Tales of the Dying Earth (69 page)

An hour later Cugel passed beside a forest where he discovered a small octagonal chapel with the roof collapsed. Cugel cautiously peered within, to find the air heavy with the reek of visp. As he backed away, a bronze plaque, green with the corrosion of centuries, caught his eye. The characters read:

Cugel suspired a quiet breath, and backed away from the chapel. Both past and present oppressed the region; with the utmost relief would Cugel arrive at Port Perdusz!

Cugel set off to the south at a pace even faster than before.

As the afternoon waned, the land began to swell in hillocks and swales: precursors to the first rise of the hills which now bulked high to the south. Trees straggled down from the upper-level forests: mylax with black bark and broad pink leaves; barrel-cypress, dense and impenetrable; pale gray parments, dangling strings of spherical black nuts; graveyard oak, thick and gnarled with crooked sprawling branches.

As on the previous evening, Cugel saw the day grow old with foreboding. As the sun dropped upon the far hills he broke out into a road running roughly parallel to the hills, which presumably must connect by one means or another with Port Perdusz.

Stepping out upon the road, Cugel looked right and left, and to his great interest saw a farmer's wain halted about half a mile to the east, with three men standing by the back end.

To avoid projecting an impression of urgency, Cugel composed his stride to an easy saunter, in the manner of a casual traveler, but at the wain no one seemed either to notice or to care.

As Cugel drew near, he saw that the wain, which was drawn by four mermelants, had suffered a breakdown at one of its tall rear wheels. The mermelants feigned disinterest in the matter and averted their eyes from the three farmers whom the mermelants liked to consider their servants. The wain was loaded high with faggots from the forest, and at each corner thrust high a three-pronged harpoon intended as a deterrent to the sudden swoop of a pelgrane.

As Cugel approached, the farmers, who seemed to be brothers, glanced over their shoulders, then returned unsmilingly to their contemplation of the broken wheel.

Cugel strolled up to the wagon. The farmers watched him sidelong, with such disinterest that Cugel's affability congealed on his face.

Cugel cleared his throat. "What seems to be wrong with your wheel?"

The oldest of the brothers responded in a series of surly grunts: "Nothing 'seems' to be wrong with the wheel. Do you take us for fools? Something is definitely and factually wrong. The retainer ring has been lost; the bearings have dropped out. It is a serious matter, so go your way and do not disturb our thinking." Cugel held up a finger in arch reproach. "One should never be too cock-sure! Perhaps I can help you."

"Bah! What do you know of such things?"

The second brother said: "Where did you get that odd hat?"

The youngest of the three attempted a thrust of heavy humor. "If you can carry the load on the axle while we roll the wheel, then you can be of help. Otherwise, be off with you."

"You may joke, but perhaps I can indeed do something along these lines," said Cugel. He appraised the wain, which weighed far less than one of Nisbet's columns. His boots had been anointed with ossip wax and all was in order. He stepped forward and gave the wheel a kick. "You will now discover both wheel and wagon to be weightless. Lift, and discover for yourselves."

The youngest of the brothers seized the wheel and lifted, exerting such strength that the weightless wheel slipped from his grasp and rose high into the air, where it was caught in the wind and blown away to the east. The wagon, with a block under the axle, had taken no effect from the magic and remained as before.

The wheel rolled away down the sky. From nowhere, or so it seemed, a pelgrane swung down and, seizing the wheel, carried it off.

Cugel and the three farmers watched the pelgrane and the wheel disappear over the mountains.

"Well then," said the oldest. "What now?"

Cugel gave his head a rueful shake. "I hesitate to make further suggestions."

"Ten terces is the value of a new wheel," said the oldest brother. "Pay over that sum at once. Since I never threaten I will not mention the alternatives."

Cugel drew himself up. "I am not one to be impressed by bluster!"

"What of cudgels and pitchforks?"

Cugel took a step back and dropped a hand to his sword. "If blood runs along the road, it will be yours, not mine!"

The farmers stood back, collecting their wits. Cugel moderated his voice. "A wheel such as yours, damaged, broken, and worn almost through to the spokes, might fairly be valued at two terces. To demand more is unrealistic."

The oldest brother declared in grandiose tones: "We will compromise! I mentioned ten terces, you spoke of two. Subtracting two from ten leaves eight; therefore pay us eight terces and everyone will be satisfied."

Cugel still hesitated. "Somewhere I sense a fallacy. Eight terces is still too much! Remember, I acted from altruism! Must I pay for good deeds?"

"Is it a good deed to send our wheel whirling through the air? If this is your kindness, spare us anything worse."

"Let us approach the matter from a new direction," said Cugel. "I need lodging for the night. How far is your farmstead?"

"Four miles, but we shall not sleep in our beds tonight; we must stay to guard our property."

“There is another way,” said Cugel.  I can make the whole wagon weightless—"

"What?" cried the first brother. "So that we lose wagon as well as wheel?"

"We are not the dunderheads you take us for!" exclaimed the second brother.

"Give us our money and go your way!" cried the youngest. "If you need lodging, apply to the manse of Faucelme a mile along the road."

"Excellent notion!" declared the first brother with a broad grin. "Why did not I think of it? But first: our ten terces."

"Ten terces? Your jokes are lame. Before I part with a single groat I want to learn where I can securely pass the night."

"Did we not tell you? Apply to Faucelme! Like you he is an altruist and welcomes passing vagabonds to his manse."

"Remarkable hats or none," chuckled the youngest.

"During the olden times a 'Faucelme' seems to have despoiled the region," said Cugel. "Is the 'Faucelme' yonder a namesake? Does he follow in the foot-steps of the original?"

"I know nothing of Faucelme nor his forbears," said the oldest brother.

"His manse is large," said the second brother. "He never turns anyone from his door."

"You can see the smoke from his chimney even now," said the youngest. "Give us our money and be off with you. Night is coming on and we must prepare against the visps."

Cugel rummaged among the crab-apples and brought out five terces. "I give up this money not to please you but to punish myself for trying to improve a group of primitive peasants."

There was another spate of bitter words, but at last the five terces were accepted, and Cugel departed. As soon as he had passed around the wagon he heard the brothers give vent to guffaws of coarse laughter.

The mermelants lay sprawled untidily in the dirt, probing the roadside weeds for sweet-grass with their long tongues. As Cugel passed, the lead animal spoke in a voice barely comprehensible through a mouthful of fodder. "Why are the lumpkins laughing?"

Cugel shrugged. "I helped them with magic and their wheel flew away, so I gave them five terces to stifle their outcries."

"Tricks, full and bold!" said the mermelant. "An hour ago they sent the boy to the farm for a new wheel. They were ready to roll the old wheel into the ditch when they saw you."

"I ignore such paltriness," said Cugel. "They recommended that I lodge tonight at the manse of Faucelme. Again I doubt their good faith."

"Ah, those treacherous grooms!”
⁵
 They think they can trick anyone! So they send you to a sorcerer of questionable repute."

Cugel anxiously searched the landscape ahead. "Is no other shelter at hand?"

"Our grooms formerly took in wayfarers and murdered them in their beds, but no one wanted to bury the corpses so they gave up the trade. The next lodging is twenty miles."

"That is bad news," said Cugel. "How does one deal with Faucelme?"

The mermelants munched at the sweet-grass. One said: "Do you carry beer? We are beer-drinkers of noble repute and show our bellies to all."

"I have only crab-apples, to which you are welcome."

"Yes, those are good," said the mermelant, and Cugel distributed what fruit he carried.

"If you go to Faucelme, be wary of his tricks! A fat merchant survived by singing lewd songs the whole night long and never turning his back on Faucelme."

One of the farmers came around the wagon, to halt in annoyance at the sight of Cugel. "What are you doing here? Be off with you and stop annoying the mermelants."

Deigning no reply, Cugel set off along the road. With the sun scraping along the forested sky-line, he came to Faucelme's manse: a rambling timber structure of several levels, with a profusion of bays, low square towers with windows all around, balconies, decks, high gables and a dozen tall thin chimneys.

Concealing himself behind a tree, Cugel studied the house. Several of the windows glowed with light, but Cugel noted no movement within. It was, he thought, a house of pleasant aspect, where one would not expect to find a monster of trickery in residence.

Crouching, keeping to the cover of trees and shrubbery, Cugel approached the manse. With cat-like stealth he sidled to a window and peered within.

At a table, reading from a yellow-leafed book, sat a man of indeterminate age, stoop-shouldered and bald except for a fringe of brown-gray hair. A long nose hooked from his rather squat head, with protuberant milky golden eyes close-set to either side. His arms and legs were long and angular; he wore a black velvet suit and rings on every finger, save the forefingers where he wore three. In repose his face seemed calm and easy, and Cugel looked in vain for what he considered the signals of depravity.

Cugel surveyed the room and its contents. On a sideboard rested a miscellany of curios and oddments: a pyramid of black stone, a coil of rope, glass bottles, small masks hanging on a board, stacked books, a zither, a brass instrument of many arcs and beams, a bouquet of flowers carved from stone.

Cugel ran light-footed to the front door, where he discovered a heavy brass knocker in the form of a tongue dangling from the mouth of a gargoyle. He let the knocker drop and called out: "Open within! An honest wayfarer needs lodging and will pay a fee!"

Cugel ran back to the window. He watched Faucelme rise to his feet, stand a moment with head cocked sidewise, then walk from the room. Cugel instantly opened the window and climbed within. He closed the window, took the rope from the sideboard and went to stand in the shadows.

Faucelme returned, shaking his head in puzzlement. He seated himself in his chair and resumed his reading. Cugel came up behind him, looped the rope around his chest, again and again, and it seemed as if the rope would never exhaust the coil. Faucelme was presently trussed up in a cocoon of rope.

At last Cugel revealed himself. Faucelme looked him up and down, in curiosity rather than rancor, then asked: "May I inquire the reason for this visit?"

"It is simple stark fear," said Cugel. "I dare not pass the night out of doors, so I have come to your house for shelter."

"And the ropes?" Faucelme looked down at the web of strands which bound him into the chair.

"I would not care to offend you with the explanation," said Cugel.

"Would the explanation offend me more than the ropes?"

Cugel frowned and tapped his chin. "Your question is more profound than it might seem, and verges into the ancient analyses of the Ideal versus the Real."

Faucelme sighed. "Tonight I have no zest for philosophy. You may answer my question in terms which proximate the Real."

"In all candour, I have forgotten the question," said Cugel.

"I will re-phrase it in words of simple structure. Why have you tied me to my chair, rather than entering by the door?"

"At your urging then, I will reveal an unpleasant truth. Your reputation is that of a sly and unpredictable villain with a penchant for morbid tricks."

Faucelme gave a sad grimace. "In such a case my bare denial carries no great weight. Who are my detractors?"

Cugel smilingly shook his head. "As a gentleman of honour I must reserve this information."

"Aha indeed!" said Faucelme, and became reflectively silent.

Cugel, with half an eye always for Faucelme, took occasion to inspect the room. In addition to the side-board, the furnishings included a rug woven in tones of dark red, blue and black, an open cabinet of books and librams, and a tabouret.

A small insect which had been flying around the room alighted on Faucelme's forehead. Faucelme reached up a hand through the bonds and brushed away the insect, then returned his arm into the coil of ropes.

Cugel turned to look in slack-jawed wonder. Had he tied the ropes improperly? Faucelme seemed bound as tightly as a fly in a spider-web.

Cugel's attention was attracted by a stuffed bird, standing four feet high, with a woman's face under a coarse mop of black hair. A two-inch crest of transparent film rose at the back of the forehead. A voice sounded over his shoulder. "That is a harpy from the Xardoon Sea. Very few remain. They are partial to the flesh of drowned sailors, and when a ship is doomed they come to keep vigil. Notice the ears —" Faucelme's finger reached over Cugel's shoulder and lifted aside the hair "— which are similar to those of a mermaid. Be careful with the crest!" The finger tapped the base of the prongs. "The points are barbed."

Cugel looked around in amazement, to see the finger retreating, pausing to scratch Faucelme's nose before disappearing into the ropes.