Madouc

CHAPTER EIGHT

An hour before dawn, with the castle silent, Madouc climbed from her bed. For a moment she stood indecisive, hugging herself and shivering to the cool air which played around her thin shanks. She went to the window; it seemed as if the day might be fair; still, at this dim hour the world seemed cheerless and unsympathetic. Doubts slid into Madouc's mind; could it be she was making a foolish, dreadful mistake?

Madouc shivered and hopped away from the window. Standing by her bed, she considered. Nothing had changed. She scowled and set her mouth into a firm line. Decisions had been made; they were irrevocable.

Madouc quickly dressed in a peasant boy's knee-length smock, bast stockings, ankle-boots, and a loose cloth cap pulled low to hide her curls. Taking up a small bundle of extra belongings, she left her chambers, stole along the dim corridor, descended the stairs and went from the castle by a back way, out into the pre-dawn stillness. She stopped to look and listen, but no one was abroad. So far, so good. She set off around the castle toward the stables. At the edge of the service-yard she paused in the shadows; only the most discerning eye could have identified this thin and furtive peasant boy as Princess Madouc.

In the kitchen scullions and fire-boys were astir; maids would soon be going out to the buttery. At the moment the service- yard was empty; Madouc darted across the open space and so made her way unchallenged to the stables. Here Sir Pom-Pom awaited her with a pair of horses saddled and ready. Madouc examined the horses without enthusiasm. To one side a sway- backed bay mare of advanced age, with one walleye and a tail woefully lacking in hair; to the other, a gray gelding almost as old, fat in the barrel and thin in the shank. Sir Pom-Pom had achieved well his stated purpose of avoiding prideful ostentation.

Madouc's saddle had been fitted on the bay mare; the gray gelding was evidently Sir Pom-Pom's chosen steed. Sir Pom-Pom himself wore not his usual garments, but a smart doublet of good blue cloth, a blue cap with a jaunty red feather, and a pair of glossy new boots, flaring modishly high past the knees and boasting pewter buckles at the insteps.

"Your garments are stylish," said Madouc. "You would seem almost dapper were it not that you still show the face of Sir Pom-Pom."

Sir Pom-Pom scowled. "My face cannot be changed."

"Were not those garments costly?"

Sir Pom-Pom gave a brisk jerk of the hand. "It is all relative. Have you not heard the saying: ‘When Need is on the march, Expense must step aside'?"

Madouc put on a sour face. "Whoever made up this nonsense was either a spendthrift or a fool."

"Not so! The saying is apt! To change over the gold pieces, I bought needful articles! One does not go forth on an important quest looking the hobbledehoy."

"I see. Where is the balance of the money?"

"I carry it in my wallet, for safekeeping."

Madouc extended her hand. "Give it here, Sir Pom-Pom, on the instant!"

Sir Pom-Pom sullenly reached in his pouch, brought out coins, which he handed over to Madouc. She reckoned up the sum, then looked back to Sir Pom-Pom. "Surely there is more money than this!"

"Possibly so, but I hold it for security."

"That is unnecessary. You may give me the full total of the exchange."

Sir Pom-Pom tossed over his wallet. "Take as you will."

Madouc opened it and counted the coins. "This surely is not all?"

"Bah!" grumbled Sir Pom-Pom. "Perhaps I still carry a few odd pieces in my pocket."

"Give them here-every last farthing!"

Sir Pom-Pom said with dignity: "I will retain one silver form and three copper pennies, for incidental expense." He passed over further coins. Madouc poured all into her pouch, and returned the wallet to Sir Pom-Pom. "We shall have an accounting later," said Madouc. "You have not heard the last of this, Sir Pom-Pom."

"Bah," muttered Sir Pom-Pom. "It is no great matter. Let us be on our way. The bay mare shall be your steed. Her name is Juno."

Madouc gave a sniff of disdain. "Her belly sags low! Will she support my weight?"

Sir Pom-Pom smiled grimly. "Remember, you are no longer a prideful princess! You are a vagabond."

"I am a prideful vagabond. Keep this in mind, if you will."

Sir Pom-Pom shrugged. "Juno has a kindly gait. She neither jibs nor shies, though she will take a fence no more. My own horse is Fustis. He was at one time a war-charger of note; he responds best to a firm seat and a strong hand." Sir Pom-Pom swaggered in his new boots over to Fustis; in a single brave bound he vaulted into the saddle. Madouc mounted Juno more deliberately, and the two set off up the Sfer Arct, into the hilly region north of Lyonesse Town.

Two hours along the way they arrived at the village Swally Water and here came upon a crossroad. Madouc read the sign. "To the east is the village Fring; we shall travel this lane to Fring and there veer north, and so come into Old Street."

"It is a longer route, by some miles," noted Sir Pom-Pom.

"Perhaps so, but by keeping to the back lanes we will tend to avoid anyone sent out to impede our journey."

Sir Pom-Pom grunted. "I thought that His Majesty had ratified your quest, and with all his heartfelt blessings."

"That is how I interpret his commands," said Madouc. "Still, I prefer to take nothing for granted."

Sir Pom-Pom gave the remark careful thought, then said, somewhat glumly: "I hope that I find the Holy Grail before we need to test your interpretation."

Madouc deigned no reply.

At noon the two passed through Fring and, finding no lane leading northeast, continued eastward across a pleasant country side of farms and meadows. Presently they arrived at the town Abatty Dell where a fair was in progress. At Sir Pom-Pom's urging, they dismounted, tethered their horses to a rail at the front of the inn, and went to watch the clowns and jugglers performing in the square. Sir Pom-Pom gave a cry of amazement. "Look yonder! That man in the red hat just now thrust a blazing torch down his throat! Look! He does so again! It is a marvel! His gut must be iron, from top to bottom!"

"An unusual talent, indeed," said Madouc.

Sir Pom-Pom's attention was caught by another performance. "See there! It is finesse, full and true! Aha, did you see? That was a goodly thrust!"

Madouc, turning to look, saw a man and a woman lying on their backs about fifteen feet apart. With thrusts of their feet they propelled a small child back and forth through the air between them, lofting the child higher and even higher with each passage. The child, undersized, and wearing only a ragged breechclout, jerked and twisted desperately in mid-air so that he might alight buttocks-first on the coiled legs of the target-individual. This person, after catching the child with dexterous feet, thrust out legs to propel him back through space the way he had come.

Upon conclusion of the display the man cried out: "Mikelaus will now accept your gratuities!" The child ran among the spectators holding out his cap for coins.

"Ha hah!" exclaimed Sir Pom-Pom. "That trick deserves a farthing!" He reached in one of his side-pockets and brought forth a copper coin which he dropped into the soiled cap extended by Mikelaus. Madouc watched with raised eyebrows.

The three performers went on to another feat. The man placed a flat board two feet long on top of an eight-foot pole; the woman lifted Mikelaus so that he crouched on the board. The man thrust the pole high, with Mikelaus precariously balanced on top. The woman joined a second pole to the first; Mikelaus was raised even higher, the man controlling the swaying pole with sidling movements. The woman added a third extension to the pole; Mikelaus was raised twenty feet into the air. Gingerly he rose and stood on the board, atop the swaying pole. The woman sounded a flourish of tones on a set of pipes and Mikelaus chanted a song in a reedy rasping voice:

Ecce voluspo, Sorarsio normal, Radne malengro.

Oh! Oh! Toomish! Geltner givim.

(The woman blew a flourish on the pipes.)

Bowner buder diper, Eljus noop or bark, Esgracio delila.

Oh! Oh! Toomish! Silvish givim.

(The woman blew a flourish on the pipes.)

Slova solypa, Trater no bulditch, Ki-yi-yi minkins.

Regular toomish. Copriote givim.

The woman blew a final flourish and called out: "Bravo, Mikelaus! Your song has moved us all and you well deserve a liberal reward! Now you may descend! So then: ooops! Ah la la la! And away!"

The man ran forward three short steps, heaved on the pole; Mikelaus hurtled through the air. The woman ran below with a net, but along the way she tripped over a dog and Mikelaus, consternation on his face, struck the ground headfirst, to tumble over and over a distance of twenty feet.

The woman put a good face on the mistake. "Next time we will surely do better! Now then, Mikelaus: to business!"

Mikelaus struggled to his feet and, removing his cap, limped back toward the spectators, pausing only to kick the dog.

"Hah!" said Sir Pom-Pom. "Another fine trick!"

"Come!" said Madouc. "We have watched enough of this man capering. It is time we were back on the road!"

"Not yet," said Sir Pom-Pom. "The booths yonder look in teresting; surely we can spare a moment or two."

Madouc acceded to Sir Pom-Pom's wishes, and they walked around the square, inspecting the merchandise offered for sale.

At an ironmonger's booth, Sir Pom-Pom paused to study a display of fancy cutlery. A group of damascene daggers in carved leather scabbards caught his eye and he went so far as to inquire prices. Finally, after cogitation, he settled upon one of the daggers and prepared to make the purchase. Madouc spoke in shocked wonder. "May I ask what you are proposing to do?"

"Is it not clear?" blurted Sir Pom-Pom. "I badly need a dagger, of good quality and handsome workmanship. This article exactly fits my needs."

"And how will you pay?"

Sir Pom-Pom blinked up toward the sky. "I have kept a small reserve for just such a case as this."

"Before you buy so much as a nut to crack between your teeth, we must have an accounting. Show me your reserve."

"This is an embarrassment!" stormed Sir Pom-Pom. "I am now held in contempt by the ironmonger!"

"No matter! Bring out this so-called reserve."

"Let us be reasonable! The money is safer with me! I am older than you and neither vague nor absent-minded. No cut-purse would dare approach me, especially if he saw a fine dagger at my belt. It is only prudent that I carry the money and plan the expenditures."

"Your arguments are wise," said Madouc. "They fall short only because the money is mine."

Sir Pom-Pom angrily passed over a goodly handful of coins, both silver and copper. "Take the money, then!"

Something in Sir Pom-Pom's manner aroused Madouc's suspicions. She held out her hand. "Give me the remainder."

Sir Pom-Pom grudgingly handed over further coins. "Now then!" said Madouc. "Is that all?"

Sir Pom-Pom sourly showed her a silver form and a few coppers. "I retain only my reserve. This money at least will be safe."

"And that is all?"

"That is all, and be damned to it."

"You will not need that fancy dagger. In the first place, it is far too dear."

"Not when purchased with your money."

Madouc ignored the remark. "Come! Let us be away!"

"I am hungry," grumbled Sir Pom-Pom. "We could make our lunch on one of those pork pies. Also I want to watch the clowns. Look at them now! They throw Mikelaus high in the air and let him drop. No! At the last instant the man catches him in the net! It is most comical!"

"Come, Sir Pom-Pom. You shall have your pork pie and then we will be on our way. Juno's only gait is a slow amble; we must ride long to ride far."

Sir Pom-Pom jerked peevishly at the bill of his new cap. "The day is growing late! We should bide here overnight at one of the inns. Then we can enjoy the fair at our leisure."

"The inns are surely full; we will go on."

"That is folly! The next town is ten miles distant; we will never arrive before nightfall, and once again the inns may be full."

"In that case, we shall sleep in the open, like true vagabonds."

Sir Pom-Pom had nothing more to say; the two departed Abatty Dell and proceeded on their way. As the sun dropped low in the west, they turned aside from the lane and rode a quarter-mile across a meadow to a little spinney beside a stream. Here Sir Pom-Pom struck up a fire and tethered out the horses, while Madouc toasted bacon, which they ate for their supper along with bread and cheese.

Madouc had removed her hat. Sir Pom-Pom studied her in the firelight. "Somehow you look different! Now I see! You have cut your hair short."

"How else would it fit under the cap?"

"You look more halfling now than ever."

Madouc sat hugging her knees and looking into the fire. Somewhat wistfully she said: "It is only appearance. With each passing day my human blood sings a louder song. That is always the way when one like myself leaves the shee and lives among men."

"And if you had remained at the shee: what then?"

Madouc hugged her knees even more closely. "I do not know what would have become of me. The fairies might have played tricks on me and shunned me because of my mixed blood."

"Still, mortals die, and fairies dance and play forever."

"Not so," said Madouc. "Fairies also die. Sometimes they sing sad songs by moonlight and pine away for sheer sorrow! Sometimes they drown themselves for love. Sometimes they are killed by raging bumblebees or kidnapped and murdered by trolls who grind fairy-bones into a condiment to season their sauces and ragouts."

Sir Pom-Pom yawned and stretched his legs toward the fire. "It is not the life for me, after all."

"Nor for me," said Madouc. "Already I am far too human!" In the morning the sun rose bright into a cloudless sky, and the day became warm. Halfway through the morning they came to a river, and Madouc could not resist the temptation to bathe. She left Sir Pom-Pom with the horses and scrambled down through the alders to the water's edge. Here she removed her clothes and plunged into the water, to dive and splash and enjoy the refreshing coolness. Chancing to look up the bank, she discovered Sir Pom-Pom peering down at her, his face framed by the foliage.

In a cross voice Madouc called out: "What are you gaping at, Sir Pom-Pom? Have you never seen a naked girl before?"

"Never a naked princess," said Sir Pom-Pom with a grin.

"That is sheer nonsense," said Madouc in disgust. "We are much alike, all of us. There is truly nothing noteworthy to see."

"Still, I prefer it to looking at the back end of Juno."

"Stare as you like," said Madouc. "I cannot be bothered with your foolishness."

"It is not total foolishness, as you put it," said Sir Pom-Pom. "I have a sound and practical reason for making a close inspection."

"What is that?"

"Should I return with the Holy Grail, my boon might entitle me to wed the royal princess. Therefore I thought it sensible to discover just what advantages such a choice might entail. For a fact, I see nothing which arouses any great enthusiasm."

Madouc struggled for words. At last she said: "Since you seem to be idle, I suggest that you strike up a fire and boil us a soup for our noon meal."

Sir Pom-Pom drew his face back through the foliage. Madouc stepped from the water, dressed and returned to the road. As the two sat in the shade of a great elm tree, eating their soup, they observed the approach of three persons on foot: a short plump man, a woman of similar proportions and an urchin, undersized, pasty-gray of skin, seemingly all legs and head. As they drew close, Madouc recognized the three clowns who had performed at the Abatty Dell fair.

The three approached and halted. "A very good day to you both," said the man, who had a round face, coarse black hair, a little bulb of a nose and bright protuberant black eyes.

"I echo this sentiment," declared the woman, who like the man showed a round flexible face, black hair, round black eyes and a pink stub of a nose.

"Good day to you as well," said Madouc.

The man glanced into the pot where simmered the soup. "May we sit here in the shade and take a brief respite from our trudging?"

"The shade is free," said Sir Pom-Pom. "Rest where you like."

"Your words falls kindly on the ear!" said the woman gratefully. "The way is long and I go with difficulty, and sometimes pain, by reason of my ailment."

The three settled cross-legged in the shade. "Allow me to make introductions," said the man. "I am Filemon, Master of Mirth. Here sits Dame Corcas, no less skilled in merry antics. And here, small but doughty, is our little Mikelaus. He is not altogether cheerful, and perhaps somewhat ill, since he has had no breakfast today. Am I right, poor Mikelaus, sad little tyke that you are?"

"Arum. Boskatch. Gaspa confaga."

Sir Pom-Pom blinked. "What did he say?"

Filemon chuckled. "Mikelaus has an odd way of speaking, which is not clear to everyone."

Dame Corcas explained, with delicate precision: "He inquired, quite clearly: ‘What is cooking in the pot?'

"It is our meal," said Sir Pom-Pom. "I have boiled up a soup of ham, onions and beans."

Mikelaus spoke again: "Vogenard. Fistilla."

Filemon said reprovingly: "Impossible, Mikelaus! It is not our food, no matter how much you crave sustenance."

Dame Corcas said: "Perhaps these kind folk might spare him just a taste, to keep the spirit of life awake in his poor little soul."

Madouc said: "I suppose that is possible. Sir Pom-Pom, serve a portion of soup to the creature."

Sir Pom-Pom glumly did as bidden. Dame Corcas reached to take the bowl. "I must make sure that it is not too hot; other wise Mikelaus will burn himself." She spooned up a portion of the soup, along with a goodly chunk of ham and tested it. "It is still far too hot for Mikelaus!"

Filemon scoffed at her caution. "Probably not! Mikelaus has the gut of a salamander! Let me verify the temperature." He took the bowl and raised it to his lips. "That is excellent soup, but you are right; it is far too hot for Mikelaus."

"There is little left in the bowl," said Sir Pom-Pom.

Mikelaus said: "Gamkarch noop. Bosumelists."

"You must not be greedy!" admonished Dame Corcas. "This young gentleman will surely make up more soup if there is not enough."

Madouc, seeing the way the wind blew, heaved a sigh. "Very well, Sir Pom-Pom. Serve around the soup. I cannot eat with these hungry creatures watching my every mouthful."

Sir Pom-Pom growled: "I made only enough for our needs."

"No problem whatever!" declared Filemon with enthusiasm. "When good comrades meet along the road, they share each with each, and all rejoice in mutual amplitude! I notice yonder a fine butt of ham, onions, bread, cheese, and unless my eyes deceive me, a bottle of wine! We shall have a true banquet, here along the road, to which each shall give of his best! Corcas, you must make yourself useful! Assist this young gentleman with the fine boots!"

Dame Corcas sprang to her feet, and so swiftly that Sir Pom Pom could hardly follow the movement of her hands, she had thrown great chunks of ham into the pot, along with half a dozen onions, and three handfuls of oaten flour. While Sir Pom-Pom and Madouc watched in bemusement, Filemon had brought out the bottle of wine, and had tasted its contents.

Mikelaus said: "Arum. Cangel."

"Why not?" said Filemon. "You are poor, miserable, and misshapen, and only two feet tall; still, why should you not enjoy a sip of wine from time to time, along with the rest of your merry comrades?" He passed the bottle to Mikelaus, who tilted it high into the air.

"Enough!" cried Dame Corcas. "While I stand here stirring the pot, and smoke finding the sure way to my eyes, you two consume all the wine! Put the bottle aside! Entertain these two fine folk with your jolly antics."

"Just one more swallow," begged Filemon. "It will lubricate my lips for the fife."

He drank more wine, then brought a fife from his pocket. "Now then, Mikelaus! You must earn your soup! Show us your best hornpipe!"

Filemon played a lively tune, of skirling runs and quick returns, with trills high and warbles low, while Mikelaus danced a wild jig of kicking legs and knees brought high, ending all with a forward and backward somersault.

"Good work, Mikelaus!" cried Dame Corcas. "Perhaps our friends will favor you with a coin or two, as is the habit of the gentry!"

Sir Pom-Pom growled: "Be content that you devour our food and swill our wine."

Filemon put on a face of moist reproach, his eyes large and round. "We are comrades of the road-vagabonds of the same far horizons! Is it not share with one, share with all? Those are the rules of the gallant wayfarers!"

"If this is true, I prefer otherwise," muttered Sir Pom-Pom. Dame Corcas emitted a sudden groan. "Ah! How the pangs do bite! It is my ailment; I have overexerted myself, as is my wont! Always I do too much for others! Filemon, my potion: where is it?"

"In your pouch, my dear, as always!"

"Ah indeed! I must limit my exertions, or I may well become ill!

Sir Pom-Pom said: "We saw you at the fair. You were bounding about with great agility. Filemon threw Mikelaus high in the air, and you ran like the wind to catch him in the net."

Mikelaus said: "Gurgo arraska, selvo sorarsio!" Dame Corcas said: "Yes, it was a shameful failure, for which we can blame the dog."

"Bismal darstid: mango ki-yi-yi."

"Whatever the case," said Dame Corcas, "the trick takes much out of me! I suffer for days afterward, but our public demands the spectacle; they know us of yore and we cannot disappoint them!"

Filemon chuckled. "There is a variation to the trick, wherein we pretend to be three incompetent lunatics and purposely let Mikelaus fall, though pretending to catch him, but failing through one or another of our comic antics."

"Dasa miago lou-lou. Yi. Tinka."

"Just so!" said Filemon. "And the soup is now prepared to Dame Corcas' exacting standards. I serve you with our compliments! Eat hearty, one and all! Even you, Mikelaus; for once in your penurious little life, you shall sup your fill!"

"Arum."

After the meal, Madouc and Sir Pom-Pom prepared to continue on their way. Filemon called in a cheery voice: "If we may, we will go in your company, and thus enliven the journey!"

"Of course we shall!" said Dame Corcas definitely. "It would be sad indeed if we were to part company now, after such a jolly time together."

"Then it is so decided, by popular vote!" declared Filemon.

"We shall go as a little group of boon companions," declared Dame Corcas. "Even though you two ride fine horses while we must walk-or in the case of poor raggle-taggle little Mikelaus, scurry and lope. Be brave, good Mikelaus! Someday the world will turn right for you, and give you a fine reward for all your generous deeds."

"Yi arum bosko."

The group set off down the lane: Sir Pom-Pom riding first on gray Fustis, with Madouc next on Juno, at a gait sufficiently easy that Filemon and Dame Corcas, trudging behind, had no difficulty in keeping pace, and even Mikelaus, by dint of first running at full speed, then halting to catch his breath, remained only a few yards behind.

The lane wound up hill and down dale: between hedges of hawthorn or low fences of mossy fieldstone; past vineyards and orchards, fields of barley and water-meadows sprinkled with flowers; into the shade of small forests, then once more out into the open sunlight.

All at once, after two hours of travel, Dame Corcas gave a choking cry and, clutching her chest, fell to her knees, where she remained, sobbing under her breath. Filemon instantly went to tend her. "My dear Corcas, what is it this time? Another of your attacks?"

Dame Corcas at last managed to speak. "I fear as much. Luckily, it does not seem truly severe, and I do not need my potion. Still, for a period I am obliged to rest. You and dear Mikelaus must go on to Biddle Bray without me, and make arrangements for the gala. When I am better I will creep on alone at my own pace, and eventually, if the Fates are kind, I will arrive in time to do my stint at the performance."

"Unthinkable!" declared Filemon staunchly. "Surely there is a better solution to the problem! Let us take the advice of our friends." He addressed Sir Pom-Pom. "What is your opinion?"

"I would not wish to offer advice."

Filemon struck his fist into the palm of his hand. "I have it!" He turned to Madouc. "Perhaps you, in your kindness, might allow Dame Corcas to ride in your place onward to Biddle Bray, which lies along the road at no great distance."

"It would be most companionable and loyal," cried Dame Corcas fervently. "I fear that otherwise I might just lie here in the road all night, until my strength returns."

Madouc glumly dismounted. "I suppose it will do me no great harm to walk for a bit."

"I thank you, from the bottom of my heart!" cried Dame Corcas. With surprising agility she stepped to Juno's side and swung herself into the saddle. "Ah! I feel better already! Filemon, shall we sing a brave little song, to bolster our spirits?"

"Of course, my dear! What shall it be?"

" ‘The Song of the Three Merry Vagabonds', of course."

"Very good." Filemon clapped his hands to establish the cadence; then, in his gustful baritone mingled with Dame Corcas' piping soprano, the song was rendered:

Our wants are many, our farthings few;

And oft we sleep in the rain and dew!

Our evening meal is a turnip stew;

In spite of all we're a jolly crew!

Refrain (as sung by Mikelaus):

Sigmo chaska yi yi yi Varmous varmous oglethorpe.

Our argosies ride distant tides;

Out there somewhere our fortune hides.

Though pain seems what our life provides Our dauntless doctrine still abides!

Refrain (as sung by Mikelaus):

Poxin mowgar yi yi yi Vilish hoy kazinga.

The land is broad, the sky is vast!

We travel far, but not too fast.

The dogs bark loud as we walk past;

At night the owls fly off aghast.

Refrain (sung by Mikelaus):

Varmous toigal yi yi yi Tinkish wombat nip.

So went the ballad for sixteen more verses, with Mikelaus in each case croaking a refrain from the road behind.

Other songs were sung, with such gusto that Madouc at last called up to Dame Corcas: "You seem to have recovered your strength."

"To some extent, my dear! But it is verging into the afternoon, and now I must take my potion to prevent a new attack.

I believe that I have the packet ready to hand." Dame Corcas searched her pouch, then gave a cry of consternation. "This is a dreadful discovery!"

"What now, my dear?" cried Filernon.

"I left my potion at the spot where we made our meal! I remember distinctly tucking the packet into the crotch of the elm tree."

"That is most inconvenient! You must have your potion, if you are to survive the night!"

"There is only one solution!" said Dame Corcas decisively.

"I will ride back at speed for the potion. Meanwhile, you must continue to the old hut where once before we passed the night; it lies only a mile or so ahead. You may prepare us all nice beds of straw, and I will be back with you surely before the sun sets."

"It seems the only way," said Filemon. "Ride at best speed; still, do not founder the horse, gallant beast though it may be!"

"I know how to get the most out of such an animal," said Dame Corcas. "I will see you anon!" She turned back down the road, and kicked up Juno first into a trot, then into a warbling gallop, and soon disappeared from view, while Madouc and Sir Pom-Pom watched nonplussed.

"Come then," said Filemon. "As Dame Corcas mentioned, there is a deserted hut a short distance ahead, which will provide us a kindly shelter for the night."

The group continued, with Sir Pom-Pom, on Fustis, leading the way. Twenty minutes later they came upon a desolate old crofter's hut, situated a few yards off the road in the shade of two sprawling oak trees.

"Here we are," said Filemon. "It is not a palace, but it is better than nothing, and clean straw is to be had in the rick."

He turned to Mikelaus who had been trying to engage his attention. "What is it now, Mikelaus?"

"Fidix. Waskin. Bolosio."

Filemon stared down at him in shock. "Can it be true?"

"Arum. Fooner."

"I cannot recall the act! Still I will search my wallet." Almost at once Filemon discovered a packet tied in black cord. "Mikelaus, you are right! I absent-mindedly took up Dame Corcas' potion and dropped it into my pouch! And now the poor creature will be in a dreadful state! She will never give up her search while the light persists, and the worry may bring on a severe attack; you will recall that episode at Cwimbry."

"Arum."

"There is no help for it! I must ride to find her, so that she will not be in an agony of despair. Luckily, the way is not long." He turned to Sir Pom-Pom. "Sir, I must beg the use of your horse Fustis! I take the blame for the entire inconvenience! But Mikelaus will make himself handy during my short absence. Mikelaus, hear me now and hear me well! I do not want to learn of your shirking! Show this gentleman to the hayrick, then gather sticks for a fire. Further, I entrust you with a jar of my special wax. I want you to polish this gentleman's boots, and polish them until they shine like glass. It is the very least you can do for our friends until I return with Dame Corcas!" He sprang into the saddle which Sir Pom-Pom had only just vacated and galloped off down the road.

"Hoy!" called Sir Pom-Pom after him. "At least leave behind the saddlebags, that we may make our supper in your absence!"

But Filemon failed either to hear or to heed and was soon lost to sight.

Sir Pom-Pom looked into the hut, then backed away. "I believe that I will sleep out in the open, where the must is less intense."

"I will do likewise, since the night promises to be fine," said Madouc.

Sir Pom-Pom and Mikelaus brought straw from an old rick and laid it down to make soft sweet-smelling beds. Then Sir Pom-Pom struck up a fire, but without saddlebags they could only look glumly into the flames and wait with what patience they could muster for the return of Filemon and Dame Corcas with their horses.

The sun sank low and disappeared behind the far hills. Sir Pom-Pom went to look along the road but discovered neither sight nor sound of either Dame Corcas or Filemon.

He returned to the fire and pulled off his boots. Mikelaus at once took them aside and began to polish them, using Filemon's special wax. Sir Pom-Pom spoke in surly tones: "I do not care to sit up until midnight. I will now lie down to sleep, which is the best remedy for an empty stomach."

"I believe I will do the same," said Madouc. "Mikelaus may well stay up to wait; he has the polishing of your boots to occupy his time."

For a period Madouc lay awake watching the stars drift past overhead, but at last her eyelids became heavy and she fell asleep. And so the night passed.

In the morning Madouc and Sir Pom-Pom arose from their beds of straw and looked about. There was no sign of either Filemon, Dame Corcas, or the horses. When they looked for Mikelaus, he also was not in evidence, nor were Sir Pom-Pom's boots.

Madouc said: "I am commencing to wonder about the honesty of Filemon and Dame Corcas."

"Do not leave that impling Mikelaus out of your calculations," said Sir Pom-Pom through gritted teeth. "It is clear that he has decamped with my new boots."

Madouc drew a deep breath. "I suppose it is futile to lament our loss. At Biddle Bray we will buy you stout buskins and a pair of good stockings. Until then you must go barefoot."

II

Madouc and Sir Pom-Pom trudged glumly into Biddle Bray; even the red feather in Sir Pom-Pom's cap had taken on a disconsolate slant. At the Dog's Head Inn they ate pease porridge for breakfast, after which, at a cobbler's shop, Sir Pom-Pom was fitted with a pair of buskins. When the cobbler called for his money, Sir Pom-Pom pointed to Madouc. "You must discuss the matter with her."

Madouc stared at him in displeasure. "How so?"

"Because you have insisted upon carrying the funds."

"What of the silver form and the three copper pennies?"

Sir Pom-Pom's face became bleak. "I placed three coins in my pouch, which I tied to the pommel of my saddle. Filemon jumped on Fustis and rode off like a whirlwind, and with him horse, pouch and money."

Madouc, restraining comment, paid the cobbler. "The past is past. Let us be on our way."

The two adventurers departed Biddle Bray by Bidbottle Lane, which led north toward Modoiry, a village on Old Street. After a mile or two Sir Pom-Pom recovered something of his bravado. He began to whistle and presently he said: "You spoke correctly! The past is past; today is today! The road is open; the sun shines bright, and somewhere the Holy Grail awaits my coming!"

"So it may be," said Madouc.

"Footing it is not so bad," Pom-Pom went on. "I see many advantages. Fodder and drench no longer concern us nor the nuisances of tether, bridle, blanket and saddle. We can also put aside all fear of horse thieves."

"Whatever the case, horseback or afoot, it is no great distance to Thripsey Shee," said Madouc.

"Even so, that need not be our first destination," said Sir Pom-Pom. "I am anxious to search for the Holy Grail: first in the crypts on Weamish Isle, where I suspect we will find a secret compartment."

Madouc responded with decision: "First we fare to Thripsey Shee, and there we will take advice from my mother."

Sir Pom-Pom scowled and kicked at a pebble.

"It serves no purpose to pout and sulk," said Madouc. "We shall keep a vigilant watch to right and left as we go."

Sir Pom-Pom turned a sullen side-glance upon Madouc. "Your cap is pulled low and rests on your ears and nose. I wonder how you can see the road in front of your feet, much less the land scape to right and left."

"You watch the landscape and I will guide us to Thripsey Shee," said Madouc. "And now what I see ahead is a blackberry thicket heavy with fruit. It would be a shame to pass by without a taste."

Sir Pom-Pom pointed. "Someone already works at the harvest. He may even be on guard against vagabonds such as our selves."

Madouc scrutinized the person to whom Sir Pom-Pom had referred. "I would take him for a kindly old gentleman out for a stroll, who has paused to pick a few berries into his hat. Still, I will ask as to the berries."

Madouc approached the thicket, where a man of mature years, in costume characteristic of the lesser gentry, paused at his work. Weather and sun had browned his skin and bleached his hair; his features were undistinguished, though even and regular; the gaze of his gray eyes was mild, so that Madouc felt no hesitation in addressing him. "Sir, are these berries under your control, or are they available to others?"

"I must answer both ‘yes' and ‘no'. For berries already picked and in my hat I feel an attachment. Those berries yet on the bush I place under no restriction whatever."

"In that case I will pick a few berries on my account, as will Sir Pom-Pom."

‘Sir Pom-Pom', is it? Since I mingle with the aristocracy, he I must look to my manners."

"I am not truly a knight," said Sir Pom-Pom modestly. "It is only a manner of speaking."

"Here among the bushes it matters little," said the old man. "Knight and commoner alike cry ‘Ay caray!' at the prick of a thorn, and the favor is the same on both tongues. As for me, my name is Travante; my rank or its lack are equally irrelevant." Travante looked down at Madouc, who picked from a branch nearby. "Below that cap I seem to notice red curls, and also some extremely blue eyes."

"My hair is more copper-gold then red."

"So I see, upon closer attention. And what is your name?"

"I am Madouc."

The three picked blackberries, then sat together by the side of the road and ate their harvest. Travante asked: "Since you came from the south, you are faring to the north. Where are you bound?"

"First to Modoiry on Old Street," said Madouc. "Truth to tell, we are vagabonds of a sort, Sir Pom-Pom and I, and each of us has a quest to fulfill."

"I too am a vagabond," said Travante. "I too pursue a quest - one which is futile and forlorn, or so I have been told by those who remain at home. If I may, I will accompany you, at least for a space."

"Do so and welcome," said Madouc. "What is the quest that takes you so far and wide?"

Travante looked off down the road, smiling. "It is an extraordinary quest. I am searching for my lost youth."

"Indeed!" said Madouc. "How did you lose it?" Travante held out his hands in a gesture of puzzlement. "I cannot be sure. I had it one moment and the next time I thought to notice it was gone."

Madouc glanced at Sir Pom-Pom, who was staring dumbfounded at Travante. She said: "I suppose you are sure of your facts."

"Oh indeed! I remember it distinctly! Then it was as if I walked around the table and poof! I found myself an old man."

"There must have been the usual and ordinary intervals in between?"

"Dreams, my dear. Figments, wisps, sometimes a nightmare. But what of you?"

"It is simple. I do not know my father. My mother is a fairy from Thripsey Shee. I am seeking my father and with him my pedigree."

"And Sir Pom-Pom: what does he seek?"

"Sir Pom-Pom seeks the Holy Grail, in accordance with King Casmir's proclamation."

"Ah! He is of religious persuasion?"

"Not so," said Sir Pom-Pom. "If I bring the Holy Grail to Queen Sollace, she will grant me a boon. I might well choose to marry the Princess Madouc, though she is as high-handed and vain as the artful little frippet who sits beside you now."

Travante glanced down at Madouc. "Could she possibly be one and the same individual?"

Sir Pom-Pom put on his most portentous frown. "There are certain facts we do not want generally known. Still, I can say this: you have guessed a good guess."

Madouc told Travante: "Another fact is not generally known, especially to Sir Pom-Pom. He must learn that his dreams of marriage and the boon have nothing to do with me."

Sir Pom-Pom said obstinately: "I can only rely upon the assurances of Queen Sollace in this regard."

"So long as I control the Tinkle-toe Imp-spring, I will have the last word in this matter," said Madouc. She rose to her feet. "It is time we were on our way."

Travante said: "Sir Pom-Pom. I strongly suspect that you will never marry Madouc. I advise you to work toward a more accessible goal."

"I will give the matter thought," growled Sir Pom-Pom. The three set off to the north along Bidbottle Lane. "We make a notable company," declared Travante. "I am as I am! Sir Pom-Pom is strong and brave, while Madouc is clever and resourceful; also, with her copper-gold curls, her wry little face and her eyes of heartbreak blue she is both quaint and vastly appealing."

"She can also be a vixen, when it suits her mood," said Sir Pom-Pom.

III

Bidbottle Lane wound north across the countryside: up hill and down dale, into the shade of the Wanswold Oaks, out across Scrimsour Downs. Overhead floated lazy white clouds; their shadows drifted across the landscape. The sun moved up the sky; as it reached the zenith, the three wayfarers arrived at Modoiry, where Bidbottle Lane met Old Street. Madouc and Sir Pom-Pom would proceed another three miles east to Little Saffield, then fare north beside the River Timble and on to the Forest of Tantrevalles. Travante intended to continue past Little Saffield to the Long Downs, that he might conduct his search among the dolmens of the Stollshot Circus.

As the three approached Little Saffield Madouc found herself increasingly disturbed by the prospect of parting with Travante, whose company she found both reassuring and amusing; further, his presence seemed to discourage Sir Pom-Pom's occasional tendencies toward pomposity. Madouc finally suggested that Travante accompany them, at least as far as Thripsey Shee.

Travante reflected upon the proposal. Then, somewhat dubiously, he said: "I know nothing of halflings; indeed, all my life I have been wary of them. Too many tales are told of their caprice and exaggerated conduct."

"In this case there is nothing to fear," said Madouc confidently. "My mother is both gracious and beautiful! She will surely be delighted to see me, and my friends as well, though I admit this is less certain. Still, she might well advise you in regard to your quest."

Sir Pom-Pom asked plaintively: "What of me? I also am engaged upon a quest."

"Patience, Sir Pom-Pom! Your wants are known!"

Travante came to a decision. "Well then, why not? I will welcome any advice, since I have had precious little luck searching on my own."

"Then you will come with us!"

"For just a bit, until you find me a bore."

"I doubt if that will ever occur," said Madouc. "I enjoy your company, and I am sure that Sir Pom-Pom does so as well."

"Really?" Travante looked half-incredulously from one to the other. "I consider myself drab and uninteresting."

"I would never use those words," said Madouc. "I think of you as a dreamer, perhaps a trifle-let us say-impractical, but your ideas are never dull."

"I am pleased to hear you say so. As I mentioned, I have no great opinion of myself."

"Whyever not?"

"For the most ordinary of reasons: I excel in nothing. I am neither a philosopher, nor a geometer, nor yet a poet. Never have I destroyed a horde of savage enemies, nor built a noble monument, nor ventured to the far places of the world. I lack all grandeur."

"You are not alone," said Madouc. "Few can claim such achievements."

"That means naught to me! I am I; I answer to myself, with no heed for others. I am persuaded that a life-span should not be futile and empty! For this reason I seek my lost youth, and with such special zeal."

"And if you were to find it, what would you do?"

"I would alter everything! I would become a person of enterprise; I would consider wasted the day that did not include the contriving of some wonderful plan, or the building of a fine object, or the righting of a wrong! So would pass each day, in marvellous deeds. Then each night I would gather my friends for an occasion which would be remembered forever! That is how life should be lived, to the best effort of one's power! Now that I know the truth, the time is too late-unless I find what I seek."

Madouc turned to Sir Pom-Pom. "Have you been paying heed? These are lessons which you should take to heart, if only so that someday you may avoid Travante's regrets."

"It is a sound philosophy," said Sir Pom-Pom. "I have occasionally thought along similar lines. However, while toiling at the royal stables I could not put such theories into effect. If I find the Holy Grail and earn a boon, I will take pains to live a more glorious life."

The three had now arrived at Little Saffield. The time was halfway through the afternoon: too late to proceed farther. The three repaired to the Black Ox Inn, to find all rooms occupied. They were given a choice of straw pallets in the garret among the rats, or the loft above the bar, where they might sleep in the hay, which option they selected.

In the morning the three set off to the north up Timble Lane. They passed first through the village Tawn Timble, then the hamlet Glymwode, with the Forest of Tantrevalles a brooding dark line close ahead.

In a field they found a peasant digging turnips, who gave directions to Thripsey Shee on Madling Meadow. "It is not so far as the dog runs, but the lane winds and crooks, all the while taking you more deeply into the forest, meanwhile becoming no more than a track. You will come at last to a woodcutter's hut; thereafter the track becomes a trace, but you must proceed farther still, until the forest breaks, and before you will be Madling Meadow."

"That seems simple enough," said Travante.

"So it is, but beware of the fairies of the shee! Above all, do not loiter after dusk or the imps will do you a mischief. They put donkey's ears and a donkey's utensil on poor Fottem, all because he made water on the meadow."

"We will surely be more mannerly," said Madouc.

The three went forward; the forest loomed dark and quiet ahead. The lane, now a track, veered to the east, then turned to plunge into the forest. Branches arched overhead; foliage blocked out the sky; the open country was gone and lost to view.

The track led deep into the forest. The air became cool and carried a hundred herbal scents. In the forest all colors were altered. Greens were various: greens of moss and fern, of wort, mallow, dock and tree-leaves in the sunlight. The browns were heavy and rich: black-brown and umber of the oak tree bole, russet and tan of forest floor. In the coverts, where the trees grew close and the foliage hung heavy, the shadows were deep, and tinged with maroon, indigo, black-green.

The three passed the woodcutter's hut; the track dwindled to a trail, winding between boles, across dim dells, over outcrops of black rock, finally a break in the trees and beyond: Madling Meadow. Madouc halted and told her companions: "You two must wait here for a time, while I go to find my mother. This will cause the least disturbance."

Sir Pom-Pom spoke in dissatisfaction. "That may not be the best idea! I want to put my questions as soon as possible-to strike while the iron is hot, so to speak!"

"That is not the way to deal with fairies," said Madouc. "If you try to guide them, or work them to your will, they only laugh and dodge and curvet off slantwise, and may refuse to speak at all."

"At least I can ask politely if they know anything whatever of the Grail. If not, we are only wasting our time and should hasten on to Weamish Isle."

"Be patient, Sir Pom-Pom! Remember, we are dealing with fairies! You must control your anxieties until I discover how the land lies."

Sir Pom-Pom said stiffly: "I am not a bumpkin, after all; I too know how to deal with fairies."

Madouc became vexed. "Remain here, or go back to Lyonesse Town and ask questions of your own mother!"

Sir Pom-Pom muttered: "I do not dare; she would laugh herself ill for my part in this expedition, then send me out for a bucket of moonbeams." He went to settle himself on a fallen log, where he was joined by Travante. "Be quick, if you please; and if chance allows, ask after the Holy Grail."

"You might also allude to my quest," said Travante, "if a gap opens in the conversation."

"I will do what I can."

Madouc went warily to the edge of the forest, pausing only to remove her cap and fluff out her curls. She halted in the shade of a wide-spreading beech tree, and looked out over the meadow: a roughly circular area three hundred yards in diameter. At the center rose a hummock to which a dwarfed and contorted oak clung with sprawling roots. Madouc scanned the meadow, but saw only flowers nodding in the breeze. Nothing could be heard but a soft murmur which might have been the sound of bees and singing insects; still Madouc knew that she was not alone, especially after a mischievous hand pinched first one cheek of her round little rump, then the other. A voice giggled; another whispered: "Green apples, green apples!"

The first voice whispered: "When will she learn?"

Madouc indignantly called out: "Trouble me not, by fairy law!"

The voices became scornful. "Hoity-toity to boot, apart from all else!" sneered the first.

"She is a hard one to know!" said the other.

Madouc ignored the remarks. She looked up at the sky, and decided that the time was near upon noon. In a soft voice she called: "Twisk! Twisk! Twisk!"

A moment passed. Out on the meadow, as if her eyes had come into focus, Madouc saw a hundred filmy shapes moving about their unfathomable affairs. Above the central hummock a wisp of fog swirled high into the air.

Madouc waited and watched, nerves tingling. Where was Twisk? One of the shapes strolled at a languid pace across the meadow, taking on substance as it came, finally to show the charming lineaments of the fairy Twisk. She wore a knee-length gown of near-impalpable gauze which enhanced the effect of her supple and fascinating contours. Today she had selected pale lavender as a suitable color for her hair; as before it floated in a soft cloud behind her head and around her face. Madouc scanned the face anxiously, hoping for indications of maternal benevolence. Twisk's expression was impassive.

"Mother!" cried Madouc. "I am happy to see you again!"

Twisk halted and looked Madouc up and down. "Your hair is a jackdaw's nest," said Twisk. "Where is the comb I gave you?"

Madouc said hurriedly: "Some clowns from the fair stole my horse Juno, along with saddle, saddlebag and comb."

"Clowns and entertainers are an untrustworthy lot; this should be your lesson. In any case you must make yourself tidy, especially if you plan to join the merriment at our grand festival! As you can see, the frolics are already underway."

"I know nothing of the festival, Mother dear. I had not planned merriment."

"Oh? It is to be a grand gala! Notice all the pretty arrangements!"

Madouc looked across the meadow and now everything had changed. The swirl of fog above the hummock had become a tall castle of twenty towers with long banderoles streaming from each spire. In front of the castle stanchions of twisted silver and iron were linked by festoons of flowers; they surrounded a long table heaped with delicacies and liquors in tall bottles.

The festival apparently had not yet started, although fairies were already promenading and dancing about the meadow in great high spirits-all save one, who sat perched on a post scratching himself with great industry.

"I seem to have arrived at a happy time," said Madouc. "What is the occasion?"

"We celebrate a notable event," said Twisk. "It is the emancipation of Falael from seven long years of itch; King Throbius so punished him for malice and mischief. The curse will soon have run its course; in the meantime Falael sits yonder on the post, scratching as earnestly as ever. And now, I will bid you farewell once again, and wish you a fortunate future."

"Wait!" cried Madouc. "Are you not pleased to see me, your own dear daughter?"

"Not altogether, if truth be told. Your birth was travail, most unsavory, and your presence reminds me of the entire revolting circumstance."

Madouc pursed her lips. "I will put it out of my mind if you will do the same."

Twisk laughed: a gay tinkle. "Well spoken! My mood is slightly alleviated! Why are you here?"

"It is the usual reason. I need a mother's advice."

"Proper and normal! Describe your trouble! Surely it is not an affair of the heart!"

"No, Mother! I only want to find my father, so that I can finally define my pedigree."

Twisk gave a plangent cry of displeasure. "The topic lacks interest! I have long put the circumstance out of my mind! I remember nothing!"

"Surely you remember something!" cried Madouc.

Twisk made an offhand gesture. "A moment of frivolity, a laugh, a kiss; why should anyone wish to catalogue these in terms of place, date, phase of the moon, details of nomenclature? Rest content with the knowledge that one such event was conducive to your being; that is enough."

"For you, but not for me! I am intent upon my identity, which means the name of my father."

Twisk gave a gurgle of mocking laughter. "I cannot even name my own father, let alone yours!"

"Still, my father brought you a lovely child; surely that impressed your memory!"

"Hmm. One would so imagine." Twisk looked off across the meadow. "You have tickled my recollection! The occasion, so I recall, was unique. I can tell you this-" Twisk looked past Madouc into the forest. "Who are these solemn vagrants? Their presence obtrudes upon the mood of the festival!"

Madouc turned to find that Sir Pom-Pom had crept through the forest and now stood close at hand. Not far behind, but well back in the shadows, lurked Travante.

Madouc turned back to Twisk. "These are my companions; they are also embarked upon serious quests. Sir Pom-Pom seeks the Holy Grail; Travante searches for his youth, which was lost when he was not paying heed."

Twisk said haughtily: "Had you not avouched for them, they might have come to grief!"

Sir Pom-Pom, despite Madouc's glare of annoyance, stepped forward. "Dame Fairy of the Silver Eyes, allow me to put you a question, which is this: where should I seek the Holy Grail?"

"Determine its location and go to that spot; that is my wise advice."

Travante spoke tentatively: "If you could guide me to my lost youth, I would be most grateful."

Twisk jumped high in the air, pirouetted, settled slowly to the ground. "I am not an index of the world's worries. I know nothing either of Christian crockery nor truant time! And now: silence! King Throbius has appeared and will fix his amnesty upon Falael!"

Sir Pom-Pom muttered: "I see nothing but wisps and blurs." Travante whispered in amazement: "Look again! All is coming clear! I see the castle, and a thousand colored delights!"

"Now I see the same!" whispered Sir Pom-Pom in amazement.

"Hist! Not another sound!"

At the castle tall doors of pearl and opal swung apart; King Throbius stepped forward at a stately pace, a dozen roundfaced imps hopping behind holding the hem of his long purple train. For the occasion he wore a crown of sixteen tall silver prongs, curving outward and terminating in sparkling points of white fire.

King Throbius advanced to the balustrade, and halted. He looked out over the meadow, where all was hushed, and even Falael desisted from his scratching long enough to look around in awe.

King Throbius held up his hand. "Today marks a significant epoch in our lives, in that it celebrates the regeneration of one of our ilk! Falael, you have erred! You have contrived ills and wrongs by the dozen, and put many of these schemes into effect! For such offenses, you have been visited with a remedial condition which at the very least has occupied your attention and brought about a welcome cessation of mischief! Now then, Falael! I asked you to address this company, and tell them of your redemption! Speak! Are you ready to have the ‘Curse of the Itch' removed?"

"I am ready!" cried Falael with fervor. "In all aspects, up and down, right and left, in and out: I am ready."

"Very well! I hereby-"

"One moment!" called Falael. "I have one particularly vexing itch I wish to subdue before the curse is removed." With great zeal Falael scratched an area along his belly. "Now then, Your Majesty. I am ready!"

"Very good! I hereby lift the curse, and I hope, Falael, that the inconveniences of your punishment will have persuaded you to forbearance, kindliness and restraint, as well as a full terminus to your penchant for wicked tricks!"

"Absolutely, Your Majesty! All is changed! Henceforth I shall be known as Falael the Good!"

"That is a noble aspiration, which I endorse and applaud. See that you keep it always to the fore! Now then! Let the festival proceed! All must participate in Falael's joy! One last word! Yonder, so I notice, stand three wights from the world of men - two mortals and the beloved daughter of our own dear Twisk! In the spirit of festival we give them welcome; let there be neither molestation nor prank, no matter how amusing! Today jocundity is rife, and all shall share!"

King Throbius held up his hand in salute and returned into the castle.

Madouc had been politely listening to the remarks of King Throbius; when she turned back she found Twisk had started to saunter off across the meadow. Madouc called out in distress: "Mother, where do you go?"

Twisk looked around in surprise. "I go off to rejoice with the others! There will be dancing and a great drinking of fairy wine; you have been allowed to join us; will you do so?"

"No, Mother! If I drank fairy wine, I would become giddy and who knows what might happen?"

"Well then, will you dance?"

Madouc smilingly shook her head. "I have heard that those who dance with the fairies are never able to stop. I will neither drink wine nor dance, nor will Sir Pom-Pom nor Travante."

"As you like. In that case-"

"You were about to tell me of my father!"

Sir Pom-Pom stepped forward. "You might also specify how I am to find the location of the Holy Grail, that I may go to this spot and find it."

Travante spoke more hesitantly: "I would welcome even a hint in regard to my lost youth!"

"It is all a nuisance," said Twisk fretfully. "You must wait until another time."

Madouc turned toward the castle and cried out: "King Throbius! King Throbius! Where are you? Come here, if you please, and at once!"

Twisk jerked back in consternation. "Why do you act so strangely? You lack all convention!"

A deep voice spoke; King Throbius himself stood at hand.

"Who calls my name with such unseemly shrieks, as if at the imminence of peril?"

Twisk spoke in a silken voice: "Your Majesty, it was only an excess of girlish excitement; we are sorry you were disturbed."

"Not so," declared Madouc.

"I am puzzled," said King Throbius. "You were not excited or you were not sorry?"

"Neither, Your Highness."

"Well then-what sent you into such frantic transports?"

"In truth, Your Highness, I wished to consult my mother in your presence, so that you might help her recollection when it faltered."

King Throbius nodded sagely. "And what memories did you wish to explore?"

"The identity of my father and the nature of my pedigree." King Throbius looked sternly at Twisk. "As I recall, the episode was not altogether to your credit."

"It went neither one way nor the other," said Twisk, now crestfallen. "It occurred as it occurred and that was the end to it."

"And how went the details?" asked Madouc.

"It is not a tale for immature ears," said King Throbius. "But in this case we must make an exception. Twisk, will you tell the story, or must I assume the task?"

Twisk's response was sullen. "The incidents are both ridiculous and embarrassing. They are nothing to blazon about, as if in pride, and I prefer to stand in detachment."

"Then I will recount the episode. To begin with, I will point out that embarrassment is the other face of vanity."

"I have a profound admiration for myself," said Twisk. "Is this vanity? The point is debatable."

"The term may or may not apply. I will now revert to a time some years in the past. Twisk, then as now, fancied herself a great beauty-as indeed she was and is. In her folly she teased and tormented Mangeon the troll, flaunting herself, then leaping nimbly from his grasp and taking gleeful pleasure in his expostulations. Mangeon finally became swollen with malice and decided to punish her for her tricks. One day, coming upon Twisk unaware, he seized her, dragged her up Wamble Way to Munkins Road, and chained her to Idilra Post, which stands beside the crossroad. Mangeon then cast a spell, to hold the chains secure until Twisk had persuaded three wayfarers to engage her in erotic congress. Twisk will now elaborate upon the tale, if she is of a mind."

"I am not so of a mind," said Twisk crossly. "Still in the hope that my daughter Madouc may profit from my error, I will recount the circumstances."

"Speak on," said King Throbius.

"There is little to tell. The first to pass was the knight Sir Jaucinet of Castle Cloud in Dahaut. He was both courteous and sympathetic and would have persisted longer than was perhaps truly needful, but at last I dismissed him, since the time was close on dusk and I wished not to discourage other wayfarers. The second to pass was Nisby, a ploughboy on his way home from the field. He was most helpful, in a rude but vigorous fashion. He wasted no time since, so he explained, he expected bacon for his supper. I was desperate to be free before nightfall and was relieved to see him depart. Alas! I was to be disappointed! Dusk became evening; the moon rose full; it shone down from the sky as bright as an escutcheon of polished silver. Now along the road came a shadowy figure, cloaked in black, with a wide-brimmed hat shading his face from the moonlight, so that his features could not be discerned. He came at a slow gait, stopping every three paces, from watchfulness, or perhaps from mindless habit. I found him bereft of all appeal, and did not call out to him that he might liberate me from the post. Nevertheless, he saw me by moonlight, and stopped short, to make an appraisal. Neither his posture nor his silence eased my misgivings; still, I could not depart by reason of the chain and its connection to Idilra Post, so I made a virtue of necessity and remained where I was. With slow and careful step the dark wayfarer approached and at last worked his will upon me. Where Nisby was abrupt and Sir Jaucinet elegant, the dark creature used a furious zeal lacking in all sentimentality, failing even to remove his hat. Neither did he speak his name, nor so much as comment upon the weather. My response, under the circumstances, was confined to cold disdain.

"Eventually the affair ran its course and I was free. The dark creature went off through the moonlight, his gait even slower and more thoughtful than before. I hastened back to Thripsey Shee."

At this point, Queen Bossum, splendid in a gown of sapphire spangles and pale cobweb, came to join King Throbius, who turned to greet her with full gallantry. Twisk continued her tale. "In my term I was delivered of an infant, who brought me neither pleasure nor pride, by reason of her provenance. At the first opportunity and with little remorse I changed her for the infant Dhrun, and all the rest is known."

Madouc made a sad sound. "The case is even more confused than before! To whom will I look for my pedigree? To Nisby? To Sir Jaucinet? To the dark creature of the shadows? Must it be one of these?"

"I would think so," said Twisk. "Still, I guarantee nothing."

"It is all most untidy," said Madouc.

Twisk spoke with petulance: "Then is then! Now is now, and now is the festival! Vivacity tingles in the very air; see how the fairies dance and play! Notice Falael and the merry capers he is cutting! How he enjoys his liberation!"

Madouc turned to look. "He is indeed very brisk. Still, dear Mother, before you join the revelry, I need your further advice!"

"You shall have it and gladly! I advise that you depart Madling Meadow at this very instant! The day is waning, and soon the music will start. If you loiter you might be prompted to bide here all night long to your sorrow! Therefore I bid you fare well!"

King Throbius finished his gallant interchanges with Queen Bossum. He turned about in time to overhear Twisk's advice to Madouc, and was affected adversely. He called out: "Twisk, I bid you stay!" He strode forward, and the twelve round-faced implets who carried his train were obliged to hop and run to keep pace.

King Throbius halted and made a stately gesture of admonition. "Twisk, your conduct, on this day of joy, strikes a discord. At Thripsey Shee ‘faith', ‘truth' and ‘loyalty' are not just catch words to be abandoned at the first inconvenience! You must dutifully assist your daughter, odd little crotchet though she may be!"

Twisk flung out her hands in despair. "Sire, I have already gratified her needs to a surfeit! She arrived devoid of parents except for me, her mother; she may now select from any of three fathers, each with his distinctive pedigree. I could hardly have provided a greater choice and still retain my dignity."

King Throbius nodded in measured approval. "I commend your delicacy."

"Thank you, Your Majesty! Now may I join the company?"

"Not yet! We are agreed to this extent: Madouc has an amplitude of choice. Let us learn if she is pleasurably content."

"Not at all!" cried Madouc. "The case is worse than ever!"

"How so?"

"I have choices, but where do they lead? I shudder to think of the pedigree I might derive from the dark creature."

"Aha! I believe that I understand your dilemma!" King Throbius turned to Twisk. "Can you resolve this problem, or must I intervene?"

Twisk shrugged. "My best efforts have evidently gone for naught. Madouc, His Highness has offered assistance; I suggest that you accept, after first inquiring what he wants in return. That is a mother's sage advice."

King Throbius spoke severely: "On this day of gladness, I will do what needs to be done, and demand nothing in return! Listen then, to my instructions! Bring hither to this spot your three putative fathers: Nisby, Sir Jaucinet, and the dark creature. Stand them together side by side; I will identify your father on the instant and discover the length of his pedigree!"

Madouc reflected for a moment. "All very well, but what if the three refuse to come to Thripsey Shee?"

King Throbius reached to the ground and picked up a pebble. He touched it to his forehead, to his nose, to his chin, and finally to the point of his sharp fairy tongue. He handed the pebble to Madouc. "Whomever you touch with this stone must follow where you lead, or stand at your command, until you touch him on the backside with this same stone and cry out: ‘Begone!' By this means you may induce the three to come with you."

"Thank you, Your Highness! Only one detail remains."

"What might that be?"

"Where shall I find these individuals?"

King Throbius frowned. "That is a reasonable question. Twisk, what are your concepts in this regard?"

"Your Majesty, I know nothing for certain. Nisby came from the direction of the Dillydown; Sir Jaucinet mentioned Castle Cloud in Dahaut; as for the third I know nothing whatever."

King Throbius signalled Twisk to the side. The two conferred for several minutes, then turned back to Madouc. "The problem, as always, has a solution."

"That is good news!" said Madouc. "My dear mother Twisk has volunteered to make the search?"

King Throbius held up his hand to quell Twisk's instant outcry. "The possibility was discussed, then abandoned. Our scheme is far more cunning! You shall not seek out these three individuals; instead, they shall come in search of you!"

Madouc's jaw dropped in bewilderment. "I do not under stand."

"This is the plan. I shall disseminate to all quarters an information. Bosnip! Where is Bosnip?"

"Here I am, Sire!"

"Make an exact record of the following decree. Are you ready?"

Bosnip the Royal Scribe produced a sheet of mulberry paper, a vial of black-beetle ink, a long quill pen. "Sire, I am ready!"

"This is the decree; write with your best flourishes:

" ‘Can anyone forget the penalty visited upon the fairy Twisk, so proud and haughty, at Idilra Post? Now her equally beauteous daughter must also be chastened; is it not a pity? Like Twisk, she flaunted and teased, then ran off to hide. The penalty is just: like Twisk, she will be constrained to Idilra Post until liberated, as before, by some sympathetic passerby.

‘So say I, Throbius, of Thripsey Shee, the King.'

Bosnip wrote with concentration, the tip of his black quill pen twitching back and forth at speed. King Throbius asked: "You have transcribed these words?"

"Exactly, Sire!"

"That, then, shall be my decree," said King Throbius. "It shall be made known to all, save only the ogres Fuluot, Carabara, Gois and three-headed Throop. Nisby will hear, also Sir Jaucinet, and the dark creature as well, whatever his name and his nature."

As Madouc listened to the decree, her mouth had dropped open in wonder. Finally, in a choked voice, she asked: "Is this the crafty scheme, that I am to be chained to an iron post, and there subjected to unspeakable acts?"

King Throbius explained the details of his scheme in a patient if somewhat heavy voice: "It is our theory that the three persons who liberated Twisk will wish to assist you in the same fashion. When they approach intent on their good offices, you need only touch them with the pebble to bring them under your control."

Madouc discovered a flaw in the plan. "Have you not noticed? I lack the attributes of my mother Twisk! Will any of the three be inclined even to approach the post? I see them coming in haste, taking note of me, stopping short, turning and running back the way they had come, careless if I were to be liberated or not."

"The point is well taken," said King Throbius. "I will cast a glamour upon you, so that folk will be enthralled, and mistake you for a creature of allure."

"Hmmf," said Madouc. "I suppose that will have to be the way of it."

"The scheme is sound," said Twisk.

Madouc was still not totally convinced. "Might not our plans go awry in some unexpected way? Suppose the pebble lost its force, so that, willy-nilly, I was liberated even though I needed no such help?"

"It is a chance we must take," said King Throbius. He stepped forward, fluttered his fingers over Madouc's head, muttered a cantrap of nineteen syllables, touched her chin, then stood back. "The glamour is cast. To work its effect, pull at your left ear with the fingers of your right hand. To suspend the glamour, pull at your right ear with the fingers of your left hand."

Madouc asked with interest: "Shall I try it now?"

"As you like! You will notice the change only as it affects others; you yourself will not be altered."

"For a test, then, I will try the spell." Madouc tugged at her left ear with the fingers of her right hand, then turned to Sir Pom-Pom and Travante. "Can you notice a change?"

Sir Pom-Pom drew a deep breath and seemed to clench his teeth. "The change is definite."

Travante made a wild, if controlled, gesture. "I will describe the change. You are now a slender maiden, of perfect if not better conformation. Your eyes are as blue as the warm summer sea; they are melting and sympathetic, and look from a face tart and sweet, clever and wry, of a haunting fascination. Soft copper gold curls swing past this face; the hair is scented with the perfume of lemon blossoms. Your form is enough to make a strong man weak. The glamour is effective." lMadouc pulled at her right ear with the fingers of her left " hand. "Am I myself again?"

"Yes," said Sir Pom-Pom regretfully. "You are as usual."

Madouc heaved a sigh of relief. "With the glamour upon me I feel somewhat conspicuous."

King Throbius smiled. "You must learn to ignore it, since, in your case, the glamour is no more than a reflection of the near future." He looked up into the sky and signalled. Down flew a small green faylet with gauzy wings. King Throbius gave instructions: "Gather your cousins, fly hither and yon, ensure that all creatures of the neighborhood, save only three-headed Throop, Fuluot, Carabara, and Gois, learn the news of the decree which Bosnip will recite to you. Three especially must hear: Sir Jaucinet of Castle Cloud, the peasant Nisby, and the faceless creature who saunters abroad by moonlight wearing a broad-brimmed black hat."

The faylet was gone. King Throbius gave Madouc a grave salute. "I trust that our little scheme fulfills its purpose, without mistakes or inconvenience. In due course-" A sudden tumult from across the meadow attracted his attention. He spoke in amazement. "Can it be? Shemus and Womin, both officials of high degree, are at odds!"

King Throbius marched off across the meadow, so swiftly that the implets who carried his train were jerked from their feet and swept through the air.

King Throbius went to where a long table had been set with a variety of fine comestibles: ichors and wines in quaint glass bottles; pastries flavored with milkweed cream and the pollen of daffodil, buttercup and crocus; tarts of currants both black and red; candied crab apples and jellies; the crystallized nectars of sweetbriar, rose and violet. Beside the table an altercation had suddenly been transformed into a confusion of shouts, blows and curses. The parties at contention were Womin, Registrar of Rightnesses, and Shemus, Conductor of Rituals. Shemus had seized Womin's beard with one hand and was beating him over the head with a wooden mug, from which he had been drinking parsnip ale.

King Throbius spoke sharply: "Why this sordid moil? It is shameful conduct on a day of such happiness!"

Shemus cried out in a passion: "I would agree in all respects, Your Highness, had I not suffered an abominable affront from this rat-fanged old scavenger!"

"What are the facts? Describe your complaint!"

"Gladly! This degenerate registrar thought to work a vulgar prank upon me! When I turned away for a moment, he dropped his foul stocking into my mug of parsnip ale."

King Throbius turned to Womin. "And what was your motive?"

"I had no motive!"

"None?"

"None! For this reason: I was not a party to the deed! The accusation is a canard! Yonder sits Falael, who witnessed the whole episode; he will attest to my innocence!"

King Throbius swung about. "Well then, Falael: let us hear your testimony."

"I was weaving a daisy chain," said Falael. "My attention was fixed upon my work; I saw nothing germane to the case."

"Nonetheless, I am guiltless," declared Womin. "In view of my reputation, only a person with pot cheese for brains could think otherwise."

"Not so!" stormed Shemus. "If you are innocent, why are you wearing a single stocking? Why does the stocking I found in my ale show the same puce color as that on your leg?"

"It is a mystery!" stated Womin. "Your Highness, hear me out! The party at fault is this ale-swilling old toad, who stands here fulminating like a mad thing! He struck me several stout blows, meanwhile drenching my stocking in his revolting tipple, into which he had undoubtedly snuffled and sniffed."

Shemus jumped up and down in fury. "That remark is a further provocation, worth at least two more blows!" Shemus would have chastised Womin further had not King Throbius stepped forward.

"Desist from this folly! Evidently a mistake has been made; let us carry the case no further!"

Womin and Shemus turned their backs on each other and peace was restored. King Throbius returned across the meadow. He spoke to Madouc. "I will bid you farewell, for the nonce. When you return with your three gentlemen-in-waiting, as we must call them, then we shall prove identities to your full satisfaction, and you will know your pedigree."

Sir Pom-Pom could no longer restrain his own urgencies. "Please, Your Highness! I too need instruction! How shall I find the Holy Grail?"

King Throbius looked in puzzlement to Twisk. "What might be the ‘Holy Grail'?"

"I have heard mention of the object, Your Highness. Long ago Sir Pellinore spoke of such an article. I believe it to be a cup, or something of the sort."

"It is a chalice sacred to the Christians," said Sir Pom-Pom. "I am anxious to find it, that I may earn a royal boon."

King Throbius pulled at his beard. "I know nothing of such an object; you must seek elsewhere for information."

Travante also made bold to put a request: "Perhaps Your Highness will instruct me as to where I might search for my lost youth."

King Throbius again pulled at his beard. "Was it mislaid or truly lost? Do you remember any of the pertinent circumstances?"

"Unfortunately not, Your Highness. I had it; I lost it; it was gone."

King Throbius gave his head a dubious shake. "After such long neglect, it might be almost anywhere. As you travel the roads, you must keep on the alert. I can tell you this: if you find it, be nimble indeed!" King Throbius reached high into the air and brought down a silver hoop two feet in diameter. "If you find what you seek, capture it with this hoop. It was once the property of the nymph Atalanta, and is in itself a great curiosity."

"I thank Your Highness." Travante placed the hoop carefully over his shoulder.

King Throbius and Queen Bossum gave stately bows of farewell and strolled away across the meadow. Even as they went a new commotion broke out near the long table, again involving Womin. The activity consisted of screams, outcries and angry gesticulations. It appeared that someone, both cunning and deft, had purloined Womin's single remaining stocking and had affixed it to the crest of the chatelaine Batinka's elaborate coiffure, where it created a ridiculous and humiliating spectacle. Batinka, upon discovering the prank, had chided Womin and had tweaked his nose. The usually mild-mannered Womin, after taking Falael's quiet advice, had retaliated by pushing Batinka's face into a pudding. At this point King Throbius intervened. Batinka cited Womin's misdeeds which Womin denied, save for his use of the pudding. Once again he asserted that Falael could bear witness as to his blamelessness. King Throbius, as before, turned to Falael for the facts, but Falael, as before, claimed to have been preoccupied with his daisy chain, to the exclusion of all else.

King Throbius considered the case for a moment or two, then turned to Falael: "Where is the daisy chain upon which you have been so diligently employed?"

Falael was taken aback by the unexpected request. He looked here and there and at last cried out: "Aha! Here it is!"

"Indeed. You are certain?"

"Of course!"

"And you worked throughout the period of both episodes involving Womin, without so much as raising your eyes-so you have attested."

"Then it must be so, since I am a stickler for accurate detail."

"I count nine flowers to this chain. They are marigolds, not daisies. What do you say to that?"

Falael shifted his gaze here and there. "I was paying no great heed, Your Highness."

"Falael, the evidence suggests that you have been paltering with the truth, giving false testimony, performing mischievous pranks and attempting to deceive your king."

"It is surely a mistake, Your Highness!" said Falael, his expression brimming with limpid innocence.

King Throbius was not deceived. In a grave voice, and despite Falael's reedy expostulations, he imposed a penalty of another seven years' itch. Falael dolefully went to sit on his post, and once more began to scratch his affected parts.

King Throbius called out: "Let the festival proceed, though now we must consider it a celebration of hope rather than accomplishment!"

Meanwhile Twisk had bidden Madouc and her company farewell. "It has been a pleasure to have seen you again! Perhaps some day at another time-"

"But good mother Twisk!" cried Madouc. "Have you for gotten? I shall soon return to Thripsey Shee!"

"True," sighed Twisk, "presuming that you avoid the dangers of the forest."

1"Are these then so terrible?"

"Sometimes the forest is sweet and clear," said Twisk. "Sometimes evil lurks behind every stump. Do not explore the morass which borders on Wamble Way; the long-necked heceptors will rise from the slime. In the gully nearby lives the troll Mangeon; avoid him as well. Do not fare west along Munkins Road; you would come to Castle Doldil, the seat of three-headed Throop the ogre. He has caged many a brave knight and devoured many more, perhaps including gallant Sir Pellinore."

"And where shall we sleep by night?"

"Accept no hospitality! It will cost you dear! Take this kerchief." Twisk gave Madouc a square of pink and white silk. "At sundown place it upon the turf and call out ‘Aroisus!' It will become a pavilion for both safety and comfort. In the morning, call out: ‘Deplectus!' and the pavilion will again become a kerchief. And now-"

"Wait! Where is the way to Idilra Post?"

"You must cross the meadow and pass under the tall ash tree. As you go, pay no heed to the festival! Taste no wine; eat no fairy-cake; tap not so much as your toe to fairy music! Beside the ash tree Wamble Way leads to the north; after twelve miles, you will come to the crossing with Munkins Road, and here stands Idilra Post, where I suffered my many trials."

Madouc spoke soothingly: "It was, on the whole, a lucky occasion, since, as a consequence, I am here to gladden your heart!"

Twisk could not restrain a smile. "At times you can be quite appealing, with your sad blue eyes and strange little face! Good bye then, and take care!"

Madouc, Sir Pom-Pom and Travante crossed Madling Meadow to the ash tree and set out to the north along Wamble Way. When the sun sank low, Madouc placed the kerchief upon the turf of a little glade beside the way and called out: "Aroisus!" At once the kerchief became a pavilion furnished with three soft beds and a table loaded with good food and flasks of wine and bitter ale.

During the night peculiar sounds could be heard from the forest, and on several occasions there was the pad of heavy foot steps along Wamble Way. On each occasion, the creature halted as it paused to inspect the pavilion, and then, after consideration, continued along the way and about its business.

Morning sunlight slanted through the forest to lay bright red spatters on the pink and white silk of the pavilion. Madouc, Sir Pom-Pom and Travante arose from their beds. Outside the pavilion dew glistened on the turf; the forest was silent save for an occasional bird-call.

The three breakfasted at the bountiful table, then prepared to depart. Madouc called out "Deplectus!" and the pavilion collapsed to a pink and white kerchief, which Madouc tucked into her wallet.

The three set off up Warnble Way, with both Sir Pom-Pom and Travante keeping a careful lookout for the objects of their quest, as King Throbius had advised.

The lane skirted a tract of quaking black mud, intersected by rills of dark water. Tussocks of reed, burdock and saw grass beds broke the surface, as well as an occasional clump of stunted bitter willow or rotting alder. Bubbles rose up through the slime, and from one of the larger tussocks came a croaking voice, of unintelligible import. The three wayfarers only hastened their steps, and without untoward incident left the morass behind.

Wamble Way veered to avoid a steep-sided hillock with a crag of black basalt at the summit. A path paved with black cobbles led into a shadowy gulch. Beside the path a sign, indited with characters of black and red, presented two quatrains of doggerel for the edification of passersby:

NOTICE!

Let travellers heed! This message confides That Mangeon the Marvellous herein resides!

When Mangeon is wrathful his enemies quail;

But friends drink his health in beakers of ale.

His visage is handsome, his address is fine;

His touch causes damsels to sigh and repine.

They beg his caress; at his parting they weep,

And they murmur his name full oft as they sleep.

The three passed sign and cobblestone path without so much as a pause, and continued northward along Wamble Way. With the sun halfway up the sky they arrived at the crossing with Munkins Road. Beside the intersection stood a massive iron post: almost a foot in diameter and eight feet tall.

Madouc surveyed the post with disfavor. "Taken all with all, the situation is not to my liking. But it seems that I must carry out my part in the charade, misgivings or not."

"Why else are you here?" growled Sir Pom-Pom.

Madouc deigned no reply. "I will now work the glamour upon myself!" She tweaked her left ear with the fingers of her right hand, then looked toward her companions. "Has the spell taken effect?"

"Noticeably," said Travante. "You have become a maiden of fascinating appeal."

Sir Pom-Pom asked: "How can you bind yourself to the post when we lack both chain and rope?"

"We will do without the binding," said Madouc decisively. "Should there be a question, I will make an excuse."

Travante uttered a caution: "Keep your magic stone ready at hand, and take care not to drop it!"

"That is good advice," said Madouc. "Go now and take yourselves well out of sight."

Sir Pom-Pom became difficult and wanted to hide nearby in the bushes, that he might see what went on, but Madouc would not listen. "Leave at once! Do not show yourselves until I call! Furthermore, do not be peeking and peering, inasmuch as you might be seen!"

Sir Pom-Pom demanded in sour tones: "What will you be doing that requires such privacy?"

"That is none of your affair!"

"I am not so sure of that, especially were I to earn the royal boon." Sir Pom-Pom showed a sly grin. "Even more especially since you control the glamour."

"The boon will not include me; rest easy on that score! Now go, or I will touch you with the pebble and send you off in a stupor!"

Sir Pom-Pom and Travante went off to the west along Mumkins Road and around a bend. They discovered a little glade a few yards from the road and seated themselves on a log where they could not be seen by passersby.

Madouc stood alone at the crossroads. She looked in all directions and listened carefully. Nothing could be seen or heard. She went to Idilra Post and gingerly seated herself at its base.

Time went by: long minutes and hours. The sun reached its zenith, then slid past into the west. There were neither comings nor goings, save only for the furtive appearance of Sir Pom-Pom, who came peering around the bend in Munkins Road that he might discover what, if anything, had taken place. Madouc sent him back the way he had come with a sharp rebuke.

Another hour passed. From the east came the faint sound of someone whistling. The tune was sprightly, yet somehow tentative as if the whistler were not completely confident or assured.

Madouc rose to her feet and waited. The whistling grew louder. Along Munkins Road came a young man, stocky and stalwart, with a broad placid face and a thatch of chestnut hair. His garments and soiled buckskins identified him as a peasant well acquainted with both pasture and barn.

Arriving in the crossroads he halted and surveyed Madouc with frank curiosity. At last he spoke: "Maiden, are you pent here against your will? I see no chain!"

"It is a magic chain, and I may not win free until three persons undertake my release, and this by an unconventional method."

"Indeed so? And what awful crime could have been committed by so lovely a creature?"

"I am guilty of three faults: frivolity, vanity and foolishness." The peasant spoke in puzzlement: "Why should they bring so stern a penalty?"

"That is the way of the world," said Madouc. "A certain proud person wished to become over-amiable, but I derided him and pointed out his lack of appeal. He ordained my humiliation, so here I wait upon the charitable attention of three strangers."

The young peasant came forward. "How many have assisted you to date?"

"You are the first to pass."

"As it happens, I am a man of compassion. Your plight has aroused my pity, and something else besides. If you will dispose yourself comfortably, we shall spend a merry interval, before I am obliged to return home to my cows and their milking."

"Step a bit closer," said Madouc. "What is your name?"

"I am Nisby of Fobwiler Farm."

"Just so," said Madouc. "Come just a bit closer."

Nisby stepped bravely forward. Madouc touched the pebble to his chin. Nisby at once became rigid. "Follow me," said Madouc. She led him off the road and behind a copse of bay berry trees. On the turf she laid the pink and white kerchief.

"Aroisus!"

The kerchief became a pavilion. "Enter," said Madouc. "Sit down on the floor; make neither sound nor disturbance."

Madouc returned to Idilra Post and seated herself as before. The hours passed slowly, and once again Sir Pom-Pom could not restrain his curiosity; Madouc saw the shine of his face through a growth of mullein plants. Pretending not to notice, she hissed softly through her teeth and activated the Tinkle-toe Imp-spring. Up from the mullein leapt Sir Pom-Pom, to bound a full three feet into the air. Madouc called out: "What are you up to now, Sir Pom-Pom, with your wild leaps? Did I not beg you to remain out of sight until I called?"

"I only wanted to make sure of your safety!" declared Sir Pom-Pom in a surly voice. "I did not intend to disturb you, no matter what you were up to; still, for some reason, I was forced to leap into the air."

"Please do not trouble yourself again," said Madouc. "Go back to where you left Travante."

Sir Pom-Pom departed with poor grace, and again Madouc disposed herself to wait.

Fifteen minutes passed. A jingling sound reached her ears. She rose to her feet and stood waiting. Down Wamble Way from the north came a creature running on eight splayed legs. Its head was like that of a great sea-horse, rearing high from a torso segmented of dark yellow plates. Astride the creature sat a faun with a crafty brown face, small horns, and lower limbs over grown with coarse brown fur. From his saddle and bridle hung a hundred small bells, which jingled to the gait of his bizarre steed.

The faun brought the creature to a halt and stared at Madouc. "Why do you sit so calmly by Idilra Post?"

"I am calm by nature."

"It is as good a reason as any. What do you think of my noble mount?"

"I have never seen such a creature before."

"Nor I, but it is docile enough. Will you ride at my back? I am bound for the isle in Kallimanthos Pond, where the wild grapes hang in purple tumbles."

"I must wait here."

"As you wish." The faun urged his steed into motion. He was soon out of sight, and his jingling gone from hearing.

The sun declined into the west. Madouc began to fret and wonder; she had no wish to sit by Idilra Post during the long hours of night.

From eastward along Munkins Road came the rumpety-tump rumpety-tump of galloping hooves. Just short of the crossroads the sound diminished as the horse slowed to a walk. A moment later a knight in half-armour, mounted on a fine bay horse, rode into view.

The knight drew up his horse. For a moment he studied Madouc, then dismounted and tied the horse to a tree. He lifted the helmet from his head and hung it to the saddle. Madouc saw a gentleman somewhat past his first youth, with lank yellow hair hanging beside a long mournful face. Heavy-lidded eyes droopedr at the corners; long yellow mustaches dangled to either side of his mouth, creating an impression of amiable impracticality. He turned to face Madouc and performed a courtly bow.

"Allow me to present myself. I am Sir Jaucinet of Castle Cloud, and a knight of full chivalry. May I inquire your name, your condition and why I find you in such dismal straits, standing as if in need of succor beside Idilra Post?"

"You may ask, certainly," said Madouc. "I would gladly answer in full were it not that dusk is coming on, and the sooner I am finished with my deplorable duty the better."

"Well spoken!" declared Sir Jaucinet. "I take it that I can be of assistance?"

"True. Be kind enough to approach. No; you need not remove your armour as of this particular instant."

"Are you sure?" asked Sir Jaucinet doubtfully.

"Quite sure, if you will only come a few steps closer."

"With pleasure! You are a most beautiful maiden; let me kiss you!"

"Sir Jaucinet, under different conditions I would consider you extremely forward, or even brisk. But still...

Sir Jaucinet stepped close and in due course joined Nisby inside the pavilion. Madouc resumed her vigil. The sun sank low, and once again Sir Pom-Pom showed himself, now brazenly in the middle of the road. He called: "How long must we dawdle here? Darkness approaches; I do not want to mingle with creatures of the night."

"Come then," said Madouc. "Bring Travante; the two of you may sit in the pavilion."

Sir Pom-Pom and Travante hastened to follow the suggestion, and now it was discovered that the pavilion had added to itself another chamber, where Nisby and Sir Jaucinet sat in conditions of apathy.

The sun disappeared behind the trees. Madouc stretched her cramped muscles, walked three paces in all directions, looked up each road, but vision blurred in the gathering dusk and she discovered nothing. Madouc went back to the post, and stood with uneasiness tweaking at her nerves. Twilight shrouded the Forest of Tantrevalles. For a period Madouc watched the bats wheeling and darting overhead. As twilight waned and the sky went dark, then brightened in the east as the moon rose into the sky.

Madouc shivered to a waft of cool air. She wondered if she truly wanted to stand by Idilra Post in the wan moonlight. Probably not. She brooded over the reasons why she had come, and she thought of Nisby and Sir Jaucinet secure in the pavilion: two of the three. Madouc sighed and looked apprehensively in every direction. All color was gone, blanched by the moonlight. The roads were silver-gray; shadows were black.

The moon rose up the sky. An owl drifted across the forest and was briefly silhouetted upon the face of the moon. Madouc saw a shooting star. From far off in the forest came an odd hooting sound.

The moving shadow Madouc had been expecting came along the road, advancing step by slow step. Fifteen feet from the post it halted. A black cloak muffled the body; a broad-brimmed hat shaded the face. Madouc shrank back against the post, tense and quiet. The shadowed figure stood motionless. Madouc drew a slow breath. She peered, trying to discern a face under the hat but saw nothing. The area was blank, as if she were looking into a void.

Madouc spoke, her voice tremulous: "Who are you, dark of shadow?"

The shape made no response.

Madouc tried again: "Are you dumb? Why will you not speak?"

The shadow whispered: "I have come to succor you from the post. Long ago I did the same for the willful fairy Twisk, to her great content. You shall be allowed the same comfort. Remove your garments, that I may see your form in the moonlight."

Madouc gripped the stone so tightly that she feared she might drop it, which would never do. She quavered: "It is considered genteel for the gentleman to divest himself first."

"That is not important," whispered the dark shape. "It is time to proceed."

The creature sidled forward and reached to remove Madouc's gown. She thrust with the pebble into the blank countenance, but met only emptiness. In a panic she pressed the pebble at the groping hands, but the sleeves of the cloak thwarted her effort. the The shadow brushed her arm aside and bore her to the ground; the pebble jarred loose and went rolling. Madouc gave a sad little cry, and for an instant lay limp; it was almost her ruin. But now, with a spasmodic effort, she squirmed free and groped for the pebble. The shadow seized her leg. "Why this mettlesome agility? Calm yourself and lie quiet! Otherwise the process becomes exhausting."

"One moment," gasped Madouc. "The process already goes too fast."

"That to the side, let us continue."

Madouc's fingers closed on the pebble. She thrust it against the black form and touched the creature in one of its parts. At once it went lax.

Madouc rose gratefully to her feet. She settled her gown and ran her fingers through her hair, then looked down at the listless shadow. "Rise; follow me!"

She took the shambling figure to the side chamber of the pavilion where Nisby and Sir Jaucinet sat staring into vacancy. "Enter; sit; do not move until I give the command."

Madouc stood in the moonlight for a moment, looking outupon the crossroads. She told herself: "I have succeeded, but now I am almost afraid to learn the truth. Sir Jaucinet seems the most noble, while the shadow is the most mysterious. There is little to be said for Nisby except his rustic simplicity."

She thought of the glamour. "It seems to make me more conspicuous than I like; for the nonce, I shall have done with it."

With the fingers of her left hand she tweaked the lobe of her right ear. "Is it gone?" she wondered. "I feel no change in myself." When she entered the pavilion, the demeanor of both Sir Pom-Pom and Travante assured her that the glamour had gone, which brought her a hurtful, if illogical, little twinge of something like regret.

V

In the morning Madouc, Sir Pom-Pom and Travante breakfasted within the pavilion. It was thought best that neither Nisby nor Sir Jaucinet be aroused to take nourishment for which they might or might not feel appetite. The same considerations applied even more persuasively to the shadowy figure in the black cloak, who by day was as bizarre incomprehensible as by night. Under the wide brim of his hat opened a void into which no one cared to look too closely.

After breakfast Madouc marshalled Nisby, Sir Jaucinet and the nameless shadow-thing out into the road. Sir Jaucinet's horse had broken loose during the night and was nowhere to be seen.

Madouc reduced the pavilion to a kerchief; the party set off to the south down Wamble Way, Sir Pom-Pom and Travante taking the lead, Madouc coming after, followed by Nisby, then Sir Jaucinet, and finally the individual in the black cloak.

Shortly before noon, the group once again entered Madling Meadow, which, as before, seemed only a grassy expanse with a hummock at the center. Madouc called softly: "Twisk! Twisk! Twisk!"

Mists and vapors confused their eyes, dissipating to reveal the fairy castle, with banners at every turret. The festival decorations celebrating Falael's rehabilitation were no longer in evidence; as for Falael, he had abandoned his post for the moment and sat under a birch tree to the edge of the meadow, using a twig to reach inaccessible areas of his back.

Twisk appeared beside Madouc, today wearing pale blue pantaloons riding low on her hips and a shirt of white diaphane. "You have wasted no time," said Twisk. She inspected Madouc's captives. "How the sight of those three takes me back in memory! But there are changes! Nisby has become a man; Sir Jaucinet seems dedicated to wistful yearning."

Madouc said: "It is the effect of his plaintive eyes and the long droop of his mustaches."

Twisk averted her eyes from the third member of the group. "As for yonder odd creature, King Throbius shall judge. Come; we must interrupt his contemplations, but that is the way of it."

The group trooped across the meadow to a place at the front of the castle. Fairies of the shee came from all directions: bounding, flitting, turning cartwheels and somersaults, to crowd close and babble questions; to pry, pinch and poke. From his place under the birch tree Falael came at a hop and a run, to mount his post the more readily to observe events.

At the main portal to the castle a pair of young heralds stood proudly on duty. They were splendid in livery of black and yellow diaper and carried clarions turned from fairy silver. At Twisk's behest they turned toward the castle and blew three briliant fanfares of coruscating harmonies.

The heralds lowered their horns and wiped their mouths with the back of their hands, grinning all the while at Twisk.

A silence of expectation held the area, broken only by the giggles of three implets who were trying to tie small green frogs into Sir Jaucinet's mustaches. Twisk chided the implets and sent them away. Madouc went to remove the frogs but was interrupted by the appearance of King Throbius on a balcony, fifty feet above the meadow. In a stern voice he called the heralds:

"What means this wanton summons? I was engrossed in meditation!"

One of the heralds called up to the balcony: "It was Twisk! She ordered us to disturb your rest."

The other herald corroborated the statement. "She told us to blow a great blast that would startle you from your bed to the floor."

Twisk gave an indifferent shrug. "Blame me, if you like; however, I acted on the insistence of Madouc, whom you may remember."

Madouc, with an injured glance toward Twisk, stepped forward. "I am here!"

"So I see! What of that?"

"Do you not remember? I went to Idilra Post that I might learn the identity of my father!" She indicated the three individuals at her back. "Here is Nisby the peasant, Sir Jaucinet the knight; also this mysterious shape of no category, nor yet any face."

"I remember the case distinctly!" said King Throbius. He looked across the area with disapproval. "Fairies! Why do you thrust and crush and press with such rude energy? One and all, stand back! Now then: Twisk! You must make a sure and careful inspection."

"One glance was enough," said Twisk.

"And your findings?"

"I recognize Nisby and Sir Jaucinet. As for the shadow, his face is invisible, which in itself is a significant index."

"It is indeed unique. The case has aspects of interest."

King Throbius stepped back from the balcony and a moment later came out upon the meadow. Again the fairies crowded about, to chortle and murmur, to mow and leer, until King Throbius issued orders so furious that his subjects shrank back abashed.

"Now then!" said King Throbius. "We will proceed. Madouc, for you this must be a happy occasion! Soon you will be able to claim one of these three for your beloved father."

Madouc dubiously considered the possibilities. "Sir Jaucinet undoubtedly boasts the best pedigree; still I cannot believe that I am related to someone who looks like a sick sheep."

"All will be made known," said King Throbius confidently. He looked to right and left. "Osfer! Where are you?"

"I have expected your call, Your Highness! I stand directly behind your royal back."

"Come forward, Osfer, into the purview of my eyes. We must exercise your craft. Madouc's paternity is in question and we must definitely resolve the issue."

Osfer stepped forward: a fairy of middle maturity, brown of skin and gnarled of limb, with eyes of amber and a nose which hooked almost to meet an up-jutting chin. "Sire, your orders?"

"Go to your workshop; return with dishes of Matronian nephrite, to the number of five; bring probers, nitsnips, and a gill of your Number Six Elixir."

"Your Highness, I presumed to anticipate your commands, and I already have these items at hand."

"Very good, Osfer. Order your varlets to bring hither a table; let it be spread with a cloth of gray murvaille."

"The order has been effected, Sire. The table stands ready at he your left hand."

King Throbius turned to inspect the arrangements. "Well done, Osfer. Now then: bring out your best extractor; we shall need fibrils of coming and going. When all is ready, we will contrive our matrices."

"In minutes only, Your Highness! I move with the speed of flashing nymodes when urgency is the call!"

"Do so now! Madouc is hard-put to restrain her eagerness; it is as if she were dancing upon thorns."

"A pathetic case, to be sure," said Osfer. "But soon indeed she will be able to embrace her father."

In a subdued voice Madouc spoke to King Throbius: "Enlighten me, Your Highness! How will you prove the case?"

"Be attentive; all will be made known. Twisk, why are you so exercised?"

"Osfer is molesting me!"

"Not so, Your Highness! You were about to order matrices; I had already started to apply the drain to Twisk."

"Of course. Twisk, we must have three minims of your blood; be stoic."

"I am loth to endure these martyrdoms! Is it truly needful?"

King Throbius made a meaningful sign; hissing between her teeth Twisk gingerly allowed Osfer to ply his instruments. He took a quantity of blood from her slender wrist, which he then discharged into one of the nephrite dishes. By processes too swift for Madouc to follow, he used the blood to nurture a fragile construction of fibers and small blue, red and green plasms.

Osfer turned proudly to King Throbius. "It is perfection in all respects! Each quirk and phase of Twisk's somewhat devious nature are open for inspection."

"You have done well." King Throbius turned to Madouc. "Now it is your turn; from your blood Osfer will grow a matrix that is yours alone."

Madouc cried out between clenched teeth. "My turn has come and gone! He has already done his worst to me!"

Presently a matrix somewhat similar to that derived from Twisk appeared on a second plate.

"Next, let us try Sir Jaucinet!" said King Throbius. "Soon we shall see who is father to whom!"

Osfer drew blood from Sir Jaucinet's nerveless arm and constructed the matrix peculiar to the lord of Castle Cloud.

King Throbius turned to Madouc. "There you see three matrices, representing the innate fabric of yourself, your mother, Twisk, and this noble knight. By the most subtle means, Osfer will now subtract the influence of Twisk from your matrix, to create a new matrix. If your father is Sir Jaucinet, the new matrix will be identical to his, and you will know the truth of your paternity. Osfer, you may proceed."

"Sire, I have completed the operation. Behold the two matrices!"

"I assume they are identical?" said King Throbius.

"Not at all, and in no particular!"

"Aha!" said King Throbius. "So much for Sir Jaucinet; he may be excused. Liberate him from your thrall, Madouc; bid him be on his way."

Madouc obeyed the instruction. Sir Jaucinet gave instant vent to peevish complaints, and demanded reasons for the many inconveniences to which he had been put.

"I can give you no easy response," said Madouc. "It is a long and detailed story."

"What of the frogs in my mustache?" demanded Sir Jaucinet. "Is their presence such a complicated affair?"

"Not altogether," Madouc admitted. "Still, King Throbius has ordered your departure, and you had best hurry, since the afternoon is waning and the way is long."

Sir Jaucinet, his expression one of deep chagrin, turned on his heel. "Wait!" called King Throbius. "Osfer, apply the ‘Four-fold Spell' to speed good Sir Jaucinet on his journey."

"Indeed, Sire, while he conferred with Madouc, I applied the ‘Six-fold Spell'," said Osfer.

"Good work, Osfer!" King Throbius spoke to Sir Jaucinet:

"As you march home, each of your strides will carry you six yards, and you will arrive at Castle Cloud well before you expected."

Sir Jaucinet bowed stiffly; first to King Throbius and then to Osfer. For Madouc he spared only a glance of moist-eyed reproach; then he was gone, bounding across Madling Meadow on six-fold strides, and was soon lost to sight.

King Throbius turned to Osfer. "Now then: let us deal with the peasant Nisby."

"Sire, you will note on this dish the matrix of Nisby, which I have already taken the liberty of constructing."

Madouc went to look. To her dismay, Nisby's matrix resembled her not at all, and everyone agreed that her paternity surely resided elsewhere than with Nisby. Glumly Madouc liberated him from his nerveless apathy; Osfer applied the ‘Six-fold Spell' and Nisby was sent on his way.

King Throbius addressed Madouc in a somber voice: "My dear, I have taken your interest to heart, and I cannot say that I am pleased with our findings. You have been sired neither by Sir Jaucinet nor by Nisby; hence, we are left with this shadowy weirdling with vacancy for a face. The Third Statute of Logic, sometimes known as the ‘Law of Exclusion', forces me to declare him your father. You may liberate him and hold your reunion at whatever time and place suits your best convenience; no doubt you will have much to tell each other."

Madouc cried out in a troubled voice: "Your logic is naturally superb, but should we not also test this creature's matrix?"

King Throbius spoke to Osfer: "What is your opinion?"

"I suggest a third matrix, if only to create a philosophical symmetry."

King Throbius said: "I am not opposed, though the test will be redundant. However, you may approach Madouc's father, draw three minims of blood and erect a matrix for all to see."

Osfer gingerly approached the black-cloaked figure, then halted in bafflement.

King Throbius called out: "Why do you delay? We are anxious to demonstrate Madouc's paternity!"

"I am in a quandary," said Osfer. "He wears cloak, boots and gloves; he lacks neck, face and scalp. In order to draw his blood, I must remove the cloak, and expose his person. Shall I proceed?"

"Proceed, by all means!" commanded King Throbius.

"Ordinarily we would respect his modesty, but delicacy must be put aside, along with the cloak. Madouc, you may avert your eyes if you wish."

"I will see what needs to be seen," said Madouc. She ignored Sir Pom-Pom's disparaging snort. "Continue with the work."

Osfer, with little fingers extended, in the manner of a fastidious tailor, unclasped the buckle at the neck of the cloak, which then fell somewhat apart. Osfer looked into the gap and gave a startled exclamation. With a single sweep he drew the cloak aside, to reveal a squat gray-faced troll with a bottle nose, pendulous cheeks and eyes like small balls of black glass. His arms were long and knotted; his splayed legs were thrust into tall boots. Osfer cried out: "It is Mangeon the troll!"

Twisk gave a thin wailing shriek of distress. "Now I understand all! With what ignoble cunning he took his lewd revenge!"

Madouc quavered: "Despite all logic, can this truly be my father?"

"We shall see!" said King Throbius. "Osfer, build the matrix!"

"Sire, I have preceded your command! The matrix is already formed! You may examine it as you see fit, and compare it with that provided by Madouc."

King Throbius peered down at the two matrices. He spoke in perplexity. "How can it be? Does madness rule the world? Does the sun rise in the west? Is water wet and fire hot, or is it all in reverse? Logic has played us all false! This matrix is more at discord than both of the others together! I am baffled!"

Madouc could not restrain a yelp of happy relief. "Sir Jaucinet is not my father. Nisby is not my father. This repulsive halfling is not my father. Who then is my father?"

King Throbius examined Twisk with a speculative eye. "Can you clarify this puzzle?"

The dispirited Twisk could only shake her head. "The time is long past. I cannot remember every trifle."

"Still, one of these trifles produced Madouc."

"So much is conceded," said Twisk, "but memories blend; faces merge. When I shut my eyes, I hear whispers-beguilements, adoration, sighs of love requited-but I find no name for these voices."

King Throbius noticed Madouc's disconsolate face. He said: "Do not despair! There remains yet another arrow in the quiver! But first I must deal with this odious troll."

Twisk spoke with fervor. "He deserves no mercy; he caused me great unease."

King Throbius pulled at his beard. "It is a complex situation, since I cannot decide which of our laws he has violated. His trickery was instigated in part by Twisk herself, but his response seems inordinately rude. Flirts through the ages have notoriously enjoyed immunity." King Throbius paced back and forth, and the implets who carried his train were hard-put to carry out their duties. Osfer meanwhile took Mangeon somewhat aside, along with several of his thaumaturgical instruments.

King Throbius came to a halt. He raised his hand in a majestic gesture. "I have arrived at a judgment. Mangeon's conduct has been sordid and disreputable. Further, he has affronted the dignity of Thripsey Shee. The penalty must be consonant with the offense; still we must take note of contributory circumstances. We will therefore allow Mangeon tranquillity and scope for remorse; we will urge him, whether he is so inclined or not, along the narrow path of restraint. Osfer, do you understand the nature of my indication, or must I spell it out in full detail?"

"Sire, I have understood you fully, and indeed I have already implemented your sentence, in full and final scope."

"Osfer, you are a marvel of efficiency!" King Throbius turned to Madouc. "You may now release Mangeon from his paralysis"

Madouc touched Mangeon with the pebble. Instantly he gave vent to furious roaring complaint. "I deplore the outrages committed upon my person! They represent an irresponsible philosophy!"

King Throbius spoke with dignity: "You are free to depart; be happy on this account!"

"I am free, but to what purpose?" roared Mangeon. "How now will I occupy the long hours of day and night? With poetry? By observing the flight of butterflies? Your judgment was incorrect!"

King Throbius made a peremptory gesture. "I will hear no more! Be off to your ill-smelling hovel."

Mangeon threw his arms into the air and ran off across the meadow, to disappear up Wamble Way.

King Throbius returned to Madouc. "We must re-examine your case. Osfer, I suggest simulacra and the subtractive effect."

"Exactly my opinion, Your Highness! I have prepared for the process."

"Proceed, if you will."

Osfer placed three silver plates upon the table. Twisk watched with a frown of foreboding. "What is this new plan, and what does it entail?"

Osfer replied in soothing tones. "It is the most elegant and subtle procedure of all! Soon you will look into the face of Madouc's father."

Twisk frowned in annoyance. "Why did you not work this sleight before and spare me the anguish of the bloodletting?"

"It is not so simple as we might like it to be. Step forward, if you will."

"What? Not again! You shall have no more of my vital fluids! Do you wish me to become a wisp, a wraith, a desiccation?"

King Throbius called a sharp command and Twisk, writhing and moaning, at last allowed Osfer to draw off another three minims of her blood.

Osfer worked his thaumaturgy and up from the plate rose a simulacrum of Twisk's lovely head.

Next, Osfer signalled to Madouc. "Come!"

Madouc cried out: "I too am dangerously weak! If blood is needed, drain Sir Pom-Pom, or even King Throbius himself."

"This is an impractical suggestion," said King Throbius. "It is your blood which is needed! Quickly! We cannot waste all day!"

Madouc, scowling and wincing, allowed Osfer to draw three minims of her blood, from which Osfer contrived a second simulacrum.

"Now then!" said Osfer. "We proceed as follows: Madouc is the sum of Twisk and an unknown father. Therefore, if we subtract the influence of Twisk from Madouc, what remains will depict the visage of Madouc's father, at least in general terms and perhaps blurred by discrepancies. So, stand back all, since I must work with a delicate touch!"

Osfer moved the two representations so that they faced each other, then arranged four panels of grass cloth to form a screen around the two heads. "I now adjure all to silence! Any distraction will alter the precision of my work!"

Osfer arranged his instruments, uttered eight staccato syllables, and clapped his hands. "The spell has been effected."

Osfer removed the screens. One of the silver plates was empty. "Twisk's image has been subtracted from that of Madouc. What remains is the likeness of Madouc's sire!"

Madouc stared at the residual face. With only half the substance, it was vague and colorless, as if formed of mist. The features seemed to represent a young man with irregular features in a rather gaunt long-jawed face and a suggestion of reckless optimism in his expression. His hair was cut in the Aquitanian style, and he wore a short modish beard at the chin. The face, though not ill-favored, lacked a patrician cast. Even in its blurred condition, the face affected Madouc with a rush of warm impulses.

Twisk was staring at the face in fascination. Madouc asked: "What is his name?"

Twisk, now thoroughly out of sorts, made a capricious gesture and tossed her head. "His name? It might be anyone. The features are indefinite; it is like looking through the fog."

"Surely you recognize him?" cried Madouc. "He even looks half-familiar to me."

Twisk gave an airy shrug. "Why should he not? You are seeing what is drawn from your own face."

"Whatever the case, can you supply his name?"

Twisk said carelessly: "I am truly bored with this business! I can barely distinguish a face in yonder puddle of murk; how can I give it a name?"

"But is he not familiar to you?"

"I might say ‘Yes' and I might say ‘No'."

King Throbius spoke gently: "As Falael will attest, my patience knows a limit. Unless you care to sit on a post, scratching your lovely pelt with both hands, you will respond to questions quickly and accurately, without evasion or ambiguity. Am I clear on this?"

Twisk uttered a cry of poignant emotion. "Alas! How I am wronged, when my only concern is truth!"

"Please make your elucidations less abstract."

Twisk blinked. "Excuse me, Your Highness, I am not certain of your command!"

"Speak more clearly!"

"Very well, but now I have forgotten the question."

King Throbius spoke with a carefully controlled voice. "Do you recognize the face?"

"Of course! How could I forget? He was a gallant knight of verve and a most fanciful habit of thought! My ordeal at Idilra Post followed hard upon the encounter and swept it clean from my mind."

"Very well; so much is established. Name us now the name of this gallant knight."

"Quite possible! Sir Pellinore played the lute with delicate grace, and his songs were so sweet as to bring tears from a bear."

Madouc struggled to control her emotion. "Why did you not try to rescue poor Sir Pellinore, whom you loved so well?"

Twisk fluffed out her lavender hair. "My attention was engaged by other events, not the least being the affair at Idilra Post. One such as I lives from instant to instant, wringing every last drop of sklemik* from the adventure of life. So the hours and the days pass, and sometimes I cannot remember which was which or what comes next."

Madouc said without enthusiasm: "Regardless of your faults or follies, you are my mother, and I must accept you as you are, lavender hair and all."

"A dutiful daughter is not so bad either," said Twisk. "I am pleased to hear your compliments."