Tales of the Dying Earth (76 page)

Clissum would not be denied. Summoning all his dignity, he stepped forward. "I have heard several requests for another, of my pieces, to which I shall now respond."

Ermaulde clapped her hands, but many of the others had gone off to their beds.

Clissum pursed his mouth against vexation. "I will now recite my Thirteenth Ode, subtitled: Gaunt Are the Towers of My Mind." He arranged himself in a suitable posture, but the wind came in a great gust, causing the fire to wallow and flare. Clouds of smoke roiled around the area and those still present hurried away. Clissum threw his hands high in despair and retired from the scene.

Cugel spent a restless night. Several times he heard a distant cry expressing dejection, and once he heard a chuckling hooting conversation from the direction of the forest.

Varmous aroused the caravan at an early hour, while the pre-dawn sky still glowed purple. Porraig the steward served a breakfast of tea, scones and a savory mince of clams, barley, kangol and pennywort. As usual, Nissifer failed to make an appearance and this morning Ivanello was missing as well.

Porraig called down to Varmous, suggesting that he send Ivanello aboard for his breakfast, but a survey of the camp yielded nothing. Ivanello's possessions occupied their ordinary places; nothing seemed to be missing except Ivanello himself.

Varmous, sitting at a table, made a ponderous investigation, but no one could supply any information whatever. Varmous examined the ground near the guard fence, but discovered no signs of disturbance. He finally made an announcement. "Ivanello for all practical purposes has vanished into thin air. I discover no hint of foul play; still I cannot believe that he disappeared voluntarily. The only explanation would seem to be baneful magic. In truth, I am at a loss for any better explanation. Should anyone entertain theories, or even suspicions, please communicate them to me. Meanwhile, there is no point remaining here. We must keep to our schedule, and the caravan will now get under way. Drivers, bring up your farlocks! Cugel, to your post at the bow!"

The caravan moved out upon Ildish Waste, and the fate of Ivanello remained obscure.

The road, now little more than a track, led north to a fork; here the caravan veered eastward and proceeded beside the hills which rolled away as far as the eye could reach. The landscape was bleak and dry, supporting only a few stunted gong-trees, an occasional tumble of cactus, an isolated dendron, black or purple or red.

Halfway through the morning Varmous called up to the ship: "Cugel, are you keeping a sharp watch?"

Cugel looked down over the gunwale. "I could watch with more purpose if I knew what I was watching for."

"You are looking for hostile nomads, especially those hidden in ambush."

Cugel scanned the countryside. "I see nothing answering to this description: only hills and waste, although far ahead I notice the dark line of a forest, or maybe it is only a river fringed with trees."

"Very good, Cugel. Maintain your look-out."

The day passed and the line of dark trees seemed to recede before them, and at sundown camp was made on a sandy area open to the sky.

As usual, a fire was built, but the disappearance of Ivanello weighed heavy, and though Varmous served out wine, no one drank with cheer, and conversation was pitched in low tones.

As before Varmous arranged his guard-fence. He spoke again to the company. "The mystery remains profound! Since we are without a clue, I recommend everyone to extreme caution. Certainly, do not so much as approach the guard-fence!"

The night passed without incident. In the morning the caravan got under way in good time, with Cugel once more serving as look-out.

As the day went by, the countryside became somewhat less arid. The line of trees now could be seen to mark the course of a river wandering down from the hills and out across the waste.

Arriving at the riverbank the road turned abruptly south and followed the river to a stone bridge of five arches, where Varmous called a halt to allow the teamsters to water their farlocks. Cugel ordered the rope to shorten itself and so drew the Avventura down to the road. The 'premier' passengers alighted and wandered here and there to stretch their legs.

At the entrance to the bridge stood a monument ten feet tall, holding a bronze plaque to the attention of those who passed. The characters were illegible to Cugel. Gaulph Rabi thrust close his long nose, then shrugged and turned away. Doctor Lalanke, however, declared the script to be a version of Sarsounian, an influential dialect of the nineteenth aeon, in common use for more than four thousand years.

"The text is purely ceremonial," said Doctor Lalanke. "It reads:

TRAVELERS! AS DRY SHOD YOU CROSS

THE THUNDERING TURMOIL OF THE RIVER SYK,

BE ADVISED THAT YOU HAVE BEEN ASSISTED

BY THE BENEFICENCE OF KHAIVE, LORD-RULER OF KHARAD

AND GUARDIAN OF THE UNIVERSE

As we can see, the River Syk no longer thunders a turmoil, but we can still acknowledge the generosity of King Khaive; indeed, it is wise to do so.   And Doctor Lalanke preformed a polite genuflection to the monument.

"Superstition!" scoffed Gaulph Rabi. "At the Collegium we turn down our ears in reverence only to the Nameless Syncresis at the core of the Hub."

"So it may be," said Doctor Lalanke indifferently and moved away. Cugel looked from Gaulph Rabi to Doctor Lalanke, then quickly performed a genuflection before the monument.

"What?" cried the gaunt ecclesiarch. "You too, Cugel? I took you for a man of judgment!"

"That is precisely why I gave honor to the monument. I judged that the rite could do no harm and cost very little."

Varmous dubiously rubbed his nose, then made a ponderous salute of his own, to the patent disgust of Gaulph Rabi.

The farlocks were brought back to their traces; Cugel caused the Avventura to rise high in the air and the caravan proceeded across the bridge.

During the middle afternoon Cugel became drowsy and dropping his head upon his arms, dozed off into a light slumber. . . .Time passed and Cugel became uncomfortable. Blinking and yawning, he surveyed the countryside, and his attention was caught by stealthy movements behind a thicket of smoke-berry bushes which lined the road. Cugel leaned forward and perceived several dozen short swarthy men wearing baggy pantaloons, dirty vests of various colors and black kerchiefs tied around their heads. They carried spears and battle-hooks, and clearly intended harm upon the caravan.

Cugel shouted down to Varmous: "Halt! Prepare your weapons! Bandits hide in ambush behind yonder thicket!"

Varmous pulled up the caravan and blew a blast on his signal horn. The teamsters took up weapons as did many of the passengers and prepared to face an onslaught. Cugel brought the boat down so that the 'premier' passengers might also join the fight.

Varmous came over to the boat. "Exactly where is the ambush? How many lie in wait?"

Cugel pointed toward the ticket. "They crouch behind the smoke-berry bushes, to the number of about twenty-three.

They carry spears and snaffle-irons."

"Well done, Cugel! You have saved the caravan!" Varmous studied the terrain, then, taking ten men armed with swords, dart-guns and poison go-thithers, went out to reconnoiter.

Half an hour passed. Varmous, hot, dusty and irritated, returned with his squad. He spoke to Cugel: "Again, where did you think to observe this ambush?"

"As I told you: behind the thicket yonder."

"We combed the area and found neither bandits nor any sign of their presence."

Cugel looked frowningly toward the thicket. "They slipped away when they saw that we were forewarned."

"Leaving no traces? Are you sure of what you saw? Or were you having hallucinations?"

"Naturally I am sure of what I saw!" declared Cugel indignantly. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"Of course not," said Varmous soothingly. "Keep up the good work! Even if your savages were but phantasms, it is better to be safe than sorry. But next time look twice and verify before you cry out the alarm."

Cugel had no choice but to agree, and returned aboard the Avventura.

The caravan proceeded, past the now-tranquil thicket and Cugel once again kept an alert look-out.

The night passed without incident, but in the morning, when breakfast was served, Ermaulde failed to make an appearance.

As before Varmous searched the ship and the area enclosed by the guard-fence, but, like Ivanello, Ermaulde had disappeared as if into thin air. Varmous went so far as to knock on the door of Nissifer's cabin, to assure himself that she was still aboard.

"Who is it?" came the husky whisper.

"It is Varmous. Are you well?"

"I am well. I need nothing."

Varmous turned to Cugel, his broad face creased with worry. "I have never known such dreadful events! What is happening?"

Cugel spoke thoughtfully: "Neither Ivanello nor Ermaulde went off by choice: this is clear. They both rode the Avventura, which seems to indicate that the bane also resides aboard the ship."

"What! In the 'premier' class?"

"Such are the probabilities."

Varmous clenched his massive fist. "This harm must be learned and nailed to the counter!"

"Agreed! But how?"

"Through vigilance and care! "At night no one must venture from his quarters, except to answer the call of nature."

"To find the evil-doer waiting in the privy? That is not the answer."

"Meanwhile, we cannot delay the caravan," muttered Varmous. "Cugel, to your post! Watch with care and discrimination."

The caravan once again set off to the east. The road skirted close under the hills, which now showed harsh outcrops of rock and occasional growths of gnarled acacia.

Doctor Lalanke sauntered forward and joined Cugel at the bow, and their conversation turned to the strange disappearances. Doctor Lalanke declared himself as mystified as everyone else. "There are endless possibilities, though none carry conviction. For instance, I could suggest that the ship itself is a harmful entity which during the night opens up its hold and ingests a careless passenger."

"We have searched the hold," said Cugel. "We found only stores, baggage and cockroaches."

"I hardly intended that you take the theory seriously. Still, if we contrived ten thousand theories, all apparently absurd, one among them almost certainly would be correct."

The three mimes came up to the bow and amused themselves by strutting back and forth with long loping bent-kneed strides. Cugel looked at them with disfavor. "What nonsense are they up to now?"

The three mimes wrinkled their noses, crossed their eyes and rounded their mouths into pursy circles, as if in soundless chortling, and looked toward Cugel sidelong as they pranced back and forth.

Doctor Lalanke chuckled.  “It is their little joke; they think that they are imitating you, or so I believe."

Cugel turned coldly away, and the three mimes ran back down the deck. Doctor Lalanke pointed ahead to a billow of clouds hanging above the horizon. "They rise from Lake Zaol, beside Kaspara Vitatus, where the road turns north to Torqual."

"It is not my road! I journey south to Almery."

"Just so." Doctor Lalanke turned away and Cugel was left alone at his vigil. He looked around for the mimes, half-wishing that they would return and enliven the tedium, but they were engaged in a new and amusing game, tossing small objects down at the farlocks, which, when so struck, whisked high their tails.

Cugel resumed his watch. To the south, the rocky hillside, ever more steep. To the north, the Ildish Waste, an expanse streaked in subtle colors: dark pink, hazy black-gray, maroon, touched here and there with the faintest possible bloom of dark blue and green.

Time passed. The mimes continued their game, which the teamsters and even the passengers also seemed to enjoy; as the mimes tossed down bits of stuff, the teamsters and passengers jumped down to retrieve the objects.

Odd, thought Cugel. Why was every one so enthusiastic over a game so trifling? . . . One of the objects glinted of metal as it fell. It was, thought Cugel, about the size and shape of a terce. Surely the mimes would not be tossing terces to the teamsters? Where would they have obtained such wealth?

The mimes finished their game. The teamsters called up from below: "More! Continue the game! Why stop now?" The mimes performed a crazy gesticulation and tossed down an empty pouch, then went off to rest.

Peculiar! thought Cugel. The pouch in some respects resembled his own, which of course was safely tucked away in his tent. He glanced down casually, then looked once again more sharply.

The pouch was nowhere to be seen.

Cugel ran raging to Doctor Lalanke, where he sat on the hold conversing with Clissum. Cugel cried out: "Your wards made off with my pouch! They threw my terces down to the teamsters, and my other adjuncts as well, including a valuable pot of boot dressing, and finally the pouch itself!"

Doctor Lalanke raised his black eyebrows. "Indeed? The rascals! I wondered what could hold their attention so long."

"Please take this matter seriously! I hold you personally responsible! You must redress my losses."

Doctor Lalanke smilingly shook his head. "I regret your misfortune, Cugel, but I cannot repair all the wrongs of the world."

"Are they not your wards?"

"In a casual sense only. They are listed on the caravan manifest in their own names, which puts the onus for their acts upon Varmous. You may discuss the matter with him, or even the mimes themselves. If they took the pouch, let them repay the terces."

"These are not practical ideas!"

"Here is one which is most practical: return forward before we plunge headlong into danger!" Doctor Lalanke turned away and resumed his conversation with Clissum.

Cugel returned to the bow. He stared ahead, across the dismal landscape, considering how best to recover his losses. ... A sinister flurry of movement caught his eye. Cugel jerked forward and focussed his gaze on the hillside, where a number of squat gray beings worked to pile heavy boulders where the hillside beetled over the road.