Tales of the Dying Earth (56 page)

Bunderwal, however, had returned into the common room. Krasnark the landlord appeared, a bandage across his forehead. "Please, sirs, a moment of quiet! Master Chernitz, be good enough to compose yourself! What is the difficulty?"

"No difficulty!" sputtered Chernitz. "An outrage, rather!  I came out here to relieve myself, whereupon this person ranged himself beside me and acted most offensively. I raised the alarm at once!"

His friend, Bunderwal's erstwhile champion, spoke through clenched lips: "I stand behind the accusation! This man should be ejected from the premises and warned out of town!"

Krasnark turned to Cugel. "These are serious charges! How do you answer them?"

"Master Chernitz is mistaken! I also came out here to relieve myself. Glancing along the wall I noticed my friend Bunderwal and signaled to him, whereupon Master Chernitz set up an embarrassing outcry, and made infamous hints! Better that you eject these two old tree-weasels!"

"What?" cried Chernitz in a passion. "I am a man of substance!"

Krasnark threw up his arms. "Gentlemen, be reasonable! The matter is essentially trivial. Agreed: Cugel should not make signals and greet his friends at the urinal. Master Chernitz might be more generous in his assumptions. I suggest that Master Chernitz retract the term 'moral leper' and Cugel his 'tree-weasel', and there let the matter rest."

"I am not accustomed to such degradations," said Cugel. "Until Master Chernitz apologizes, the term remains in force."

Cugel returned to the common room and resumed his place beside Bunderwal. "You left the urinal quite abruptly," said Cugel. "I waited to verify the results of the contest. Your champion was defeated by several seconds."

"Only after you distracted your own champion. The contest is void."

Master Chernitz and his friend returned to their seats. After a single cold glance toward Cugel, they turned away and spoke in low voices.

At Cugel's signal the serving boy brought full mugs of Tatterblass beer and both he and Bunderwal refreshed themselves. After a few moments Bunderwal said: "Despite our best efforts, we still have not settled our little problem."

"And why? Because contests of this sort abandon all to chance! As such, they are incompatible with my personal temperament. I am not one to crouch passively with my hindquarters raised, awaiting either the kick or the caress of destiny! I am Cugel! Fearless and indomitable, I confront every adversity! Through the force of sheer will I —"

Bunderwal made an impatient gesture. "Silence, Cugel! I have heard enough of your braggadocio. You have taken too much beer, and I believe you to be drunk."

Cugel stared at Bunderwal in disbelief. "Drunk? On three draughts of this pallid Tatterblass? I have swallowed rain-water of greater force. Boy! Bring more beer! Bunderwal, what of you?"

"I will join you, with pleasure. Now then, since you reject a further test, are you willing, then, to concede defeat?"

"Never! Let us drink beer, quart for quart, while we dance the double coppola! The first to fall flat is the loser."

Bunderwal shook his head. "Our capacities are both noble and the stuff of which myths are made. We might dance all night, to a state of mutual exhaustion and enrich only Krasnark."

"Well then: do you have a better idea?"

"I do indeed! If you will glance to your left, you will see that both Chernitz and his friend are dozing. Notice how their beards jut out! Here is a swange for cutting kelp. Cut off one beard or the other, and I concede you victory."

Cugel looked askance toward the dozing men. "They are not soundly asleep. I challenge Destiny, yes, but I do not leap off cliffs."

"Very well," said Bunderwal. "Give me the swange. If I cut a beard, then you must allow me the victory."

The serving-boy brought fresh beer. Cugel drank a deep and thoughtful draught. He said in a subdued voice: "The feat is not as easy as it might appear. Suppose I decided upon Chernitz. He need only open his eyes and say: 'Cugel, why are you cutting my beard?' Whereupon, I would suffer whatever penalty the law of Saskervoy prescribes for this offense."

"The same applies to me," said Bunderwal. "But I have carried my thinking a step farther. Consider this: could either Chernitz or the other see your face, or my face, if the lights were out?"

"If the lights were out, the project becomes feasible," said Cugel.  Three steps across the floor, seizure of the beard, a strike of the swange, three steps back and the deed is done, and yonder I see the valve which controls the lucifer."

"This is my own thinking," said Bunderwal. "Well then: who will make the trial, you or I? The choice is yours."

The better to order his faculties, Cugel took a long draught of beer. "Let me feel the swange. ... It is adequately sharp. Well then, a job of this sort must be done while the mood is on one."

"I will control the lucifer valve," said Bunderwal. "As soon as the lights go out, leap to the business at hand."

"Wait," said Cugel. "I must select a beard. That of Chernitz is tempting, but the other projects at a better angle. Ah. . . . Very well; I am ready."

Bunderwal rose to his feet and sauntered to the valve. He looked toward Cugel and nodded.

Cugel prepared himself.

The lights went out. The room was dark but for the glimmer of firelight. Cugel strode on long legs across the floor, seized his chosen beard and skillfully wielded the swange. . . . For an instant the valve slipped in Bunderwal's grip, or perhaps a bubble of lucifer remained in the tubes. In any event, for a fraction of a second the lights flashed bright and the now beardless gentleman, staring up in startlement, kicked for a frozen instant eye to eye with Cugel. Then the lights once more went out, and the gentleman was left with the image of a dark long-nosed visage with lank black hair hanging from under a stylish hat.

The gentleman cried out in confusion: "Ho! Krasnark! Rascals and knaves are on us! Where is my beard?"

One of the serving boys, groping through the dark, turned the valve and light once more emanated from the lamps.

Krasnark, bandage askew, pushed forth to investigate the confusion. The beardless gentleman pointed to Cugel, now leaning back in his chair with mug in hand, as if somnolent. "There sits the rogue! I saw him as he cut my beard, grinning like a wolf!"

Cugel called out: "He is raving; pay no heed! I sat here steadfast as a rock while the beard was being cut.  This man the worse for drink."

"Not so! With both my eyes I saw you!"

Cugel spoke in long-suffering tones. "Why should I take your beard? Does it have value? Search me if you choose! You will find not a hair!"

Krasnark said in a puzzled voice: "Cugel's remarks are logical! Why, after all, should he cut your beard?"

The gentleman, now purple with rage, cried out: "Why should anyone cut my beard? Someone did so; look for yourself."

Krasnark shook his head and turned away. "It is beyond my imagination! Boy, bring Master Mercantides a mug of good Tatterblass at no charge, to soothe his nerves."

Cugel turned to Bunderwal. "The deed is done."

"The deed has been done, and well," said Bunderwal generously. "The victory is yours! Tomorrow at noon we shall go together to the offices of Soldinck and Mercantides, where I will recommend you for the post of supercargo."

"'Mercantides'," mused Cugel. "Was not that the name by which Krasnark addressed the gentleman whose beard I just cut?"

"Now that you mention it, I believe that he did so indeed," said Bunderwal.

Across the room Wagmund gave a great yawn. "I have had enough excitement for one evening! I am both tired and torpid. My feet are warm and my boots are dry; it is time I departed. First, my boots."

At noon Cugel met Bunderwal in the plaza. They proceeded to the offices of Soldinck and Mercantides, and entered the outer office.

Diffin the clerk ushered them into the presence of Soldinck, who indicated a couch of maroon plush. "Please be seated. Mercantides will be with us shortly and then we will take up our business."

Five minutes later Mercantides entered the room. Looking neither right nor left he joined Soldinck at the octagonal table.

Then, looking up, he noticed Cugel and Bunderwal. He spoke sharply: "What are you two doing here?"

Cugel spoke in a careful voice: "Yesterday Bunderwal and I applied for the post of supercargo aboard the 
Galante.
 Bunderwal has withdrawn his application; therefore —"

Mercantides thrust his head forward. "Cugel, your application is rejected, on several grounds. Bunderwal, can you reconsider your decision?"

"Certainly, if Cugel is no longer under consideration."

"He is not. You are hereby appointed to the position. Soldinck, do you endorse my decision?"

"I am well-pleased with Bunderwal's credentials."

"Then that is all there is to it," said Mercantides. "Soldinck, I have a head-ache. If you need me, I will be at home."

Mercantides departed the room, almost as Wagmund entered, supporting the weight of his right foot on a crutch.

Soldinck looked him up and down. "Well then, Wagmund? What has happened to you?"

"Sir, I suffered an accident last night. I regret that I cannot make this next voyage aboard the 
Galante."

Soldinck sat back in his chair. "That is bad news for all of us! Wormingers are hard to come by, especially Wormingers of quality!"

Bunderwal rose to his feet. "As newly-appointed supercargo of the 
Galante,
 allow me to make a recommendation. I propose that Cugel be hired to fill the vacant position."

Without enthusiasm Soldinck looked toward Cugel: "You have had experience in this line of work?"

"Not in recent years," said Cugel. "I will, however, consult with Wagmund in regard to modern trends."

"Very well; we cannot be too choosy, since the 
Galante
 sails in three days. Bunderwal, you will report at once to the ship. Cargo and supplies must be stowed, and properly! Wagmund, perhaps you will show Cugel your worms and explain their little quirks. Are there any questions? If not, all to their duties!. The 
Galante
 sails in three days!"

CUGEL'S first impression of the
Galante
was, on the whole, favorable. The hull was generously proportioned and floated in a buoyant and upright manner. The careful joinery and the lavish use of ornamental detail implied an equal concern for luxury and comfort below-decks. A single mast supported a yard to which was attached a sail of dark blue silk. From a swan's-neck stanchion at the bow swung an iron lantern; another even more massive lantern hung from a pedestal on the quarter-deck.

To these appurtenances Cugel gave his approval; they contributed to the forward motion of the ship and served the convenience of the crew. On the other hand, he could not automatically endorse a pair of ungainly outboard walkways, or sponsons, which ran the length of the hull, both port and starboard, only inches above the waterline. What could be their function? Cugel stepped a few paces along the dock, to secure a better view of the odd constructions. Were they promenade decks for the passengers' exercise? They seemed too narrow and too precarious, and too rudely exposed to wave and spray. Might they be platforms from which passengers and crew might conveniently bathe and launder their clothes while the ship lay becalmed? Or vantages from which the crew might repair the hull?

Cugel put the problem aside. So long as the 
Galante
 carried him in comfort to Port Perdusz, why cavil at details? Of more immediate concern were his duties as 'worminger': an occupation of which he knew nothing.

Wagmund, the previous worminger, suffered a sore leg and had refused to help Cugel. In a gruff voice Wagmund said: "First things first! Go aboard the ship, make sure of your quarters and stow your gear; Captain Baunt is a martinet and will not tolerate clutter. When you are properly squared away, search out Drofo, the Chief Worminger; let him provide you instruction. Luckily for you, the worms are in prime condition."

Cugel owned only the clothes on his back; this was his 'gear', although in his pouch he carried an article of great value: the 'Pectoral Sky-break Spatterlight', from the turret of the demiurge Sadlark. Now, as Cugel stood on the dock, he conceived a cunning scheme to safeguard 'Spatterlight' from pilferage.

In a secluded area behind a pile of crates, Cugel doffed his fine triple-tiered hat. He removed the rather garish ornament which clipped up the side-brim, then, using great care to avoid 'Spatterlight's' avid bite, he wired the scale to his hat, where now it seemed only a hat-clasp. The erstwhile ornament he tucked into his pouch.

Cugel returned along the dock to the 
Galante.
 He climbed the gangway and stepped down upon the midship deck. To his right was the after-house, with a companion-way leading up to the quarter-deck. Forward, tucked into the bluff bows, was the forepeak, with the galley and crew's mess-hall; and below, the crew's quarters.

Three persons stood within range of Cugel's vision. The first was the cook, who had stepped out on deck in order to spit over the side. The second, a person tall and gaunt with the long sallow face of a tragic poet, stood by the rail, brooding over the sea. A sparse beard the color of dark mahogany straggled across his chin; his hair, of the same dark roan-russet color, was bound in a black kerchief. With gnarled white hands he gripped the rail and turned not so much as a glance toward Cugel.