Cugel Page 30

  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 b
efore. 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’.”