by Jack Vance
Madouc went to look. To her dismay, Nisby's matrix resembled her not at all, and everyone agreed that her paternity surely resided elsewhere than with Nisby. Glumly Madouc liberated him from his nerveless apathy; Osfer applied the ‘Six-fold Spell' and Nisby was sent on his way.
King Throbius addressed Madouc in a somber voice: "My dear, I have taken your interest to heart, and I cannot say that I am pleased with our findings. You have been sired neither by Sir Jaucinet nor by Nisby; hence, we are left with this shadowy weirdling with vacancy for a face. The Third Statute of Logic, sometimes known as the ‘Law of Exclusion', forces me to declare him your father. You may liberate him and hold your reunion at whatever time and place suits your best convenience; no doubt you will have much to tell each other."
Madouc cried out in a troubled voice: "Your logic is naturally superb, but should we not also test this creature's matrix?"
King Throbius spoke to Osfer: "What is your opinion?"
"I suggest a third matrix, if only to create a philosophical symmetry."
King Throbius said: "I am not opposed, though the test will be redundant. However, you may approach Madouc's father, draw three minims of blood and erect a matrix for all to see."
Osfer gingerly approached the black-cloaked figure, then halted in bafflement.
King Throbius called out: "Why do you delay? We are anxious to demonstrate Madouc's paternity!"
"I am in a quandary," said Osfer. "He wears cloak, boots and gloves; he lacks neck, face and scalp. In order to draw his blood, I must remove the cloak, and expose his person. Shall I proceed?"
"Proceed, by all means!" commanded King Throbius.
"Ordinarily we would respect his modesty, but delicacy must be put aside, along with the cloak. Madouc, you may avert your eyes if you wish."
"I will see what needs to be seen," said Madouc. She ignored Sir Pom-Pom's disparaging snort. "Continue with the work."
Osfer, with little fingers extended, in the manner of a fastidious tailor, unclasped the buckle at the neck of the cloak, which then fell somewhat apart. Osfer looked into the gap and gave a startled exclamation. With a single sweep he drew the cloak aside, to reveal a squat gray-faced troll with a bottle nose, pendulous cheeks and eyes like small balls of black glass. His arms were long and knotted; his splayed legs were thrust into tall boots. Osfer cried out: "It is Mangeon the troll!"
Twisk gave a thin wailing shriek of distress. "Now I understand all! With what ignoble cunning he took his lewd revenge!"
Madouc quavered: "Despite all logic, can this truly be my father?"
"We shall see!" said King Throbius. "Osfer, build the matrix!"
"Sire, I have preceded your command! The matrix is already formed! You may examine it as you see fit, and compare it with that provided by Madouc."
King Throbius peered down at the two matrices. He spoke in perplexity. "How can it be? Does madness rule the world? Does the sun rise in the west? Is water wet and fire hot, or is it all in reverse? Logic has played us all false! This matrix is more at discord than both of the others together! I am baffled!"
Madouc could not restrain a yelp of happy relief. "Sir Jaucinet is not my father. Nisby is not my father. This repulsive halfling is not my father. Who then is my father?"
King Throbius examined Twisk with a speculative eye. "Can you clarify this puzzle?"
The dispirited Twisk could only shake her head. "The time is long past. I cannot remember every trifle."
"Still, one of these trifles produced Madouc."
"So much is conceded," said Twisk, "but memories blend; faces merge. When I shut my eyes, I hear whispers-beguilements, adoration, sighs of love requited-but I find no name for these voices."
King Throbius noticed Madouc's disconsolate face. He said: "Do not despair! There remains yet another arrow in the quiver! But first I must deal with this odious troll."
Twisk spoke with fervor. "He deserves no mercy; he caused me great unease."
King Throbius pulled at his beard. "It is a complex situation, since I cannot decide which of our laws he has violated. His trickery was instigated in part by Twisk herself, but his response seems inordinately rude. Flirts through the ages have notoriously enjoyed immunity." King Throbius paced back and forth, and the implets who carried his train were hard-put to carry out their duties. Osfer meanwhile took Mangeon somewhat aside, along with several of his thaumaturgical instruments.
King Throbius came to a halt. He raised his hand in a majestic gesture. "I have arrived at a judgment. Mangeon's conduct has been sordid and disreputable. Further, he has affronted the dignity of Thripsey Shee. The penalty must be consonant with the offense; still we must take note of contributory circumstances. We will therefore allow Mangeon tranquillity and scope for remorse; we will urge him, whether he is so inclined or not, along the narrow path of restraint. Osfer, do you understand the nature of my indication, or must I spell it out in full detail?"
"Sire, I have understood you fully, and indeed I have already implemented your sentence, in full and final scope."
"Osfer, you are a marvel of efficiency!" King Throbius turned to Madouc. "You may now release Mangeon from his paralysis"
Madouc touched Mangeon with the pebble. Instantly he gave vent to furious roaring complaint. "I deplore the outrages committed upon my person! They represent an irresponsible philosophy!"
King Throbius spoke with dignity: "You are free to depart; be happy on this account!"
"I am free, but to what purpose?" roared Mangeon. "How now will I occupy the long hours of day and night? With poetry? By observing the flight of butterflies? Your judgment was incorrect!"
King Throbius made a peremptory gesture. "I will hear no more! Be off to your ill-smelling hovel."
Mangeon threw his arms into the air and ran off across the meadow, to disappear up Wamble Way.
King Throbius returned to Madouc. "We must re-examine your case. Osfer, I suggest simulacra and the subtractive effect."
"Exactly my opinion, Your Highness! I have prepared for the process."
"Proceed, if you will."
Osfer placed three silver plates upon the table. Twisk watched with a frown of foreboding. "What is this new plan, and what does it entail?"
Osfer replied in soothing tones. "It is the most elegant and subtle procedure of all! Soon you will look into the face of Madouc's father."
Twisk frowned in annoyance. "Why did you not work this sleight before and spare me the anguish of the bloodletting?"
"It is not so simple as we might like it to be. Step forward, if you will."
"What? Not again! You shall have no more of my vital fluids! Do you wish me to become a wisp, a wraith, a desiccation?"
King Throbius called a sharp command and Twisk, writhing and moaning, at last allowed Osfer to draw off another three minims of her blood.
Osfer worked his thaumaturgy and up from the plate rose a simulacrum of Twisk's lovely head.
Next, Osfer signalled to Madouc. "Come!"
Madouc cried out: "I too am dangerously weak! If blood is needed, drain Sir Pom-Pom, or even King Throbius himself."
"This is an impractical suggestion," said King Throbius. "It is your blood which is needed! Quickly! We cannot waste all day!"
Madouc, scowling and wincing, allowed Osfer to draw three minims of her blood, from which Osfer contrived a second simulacrum.
"Now then!" said Osfer. "We proceed as follows: Madouc is the sum of Twisk and an unknown father. Therefore, if we subtract the influence of Twisk from Madouc, what remains will depict the visage of Madouc's father, at least in general terms and perhaps blurred by discrepancies. So, stand back all, since I must work with a delicate touch!"
Osfer moved the two representations so that they faced each other, then arranged four panels of grass cloth to form a screen around the two heads. "I now adjure all to silence! Any distraction will alter the precision of my work!"
Osfer arranged his instruments, uttered eight staccato syllables, and clap
ped his hands. "The spell has been effected."
Osfer removed the screens. One of the silver plates was empty. "Twisk's image has been subtracted from that of Madouc. What remains is the likeness of Madouc's sire!"
Madouc stared at the residual face. With only half the substance, it was vague and colorless, as if formed of mist. The features seemed to represent a young man with irregular features in a rather gaunt long-jawed face and a suggestion of reckless optimism in his expression. His hair was cut in the Aquitanian style, and he wore a short modish beard at the chin. The face, though not ill-favored, lacked a patrician cast. Even in its blurred condition, the face affected Madouc with a rush of warm impulses.
Twisk was staring at the face in fascination. Madouc asked: "What is his name?"
Twisk, now thoroughly out of sorts, made a capricious gesture and tossed her head. "His name? It might be anyone. The features are indefinite; it is like looking through the fog."
"Surely you recognize him?" cried Madouc. "He even looks half-familiar to me."
Twisk gave an airy shrug. "Why should he not? You are seeing what is drawn from your own face."
"Whatever the case, can you supply his name?"
Twisk said carelessly: "I am truly bored with this business! I can barely distinguish a face in yonder puddle of murk; how can I give it a name?"
"But is he not familiar to you?"
"I might say ‘Yes' and I might say ‘No'."
King Throbius spoke gently: "As Falael will attest, my patience knows a limit. Unless you care to sit on a post, scratching your lovely pelt with both hands, you will respond to questions quickly and accurately, without evasion or ambiguity. Am I clear on this?"
Twisk uttered a cry of poignant emotion. "Alas! How I am wronged, when my only concern is truth!"
"Please make your elucidations less abstract."
Twisk blinked. "Excuse me, Your Highness, I am not certain of your command!"
"Speak more clearly!"
"Very well, but now I have forgotten the question."
King Throbius spoke with a carefully controlled voice. "Do you recognize the face?"
"Of course! How could I forget? He was a gallant knight of verve and a most fanciful habit of thought! My ordeal at Idilra Post followed hard upon the encounter and swept it clean from my mind."
"Very well; so much is established. Name us now the name of this gallant knight."
"Quite possible! Sir Pellinore played the lute with delicate grace, and his songs were so sweet as to bring tears from a bear."
Madouc struggled to control her emotion. "Why did you not try to rescue poor Sir Pellinore, whom you loved so well?"
Twisk fluffed out her lavender hair. "My attention was engaged by other events, not the least being the affair at Idilra Post. One such as I lives from instant to instant, wringing every last drop of sklemik* from the adventure of life. So the hours and the days pass, and sometimes I cannot remember which was which or what comes next."
Madouc said without enthusiasm: "Regardless of your faults or follies, you are my mother, and I must accept you as you are, lavender hair and all."
"A dutiful daughter is not so bad either," said Twisk. "I am pleased to hear your compliments."
CHAPTER NINE
King Throbius grew weary and decided to sit. With a gesture he brought a throne from the castle and caused it to be placed directly at his back. The implets who carried his train scurried frantically lest the throne pin the royal cloak to the turf, with consequences painful to themselves.
King Throbius settled himself upon the throne: a construction of ebony riveted with rosettes of black iron and pearl, surmounted by a fan of ostrich plumes. For a moment King Throbius sat upright, while the implets, working at speed, though with quarrelling and bickering, arranged his train to its best display. He then leaned back to take his comfort.
Queen Bossum sauntered past on her way to the castle, where she would change to a costume suitable for the activities she had planned for the afternoon. She paused beside the throne and proffered a suggestion which King Throbius found persuasive. Queen Bossum continued to the castle and King Throbius summoned three of his officials: Triollet, the Lord High Steward; Mipps, Chief Victualler to the Royal Board; and Chaskervil, Keeper of the Bins.
The three responded with alacrity and listened in respectful silence while King Throbius issued his instructions. "Today is auspicious," said King Throbius in his roundest tones. "We have discomfited the troll Mangeon, and minimized his predilection for certain wicked tricks. Mangeon will think twice be fore attempting new affronts!"
"It is a proud day!" declared Mipps.
"It is a day of triumph!" cried Triollet fervently.
"I concur with both my colleagues, in every respect!" stated Chaskervil.
"Just so," said King Throbius. "We shall signal the occasion with a small but superb banquet of twenty courses, to be served upon the castle terrace, thirty guests and five hundred flicker-lamps. Address yourselves to the perfection of this event!"
"It shall be done!" cried Triollet.
The three officials hurried off to implement the royal command. King Throbius relaxed into his throne. He surveyed the meadow, that he might observe his subjects and appraise their conduct. He took note of Madouc, where she stood by Osfer's table, sadly watching Sir Pellinore's face dissolve into mist.
"Hm," said King Throbius to himself. He stepped down from his throne and with a stately tread approached the table. "Madouc, I notice that your face shows little joy, even though your most ardent hope has been realized! You have learned the identity of your father, and your curiosity is gratified; am I not correct?"
Madouc gave her head a wistful shake. "I must now discover whether he is alive or dead and, if alive, where he abides. My quest has become more difficult than ever!"
"Nevertheless, you should be clapping your pretty hands for joy! We have demonstrated that the troll Mangeon is not included among your forbears. This, by itself, should induce an almost delirious euphoria."
Madouc managed the quiver of a smile. "In this regard, Your Highness, I am happy beyond words!"
"Good!" King Throbius pulled at his beard and glanced around the meadow, to discover the whereabouts of Queen Bossum. At the moment she was nowhere in sight. King Throbius spoke in a somewhat lighter voice than before: "Tonight we shall celebrate Mangeon's defeat! There will be a banquet both elegant and exclusive; only persons of special éclat will be present, all in full regalia. We will dine on the terrace under five hundred ghost-lanterns; the viands will be exquisite, equally so the wines! The feast will proceed until midnight, to be followed by a pavane under the moon, to melodies of the utmost sweetness."
"It sounds very fine," said Madouc.
"That is our intent. Now then: since you are visiting the shee in a special capacity, and have achieved a certain reputation, you will be allowed to attend the banquet." King Throbius stood back, smiling and toying with his beard. "You have heard the invitation; will you elect to be present?"
Madouc looked uneasily off across the meadow, uncertain how best to reply. She felt the king's gaze on her face; darting a side glance she discovered an expression which surprised her. It was like that she had once glimpsed in the red-brown eyes of a fox. Madouc blinked; when she looked back, King Throbius was as bland and stately as ever.
Once again King Throbius asked: "How say you? Will you attend the banquet? The queen's own seamstress shall provide your gown-perhaps a delicious trifle woven of dandelion fluff, or a flutter of spider-silk stained with pomegranate."
Madouc shook her head. "I thank Your Highness, but I am not ready for such a splendid affair. Your guests would be strange to me, with customs beyond my knowledge, and I might unwittingly give offense or make myself foolish."
"Fairies are as tolerant as they are sympathetic," said King Throbius.
"They are also known for their surprises. I fear all fairy revelry; in the morning-who knows? I might find myself a withered cro
ne forty years old! Many thanks, Your Highness! But I must decline the invitation."
King Throbius, smiling his easy smile, made a sign of equanimity. "You must act to your best desires. The day verges into afternoon. Yonder stands Twisk; go and say your goodbyes; then you may take your leave of Thripsey Shee."
"One question, Sire, as to the magical adjuncts you have allowed me."
"They are transient. The pebble already has lost its force. The glamour lingers more lovingly, but tomorrow you may pull all you like at your ear, to no avail. Go now and consult your fractious mother."
Madouc approached Twisk, who pretended an interest in the sheen of her silver fingernails. "Mother! I will soon be leaving Thripsey Shee."
"A wise decision. I bid you farewell."
"First, dear Mother, you must tell me more of Sir Pellinore."
"As you like," said Twisk without enthusiasm. "The sun is warm; let us sit in the shade of the beech tree."
The two settled themselves cross-legged in the grass. Fairies one by one came to sit around them, that they might hear all that transpired and share in any new sensation. Sir Pom-Pom also came slouching across the meadow, to stand leaning against the beech tree, where presently he was joined by Travante.
Twisk sat pensively chewing on a blade of grass. "There is little to tell, beyond what you already know. Still, this is what happened."
Twisk told the tale in a musing voice, as if she were remembering the events of a bittersweet dream. She admitted that she had been taunting Mangeon, mocking his hideous face and denouncing his crimes, which included a sly tactic of creeping up behind some careless fairy maiden, trapping her in a net and carrying her off to his dismal manse, where she must serve his evil purposes until she became bedraggled and he tired of her.
One day while Twisk wandered in the forest Mangeon crept up behind her and flung his net, but Twisk skipped clear and fled, pursued at a humping jumping run by Mangeon.
Twisk eluded him without difficulty, hiding behind a tree while Mangeon blundered past. Twisk laughed to herself and started back to Madling Meadow. Along the way she passed through a pretty glade, where she came upon Sir Pellinore sitting by a still pool, watching dragonflies darting back and forth across the water, meanwhile plucking idle chords from his lute. Sir Pellinore carried only a shortsword and no shield, but on a branch he had hung a black cloak embroidered with what Twisk took to be his arms: three red roses on a blue field.
