"Aye, he was here some years agone, seeking a rare butterfly, which meseems a strange thing for a grown man, even a crazy lowlander, to do. I mislike dealing with those gentry, because they once shut some of us in cages with their beasts. That was an insult!"
"Like it or not," said Thorolf, "he has the money wherewith to buy one healthy female dragon, hoping to mate her with their male. All you need do is to send a brace of trusty trolls to Zurshnitt with a message. Let Berthar send out a gang of workmen with a wagon, to meet your trolls with the dragon halfway and hand over the money."
"I like this not," growled Wok. "If I know you lowlanders, the instant my people cross into the lands the Zurshnitters stole from us, they are liable to a bolt in the brisket. I alone speak enough Rhaetian to deal with these folk, but I must needs remain here. Ye could accompany the dragon—but nay, nought would hinder you from escaping our grasp, taking the money with you."
"I'll write to Berthar," said Thorolf, digging into his scrip. He brought out a pad of paper, a battered quill, and a stoppered ink bottle.
"I still like it not, but money is money." Wok gave Thorolf a sinister smile. "Our agreement was that ye should slay the beast, not take it alive. The dragon's flesh would have fed the tribe for many days. Since that be not now in prospect, why should we not eat you?"
"Your pardon, O Chief," said Thorolf, "but if you recall the exact terms, I promised to 'get rid of the dragon. Nought was said of how, whether by slaying or capture or merely driving it away from your lands. Besides, I could scarcely write to Doctor Berthar if I were dismembered and cooking, now could I?"
Wok grumbled: "Slippery, scheming lowlander! Very well, write your letter. But ye shall remain with us until the money be delivered."
Thorolf, pen in hand, paused. "Since, O Chief, you have cast doubt upon mine own prospects, in return for the letter I ask that we enter into another pair of oaths, that I shall not be slain whatever betide. As for remaining here, I hope to do so for some little time. I will do my share of tribal labors."
"Eh?" said Wok. "What lets you from returning to Zurshnitt?"
"Certain enemies have made that city unhealthy for me.
"Ah!" said Wok. "Ye are a wanted man, then! Had I known sooner, I might have sold you back to those foes whereof ye speak."
"You would not have obtained any ten thousand marks for my carcass. And now for the oaths ..."
-
VII – Nugacious Nuptials
For the next fortnight, Thorolf Zigramson dwelt in the village of the Sharmatt trolls and took part in their simple toils and pleasures. Since he proved handy with tools, they set him the task of whittling arrow shafts and attaching feathers and iron heads. In his spare time he whetted his weapons, practiced shooting his crossbow and throwing his dagger, and washed his dirty linens and hose in the creek that served the settlement.
The trolls who had been sent with the captive dragon returned. Two bore a stout pole between them. From the pole hung a leathern sack, the weight of which made the pole sag. Evening found Chief Wok and Thorolf squatting by a fire and painstakingly counting out ten-mark gold pieces. The Chief had drafted Thorolf to keep a tally with little sticks, each representing ten coins.
When the count was over and a hundred sticks reposed in little piles, Wok said: "I am still not certain. This time ye shall count coins whilst I pile the sticks."
Thorolf counted. Although he had taken pains to count accurately, he only tallied 998 coins.
"Try again." growled Wok, taking over the coins. This time there was one coin left over when a hundred sticks had been piled.
Wok gave an angry roar. "These cursed things must be bewitched!"
"Wilt try once more?" Thorolf asked.
"Oh, to the spirit world with the futtering things! It is close enough. Thorolf. since ye have fulfilled your agreement, it is but fair that we should enlarge you. Whither go ye next?"
"For the time being," said Thorolf, "I should be happy to remain with the tribe, provided I may move about at will."
"Good!" roared Wok, smiting Thorolf on the back with numbing force. "Meanst to stay for ay and perchance take a mate from amongst us?"
The thought of a troll wife appalled Thorolf. He had gotten used to trolls but still found the females monstrously ugly. Still, in his present strait he dared not say so. Tactfully he replied:
"That were a great honor, Chief Wok. But I should have to think about it, since I already have mine eye upon a lowland female."
"Fetch her hither and mate with both!" said Wok. "Or better yet, keep one wife here and another in Zurshnitt. In such a case, it were better not to tell either of the other." He winked. "We'll talk of this anon. Meanwhile, hast ever hunted?"
"Aye, with my father."
Wok shot a sharp glance. "Who is your father?"
"I told you, Zigram Thorolfson, who as senator introduced that bill to make trolls human beings. As you know, he is now Consul of the Rhaetian Republic."
Wok's jaw dropped. "I disbelieved you when ye said so before; but now we know you for a true man. Now that we truly know ye have this kinship, ye must assuredly mate with one of our tribes women, to bind you to us and give us influence with your government. I will find a nice girl. Meanwhile, ye should sharpen your skill at the hunt." Wok raised his voice to a bellow: "Oh, Gak!"
Wok's eldest son strolled near. "Aye. Father?"
Wok said: "Thorolf true man; lowlander outside, troll inside. Take hunt tomorrow." The Chief turned back to Thorolf. "This is worth getting drunk over. Gak, two beer!"
Soon Gak returned with two mugs of crude trollish pottery, filled with barley beer. Thorolf disliked the trollish beverage. The brew was not only weak but also so full of barley grains that it was best drunk through a straw. But there was no decent way to avoid it now.
Wok, less fastidious, drank his beer in great gulps, straining the grains out with his teeth and spitting them on the ground. Thorolf looked across the amphitheater to where several trolls were firing up the smelter. Other trolls ignited simple torches, made by dipping cattails in goat grease, before they disappeared into a nearby cave mouth. Thorolf felt the stirring of an idea. He asked:
"Oh Chief, whither goes the tunnel from yonder cave?"
"To bed of iron ore." said Wok with a hiccup. '4 Would st like to see how we mine it?"
Thorolf suppressed a shudder, saying vaguely: "Some day, mayhap." He did not wish to admit that he had an irrational fear of dark, narrow places, ever since as a boy he had been accidentally locked in a clothes chest. He went on:
"Is that all? Does a branch extend to Zurshnitt?"
"Nay, nay. What made you think of such a thing?" Wok's gaze shifted furtively. Thorolf had been with trolls long enough to read their expressions.
"We have legends," said Thorolf, "of trollish tunnels extending all over Rhaetia, even beneath the streets of our cities. Betimes politicians warn us that the trolls might burst out of their tunnels and massacre folk in their beds."
Wok finished his mug. "What stupid idea!" His Rhaetian deteriorated as the beer took effect. "Certes, we have tunnels, but not hence to Zurshnitt. Would be several days' walk, and who could bear enough food, water, and torches to last the distance? Besides, air bad."
"But you do have a tunnel under Zurshnitt?"
"Oh, yea; but ye enter it not here. Entrance less than hour from city—" Wok clapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh. sacred ancestors! 1 told you one of our deepest secrets. Too much beer. How knew ye of it?"
"You told me you had heard a session of the Senate, and I remembered the trollish tunnels."
"Lowlanders too damned clever. Is terrible sad."
"What is sad? I'll never tell—"
Wok began to weep. "Dare not let you go. Must eat you now." He dropped into Trollish. "You friend. Eat friend bad. No eat friend bad. No take chance."
"Be not a ninny!" cried Thorolf, disguising the fear he felt. "I'm practically a member of the tribe, so why-should I harm you?"
Wok caught Thorolf'
s hand, a pleading expression on his brutish face. "You be real troll? Mate with troll girl? Good! Me get you nice girl. Oh. Gak!" he shouted.
"Aye, Father?" The young troll came on the run.
"You know Bza, Fid daughter?"
"Yea."
"Fetch. Her Thorolf mate."
The horrified Thorolf dared not protest for fear of the stewpot. The youth returned with a young female, even shorter and more barrel-shaped than most trollish women. Wok roared: "Bza, you good girl, fit Thorolf mate. Him lowlander outside but troll inside. Him good man. You be good mate. Me say you, him mate. For night, me give own tent. Take. Thorolf. Have fun all night and many cubs!"
Wok rose to his feet, slapped Thorolf's back, lost his balance, and stretched his length on the turf. Gak bent over him, saying:
"You well, Father?"
The only response was a thunderous snore. Gak looked at Thorolf. whose gaze shifted from Wok to Gak to Bza. At last Gak said:
"Father lend tent. Come!"
Following Gak among the tents, Thorolf was startled when Bza caught his hand in her hairy one. He found the touch repellant, though Bza was only doing what was expected of her. At the big tent in the middle, Gak pulled aside the flap, thrust in his head, and cried:
"Out, Mother, aunts! Wedding!"
Several of Wok's wives emerged. One said to Thorolf: "You lowland weakling, take Bza mate? You be good mate, or all women of tribe beat shit out of you!"
"Have strong yard!" cried Gak. closing the tent flap behind Thorolf and Bza.
A little pottery lamp dimly lit the tent. A small iron pot in the center flickered and smoked: this took the edge off the autumnal chill but did not heat the tent enough to comfort a "lowland weakling." To one side lay a heap of bear and wolfskins.
Bza fingered Thorolf's jacket. "How can futter in false skin?" she asked.
"'Come off," replied Thorolf, feeling more and more appalled. The sight and strong odor of Bza's squatty body aroused no lust whatever. What if he could not get it up? He had heard jokes about shepherds and ewes but had no such tendencies himself.
"Take off," said Bza. "False skin scratch." She lay down on the pile of skins and spread her stout, yellow-furred form.
In for a penny, in for a mark, thought Thorolf. One by one he shed his garments. At last he approached the supine troll girl with lagging steps, as if on his way to the headsman's block. This was certainly not the initiation into the pleasures of love about which he had fantasized. He began to shiver.
Bza raised herself on one elbow. "What matter? No stiff?" she said, pointing.
"Well—ah—" Perhaps if he shut his eyes and imagined Yvette ... Then Thorolf was startled to see, in the dimness, a tear trickle down Bza's hairy cheek; then another.
"Why, Bza!" he said. "You weep!"
Her wide mouth puckered, and she sobbed. "Sorry. Do duty. Come on, futter! Get over!'"
"What matter? No want?"
"N-nay. Me try, but you so ugly! No hair on long, thin body, like snake!"
"No want, no do," said Thorolf, sneezing and sitting down beside her. He stroked her scalp as if she had been a pet animal. "No fear. Me kind." He sneezed again.
She sobbed more than ever, stammering: "M-me love. Love Khop. Few day. me Khop mate. Then you come."
"Be Khop mate," he said.
"No can. Wok say us mate."
"No worry. Me no say; you no say. No tell Wok. Me love other, too. Many days, me go; you be Khop mate. Good?"
"Good!" Bza threw her thick arms around Thorolf and gave him a hug that, he thought, came close to cracking a rib. He said: "Now sleep!" and blew out the lamp.
-
On the next day's hunt with Gak, Thorolf had to endure Gak's coarse jokes and unabashed curiosity about Thorolf's nuptials. He passed off Gak's remarks with vague nothings, and the young troll ceased after Thorolf, with a lucky crossbow bolt, brought down an ibex.
A few days later, returning from a similar hunt without game, Thorolf approached the little tent that Wok had assigned him. He was about to throw open the flap when a faint sound from within made him pause. The sound, he perceived, was that of heavy breathing from two occupants.
He wormed a finger into the crack of the flap, teased it open a hairsbreadth, and put his eye to the slit. Inside was still dark, but the thread of light through the crack glanced from the golden fur on the hindquarters of a male troll, rhythmically rising and falling. He could not see the other occupant but inferred that Bza was entertaining her disappointed suitor Khop.
Thorolf stealthily withdrew and sat down at a distance, facing so that he could watch the tent out of the corner of his eye as he worked on arrow shafts. It was nothing to him if the mate whom Wok had foisted on him took her former betrothed as lover; in fact he rather approved. It would dissuade her, he thought, from developing an amorous passion for her nominal mate. For all that she avowed him hideous, long propinquity could stimulate lust between the most unlikely pair.
A movement at the edge of his vision caught his eyes. A huge, burly young male troll emerged from the tent, glanced around with comical furtiveness, and slunk away. Thorolf pretended not to see him. Knowing the enormous strength of trolls, Thorolf thanked his paganist gods that he had not interrupted the tryst.
Another disquieting thought crossed Thorolf's mind. Suppose Bza conceived during these trysts? Would Thorolf be deemed the father and held responsible? He was hazy on trollish customs; but Rhaetia had stern laws on parental responsibility. Desertion of one's family, for instance, was punished by fifty lashes for the first offense, a hundred for the second, and so on upward until the offender expired.
It was high time that he attacked his problems in Zurshnitt. Any hue and cry over Bardi's murder should by now have died down. Besides, although inured to the hardships of life in a tent, Thorolf was getting tired of goat's meat, barley porridge, and weak beer.
After the evening meal, Thorolf sought out Wok, saying: "Chief, know you aught of the Sophonomists and their leader, the wizard Orlandus?"
Wok swelled his furry chest and smote it with his fist. "Vile catiffs! I hate them! If I had Orlandus here, I would twist his head off, slowly, and boil it for soup!"
"Why so?"
"He tells the stupid lowlanders we be evil beings, demons. When he hath power, he says he will kill us all—even the little ones because, he says, 'nits make lice'!"
"Hast heard him say this with your own ears?"
"Aye."
"So your tunnel under Zurshnitt has a branch beneath the old Castle Zurshnitt?"
"How knew ye?" barked Wok.
"Simple reasoning. Now harken, O Chief. I and my father and many other Zurshnitters also hate and fear these Sophonomists. But they are clever and dangerous. They put converts into posts in our government, where they steal documents. When people oppose Orlandus, he frightens them into silence, or casts a spell upon them, or bribes them, or harasses them with lawsuits, or—"
"What is a lawsuit?"
Thorolf explained. Wok picked up a club, the head of which was a ball set with iron spikes. "If any lowlander tried that on me, I would see if his head was harder than this!"
"Such a program would not work amongst lowlanders, any more than their laws and courts would succeed amongst trolls. Besides, Orlandus has servants possessed by spirits called deltas, which obey him without question."
"What canst do?"
"I have a plan, and I need your help. First I must get in touch with my father, the Consul."
"How?"
"I shall write a letter. The next time you send a party to your border to trade with the Zurshnitters, they can give this letter to one of the merchants."
"Will this merchant pass it on to the Consul? Canst trust him?"
Thorolf shrugged. "My father will pay the messenger for the service; and one must betimes take a chance. Then he and I shall confer, alone at a place I know. He will have bodyguards, but I shall tell him to keep them away."
"Ah! Then I had better
send trolls to guard you likewise," said Wok.
Thorolf shook his head. "I fear not my father's men, since he and I are on good terms. Nobody else need know."
-
Thorolf's letter read: THOROLF TO CONSUL ZIGRAM, GREETINGS. WILT MEET ME AT THAT POOL ON THE RIS-SEL WHERE YOU TAUGHT ME TO FISH? WE HAVE MUCH TO DISCUSS. SET DATE AND KEEP YOUR ESCORT OUT OF SIGHT AND HEARING.
On a drizzling day in autumn, Thorolf set out for the pool at which he had first met Yvette of Grintz. Because the peasantry might have heard he was wanted and seize him, he carried, folded up in his pack, a little one-man tent of hides. Under this he spent a damp, uncomfortable night.
The Pixilated Peeress Page 12
