The Pixilated Peeress

by L. Sprague De Camp

  "Yvette!" yelled Thorolf. "Tell these idiots who I am!"

  Mechanically she recited: "He is Sergeant Thorolf of the Fourth Rhaetian Foot."

  "We care not if he be a general!" a keeper cried. "No man shall molest our animals!"

  "Hold! What's all this?" demanded a new voice, that of a lean, gray-haired man. Thorolf recognized Berthar, the director of the Zoological Park. He and the keepers all broke into heated explanations at once, while Yvette stood silently.

  "Release Sergeant Thorolf!" said Berthar. "I know him for a true man. Ye say a gang of ready-for-aughts sought to abduct this lady? Where are they now?"

  "They vanished whilst your men were netting me," Thorolf spat.

  "We shall sift this matter. But excuse me; I must see that our dragon be well encaged."

  -

  When the hubbub had died, Thorolf took Yvette to Berthar's chamber of office. The room had books and papers piled on every horizontal surface, even the floor. Some of the piles were topped by the skulls of beasts that had dwelt and died in the park. A corner was occupied by a glass-paned terrarium. Berthar waved his visitors to chairs and poured small goblets of wine. After Thorolf had told of the pursuit of Yvette by Duke Gondomar, Berthar said:

  "I shall alert the Constabulary to watch for these rogues."

  "I've already told Lodar," said Thorolf, "but an additional reminder were not amiss."

  "Is the Countess hale?" asked Berthar, nodding toward the silent Yvette. "She seems as quiet as Arnalt's tomb."

  Thorolf shrugged. "Unharmed in body; but she is under certain—ah—influences. How have you been, Berthar?"

  The Director spread his hands. "Nigh nibbled to death by the ducks of daily life. It hath been so ever since my former wife ran off with that water-of-life salesman. Today, for ensample, within a few hours, our Pantorozian tiger died; a keeper succumbed to the delusion that he was a Mauretanian viper and went about wriggling on his belly and trying to bite people; and Banker Gallus demanded that I give his old horse a good home, albeit without providing funds to do so. Then, to cap it all, came the raid of those rogues who were fain to enlarge the dragon, I ween to furnish a diversion to cover their abduction of your lady."

  Thorolf noted: "I do perceive that your post be not one for weaklings. How flourishes the park?"

  The Director shrugged. "As usual. It were a dire calamity had our prize specimen escaped. Obeying its natural instincts, it would have snapped up a tasty citizen or two. Then nought would have dissuaded your thick-skulled military from slaying the beast, as if one mountain dragon were not worth a score of human beings."

  Thorolf raised his eyebrows. "How reckon you that?"

  "The mountain dragon is an endangered species, whereas the world swarms with humanity. Man is in no danger of extermination, unless it destroy itself by devilish novel weapons like those Serican thunder tubes I hear of. It would serve the species right."

  Thorolf gave a quiet laugh. "I never thought of it thus. Doubtless being human has warped my thinking."

  "No species outranks any other in the eyes of the gods!" Berthar leaned forward. "Thorolf, know ye that I have a special fund for the acquisition of rare specimens, from donations by some wealthy citizens? Could I but obtain a female mountain dragon, 'twere worth ten thousand marks to its captor."

  Thorolf whistled. "A lot of money for one stupid, dangerous beast!"

  "My great ambition is to breed the creatures, and our lone specimen is a male." Glancing at the closed door, the director lowered his voice. "I have a personal reason to boot. I have long been an active alumnus of Horgus College. My banker friends tell me that, an I can bring off this feat, they'll see me elected to the Board."

  "Alas!" said Thorolf. "I fear my soldierly duties leave me little time for dragon hunting. Anyway, how should I know a female dragon? How does one tell?"

  "The female lacks the crest and the hornlike knobs above the eyes of the male. Some still roam the higher ranges, in trollish territory. Here, let me give you a copy of my monograph on the beast. I plan a journey into mountain-dragon land, if I can get the trolls' permission. "

  "Thanks. To hunt your dragon?"

  "Nay; for that I lack the means. 'Twould need a numerous party, sure to arouse the trolls' suspicion. What I seek is less formidable." He pointed to the terrarium.

  Thorolf bent over the glass enclosure, seeing a surface of pebbles, sand, and moss, with water at one end. In the water a finger-long black newt with red spots on its hide moved slowly about with languid waves of its tail.

  "What's that?" asked Thorolf. "Some kind of lizard?"

  "Nay; a salamander of a kind hitherto unreported from Rhaetia."

  "What's the difference?"

  "Lizards live wholly on land, whereas salamanders are hatched in water, like tadpoles, and dwell both in water and on land. The great Doctor Karlovius at Saalingen, who reduced the chaos of the animal world to orderly families, genera, and species, hath made the distinction clear. I seek additional samples; less impressive than a dragon, belike, but not without significance in the heavenly scheme. If it differ sufficiently from the lowland type, I may have an unreported new species. Meanwhile, I pray, bear my dragon offer in mind."

  "I shall, if I ever return to academe."

  "I've heard of your scholarly troubles. Couldst not apply to some other center of learning?"

  "So I did; but each demanded my scholarly records. Then they wrote to Horgus, and the replies they gat did damn me." He rose. "Thanks for the drink. My lady hungers, so we shall be off."

  -

  Thorolf took Yvette to the Green Dragon Inn and sent Orlandus' carriage and driver away. Yvette limped slightly as they entered the inn. To Thorolf's question she replied:

  "I hurt my toe when I kicked that scrowle in's manhood. These shoon you bought me were too light for such footballery; next time I shall wear mountaineer's boots."

  Thorolf asked Vasco if the room they had occupied before was vacant and engaged it for the night. Yvette stood silently by. Vasco gave the couple a sharp look, suppressed a smile, and handed Thorolf the key. "Wilt sup here, Sergeant?"

  "Aye," Thorolf said. In the common room, Thorolf hung Yvette's gray cloak on a peg and held a chair for her. He almost whistled at the sight of the costly golden gown. It was a shimmery beaded affair, far too dressy for Vasco's, which was largely frequented by salesmen for Zurshnitt's far-famed clocks and cutlery. A large ruby brooch glittered between her small breasts; Thorolf could only guess that the diamonds around it were genuine.

  Thorolf ordered a bottle of Vasco's best wine and then dinner. This time, she lagged behind him in drinking, while he watched her sharply. When he had drunk enough to feel the effects, he reasoned that, since he outweighed her two to one, she ought by now to be thoroughly besotted. Perhaps, he thought, the wine would subdue whatever entity had taken possession of her being and allow her natural self to break through. But, although she drank almost as much as he, she showed no effect whatever.

  Through the repast, Thorolf kept up a running chatter, trying to elicit human reactions from Yvette. He told tales from Rhaetian history and legend; she merely nodded and said: "Yea, I understand." He told jokes, to which she smiled politely but without mirth. He made up versicles:

  -

  "If Rhaetia lacks nobles, we've many skilled workers.

  We've craftsmen and merchants and soldiers in plenty,

  And clockmakers, herdsmen; of bankers there's twenty.

  Amid all this bustle, there's no room for shirkers!

  But if you disdain our prosaical nation,

  And if you crave troubadours, poets, or knights,

  Or gallants and other romantical wights,

  You'd better look elsewhere for gratification!"

  -

  He even told jokes of the randy sort favored in barracks; which, being a prim Rhaetian at heart, he would not ordinarily have uttered in the hearing of a lady. Still she only smiled politely.

  This, Thorolf de
cided, was a waste of time. Instead, he began questioning: "Tell me where you are quartered."

  "In one of the little rooms on the second level, for advanced diaphanes," she said.

  "Where are those cubicles? I've but once set foot in the castle."

  "When erst you brought me thither, you ascended a stair and turned right to the Chamber of Audience, didst not?"

  "Aye."

  "Well, you must needs turn left at the top of the stairs instead and pass a row of chambers betwixt the left-side corridor and the outer wall. Mine is the second from the stair end."

  "Couldst draw me a plan?" asked Thorolf, taking notepad and writing materials from his scrip.

  "Nay; but if you will draw, I'll correct your sketch."

  Soon, with some spillage of ink, Thorolf had a ragged plan of the second storey of the keep. He asked: "Hast a room to yourself?"

  "Aye."

  "Do you always sleep alone, or does Orlandus— ah ..."

  "Nay; the charms of women's bodies beguile him not. Once he caught a guard sneaking into my chamber, hoping for a speedy lectual canter. The master had the fellow dragged away by male diaphanes."

  "What befell the would-be lecher?"

  "I know not; but later that night I heard masculine screams."

  Thorolf changed the subject. "Now tell me what you do during the day—any ordinary day."

  "We rise early to break our fast. Then the Master hath assigned me to the Record Room, where we keep files on Sophonomy's foes. 'Tis not so different from what my confidential clerk did when I ruled in Grintz. Each bit of news of the scoundrels is pricked down and placed in a folder. The folders stand in alphabetical order."

  "Where is this Record Room?" asked Thorolf. He had visions of abstracting his father's dossier and thus breaking the Sophonomists' hold on the Consul.

  " 'Tis in the crypt below the castle, directly beneath my sleeping chamber. The area combines two of the cells of the dungeon. The Master had the wall betwixt them knocked down and the room aired and scrubbed. 'Twere no bad place to work, save for the plaints and the rattling of chains of the prisoners in the other cells."

  "Prisoners?" Thorolf came alert. "Whom, pray, does your Master confine against their will?"

  "They are all probationers who have committed grave offenses. Not common, mundane Rhaetian citizens, if that concern you."

  Thorolf filed the information for possible future use against the cult. When the repast was over, Thorolf led Yvette unresisting up the stair to the same handsomely furnished room. Inside, she said:

  "I do recall this chamber, where you and I once attempted a night of pleasure—oh, it must be half a month agone. My memory thereof wavers phantasmally; I have a dream of living as some sort of devil-fish. Where sat we when something went amiss?"

  Thorolf said: "I was on yonder settee, and you were giving me lessons in kissing." His heart thudded.

  "Excellent! Seat yourself. Sergeant, and we shall resume where we left off."

  She pushed him back until he sat down. Then pirouetting slowly, she shed the shimmering golden gown. The fine linen shift beneath it followed as she pulled it off a finger's length at a time, like a skillful courtesan arousing her client. She sat down on Thorolf's lap and kissed him until the blood pounded in his ears. The air was redolent of a costly perfume.

  She stood up and stepped back, glancing at the vacated lap. "Art ready?"

  "Aye," he said thickly, wondering how he could stand up while still clad.

  "Then you shall have your desire once a small matter hath been attended to." Her tone became as briskly businesslike as that of a Rhaetian banker.

  "Eh? What's this?"

  From her reticule Yvette brought out a sheet of paper, folded and refolded into a small packet. She spread the paper on the writing desk, saying: "You have but to sign this trivial engagement, and my body shall be yours. Here's pen and ink—and one thing more!"

  She picked up the golden dress and detached the ruby brooch. "When you sign, I shall prick your thumb and press it to the contract."

  "Damn!" muttered Thorolf. "Every time we ..." His irritation turned to ire. "Why on earth should I drip blood on this paper?"

  "The Master insists. It validates the contract."

  For a heartbeat, Thorolf's passion pulled him forward while his prudence held him back. Then he growled: "I'll sign nought without reading it first."

  He settled himself on the writing chair and moved the candle closer to the paper. He read that the signer bound himself to apply for membership in Sophonomy, to enroll in the prescribed courses, diligently to pursue these studies for the glory of Sophonomy and the benefit of mankind, and to pay the required fees.

  Thorolf looked narrowly at Yvette. She was still a gorgeous creature, but this crass and ominous bargain chilled his lust. That drop of blood would likely give Orlandus some magical hold upon him; if he displeased the Master, he, too, might be turned into an octopus.

  "What is the purpose of this document?'" he asked, keeping his voice emotionless.

  "To do the Master's will. I know no details; I do but know: no contract, no venery. Come, Sergeant, wouldst not show yourself as proficient at. this kind of riding as that upon your mighty steed?" She leaned over and began plucking at his ties, laces, and buttons, rubbing a small but firm breast against his cheek.

  It revolted Thorolf that Orlandus' magic had reduced this queenly woman to a kind of fancy whoredom. Be crafty! he commanded himself as he turned away from the desk, saying:

  "Yvette, my dear, this contract is a serious matter. I must think ere deciding." He stepped to the door. "I shall go for a walk in the night air. Wait not upon my return, but go to bed when you list."

  "But—"

  "If upon my return I have decided to sign, I shall rouse you. Good night!"

  -

  V – Maleficent Murder

  In the fading twilight, Thorolf strode briskly to Bardi's house. When the soldier had told his tale, Bardi fingered his straggling beard and mused: "My congratulations. Thorolf, on your self-restraint. Few stout fellows of your age would have shown the like."

  "Hardest damned 'nay' I ever said in my life," grunted Thorolf.

  "As for your lady, it sounds to me as if she were possessed by a delta. She is what the country folk call 'pixilated'. Were I seeking a woman, an unlikely thing at my age—" Bardi gave a dry chuckle. "—I should choose one less prone to magical misfortunes."

  "Some of which you yourself brought about," grumped Thorolf. "And just what, pray, is a delta?"

  "A delta is one of the inhabitants of the spirit world. Members of this species are invisible on this plane, save that in the dark you can see one as a point of twinkling light. Also, a skilled sorcerer can capture it, force it into this world, and compel it to occupy the body of a human being."

  "Wouldst call that diabolic possession?"

  "Not exactly, nay. Deltas are not evil spirits: they have no special bent toward inflicting weal or woe upon us mortals. They are not highly intelligent and, when controlled by a wizard, obey the commands of him who captures them, like well-trained dogs. Thus they compel the bodies they possess to do as the magus orders. But I must see your lady with mine own eyes."'

  "Come, then." As they walked toward the Green Dragon, Thorolf asked: "How complete is the sorcerer's domination? Will a delta-possessed victim slay him or herself at the mage's command?"

  "I know not for certain," said Bardi. "Methinks it doth depend upon two factors: the servility of the delta toward the mage and the strength of mind of the victim. These factors vary. I have heard that, when the sorcerer gives the delta a command that violates the most fervent conviction of the possessed one, the subject's body is frozen to immobility. Pray slow down, Thorolf," he puffed. "Mine aged limbs are not up to your soldiery stride!"

  -

  At the Green Dragon, Thorolf found the chamber feebly lit by a single candle and Yvette asleep in the bed. Upon the arrival of Thorolf and Bardi, she awoke and sat up, the
blanket and sheet falling away from her slender torso.

  "Sergeant," she asked in her leaden monotone, "who is this man?"

  "You've met Doctor Bardi, Yvette," said Thorolf. "Remember that we sought out Doctor Bardi when you wished to change your appearance to foil pursuers?"

  She shook her head. "It is all confused. But what brings him hither? Would he bed me, also? I am not empowered to grant—"

  "Thankee for the compliment," murmured Bardi. "But—"

  "Nay, nay!" Thorolf interposed hastily. "He would merely verify your health."

  "My health is excellent," she said. "If he fear injury from your great—"