MADOUC

by Jack Vance

  Thud-crunch, thud-crunch, thud-crunch: the sounds were faint and cautious but seemed to be growing louder, and, in fact, by chance, Ossip and Sammikin had glimpsed the flicker of Madouc's white smock down one of the forest aisles, and were still on her trail.

  Madouc gave a little cry of frustration. She turned and once more fled through the forest, picking out the most devious ways and the darkest shadows. She slid through a thicket of alders, waded a slow stream, crossed a glade and made a detour around a great fallen oak. Where the roots thrust into the air she found a dark little nook, concealed by a bank of foxglove. Madouc crouched down under the roots.

  Several minutes passed. Madouc waited, hardly daring to breathe. She heard footsteps; Ossip and Sammikin went blundering past. Madouc closed her eyes, fearing that they would feel the brush of her vision and stop short.

  Ossip and Sammikin paused only an instant, to look angrily around the glade. Sammikin, hearing a sound in the distance, pointed his finger and gave a guttural cry; the two ran off into the depths of the forest. The thud of their footsteps diminished and was lost in the hush.

  Madouc remained huddled in the cranny. She discovered that she was warm and comfortable; her eyelids drooped; despite her best intentions, she drowsed.

  Time passed-how long? Five minutes? Half an hour? Madouc awoke, and now she felt cramped. Cautiously she began to extricate herself from the cranny. She stopped short. What was that sound, so thin and tinkling? Music? Madouc listened intently. The sounds seemed to come from a source not too far away, but hidden from her view by the foxglove foliage.

  Madouc crouched indecisively, half in, half out of her covert. The music seemed artless and easy, even somewhat frivolous, with queer little trills and quavers. Such a music, thought Madouc, could not conceivably derive from threat or malice. She lifted her head and peered through the foxglove. It would be an embarrassment to be discovered hiding in such an undignified condition. She plucked up her courage and rose to her feet, ordering her hair and brushing dead leaves from her garments, all the while looking around the glade.

  Twenty feet distant, on a smooth stone, sat a pinch-faced little creature, not much larger than herself, with sound seagreen eyes, nut-brown skin and hair. He wore a suit of fine brown stuff striped blue and red; a jaunty little blue cap with a panache of blackbird's feathers, and long pointed shoes. In one hand he held a wooden sound-box from which protruded two dozen small metal tongues; as he stroked the tongues music tinkled from the box.

  The creature, taking note of Madouc, desisted from his play ing. He asked in a piping voice: "Why do you sleep when the day is so new? Time for sleep during owl's-wake."

  Madouc replied in her best voice: "I slept because I fell asleep."

  "I understand, at least better than I did before. Why do you stare at me? From marvelling admiration, as I would suppose?"

  Madouc made a tactful response. "Partly from admiration, and partly because I seldom talk with fairies."

  The creature spoke with petulance. "I am a wefkin, not a fairy. The differences are obvious."

  "Not to me. At least, not altogether."

  "Wefkins are calm and stately by nature; we are solitary philosophers, as it were. Further, we are a gallant folk, proud and handsome, which conduces to fate-ridden amours both with mortals and with other halflings. We are truly magnificent beings."

  "That much is clear," said Madouc. "What of the fairies?" The wefkin made a gesture of deprecation. "An unstable folk, prone both to vagary and to thinking four thoughts at once. They are social creatures and require the company of their ilk; otherwise they languish. They chatter and titter; they preen and primp; they engage in grand passions which occupy them all of twenty minutes; extravagant excess is their watchword! Wefkins are paladins of valor; the fairies do deeds of wanton perversity. Has not your mother explained these distinctions to you?"

  "My mother has explained nothing. She has long been dead."

  ‘Dead'? What's this again?"

  "She is dead as Dinan's cat, and I can't help but think it inconsiderate of her."

  The wefkin blinked his green eyes and played a pensive trill on his melody box. "This is grim news, and I am doubly surprised, since I spoke with her only a fortnight past, when she showed all her usual verve-of which, may I say, you have not been denied your full and fair share."

  Madouc shook her head in perplexity. "You must mistake me for someone else."

  The wefkin peered closely at her. "Are you not Madouc, the beautiful and talented child now accepted, if somewhat gracelessly, as ‘royal Princess of Lyonesse' by King Bumblehead?"

  "I am she," said Madouc modestly. "But my mother was the Princess Suldrun."

  "Not so! That is a canard! Your true mother is the fairy Twisk, of Thripsey Shee."

  Madouc stared at the wefkin in open-mouthed wonder. "How do you know this?"

  "it is common knowledge among the halflings. Believe or disbelieve, as you wish."

  "I do not question your words," said Madouc hastily. "But the news comes as an astonishment. How did it happen so?"

  The wefkin sat upright on the stone. Rubbing his chin with long green fingers, he appraised Madouc sidelong. "Yes! I will recite the facts of the case, but only if you request the favor- since I would not care to startle you without your express permission." The wefkin fixed his great green eyes upon Madouc's face. "Is it your wish that I do you this favor?"

  "Yes, please!"

  "Just so! The Princess Suldrun gave birth to a boy-child. The father was Aillas of Troicinet. The baby is now known as Prince Dhrun."

  "Prince Dhrun! Now I am truly astonished! How can it be? He is far older than I!"

  "Patience! You shall learn all. Now then. For safety the baby was taken to a place in the forest. Twisk chanced to pass by and exchanged you for the little blond boy-baby, and that is the way of it. You are a changeling. Dhrun lived at Thripsey Shee a year and a day by mortal time, but by fairy time, many years elapsed: seven, eight, or it might be nine; no one knows since no one keeps a reckoning."

  ‘

  Madouc stood in bemused silence. Then she asked: "Am I then of fairy blood?"

  "You have lived long years in human places, eating human bread and drinking human wine. Fairy stuff is delicate; who knows how much has been replaced with human dross? That is the way of it; still, all taken with all, it is not so bad a condition. Would you have it differently?"

  Madouc reflected. "I would not want to change from the way I am-whatever that is. But in any case, I am grateful to you for the information."

  "Save your thanks, my dear! It is just a little favor-barely enough to be reckoned."

  "In that case, tell me who might be my father."

  The wefkin chuckled. "You phrase the question with a nicety! Your father might be this one or he might be that one, or he might be someone far away and gone. You must ask Twisk, your mother. Would you like to meet her?"

  "Very much indeed."

  "I have a moment or two to spare. If you so request, I will teach you to call your mother."

  "Please do!"

  "Then you so request?"

  "Of course!"

  "I accede to your request with pleasure, and there will be no great increment to our little account. Step over here, if you will."

  Madouc sidled from behind the bank of foxglove and approached the wefkin, who exuded a resinous odor, as if from crushed herbs and pine needles, mingled with bosk, pollen and musk.

  "Observe!" said the wefkin in a grand voice. "I pluck a blade of saw grass; I cut a little slit here and another here; then I do thus, then so. Now I blow a gentle breath-very easy, very soft, and the virtue of the grass produces a call. Listen!"

  He blew, and the grass whistle emitted a soft tone. "Now then: you must make just such a whistle with your own fingers."

  Madouc started to make the whistle, then, troubled by a thought which had been working at the back of her mind, paused. She asked: "What do you mean when you speak of ‘our litt
le account'?"

  The wefkin made a flickering flourish of long-fingered hands. "Nothing of large significance: in the main, just a way of speaking."

  Madouc dubiously continued her work. She paused again. "It is well known that fairies never give without taking. Is the same true of wefkins?"

  "Bah! In large transactions, this might be the case. Wefkins are not an avaricious folk."

  Madouc thought to detect evasiveness. "Tell me, then, how I must pay for your advice?"

  The wefkin pulled at the flaps of his cap and tittered as if in embarrassment. "I will accept nothing of consequence. Neither silver nor gold, nor yet precious stuffs. I am happy to oblige someone so quick and pretty. If only for the joys of gratitude you may kiss the end of my nose, and that will settle our account. Is it agreed?"

  Madouc looked askance at the wefkin and his long pointed nose, while the wefkin made foolish and inconsequential little gestures. Madouc said: "I will take the matter under advisement. I seldom kiss strangers; on their noses or elsewhere."

  The wefkin scowled and jerked his knees up under his chin. After a moment he resumed his bland demeanour. "You are unlike your mother in this regard. Well, no matter. I only thought to-but again, no matter. Have you made your grass flute? Well done. Blow softly, with kind expression-ah! That is good. Stop now, and listen to my instruction. To summon your mother you must blow into the flute and sing in this wise:

  ‘Lirra lissa larra lass Madouc has made a flute of grass.

  Softly blowing, wild and free She calls to Twisk at Thripsey Shee.

  Lirra lissa larra leer A daughter calls her mother dear!

  Tread the wind and vault the mere;

  Span the sky and meet me here.

  So sing I, Madouc.'

  Madouc, after a diffident rehearsal, took a deep breath to settle her nerves, then blew a soft note on the grass flute and spoke the cantrap.

  Nothing seemed to occur. Madouc looked here and there, then spoke to the wefkin. "Did I pronounce the charm correctly?"

  A soft voice responded from behind the foxglove foliage: "You spoke the charm in good rendition." Twisk the fairy damsel came forward: a supple creature with a casual fluff of pale blue hair bound with a rope of sapphires.

  Madouc called out in awe and rapture: "Are you truly my mother?"

  "First things first," said Twisk. "How did you agree to pay Zocco for his services?"

  "He wanted me to kiss his nose. I told him that I would take advice on the matter."

  "Quite right!" declared Zocco the wefkin. "In due course I will vouchsafe the correct advice, and that will be the end of it. We need discuss the subject no further."

  "Since I am her mother, I will provide the advice, and spare you the effort," said Twisk.

  "No effort for me! I am deft and alert in my thinking!"

  Twisk paid no heed. "Madouc, this is my advice: pick up yonder clod of dirt, and tender it to that popeyed little imp, speaking these words: ‘Zocco, with this token I both imburse and reimburse you, in full fee and total account, now and then, anon and forever, in this world and all others, and in every other conceivable respect, for each and every service you have performed for me or in my behalf, real or imaginary, to the limits of time, in all directions.'"

  "Sheer rigmarole and tommyrot!" scoffed Zocco. "Madouc, pay no heed to this foolish blue-haired wiffet; you and I have our own arrangements, as you know."

  Twisk came slowly forward, and Madouc was able to see her clearly: a lovely creature with skin the color of cream, features of surpassing delicacy. Her eyes, like those of Madouc, were wonderful dreaming sky-blue pools, in which a susceptible man might easily lose his wits. Twisk spoke to Madouc: "I will remark, as a matter of casual interest, that Zocco is notorious for his lewd conduct. If you kissed his nose you would be compelled into his service, and soon would be kissing him elsewhere, at his orders, and who knows what else?"

  "This is unthinkable!" declared Madouc aghast. "Zocco seemed so affable and courteous!"

  "That is the usual trick."

  Madouc turned to Zocco. "I have now taken advisement." She picked up the clod of dirt. "Instead of kissing your nose, I tender you this token of my gratitude." She spoke the disclaimer which Twisk had contrived for her use, despite Zocco's squeaks and groans of protest.

  With a pettish motion Zocco cast the clod of dirt aside. "Such tokens are useless! I cannot eat them; they are flavorless! I cannot wear them; they lack style, and they provide no amusement whatever!"

  Twisk said: "Silence, Zocco; your complaints are crass."

  "In addition to the token," said Madouc with dignity, "and despite your horrifying plans, I extend you my thanks, in that you have united me with my mother, and no doubt Twisk feels the same gratitude."

  "What!" said Twisk. "I had long put your existence out of my mind. Why, may I ask, did you call me?"

  Madouc's jaw dropped. "I wanted to know my mother! I thought all the time she was dead."

  Twisk gave an indulgent laugh. "The error is absurd. I am surcharged with vivacity, of all kinds!"

  "So I see! I regret the mistake, but I was given false information."

  "Just so. You must learn to be more skeptical. But now you know the truth and I will be returning to Thripsey Shee!"

  "Not yet!" cried Madouc. "I am your beloved daughter, and you have only just met me! Also, I need your help!"

  Twisk sighed. "Is it not always the way? What then do you want of me?"

  "I am lost in the forest! Two murderers killed Pymfyd and stole my horse Tyfer. They chased me and caused me a great fright; they wanted to kill me as well; also they called me a ‘scrawny red-headed whelp'!"

  Twisk stared in shock and disapproval. "You meekly stood by and allowed these insults?"

  "By no means! I ran away as fast as possible and hid."

  "You should have brought them a waft of hornets! Or shortened their legs so that their feet adjoined their buttocks! Or transformed them into hedgehogs!"

  Madouc gave an embarrassed laugh. "I don't know how to do these things."

  Twisk sighed once more. "I have neglected your education; I cannot deny it. Well, no time like the present, and we shall make a start at this instant." She took Madouc's hands in her own. "What do you feel?"

  "A quiver came over me-a sensation most strange!" wisk nodded and stood back. "Now then: hold your thumb and finger thus. Whisper ‘Fwip' and jerk your chin toward what ever nuisance you wish to abate. You may practice on Zocco."

  Madouc pressed thumb and finger together. "Like this?"

  "Just so."

  "And: ‘Fwip'?"

  "Correct."

  "And jerk my chin-like this?"

  Zocco uttered a screech and jumped four feet from the ground, twirling his feet rapidly in mid-air. "Hai hai kiyah!" called Zocco. "Put me down!"

  "You have worked the spell correctly," said Twisk. "See how he twirls his feet, as if dancing? The spell is known as the ‘Tinkle-toe Imp-spring'."

  Madouc allowed thumb and finger to separate and Zocco returned to the ground, sea-green eyes bulging from his head. "Hold hard on that mischief, and at once!"

  Madouc spoke contritely. "Excuse me, Zocco! I think that I jerked my chin a bit too hard."

  "That was my own thought," said Twisk. "Try again, using less force."

  On this occasion Zocco jumped less than three feet into the air, and his outcries were considerably less shrill.

  "Well done!" said Twisk. "You have a natural bent for such work!"

  "It has come too late," gloomed Madouc. "Poor Pymfyd lies dead in the ditch, and all through my insistence upon the Flauhamet fair!"

  Twisk made an airy gesture. "Did you strike Pymfyd dead?"

  "No, Mother."

  "Then you need feel no remorse."

  Madouc's distress was not fully relieved. "All very well, but Ossip and Sammikin who struck the blows feel no remorse either! They beat poor Pymfyd till the blood gushed; then they chased me and stole Tyfer. I have met you and
I am overjoyed for this reason, but at the same time I grieve for Pymfyd and Tyfer."

  Zocco chuckled. "Just like a female, singing both bass and falsetto with the same breath!"

  Twisk turned Zocco a glance of mild inquiry. "Zocco, did you speak?"

  Zocco licked his lips. "An idle thought, no more."

  "Since you lack occupation, perhaps you will look into the vexations which Madouc has described."

  Zocco said peevishly: "I see no reason to oblige either you or your unappealing brat of a daughter."

  "The choice is yours," said Twisk graciously. She spoke to to Madouc: "Wefkins are unimaginative. Zocco, for instance, envisions a future of blissful ease, with never a pang of discomfort.

  Right or wrong?"

  "He is wrong indeed."

  Zocco jumped to his feet. "I find that I have a few moments to spare. It will do no harm to take a cursory look around the landscape, and perhaps make an adjustment or two."

  Twisk nodded. "Please report your findings on the instant!" Zocco was gone. Twisk examined Madouc from head to toe. "This is an interesting occasion. As I mentioned, I had almost forgotten your existence."

  Madouc spoke stiffly: "It was not very nice of you to give me away, your own darling little child, and take another in my place."

  "Yes and no," said Twisk. "You were not as darling as you might like to think; indeed, you were something of a rippet. Dhrun was golden-haired and sweet-natured; he gurgled and laughed, while you screamed and kicked. It was a relief to be rid of you."

  Madouc held her tongue; reproaches, clearly, would serve no useful purpose. She spoke with dignity: "I hope that I have given you reason to change your opinion."

  "You might have turned out worse. I seem to have gifted you with a certain queer intelligence, and perhaps an inkling of my own extravagant beauty, though your hair is a frowst."

  "That is because I have been running through the woods in terror and hiding under a rotten log. If you like, you may give me a magic comb, which will order my hair at a touch."

  "A good idea," said Twisk. "You will find it under your pillow when you return to Sarris."