut in the Aquitanian style, and he wore a short modish beard at the chin. The face, though not ill-favored, lacked a patrician cast. Even in its blurred condition, the face affected Madouc with a rush of warm impulses.

Twisk was staring at the face in fascination. Madouc asked: “What is his name?”

Twisk, now thoroughly out of sorts, made a capricious gesture and tossed her head. “His name? It might be anyone. The features are indefinite; it is like looking through the fog.”

“Surely you recognize him?” cried Madouc. “He even looks half-familiar to me.”

Twisk gave an airy shrug. “Why should he not? You are seeing what is drawn from your own face.”

“Whatever the case, can you supply his name?”

Twisk said carelessly: “I am truly bored with this business! I can barely distinguish a face in yonder puddle of murk; how can I give it a name?”

“But is he not familiar to you?”

“I might say ‘Yes’ and I might say ‘No’.”

King Throbius spoke gently: “As Falael will attest, my patience knows a limit. Unless you care to sit on a post, scratching your lovely pelt with both hands, you will respond to questions quickly and accurately, without evasion or ambiguity. Am I clear on this?”

Twisk uttered a cry of poignant emotion. “Alas! How I am wronged, when my only concern is truth!”

“Please make your elucidations less abstract.”

Twisk blinked. “Excuse me, Your Highness, I am not certain of your command!”

“Speak more clearly!”

“Very well, but now I have forgotten the question.”

King Throbius spoke with a carefully controlled voice. “Do you recognize the face?”

“Of course! How could I forget? He was a gallant knight of verve and a most fanciful habit of thought! My ordeal at Idilra Post followed hard upon the encounter and swept it clean from my mind.”

“Very well; so much is established. Name us now the name of this gallant knight.”

Twisk said regretfully. “That is beyond my power.”

King Throbius surveyed her with raised eyebrows. “Is your memory so vagrant?”

“Not at all, Sire! He used a name for himself, true, but we played at Romance, and this is a game where truth is a bagatelle. So we wanted it and so we played the game. I spoke my name as Lady Lis of the White Opals and he named himself Sir Pellinore, from the far shores of Aquitaine, and who knows? Perhaps it was so.”

“Most odd,” said King Throbius. “Extraordinary, in all respects.”

Queen Bossum spoke. “I ask Your Majesty this: do gentlemen always announce full name and title to their amourettes, no matter how sublime or poetic the occasion?”

“I accept this interpretation,” said King Throbius. “For the nonce, we will know this knight as ‘Sir Pellinore’.”

Madouc asked anxiously: “How else did Sir Pellinore describe himself?”

“His references were always extravagant! He declared himself a wandering troubadour, dedicated to the ideals of chivalry. He asked if I knew of any caitiff knights in need of chastisement, and inquired in regard to damsels in need of deliverance. I mentioned the ogre Throop of the three heads, and I described the wicked deeds done by Throop to all the fair knights who had come seeking the Holy Grail. Sir Pellinore was horrified to hear my tales and swore enmity against Throop, but who knows? Sir Pellinore was surely more expert with the lute than the sword! Still, he knew no fear! At last we parted and went our ways, and I saw Sir Pellinore never again.”

“Where did he go?” asked Madouc. “What happened to him afterward?”

“I hesitate to think,” said Twisk. “He might have wandered north to Avallon or voyaged home to Aquitaine, but I suspect that his vow of hatred took him to Castle Doldil that he might revenge a thousand crimes upon Throop. If so, he failed, since Throop survives to this day! Sir Pellinore might have been boiled for soup or perhaps he languishes in a cage, so that with songs, lute and melody he enlivens Throop’s evening repast.”

Madouc’s mouth sagged open in dismay. “Can it be possible?”

“Quite possible! Sir Pellinore played the lute with delicate grace, and his songs were so sweet as to bring tears from a bear.”

Madouc struggled to control her emotion. “Why did you not try to rescue poor Sir Pellinore, whom you loved so well?”

Twisk fluffed out her lavender hair. “My attention was engaged by other events, not the least being the affair at Idilra Post. One such as I lives from instant to instant, wringing every last drop of sklemik13 from the adventure of life. So the hours and the days pass, and sometimes I can not remember which was which or what comes next.”

Madouc said without enthusiasm: “Regardless of your faults or follies, you are my mother, and I must accept you as you are, lavender hair and all.”

“A dutiful daughter is not so bad either,” said Twisk. “I am pleased to hear your compliments.”