Tales of the Dying Earth (45 page)

The rat-folk called once more, in gentle voices: “Cugel, dear Cugel, why have you not come forth?”

“I rest; I recover my strength,” said Cugel. He took forth the libram, turned the pages, and found an index.

“Come forth, Cugel!” came a command, somewhat sterner. “We have here a pot of noxious vapor which we propose to discharge into the chamber where you so obdurately seclude yourself. Come forth, or it shall be the worse for you!”

“Patience,” called Cugel. “Allow me time to collect my wits!”

“While you collect your wits we ready the pot of acid in which we plan to immerse your head.”

“Just so, just so,” said Cugel absently, engrossed in the work-book. There was a scraping sound and a tube was thrust into the chamber. Cugel took hold of the tube and twisted it so that it pointed back into the corridor.

“Speak, Cugel!” came the portentous order. “Will you come forth or shall we send a great gust of vile gas into the chamber?”

“You lack that capability,” said Cugel. “I refuse to come forth.”

“You shall see! Let the gas exude!”

The tube pulsed and hissed; from the corridor came a cry of vast dismay. The hissing ceased.

Cugel, not finding what he sought in the work-book, drew forth a tome. This bore the title:

Cugel opened and read; finding an appropriate spell, he held the fire-ball close the better to encompass the activating syllables. There were four lines of words, thirty-one syllables in all. Cugel forced them into his brain, where they lay like stones.

A sound behind him? Into the chamber from another portal came the rat-folk. Crouching low, white faces twitching, ears down, they crept forward, tridents leveled.

Cugel menaced them with his sword, then chanted that spell known as the Inside Out and Over, while the rat-folk stared aghast. There came a great tearing sound: a convulsive lift and twist as the passages everted, spewing all through the forest. Rat-folk ran squealing back and forth, and there were also running white things whose nature Cugel could not distinguish by starlight. Rat-folk and the white creatures grappled and tore ferociously at each other, and the forest was filled with snarling and gnashing, shrill screams and small voices raised in outcry. Cugel moved quietly away, and in a bilberry thicket waited out the night.

When dawn arrived he returned cautiously to the hillock, hoping to possess himself of Zaraides' compendium and work-book. There was great litter, and many small corpses, but the articles he sought were not to be found. Regretfully Cugel turned away and presently came upon Fabeln's daughter sitting among the ferns. When he approached, she squeaked at him. Cugel pursed his lips and shook his head in disapproval. He led her to a nearby stream and attempted to wash her, but at the first opportunity she disengaged herself and hid under a rock.

THE SPELL known as the Inside Out and Over was of derivation so remote as to be forgotten. An unknown Cloud-rider of the Twenty-first Eon had construed an archaic version; the half-legendary Basile Blackweb had refined its contours, a process continued by Veronifer the Bland, who had added a reinforcing resonance. Arche-mand of Glaere had annotated fourteen of its pervul-sions: Phandaal had listed it in the ‘A,’ or ‘Perfected,’ category of his monumental catalogue. In this fashion it had reached the workbook of Zaraides the Sage, where Cugel, immured under a hillock, had found it and spoken it forth.

Now, once more searching through the multifarious litter of the spell's aftermath, Cugel found articles of every description: garments new and old; jerkins, vests and cloaks; antique tabards; breeches flared after the new taste of Kauchique, or fringed and tasseled in the style of Old Romarth, or pied and gored in the extravagant An-dromach mode. There were boots and sandals and hats of every description; plumes, panaches, emblems and crests; old tools and broken weapons; bangles and trinkets; tarnished filigrees, crusted cameos; gemstones which Cugel could not refrain from gathering and which perhaps delayed him from finding that which he sought: the work-books of Zaraides, which had been scattered with the rest.

Cugel searched at length. He found silver bowls, ivory spoons, porcelain vases, gnawed bones and shining teeth of many sorts, these glittering like pearls among the leaves — but nowhere the tomes and folios which might have helped him overcome Jucounu the Laughing Magician. Even now Lucounu's creature of coercion, Firx, clamped serrated members upon Cugel's liver. Cugel finally called out: “I merely seek the most direct route to Azenomei; you will soon rejoin your comrade in Lucounu's vat! Meanwhile take your ease; are you in such an agony of haste?” At which Firx sullenly relaxed his pressure.

Cugel wandered disconsolately back and forth, looking among branches and under roots, squinting up the forest aisles, kicking among the ferns and mosses. Then at the base of a stump he saw that which he sought: a number of folios and librams, gathered into a neat stack. Upon the stump sat Zaraides.

Cugel stepped forward, pinch-mouthed with disappointment. Zaraides surveyed him with a serene countenance. “You appear to seek some misplaced object. The loss, I trust, is not serious?”

Cugel gave his head a terse shake. “A few trifles have gone astray. Let them molder among the leaves.”

“By no means!” declared Zaraides. “Describe the loss; I will send forth a searching oscillation. You will have your property within moments!”

Cugel demurred. “I would not impose such a trivial business upon you. Let us consider other matters.” He indicated the stack of tomes, upon which Zaraides had now placed his feet. “Happily your own property is secure.”

Zaraides nodded with placid satisfaction. “All is now well; I am concerned only with that imbalance which distorts our relationship.” He held up his hand as Cugel stood back. “There is no cause for alarm; in fact, quite the reverse. Your acts averted my death; the Law of Equivalences has been disturbed and I must contrive a reciprocity.” He combed his beard with his fingers. “The requital unfortunately must be largely symbolic, I could well fulfill the totality of your desires and still not nudge the scale against the weight of the service you have performed, even if unwittingly, for me.”

Cugel became somewhat more cheerful, but now Firx, once again impatient, made a new demonstration. Clasping his abdomen, Cugel cried out, “Preliminary to all, be good enough to extract the creature which lacerates my vitals, a certain Firs.”

Zaraides raised his eyebrows. “What manner of creature is this?”

“A detestable object from a far star. It resembles a tangle, a thicket, a web of white spines, barbs and claws.”

“A matter of no great difficulty,” said Zaraides. “These creatures are susceptible to a rather primitive method of extirpation. Come; my dwelling lies at no great distance.”

Zaraides stepped down from the stump, gathered his compendia and flung them into the air; all lofted high to float swiftly over the treetops and out of sight. Cugel watched them go with sadness.

“You marvel?” inquired Zaraides. “It is nothing: the simplest of procedures and a curb on the zeal of thieves and footpads. Let us set forth; we must expel this creature which causes you such distress.”

He led the way through the trees. Cugel came after, but now Firx, belatedly sensing that all was not to his advantage, made a furious protest. Cugel, bending double, jumping stdewise, forced himself to totter and run after Zaraides, who marched without so much as a backward glance.

In the branches of an enormous daobado Zaraides had his dwelling. Stairs rose to a heavy drooping bough which led to a rustic portico. Cugel crawled up the staircase, along the bough, and into a great square room. The furnishings were at once simple and luxurious. Windows looked in all directions over the forest; a thick rug patterned in black, brown and yellow covered the floor.

Zaraides beckoned Cugel into his workroom. “We will abate this nuisance at once.”

Cugel stumbled after him and at a gesture settled upon a glass pedestal.

Zaraides brought a screen of zinc strips which he placed at Cugel's back. “This is to inform Firx that a trained wizard is at hand: creatures of his sort are highly antipathetic to zinc. Now then, a simple potion: sulfur, aquastel, tincture of zyche; certain herbs: bournade, hilp, cassas, though these latter are perhaps not essential. Drink, if you will.... Firx, come forth! Hence, you extraterrestrial pestl Remove! Or I dust Cugel's entire ulterior with sulfur and pierce him with zinc rods! Come forth! What? Must I flush you forth with aquastel? Come forth; return to Achernar as best you mayl”

At this Firx angrily relinquished his grip and issued from Cugel's chest: a tangle of white nerves and tendrils, each with its claw or barb. Zaraides captured the creature in a zinc basin which he covered with a mesh of zinc.

Cugel, who had lost consciousness, awoke to find Zaraides serenely affable, awaiting his recovery. “You are a lucky man,” Zaraides told him. “The treatment was only barely in time. It is the tendency of this maleficent incubus to extend its prongs everywhere through the body, until it clamps upon the brain; then you and Firx are one and the same. How did you become infected with the creature?”

Cugel gave a small grimace of distaste. “It was at the hands of Lucounu the Laughing Magician. You know him?” For Zaraides had allowed his eyebrows to arch high.

“Mainly by his reputation for humor and grotesquerie,” replied the sage.

“He is nothing less than a buffoon!” exclaimed Cugel. “For a fancied slight he threw me to the north of the world, where the sun wheels low and casts no more heat than a lamp. Lucounu must have his joke, but now I will have a joke of my own! You have announced your effusive gratitude, and so, before proceeding to the main body of my desires, we will take a suitable revenge upon Lucounu.”

Zaraides nodded thoughtfully and ran his fingers through his beard. “I will advise you. Lucounu is a vain and sensitive man. His most vulnerable spot is his self-esteem. Turn your back on him, take yourself to another quarter! This act of proud disdain will strike a pang more exquisite than any other discomfort you might devise.”

Cugel frowned. “The reprisal seems rather too abstract. If you will be good enough to summon a demon, I will give him his instructions in regard to Lucounu. The business will then be at an end, and we can discuss other matters.”

Zaraides shook his head. “All is not so simple. Lucounu, himself devious, is not apt to be taken unawares. He would instantly learn who instigated the assault, and the relations of distant cordiality we have enjoyed would be at an end.”

“Pah!” scoffed Cugel. “Does Zaraides the Sage fear to identify himself with the cause of justice? Does he blink and draw aside from one so timid and vacillating as Lucounu?”

“In a word — yes,” said Zaraides. “At any instant the sun may go dark; I do not care to pass these last hours exchanging jests with Lucounu, whose humor is much more elaborate than my own. So now, attend. In one minute I must concern myself with certain important duties. As a final signal of gratitude I will transfer you to whatever locale you choose. Where shall it be?”

“If this is your best, take me then to Azenomei, at the juncture of the Xzan with the Scaum!”

“As you wish. Be so good as to step upon this stage. Hold out your hands thus.... Draw your breath deep, and during the passage neither inhale nor exhale.... Are you ready?”

Cugel assented. Zaraides drew back and called a spell. Cugel was jerked up and away. An instant later the ground touched his feet and he found himself walking the main concourse of Azenomei.

He drew a deep breath. “After all the trials, all the vicissitudes, I am once again in Azenomei!” And, shaking his head in wonder, he looked about him. The ancient structures, the terraces overlooking the river, the market: all were as before. Not far distant was the booth of Fian-osther. Turning his back to avoid recognition, he sauntered away.

“Now what?” he ruminated. “First, new garments, then the comforts of an inn, where I may weigh every aspect of my present condition. When one wishes to laugh with Lucounu, he should embark upon the project with all caution.”

Two hours later, bathed, shorn, refreshed, and wearing new garments of black, green and red, Cugel sat in the common room of the River Inn with a plate of spiced sausages and a flask of green wine.

“This matter of a just settlement poses problems of extreme delicacy,” he mused. “I must move with caret”

He poured wine from the flagon, and ate several of the sausages. Then he opened his pouch and withdrew a small object wrapped carefully in soft cloth, the violet cusp which Lucounu wished as a match for the one already in his possession. He raised the cusp to his eye but stopped short: it would display the surroundings in an illusion so favorable that he might never wish to remove it. And now, as he contemplated the glossy surface, there entered his mind a program so ingenious, so theoretically effective and yet of such small hazard, that he instantly abandoned the search for a better.

Essentially, the scheme was simple. He would present himself to Lucounu and tender the cusp, or more accurately, a cusp of similar appearance. Lucounu would compare it with that which he already owned, in order to test the efficacy of the coupled pair, and inevitably look through both. The discord between the real and the false would jar his brain and render him helpless, whereupon Cugel could take such measures as seemed profitable.

Where was the flaw in the plan? Cugel could see none. If Lucounu discovered the substitution, Cugel need only utter an apology and produce the real cusp, and so lull Lucounu's suspicions. All in all, the probabilities of success seemed excellent.

Cugel finished his sausages in leisure, ordered a second flagon of wine, and observed with pleasure the view across the Xzan. There was no need for haste; indeed, while dealing with Lucounu, impulsiveness was a serious mistake, as he had already learned.