The Green Pearl

Chapter 14

THE SEASON CAME AROUND to the high solstice, a time of great significance for astronomers. The night skies were ruled by the gentle constellations of summer: Ophiuchus, Lyra, Cepheus, Deneb the Swan. Arcturus and Spica, noble stars of spring, sank in the west; from the east rose Altair to stare down upon sullen Antares, where Scorpio sprawled across the south.

Under the cool stars and everywhere across the Elder Isles folk conducted their endeavors: sometimes in joy, as at King Gax's coronation of Aillas; sometimes in fury, as in the case of King Casmir and his stolen ship. Elsewhere husbands chided wives and wives discerned flaws in their husbands; at village inns and wayside taverns boasting, gluttony and wine-swilling were rife, to the thud of mugs, the clinking of coins and gusts of laughter. At Kernuun's Antler, on the shore of Lake Quyvern, avarice was embodied in the person of the innkeeper Dildahl, and here, perhaps, is an appropriate occasion to recount further incidents in regard to Dildahl which otherwise might be lost in the spate of larger events.

Two days before the solstice, a group of druids came to Kernuun's Antler for their midday meal. Despite double portions of Dildahl's good boiled beef and braised lamb shanks, their conversation was pitched in tones of vehement indignation. At last Dildahl could no longer contain his curiosity. Putting a question, he learned that a band of sacrilegious outlaws had stormed the sacred islet Alziel, put torches to the great wicker crow and liberated the sacrificial victims, so that the usual rite was no longer feasible. The circumstance, so the druids asserted, was somehow connected with the accession of a new king at Xounges, who had sent out gangs of cutthroats to harass and ambush the Ska.

"Outrageous!" declared Dildahl. "But if they were in pursuit of Ska, why did they destroy the crow and so spoil the rite?"

"We can only believe that the new king's personal fetish is the crow. Next year we will construct a goat, and no doubt all will be well."

Later in the afternoon a pair of middle-aged travellers arrived at the inn. Dildahl, watching from a window, adjudged them persons of no great distinction, although their garments and the silver medals on their hats indicated a decent level of prosperity, and each rode a horse of obvious spirit and quality.

The two dismounted, tied their horses to a rail and entered the inn. They found Dildahl, the tall, saturnine innkeeper, behind the counter in the common room and requested food and lodging for the night, giving their names as Harbig and Dussel.

Dildahl agreed to supply their needs in whatever style they desired, then, citing the unalterable rule of the house, he tendered to each a document for signature. Harbig and Dussel, reading, discovered a firm stipulation that should the visitor fail to pay his score, he must surrender and forfeit his horse, saddle and bridle, in full and even discharge of his debt.

Harbig, the elder of the travellers, frowned at the uncompromising terms used in the contract. "Is not this language somewhat harsh? After all, we are honest men."

Dussel asked: "Or are your prices so high that one must pay the worth of a horse for a night's accommodation?"

"See for yourself!" declared Dildahl. "There on the board I advertise my menu for the day. Tonight I serve boiled beef with horseradish and cabbage, or, should one prefer, a good platter of lamb shanks braised with peas and garlic, or a savory soup of lentils. The prices are marked plain and clear."

Harbig studied the board. "Your tariffs would seem wholesome but not severe," he stated. "If the portions are of satisfactory size, and the garlic is not scamped in the cooking, you shall find no complaint in this quarter. Dussel, am I correct in this?"

"In every respect, save one," said Dussel, a person moonfaced and a trifle portly. "We must verify the charges and subcharges for our lodging."

"Quite so; a wise precaution! Landlord, how do you quote our room-rent, stated in toto, inclusive of all extras, imposts, fees for water, heating, cleaning and ventilation, and with free access to the latrine?"

Dildahl quoted rates for his various styles of accommodation, and the two travellers settled upon a chamber with rates and amenities to their satisfaction.

"Now then," said Dildahl. "All is in order, except your signatures on the documents. Here, and here, if you please.

Harbig still held back. "All seems in order, but why must we subject our poor horses to the shameful burden of Hens? Somehow I find the condition a source of anxiety."

Dussel nodded in thoughtful agreement. "It seems to ensure a nervous visit for the traveller."

"Aha!" cried Dildahl. "You cannot imagine the sly tricks and feats of criminal cunning which the ordinary innkeeper must endure! Never will I forget this apparently innocent young couple who rode down from the Brakes and commanded from me my best. I kindly obliged and served to their order, so that the whole kitchen was in an uproar with the preparation of special dishes and the serving of fine wines. In the morning, when I presented my modest little account, they claimed penury. ‘We have no money!' they told me, merry as larks. I said: Then I fear I must take your horses!' They laughed again. ‘We have no horses! We traded them all for a boat!' That day I learned a bitter and costly lesson. Now I keep custody of my surety, in my own barn!"

"A sorry tale!" said Dussel. "Well then, Harbig: what of this paper? Shall we sign?"

"What harm can come of it?" asked Harbig. "These prices seem fair and we are neither paupers nor fly-by-nights."

"So be it," said Dussel. "However I must, in all conscience, add a notation. Landlord, I write: ‘My horse is extremely valuable and must have excellent care.' "

"A good idea!" said Harbig. "I will write the same... . There! And tonight I shall put prudence behind me! Though it cost a round penny or more, I vow that I will partake of Dildahl's special boiled beef with horseradish sauce and good bread and butter!"

"I am heartily of your persuasion!" declared Dussel. At suppertime, Harbig and Dussel came handily to the common room, and took their places at the table. When Dildahl came to see to their pleasure, Harbig and Dussel both commanded a goodly portion of boiled beef. Dildahl dolefully reported that the meat had burned in the pot and all had been thrown out to the dogs. "Still, we have fine fish to offer: indeed, fish is our specialty!"

Harbig said: "I think that, in lieu of good beef, 1 will make do with lamb shanks, and let there be no stinting with the garlic!"

"For me the same!" declared Dussel. "And shall we not also crack a bottle of good but inexpensive red wine?"

"Exactly in order!" declared Harbig. "Dussel, you are a man of exquisite discrimination."

"Alas!" sighed Dildahl. "At noon six druids arrived and each ate lamb shanks with both cheeks, so that tonight the kitchen boy ate the remaining scraps for his supper. But no matter; I can offer a succulent pie of crayfish tails, or a brace of fine brown trout, at their prime, sizzling in butter and vinegar."

Harbig scanned the board. "They are not written on the menu. How are the prices? Fair, or so I expect, with the whole lake at your doorstep?"

"When it comes to fish, we are at our best! What of two dozen pilchard, with lemons and sorrel?"

"Toothsome, no doubt, but price, man! What of the price?"

"Oh ha ha, I am not certain; it varies with the catch."

Harbig dubiously eyed the menu. "Lentil soup might be tasty."

"Soup is off," said Dildahl. "What of a plate of splendid salmon roe, with capers and butter, with a salad of cress and parsley?"

"And the price?"

Dildahl gave his hand a deprecating wave. "It might be more or it might be less."

"I rather fancy the salmon roe," said Dussel. "Tonight that shall be my meal."

"I shall dine on trout," said Harbig. "Let there be an adequacy of side-dishes."

Dildahl bowed and rubbed his hands. "So it shall be."

The two were served their fish, which they consumed with gusto, along with two bottles of wine. Soon thereafter they sought their beds.

In the morning, Dildahl provided a breakfast of porridge with curds. Harbig and Dussel ate briskly, and then called out for their scores.

With a grim smile Dildahl brought each man his tally.

Harbig cried out aghast. "Am I reading correctly? Or are the figures upside-down? My score comes to nineteen silver florins fourpence!"

Dussel was likewise dumbfounded. "For a platter of roe I am accustomed to paying no more than a few groats or maybe a good red penny; I seem to see here a demand for twenty-one silver florins! Harbig, are we awake? Or still asleep and roaming some never-never land?"

"You are awake and my prices are real," said Dildahl shortly. "At Kemuun's Antler, fish is very dear, since it is prepared by secret recipes."

"So be it," said Harbig. "If pay we must, then pay we will."

The two travellers glumly opened their wallets and paid over silver coins, to the sum required. Harbig said: "Now, if you please, bring us our horses, as we are in a hurry to be off and on our way."

"Immediately!" Dildahl called an order to the kitchen boy, who ran out to the barn. A moment later he returned faster than he had gone. "Sir, the barn is broken open! The door hangs loose and the horses are gone!"

"What!" cried Harbig. "Do I hear aright? My great champion Nebo which I value at a hundred pieces of gold? Or even two hundred?"

In shock Dussel cried: "And my prize steed from Morocco, which cost me one hundred golden crowns, but which I would not sell for three hundred?"

Harbig said sternly: "Dildahl, your joke has gone far enough! Produce our horses upon this instant, or else pay us over their value, and precious horses indeed they were! For Nebo I demand two hundred crowns of gold!"

Dussel declared his loss to be even greater: "For Ponzante I need two hundred and fifty gold crowns even to approach a settlement."

Dildahl finally found his tongue. "These cited prices are absolutely outrageous! For a single gold crown I can buy the finest of steeds!"

"Ah ha ha! Our horses are like your fish. Pay on this instant four hundred and fifty gold crowns!"

"You cannot enforce this insane demand!" declared Dildahl. "Be off with you, or the stablemen will beat you well, and cast you into the lake!"

"Trouble yourself only to look along the road," said Harbig. "You will notice an encampment of twenty soldiers, from the army of Aillas, King of Ulfland. Reimburse us our stolen horses, or prepare to kick from the royal gibbet."

Dildahl ran to the door and with pendulous lower lip sagging, took note of the encampment. Slowly he turned back to Harbig. "Why have these soldiers come to Lake Quyvern?"

"First, to attack Ska and drive them from the region. Second, to burn the wicker crow and to liberate druid captives. Third, to investigate rumours of villainy at Kernun's Antler, and to hang the landlord if the charges seem well-grounded."

Dussel said sternly, "Once more: pay us for our horses or we will call for the king's protection!"

"But I own no such sum!" Dildahl grimaced. "I will return your florins; that must suffice."

"Bah! Not enough! We now take title to the inn, as you take title to your guests' horses, ‘in full and even exchange'. Dussel, at last you fulfill your dreams! You are the landlord-in-residence at a fine country inn! As a first step, impound all the coins in yonder drawer and the gold in Dildahl's strong-box."

"No, no, no!" cried Dildahl. "Not my precious gold!"

Dussel ignored the outcry. "Dildahl, show me the strongbox. Then you must go, and promptly. We will allow you the clothes on your back."

Dildahl still could not accept his fate. "This is an unthinkable turn of events!"

Harbig raised his eyebrows dubiously. "Surely you did not believe that you could continue robbing your guests forever?"

"It is a mistake! Somewhere there must be recourse!"

Harbig said: "Be grateful that you deal with us, not the sergeant of yonder platoon, who already has selected a tree and measured a rope."

Dildahl growled: "I detect strange coincidences. How do you know so much about yonder troop?"

"I am their captain. Dussel, if you must know, has been chief cook at Jehaundel, but with King Gax gone, his services are no longer required, and he has always hoped to keep a country inn. Dussel, am I correct in this?"

"In every respect! Now, Dildahl, show me the strong-box, then be on your way."

Dildahl set up a great moaning. "Have mercy! My spouse is afflicted in the lower limbs and cannot walk; the veins circle her legs like purple snakes! Must we crawl on our hands and knees in the dust?"

Harbig spoke to Dussel: "Dildahl seems to manage well enough at the stove, and deals especially kindly with fish. Why not keep him at work as pot-boy and under-cook, while his spouse makes herself useful milking the cows, making cheese and butter, digging turnips, carrots and leeks, and working the soil, all from a kneeling position, to spare her sore legs? Entirely by the mercy of King Aillas, of course."

"Dildahl, what do you say?" demanded Dussel. "Will you serve me faithfully, without complaint or shiftlessness, at my direction?"

Dildahl rolled his eyes high, and clenched his fists. "If I must, I must."

"Very good. First, point out the location of your, or, better to say, my strong-box."

"It is under the flagstone of my private parlour."

"Now my parlour. You must move at once, out to one of the cottages. Then scour this floor until each plank glows the colour of new straw! I wish to see neither soil nor stain on the floor of the Lakeshore Inn, which is certain to become a rustic resort for the gentility of Xounges!"

II

TWITTEN's CORNERS, in the Forest of Tantrevalles, was the site each year of three fairs, to which came traders and buyers from all across the Elder Isles, human and halfling alike, each hoping to discover some wonderful charm or trinket or elixir to bring advantage to his life or gold to his wallet.

The first and the last of these so-called ‘Goblin Fairs' marked, respectively, the spring and autumn equinoxes. The second, or middle, fair started on that evening known to the druids as ‘Pignal aan Haag', to the fairies of Forest Tantrevalles as ‘Summersthawn', to the Ska archivists as ‘Soltra Nurre', in the language of primaeval Norway: a time marking the start of the lunar year, defined as the night of the first new moon after the summer solstice. For reasons unknown this night had come to be a time of unusual influences and oblique pressures from entities aroused to sentience. Wanderers of high places often thought to hear the echo of windy voices and the drumming of far galloping hooves.

At the inn known as ‘The Laughing Sun and the Crying Moon', hard by Twitten's Corners, the night was known as ‘Freamas', and meant a spate of incessant toil for Hockshank the innkeeper. Even before Freamas the inn was crowded with folk of many sorts who had come to mingle in unconventional camaraderie, to sell, to buy, to trade, or only to watch and listen, or perhaps to seek out some long-lost friend, or some defaulted enemy, or to recover an item of which they had been deprived; the yearnings were as disparate as the folk themselves.

Among these folk was Melancthe, who had arrived early to take up the apartment reserved for her use.

For Melancthe the fair was surcease from introspection, an occasion where her presence aroused little attention and less curiosity. Hockshank the landlord was casual in regard to his clientele, so long as they paid in good silver and gold, caused no nuisance, and exuded no vile, foul nor arresting odors, and his common room knew a wide variety of halflings and hybrids, oddities and nonesuches, as well as persons, like Melancthe, apparently ordinary in their qualities.

Arriving early on the day before Freamas, Melancthe went to watch construction of the booths around the periphery of the meadow. Many merchants already displayed their wares, hoping to engage the visitor of limited means before he spent all his coin elsewhere.

Melancthe went slowly from booth to booth, listening without comment to the excited calls of the hucksters, showing a faint smile when she saw something which pleased her. Along the eastern edge of the meadow she came upon a sign painted in green, yellow and white:

HERE ARE THE PREMISES OF THE NOTABLE AND SINGULAR

ZUCK

DEALER IN OBJECTS UNIQUE UNDER THE FIRMAMENT!

MY PRICES ARE FAIR; MY GOODS ARE OFTEN REMARKABLE!

No GUARANTIES; No RETURNS; No REFUNDS;

Zuck himself stood behind the counter of his booth: a person short, plump, round-faced, near-bald, with an innocent inquiring expression. A button of a nose and round plum-coloured eyes pointed at the comers hinted of halfling blood in his heritage, as did a sallow green cast to his complexion.

Zuck regularly sold at the fair, and specialized in materia magica: the substances from which potions and elixirs were generally compounded. Today his wares included a novelty. Between a tray of small bronze bottles and cubes of clear gum a single flower stood displayed in a black vase.

Melancthe's attention was instantly attracted. The flower was notable both for its odd conformation and its colours, so vivid and intense as to be almost palpable: brilliant black, purple, frosty blue and carmine red.

Melancthe could not remove her gaze from the flower. She asked: "Zuck, good Zuck: what flower is that?"

"Lovely lady, that I cannot say. A fellow of the forest brought me this single bloom that I might gauge the mood of the market."

"Who might be this wonderful gardener?"

Zuck laid his finger beside his nose and showed Melancthe a knowing grin. "The person is a falloy and of a distant nature; he insists upon anonymity, so that he will not be subjected to lengthy theoretical discussions, or stealthy attempts to learn his secret."

"The flowers, then, must grow somewhere in the forest nearby."

"Quite so. The flowers are sparse and each is more magnificent than the next."

"Then you have seen others?"

Zuck blinked. "As a matter of fact: no. The falloy is a great one for hyperbole, and avaricious to boot. However, I have insisted upon moderate prices for the sake of my reputation."

"I must buy the flower; what, in fact, is your price?" Zuck looked blandly up toward the sky. "The day is almost done, and I like to end with an easy sale, to serve as an omen for tomorrow. For you, lovely lady, I will quote an almost trifling sum: five crowns of gold."

Melancthe looked at Zuck in innocent surprise. "So much gold for a single flower?"

"Ah bah, does the price seem high? In that case, take it for three crowns, as I am in a hurry to shutter my booth."

"Zuck, dear Zuck: I seldom carry coins of gold!"

Zuck's voice became somewhat flat. "What coins then do you carry?"

"Look! A pretty silver florin! For you, good Zuck, for your very own, and I will take the flower."

Melancthe reached across the counter and lifted the flower from the vase. Zuck looked dubiously at the coin. "If this is for me, what remains for the falloy?"

Melancthe held the flower to her nose and kissed the petals. "We will pay him when next he brings us flowers. I want them all, every one!"

"It is a poor way to do business," grumbled Zuck. "But I suppose that you must prevail."

"Thank you, dear Zuck! The flower is superb, and its perfume likewise! It exhales a draught from the very shores of paradise!"

"Ah well," said Zuck. "Tastes differ, and I sense only a rather disreputable chife."

"It is rich," said Melancthe. "It opens doors into rooms where I have never looked before."

Zuck mused: "A bloom of such evocation is definitely undervalued at a single silver bit."

"Then here is another, to guarantee my interests! Remember, all the flowers must be sold to me, and me alone!"

Zuck bowed. "So it shall be, though you must be prepared to pay the fair price!"

"You shall not find me wanting. When does the gardener come again?"

"As to that, I cannot be sure, since he is a falloy."

III

WHEN DUSK FELL OVER THE MEADOW Melancthe returned to the inn, and presently appeared in the common room. She went to a table in the shadows. For her supper she was served a tureen bubbling with a stew of hare, mushrooms, ramp, parsley and wine, with a crust of new bread, a conserve of wild currants, and a flask of currant wine. A mote of dust drifted down from above to settle into the wine, where it formed a bubble.

Melancthe, observing the event, instantly became still.

From the bubble issued a small voice, so faint and soft that she bent forward to hear it.

The message was brief; Melancthe sat back, her mouth drooping in annoyance. With a touch of the forefinger she broke the bubble. "Once again," she muttered to herself. "Once again I must use my purple fire to warm this icy sea-green monument to decorum. But I need not mix one with the other—unless the caprice comes on me." She contemplated her flower and inhaled its perfume, while far away at Trilda, Shimrod, studying an ancient portfolio in his workroom, was visited with a shudder of uneasiness.

Shimrod set the portfolio aside and slowly stood erect. He closed his eyes, and into his mind drifted the image of Melancthe, as if she floated in dark water, nude and relaxed, hair drifting loose beside her face.

Shimrod frowned off across the room. At a basic and elementary level, the image was stimulating; on another level, It aroused only skepticism.

Shimrod pondered a moment or two in the silence of his work-room, then reached out and tapped a small silver bell.

"Speak!" said a voice.

"Melancthe has come floating along a dark stream and into my mind," said Shimrod. "She wore a minimum of garments, which is to say, none at all. She broke into my studies I and started my blood to moving; then she departed, smiling in a manner of cool insolence. She would not have troubled herself without a purpose."

"In that case, discover her purpose. Then we will know better how to respond."

"Tonight is Freamas," said Shimrod. "She will be at Twitten's Comers.

"Go then to Twitten's Corners."

"Very well; I will do so."

Shimrod brought other books and portfolios to his work-table and by the light of a single fat candle, turned the heavy parchment pages until he came upon the text he sought. He read in all concentration, storing the acrid syllables in his mind, while a moth circled the candle flame and finally died in a puff of dust.

Shimrod packed a wallet with articles of convenience and necessity. His preparations were complete. He went out to the road before Trilda, spoke a few words, closed his eyes and stepped three paces backward. When he opened his eyes he stood beside the tall iron post which marked Twitten's Corners, at the very heart of Forest Tantrevalles. Twilight had given way to night; soft white stars shone down through gaps in the foliage. Fifty yards to the east cheerful yellow light poured from the windows of the Laughing Sun and the Crying Moon into the road, and Shimrod bent his steps in this direction. The iron-bound door had been propped open to admit the airs of the night. At one side Hockshank stood behind his counter, carving a haunch of venison; elsewhere were tables, benches and chairs, tonight occupied to capacity. In a far shadowed corner Shimrod noted the quiet shape of Melancthe, where she apparently sat absorbed in the reflections on the surface of her wine, seemingly oblivious to Shimrod's presence. Shimrod approached the counter.

Hockshank glanced at him from the side of his golden eyes; halfling blood ran in Hockshank's veins. His hair was like fur the colour of decaying straw; he stood with a slight forward stoop; his feet were covered with gray-yellow fur and instead of toenails he had small black claws. Hockshank said: "I seem to recognize you from past custom, but I have no head for names, and in any case, should you be seeking accommodation, there is none to be had."

"I am Shimrod, from Trilda. In the past, by dint of careful thought, or again, by housing certain of your guests in the stable, we have discovered a chamber for my use and your own profit, and both of us have been the happier men for the effort."

Hockshank never paused in his work. "Shimrod, I recall you of old, but tonight the stable is already full. If you put down a purse of gold, I still could not find you a room."

"A small purse, or a large purse?"

"Tonight either will buy you a bench in the common room, but nothing better. Custom presses in on all sides; already I have made some difficult compromises."

Hockshank pointed his knife. "Notice at the table yonder the three sturdy matrons of imposing mien?"

Shimrod turned to look. "Their dignity is impressive."

"Just so. They are Sacred Virgins at the Temple of Dis, in Dahaut. I have assigned them to a dormitory of six beds along with the three gentlemen yonder with the grape-leaves in their hair. I hope that they may reconcile their philosophical differences without disturbing others in the inn."

"What of the lady sitting alone in the corner?"

Hockshank glanced across the room. "She is Melancthe the demiwitch and occupies the apartments behind the Door of the Two Green Lizards."

"Perhaps you might induce her to share her apartments with me."

Hockshank paused in his carving. "If only all were so deftly done, I would be there myself, and you could share the top of the oven with Dame Hockshank."

Shimrod turned away and went to a table at the side of the room, where he dined on venison, with currants and barley.

Melancthe at last chose to notice his presence. Crossing the room, she slipped into the chair opposite him. In a light voice she asked: "I have always considered you a very paragon of gallantry! Am I so wrong in my judgment?"

"In most respects: yes. How is my gallantry at fault?"

"Since it was I who called you here, surely you might have joined me at my table."

Shimrod nodded. "What you say is valid, in the abstract. Still, in the past I have found you unpredictable, and sometimes pungent in your recriminations; it is one of your little quirks. I hesitated to make a public demonstration of our acquaintance and perhaps cause you embarrassment. I therefore waited upon your signal."

"Good modest self-effacing Shimrod! I was right after all! Your chivalry is irreproachable!"

"Thank you," said Shimrod. "Furthermore, I wanted to dine before you told me something to destroy my appetite."

"Now are you replete?"

"I have dined well, though the venison was somewhat tough, and meanwhile you decided what you wished to tell me."

Melancthe smiled down at the flower she held in her fingers. "Perhaps I have nothing whatever to tell you."

"Why then was I summoned by so explicit a signal? Unless at this moment thieves are ransacking Trilda."

Melancthe's smile, as she twirled the flower in her fingers, became vague. "It might be that I merely wanted to be seen in company with the famous Shimrod, to enhance my reputation."

"Bah! Not a person here knows me, except Hockshank."

Melancthe looked around the room. "For a fact, no one seems to be noticing. The reason is simple: your modesty. Tamurello's dramatic guises are for the most part self-defeating. You are more clever; you conceal yourself in a form which allows you great advantage."

Shimrod looked blankly across the table. "Indeed? How so?"

Melancthe inspected Shimrod through half-closed eyes with her head tilted sidewise. "You simulate the universal man with total conviction! Your hair is hacked short across your face peasant-style, and is even the colour of well-used stable-straw. The features of your face are bony and gaunt, but you relieve their coarseness by a simpleton's drollery which reassures everyone. You wear what appears to be a peasant's smock, and as you dine, elbows high, you display the appetite of one who has toiled long hours among the turnips. All these aspects make for a great advantage, as well you realize! No adversary would ever associate what purports to be a gaunt, blinking loon for the dangerous and debonair Shimrod! It is a cunning disguise."

"Thank you!" said Shimrod. "Your compliments are hard to come by; I accept them all with pleasure... . Boy! Bring more wine!"

Melancthe smiled down at her flower. "Has Hockshank found you a chamber for the night?"

"He has offered me a bench here in the common room. Something better may still come to light."

"Who knows?" murmured Melancthe.

The boy brought wine in a gray faience decanter decorated with blue and green birds, and a pair of squat faience goblets. Shimrod poured both goblets full. "Now then: you have called me here; you have characterized me as a boor and a loon; you have distracted me from my work. Was there any other purpose in your signal?"

Melancthe shrugged. Tonight she wore a dark brown robe, in which she seemed childishly slight. "I might have called you because I was lonely."

Shimrod raised high his eyebrows. "Among all these quaint folk? They are your familiars and the songsters who join you out on the rocks!"

"Truly, Shimrod, I wanted to see you that I might ask your opinion of my flower." She displayed the blossom; the petals, black, purple, ice-blue and carmine-red, seemed as fresh now as if the flower had just been plucked. "Smell! The odor is unique."

Shimrod sniffed and looked askance at the flower. "Certainly it is vivid, and its petals are nicely shaped. I have never seen another like it."

"And the perfume?"

"I find it a trifle too heady. I am reminded of..." Shimrod paused and rubbed his chin.

"Of what?"

"A strange picture came into my mind: a scene of flowers at war and a great carnage. Flowers with green arms and legs lay dead or mortally wounded; others tall in pride and cruelty cut down at those who were doomed, and so smelled the battlefield."

"That is a complex and subtle way to describe a scent."

"Perhaps so. Where did you come by the flower?"

"At the booth of the trader Zuck, who will tell me nothing as to its source."

Shimrod drank from the goblet. "We have discussed my disguise and your flower; what other topics interest you?"

Melancthe gave her head a rueful shake. "When first we met you lacked all suspicion. Now you dart cynical glances over your wine-cup."

"I am older," said Shimrod. "Is that not the ordinary course of life? When I first knew myself as Shimrod, I felt an exuberance I cannot describe! Murgen despaired of me, and would not so much as hear my voice. I cared nothing; I frolicked like a young goat, and travelled the land with a new adventure at every turning."

"Aha, tonight your secrets are emerging. Do they include a spouse from this time of rashness, along with a bevy of sons and daughters?"

Shimrod laughed. "There is definitely no spouse. As for children, who knows the truth, if all were sorted out? I enjoyed a vagabond's life; I was as careless as a bird, and only too susceptible to the charms of winsome maidens, be they fairy, falloy or human. If I fathered children, how many or how they fare today is unknown to me. Sometimes I wonder but in those days I never gave thought to such things. All is past; tonight here sits Shimrod, sedate and crafty, in his peasant disguise. Meanwhile, how goes your life?"

Melancthe sighed. "Tamurello is back from Mount Kham-baste and the air is immediately rife with intrigue and rumor, which might or might not interest you."

"I am willing to listen."

Melancthe studied the flower as if seeing it for the first time. "I pay little heed. Occasionally I hear a name I recognize; then I turn my head to listen. For instance, are you acquainted with the magician Visbhume?"

"Not by such a name. What of this Visbhume; why is he notable?"

"For nothing in particular. Apparently he was at one time apprentice to a certain Hippolito, now dead."

"I have heard of Hippolito. He lived in the north of Dahaut."

"Visbhume approached Tamurello with some mad scheme, and Tamurello sent him packing." And Melancthe added primly: "Visbhume lacks all principle."

"How so?"

"Oh—this way and that. Lacking Tamurello's support he declared himself ready to serve King Casmir of Lyonesse. They think to attack King Aillas of Troicinet."

Shimrod tried to feign disinterest. "And so: what are his intentions?"

"There was talk of using the Princess Glyneth in their plans... . You appear to be stunned by this little rumor."

"Truly? I admit to affection for the Princess Glyneth. I would do my best to ward her from harm."

Melancthe leaned back in her chair and thoughtfully sipped wine from her goblet. Presently she spoke, in a soft even voice, though a subtle ear might have detected nuances of mockery and annoyance. "Amazing how chaste little virgins like Glyneth can excite such wild extravagances of gallantry, while other persons of equal worth, perhaps blemished by a goiter or a pock-mark or two, can lie suffering in the ditch, eliciting little if any notice."

Shimrod uttered a melancholy laugh. "The fact is real! The explanation derives from day-dreams and ideal concepts far more powerful than justice, truth and mercy all combined. But not in the case of Glyneth. She spills over with kindness; and she would never ignore those lying in the ditch. She is always merry; she is clean and fresh as the sunlight; she brings pleasure to the world by her sheer existence."

Melancthe seemed taken aback by the fervor of Shimrod's remarks. "In Shimrod she has a dedicated champion. I was unaware of your devotion."

"I know her well, and I love her as I would my own daughter."

Melancthe rose to her feet, mouth drooping. "I had forgotten; the subject bores me."

Shimrod also rose to his feet. "Melancthe, are you retiring for the night?"

"Yes; the common room grows noisy. You may join me if you like."

"Lacking all better alternative, I accept." Shimrod took Melancthe's arm and the two retired to the apartment behind the Door of the Two Green Lizards.

Shimrod put light to the candles in the candelabra on the table. Melancthe, standing in the center of the room, fixed the flower into her hair, watching Shimrod all the while. She let fall her brown robe and stood nude in the candlelight. "Shimrod: am I not beautiful?"

"Beyond all doubt; beyond all question! But put aside the flower; it detracts from you."

Melancthe pouted. "But I like it! Shimrod, come kiss me."

"Put aside the flower! I find it repellent."

"As you like." Melancthe tossed the flower to the table. "Now will you kiss me?"

"I will do better than that," said Shimrod, and so passed the first hours of the night.

At midnight, as the two lay pressed close together, Shimrod said: "I have an uneasy feeling that you were about to tell me something more of the wizard Visbhume."

"Yes, that is so."

"Then why will you not tell me?"

"Because I feared that you would become agitated and perform some instant and unnecessary act."

"What sort of act might that be?"

"There is nothing you can do now; Visbhume has already gone to Watershade and departed, for one of his private bolt-holes: a place known as Tanjecterly."

A cold chill came over Shimrod. "And he took Glyneth with him?"

"That is the rumor. But you can do nothing to prevent it.

The deed is done."

"Why did Visbhume do this?"

"He worked at Casmir's behest. Also, if Tamurello is to be believed, such projects are dear to Visbhume's heart."

"He must know that he has just put a short term to his life," said Shimrod.

Melancthe held him close. "I like you best when you are like this."

Shimrod thrust her away. "You should have told me at once, if you meant to tell me at all."

"Ah Shimrod! You must remember my mixed feelings for you. I am at ease and even happy with you, but soon I find that I want to hurt you and cause you every conceivable pain."

"You are lucky that I lack similar yearnings, even though you provoke them." Shimrod dressed himself.

"It is exactly as I feared," said Melancthe. "The impractical Shimrod hurries off to Tanjecterly and there rescues his dainty Glyneth."

"Where is Tanjecterly? How does one get there?"

"The route is detailed in the rarest of all books: one which Visbhume stole from Hippolito."

"And the name of the book?"

"Twitten's Almanac, or some such thing... . Shimrod! Are you truly going?"

The only response was the sound of the door closing behind Shimrod. Melancthe shrugged and presently fell asleep.

In the morning Melancthe went in great anticipation to the booth of Zuck the trader, where she was disappointed anew.

"I have spoken to the falloy," said Zuck. "There will be no more flowers at this fair; the plants yielded only the single blossom. There will be more in the fall, as the buds are already forming, and the falloy says that you must bring gold, as silver is not enough for wares so heady."

Melancthe spoke a soft sound under her breath. "Zuck, I will come in the autumn, and you must reserve the blooms for me alone! Is it agreed?"

"So long as you pay in gold."

"There will be no difficulty here."

IV

RETURNING TO TRILDA, Shimrod went at once to the workroom. In the Pantological Index he discovered a reference to Tanjecterly'

The source of information in regard to Tanjecterfy is derived from, the exceedingly not and somewhat suspect ‘Twitten's Almanac'. Tanjecterfy is described as one of a set, or cycle, of ten superimposed worlds, which, includes our own. Interconnections are difficult to find and evanescent in nature.

According to Twitten, Tanjecterfy, similar in certain ordinary respects to our world, is notaofy different in others. The inhabitants are said to be various and include even tribes of human-seeming folk, and others in which the similarity is at Best cursory. The environment of Tanjecterfy is described as noxious, and indeed lethal to those persons who would travel here without making adaptations. Again, Tanjectafy may be no more than one of Twitten's idle fables; his caprices and pranks are well documented elsewhere. On the other hand, the ‘Almanac' is said to be a work of great complexity and inner coherence, which would seem to lend the volume credence.

Shimrod tapped the silver bell. A voice said: "Shimrod, you work late."

"I was summoned to a rendezvous by Melancthe the Witch. I met her at the Laughing Sun and Crying Moon Inn, and I thought surely that she had called to give me news, and so it was, though she took her own time in the telling.

"She mentioned a low sorcerer by the name of Visbhume, formerly apprenticed to Hippolito. Visbhume conferred with Tamurello, who sent him to King Casmir of Lyonesse. Thereafter, according to Melancthe, Visbhume went to Watershade and for reasons not entirely clear kidnapped Glyneth and took her to the place Tanjecterly.

"The Index lists Tanjecterly as a possibly imaginary place, mentioned by Twitten in his ‘Almanac'."

"So then: what are your plans?"

"I can only do as Melancthe, and perhaps Tamurello expect. I will go to Watershade; there I hope either to find this is all a mare's-nest, or is a situation where I can interfere with Visbhume's plans. Failing this, I must go wherever Visbhume has taken Glyneth, which may mean Tanjecterly itself."

The cool voice said: "This seems a complicated intrigue. Several motivations are suggested. Like you, I suspect that Tamurello has instructed Melancthe. She had very good success urging you to leap like a fool into interworld chaos before; she and Tamurello no doubt have theorized that, if the scheme worked so well before, why should it not work again? Clearly they want you to plunge with full bravado into Tanjecterly, whence you will never return: for them a fine feat! They destroy you and cripple me. Under no circumstances are you to venture into Tanjecterly. It is a palpable trap!

"Second: if Visbhume is working at the behest of Casmir, then the object might also be to confuse, distract and harm King Aillas. I have recently sensed, and this confirms, that Tamurello at last has discovered the insolence to ignore my edicts and I must punish him."

"All very well," said Shimrod. "But what of Glyneth?"

"I know nothing about Tanjecterly; it seems that I must make inquiries. In the morning I will tell you my findings; then you must counsel King Aillas. But neither he, nor you, nor the prince Dhrun, may venture the way into Tanjecterly."

"Then how shall Glyneth be rescued?"

"We will send our agent. Now I must go to study."

V

AT SUNSET AILLAS AND DHRUN, on horses sweaty and spent, crossed the moat by the old timber drawbridge and so arrived at Watershade.

Shimrod came out to meet them. Aillas and Dhrun searched his face, hoping to read some trace of cheer. Shimrod gave his head a shake. "I know a few sparse facts, and their indications are worse than ever. I cannot even speculate on what is happening to Glyneth. Come; let us go inside, and I will tell you what I know. At this moment, hysterical haste will avail us nothing; tonight at least we will sit quietly and rest and form plans as best we can."

Aillas said: "You do not infect me with optimism."

"There is none to be had. Come; Weare has laid out our supper and I will tell you of Tanjecterly."

Dhrun asked: "Where is Tanjecterly?"

"You shall hear."

Aillas and Dhrun ate cold beef and bread while Shimrod spoke. "I will start at the starting," said Shimrod. "Some hundreds of years ago Twitten the Wizard either himself compiled, or obtained from another source, a volume which became known as Twitten's Almanac. This same Twitten, for purposes unknown, placed the iron post at a crossroads in the Forest of Tantrevalles, despite legends which state otherwise.

"The almanac, so I learn, describes a cycle of worlds one of which is Tanjecterly.

"Hippolito the Magician owned the almanac, and apparently instructed his apprentice Visbhume in its use; when Hippolito disappeared, presumably to his death, Visbhume made off with the almanac."

Aillas said: "I know something of this Visbhume. By all reports he is a strange and unpleasant person, and works in the service of Casmir. He came before to Troicinet, and put assiduous inquiries regarding Dhrun to Dame Ehirme and her family, who seem to have given him hints as to the circumstances of Dhrun's birth, of which Casmir still knows nothing."

"Here may be the basis of Visbhume's acts," said Shimrod. "He has taken Glyneth that he may learn all there is to be known in this regard."

Dhrun groaned. "Let him give us back Glyneth! I will tell him all he wants to know and more!"

Aillas spoke between clenched teeth: "Show me the gate into Tanjecterly; if he has laid a rude finger on her, I will break all his bones!"

"Just so," said Shimrod with a sad smile. "Murgen feels that Tamurello is responsible, and Tamurello hopes that all who love Glyneth most will recklessly hurl themselves into Tanjecterly, and there be lost forever. Murgen has forbidden any such acts."

"Then what can we do?" demanded Dhrun.

"Nothing, until we receive word from Murgen."

VI

IN THE MORNING DHRUN LED THE WAY tO the woodcutter's hut deep in the Wild Woods to which his dogs had followed Glyneth's trail. As before, the hut stood alone in a little glade, and appeared to be deserted.

Aillas approached and started to step through the doorway. He was stayed by a sharp cry: "Hold, Aillas! Stand back! As you value your life, do not enter the hut!"

Murgen came forward. Today he seemed a tall erect woodsman with close-cropped white hair. He spoke to Dhrun: "When you traced Glyneth to this place, did you enter the hut?"

"No, sir. The dogs stopped at the doorway, and acted in a peculiar manner. I looked through the doorway and saw that the hut was empty; the place gave me an eerie feeling and I came away."

"That was well-considered. See this golden shine around the doorway? It is barely visible in the light. It marks the way into Tanjecterly, and the way is still open. If you wish to bring great rejoicing to the heart of King Casmir, step through the doorway."

Aillas asked: "May I call out through the doorway?"

"Call away! Your voice can do no harm."

Aillas stepped close to the doorway and called through the opening: "Glyneth! It is Aillas! Can you hear me?"

Silence was profound; Aillas reluctantly turned away and watched as Murgen scratched an outline in the turf before the hut, in the shape of a square twenty feet on the side. With the most meticulous care he scratched a number of other marks inside the perimeter and then stood back. From his wallet he brought a small box carved from a single block of red cinnabar and tossed the contents toward the delineated square.

Dense white vapor filled the interior of the square, to dissipate with a sudden soft explosion, leaving behind a structure of gray stone. The single means of ingress was a tall black iron door, adorned with a panel displaying the Tree of Life.

Murgen went to the door, swung it wide, beckoned to the company. "Come!"

Aillas, passing through the portal, felt a puzzling sense of familiarity, as if he had come this way before. Shimrod knew their location precisely: the entry to the great hall at Swer Smod.

"Come," said Murgen. "There is reason for haste. The ten places slide and move past each other. Visbhume's passage seems firm but who knows when it will break. Since we cannot pass through, we need an agent of suitable sort. I have done the needful study; now the synthesis. Come; to my workroom."

Murgen took the company to a chamber furnished with shelves, cabinets, and tables burdened with unfamiliar machinery. Windows to the east overlooked the foothills of the Teach tac Teach and, beyond, the dark expanse of Forest Tantrevalles.

Murgen pointed to a bench. "Sit, if you will... . Notice this cabinet. It has cost me large toil and a dozen obligations in unseemly places. Still, what must be, is. The cabinet glows with a green-yellow light; it is in fact the stuff of Tanjecterly. The creature within is a young syaspic feroce from the Dyad Mountains of Tanjecterly. Now he is a mere schematic; when activated he will also manifest the stuff of Tanjecterly and will form the armature of our construction. It has other virtues as well: it is strong, alert, agile and cunning. It is immune to fear and is loyal to the death. Its flaws are the other side of the same coin: it is savage and becomes a monster of destructive fury when provoked, or sometimes even in the absence of provocation. It is also prone to unpredictable frivolities which propel its kind on expeditions of ten thousand miles that they may dine on a particular fruit. This is the basis of our agent."

Aillas eyed the creature dubiously. It stood a few inches over six feet tall and displayed a rudely man-like form, with a heavy head resting on massive shoulders, long arms with taloned hands and prongs growing from the knuckles. A black pelt covered its scalp, a strip down its back and about the pelvic region. Its features were heavy and crude, with a low forehead, a short nose and ropy mouth; tawny-gold eyes looked through slits between ridges of cartilage.

Murgen spoke again: "This is not the beast itself, which would be of no use to us, but its constructive principles, which define its nature. Last night I sought across a hundred worlds and a million years of time. I still am not content but in so short a time I can discover none better." He closed the cabinet on the syaspic feroce, and opened another to reveal the simulacrum of a strong young man wearing leather trousers buckled at the belt. "This creature appears to our eyes as a man because our brains make such an interpretation; it is unnecessary to think differently. He lives among the far moons of Achernar, and he is accustomed to the most extreme outrages of terror and the hourly proximity of death. He survives because he is ruthless and intelligent; his name is Kul the Killer. To our eyes and our brains he seems a handsome clean-limbed young man of fine physique, and we will make use of this matrix when we join him to the feroce, as we do now."

Murgen joined the cabinets, then, at a table, took what appeared to be a sheet of paper cut into patterns and laid it on , another similar set of patterns. He worked for a moment with patterns, cabinets and machinery. "Now!" said Murgen. "The synthesis is done. We shall call the product ‘Kul'. Let us observe him."

Murgen opened the cabinet door, to reveal a new being with attributes of both its constituent beings. The head rode on a short heavy neck; the face was less brutally modeled; the arms, hands, legs and feet were more distinctly human. Kul wore his short leather trousers, while the pelt of black hair now covered only the scalp, the neck and part of the back.

Murgen said: "Kul is not yet alive, and needs still another component: direction, full intelligence, and sympathetic juncture with our own humanity. Any of you three can supply these qualities; each of you, in his own way, loves Glyneth. Shimrod, I deem you the least suitable. Dhrun, you would gladly give your life for Glyneth; but the quality I seek I find in Aillas."

"Whatever you need, I will give it."

Murgen looked at Aillas. "It will mean discomfort and weakness, for you must invest the strength of your spirit and a goodly quantity of your red human blood in this creature. Kul will have no knowledge of you, but his human virtues, if such words apply, will be yours."

Murgen nodded. "Shimrod, Dhrun: wait in the hall."

Dhrun and Shimrod departed the workroom. An hour passed. Murgen appeared. "I have sent Aillas to Watershade. He gave more of himself than I expected and he is weak. Let him rest; in a week or so he will be himself."

"And what of the creature Kul?"

"I have instructed him, and already he has fared through the hole into Tanjecterly. Come; let us learn what news he sends back."

The three returned through the foyer to the glade in the Wild Woods. Murgen dissolved the gray stone structure; the three approached the woodcutter's hut.

A black glass bottle flew through the doorway and landed at their feet. Murgen extracted a message:

I find neither Gfynah nor Visbhume close at hand. I have questioned one who watched all that happened. Glyneth took flightt from Visbhume who went in pursuit. The trail is plain. I will follow.