The Dragon, the Earl ,and the Troll

by Gordon R. Dickson

  "Well…" said Angie. "Maybe you ought to tell the Earl, or—"

  Jim shook his head.

  "No. That'd never work," he said. "It'd only embarrass the Earl, make a deadly enemy of Sir Harimore and possibly ruin my friendship with Brian. But you're right. I've got to stop them somehow—"

  He suddenly lit up inside.

  "Angie!" he said. "In your purse at your waist there, do you have paper and those scissors that you had our blacksmith at Malencontri make for you?"

  Angie, like some of the other women, carried a purse at the decorated belt around her waist; and among the things in that purse, there was always a folded length of French-made paper and some of the charcoal sticks they used for writing messages to each other. The scissors, among other things, were for cutting off a piece of the paper on which to write.

  "Bring it along," said Jim, getting to his feet, "and come with me. I think I know a way I might be able to stop them. It's critical from my point of view. Without Brian, I'll never get Mnrogar to ride that boar the way the Black Knight should ride his horse and handle his spear. So this has got to be stopped."

  They both rose and walked off to the side, down off the dais that held the high table, and started around the corner of the long table at which Brian and Sir Harimore now sat, only a few steps from a door that led to a hallway that ran the length of the hall and would reach a door that opened on the courtyard.

  "How much of this do you want?" said Angie, as they went along. Jim looked.

  She already had the scissors out of her purse and was pulling out the end of the rolled-up paper, about six inches in width and maybe three feet in length. She had about six inches of it out of her purse. Jim considered it for a second.

  "About a foot of it, I guess," he said. "Yes, twelve inches."

  "What are you going to do with it?" asked Angie. "Look, can we stop for a moment? It's not easy to cut it off while we're walking along like this."

  "You're right," said Jim. "Come to think of it, I need to sit down at a table for a moment, anyway. There's a lot of empty seats right there. We can talk without being overheard; and none of these people are paying attention to anyone but themselves right now, anyway."

  They stopped and sat down. Angie cut off the length of paper. Jim took it from her and began to fold it in accordion pleats of about two inches in width.

  "You didn't answer me," said Angie. "What are you going to do with it; and why are you folding it up that way?"

  "You remember folding a piece of paper this way and then cutting out a paper doll through all the thicknesses—then you unfold it and you have a chain of paper dolls holding hands?"

  "Of course," said Angie.

  "Well, I can't work any magic in this castle with the Bishop's blessing on it," said Jim. "But maybe I can sort of invoke the idea of magic to help me stop Brian and Harimore from doing anything foolish."

  He stood up, tucked the folded paper and the scissors into the purse at his own belt, and started toward where Brian and Harimore were sitting—but they weren't.

  "They're gone!" he said.

  "They're just heading for a door, now," said Angie. "See there?"

  "I see," said Jim, beginning to stride in that direction. "We can catch up with them outside. That'll be better anyway. Hurry—but don't look as if you're doing that."

  "That's all right for you!" panted Angie. "Your legs are longer than mine!"

  "Hurry!" said Jim. Ahead, Brian and Sir Harimore passed through the door into the relative dimness of the passage beyond, where it was also lit by cressets, but spaced at larger intervals. He and Angie came through the door right behind the two knights.

  They were only half a dozen steps down the corridor ahead; and they did not turn at the sound of feet behind them. Jim went more swiftly, leaving Angie a little bit behind as he tried to catch up with them just as they passed under the light from one of the flaring cressets.

  "Gentlemen!" he said. "A moment!"

  By the time he had said the last syllable Angie had caught up with him and he was right behind the two of them. They stopped. He stopped; and they turned, each pivoting on his heel in the same direction, as if they had been trained members of a drill team from a latter age.

  Jim looked into two pairs of eyes, neither pair of which was plainly overjoyed on seeing him and Angie.

  "Forgive me for interrupting your conversation, Sirs," said Jim—neither Brian nor Sir Harimore had been talking at all, but this was beside the point—"but I was on my way to see if I could unravel the reason for the omen I have just received. I will probably not know for another day at least, but I thought I might pass a small warning to the two of you; though I doubt either one of you are likely to be endangered by whatever I may find. It is highly unlikely that either one of you would find someone picking a quarrel with you before the tournament; and if they did, I have no fear as to your safety in any such encounter. However, forewarned is never a bad thing to be."

  "Omen, James?" queried Brian. The glitter Jim had noticed in his eyes as he sat in the hall earlier was still there, as it was in Sir Harimore's eyes as well, but there was the tinge of a note of immediate caution in Brian's voice.

  "What omen?" demanded Sir Harimore.

  "The omen," said Jim, slowly and impressively, "of the Dancing Dolls!"

  The two knights stared at him. Brian it was, of course, who asked the inevitable question.

  "I've never heard of an omen of Dancing Dolls," said Brian. "What is it, James? And what does it mean?"

  "Let me show you," said Jim, still in the slow, portentous voice in which he had spoken a moment before. "Both of you know that under the good Bishop's blessing, there can be no magic made in this castle until the Twelve Days of Christmas are over and the Bishop has left. But such things as omens are not necessarily magic."

  He lifted the paper.

  "Observe!" he said. "I cut into this paper at random, letting the scissors go whither they will."

  It had been a long time, thought Jim, since he had been young enough to be fascinated by this sort of scissors-trick; but he still knew generally how it needed to be done.

  He put the open scissors against the upper edge of the folded paper and cut into it, making an arm, a shoulder, a round head, a shoulder, another arm leading down to the folded edges; then off them and back again to cut the underside of the arm, on down the body, out to the folded edge once more for the leg and feet, and finally back again for the underside of the remaining foot and leg—hacking out something that looked rather like a snowman with legs.

  Still holding the paper tight, he put the scissors back in the purse at his belt; and, ignoring the cut pieces of paper that had fallen to the floor, with both hands he extended the paper to its full length, revealing a chain of doll-like figures joined at hands and toes.

  "The Dancing Dolls!" he said ominously.

  The glitter in both pairs of eyes before him had definitely changed. It was still there, but it was a wary glitter. He hesitated portentously a moment before going on. "What this will actually mean, I won't know, as I say, for some little time; but in general it's a warning of ill fortune for someone. Naturally, I wanted to warn you, Brian; and I feel fortunate to find you with Sir Harimore. This gives me the chance to pass the warning to him, too; and that pleases me because of the great respect I've developed for him, particularly after watching his swordplay with Sir Butram."

  "What sort of ill luck, Sir James?" demanded Harimore.

  It struck Jim that the knight was either more driven by his desire to excel over everyone else or less credulous than most of the medieval people Jim had dealt with so far. Probably, he thought, it was simply the desire to excel, and what was driving the knight right now was simply a sort of baffled fury at something that could interfere with his hope of crossing swords with Brian.

  Jim deliberately paused a moment, looking at him.

  "That," he said then, as impressively as he could, "I can't tell you, Sir Harimore. I only kno
w that the ill luck forewarned by the Dancing Dolls usually strikes one who least expects it; and from a quarter where it is least expected. So there's no defense against it, except to be cautious of all ventures, particularly where there might be a chance of ill luck befalling you."

  He paused again for a moment, then carefully folded the Dancing Dolls back together, put them back with the scissors in his purse and turned to Angie.

  "Well, m'Lady," he said, "we must be getting upstairs. A good eve to you, Brian and Sir Harimore. Be of good cheer, Sirs. The chances are the omen deals with someone entirely else. I've simply mentioned it to you because it's my belief it never hurts to offer a warning in these cases. A good eve and a good night to you."

  "Good night, James," said Brian. "But stay, perhaps I will go up with you, since our ways lie together—"

  He broke off, turning to Sir Harimore.

  "Am I right, Sir Harimore?" he said. "You are of my mind? We can have our little discussion at some other time?"

  "Indeed," said Sir Harimore, "that is undoubtedly wise. I will look to see you again soon."

  "Do not doubt it," said Brian.

  "Then, good evening to you all," said Sir Harimore, "m'Lord, my Lady, Sir Brian."

  He gave them all a brief bow and turned, going back down the corridor and in through the door into the hall.

  "Come on, Brian," said Angie, linking her arm through Brian's as well as Jim's. "That's enough for all of us, for one day."

  Chapter 29

  "Last night…" said Jim, as he and Angie sat at the table in the front one of their two rooms, drinking from their life-giving cups of hot, strong tea. The early morning sun was filtering in around the still closed shutters over the window, giving them a muted but still bright morning illumination. "… did I tell Hob-One to tell Secoh that the dragons should come along to Malencontri, after all?"

  "You did," said Angie.

  "I was afraid I told him that. Now, why—" said Jim, shaking his head like a non-ticking clock. "Why would I say that?"

  "I don't know," said Angie. "You didn't tell me. I supposed you had some reason up your sleeve."

  "Hah!" said Jim bitterly.

  "Please," said Angie, "can we dispense with the medievalisms—at least when we're talking between ourselves, and this early in the day."

  "I'm sorry," said Jim, rubbing his eyes and forehead with the heels of his hands. "It's just that I hear it so much all the time it comes to my lips without thinking. I didn't have anything up my sleeve."

  He took his hands down from his eyes and saw Angie looking at him across the table sympathetically.

  "Why did you say it, then?" she said.

  "I don't know," said Jim. "Maybe I thought I'd be coming up with some kind of an idea in time. Maybe I just wanted to get rid of one problem. I did ask them to come and see the Creche scene, on the evening of the last day, didn't I?"

  "That's right," Angie said. "That's the message you told Hob to carry back to Secoh."

  "Well, it's too late now, then," said Jim. "I doubt if they'd stay away after that, even if I went to see them in person and told them not to come. I tell you, Angie, it's having to do eighteen things at once that's driving me crazy. And it wasn't the wine, in case that thought had crossed your mind. I really didn't drink hardly any at all. But sitting there for all that time wore me out. All I wanted was to get things over with and forget them for a while. Like jumping out of a plane without knowing whether the parachute will open or not, but not caring any more."

  "You're sure," said Angie, "there isn't something bothering you, you haven't told me about? Something you should have been telling me about?"

  "Certainly not," said Jim.

  Angie looked at him from under her eyelashes with a steady gaze.

  "Well," said Jim, "there's one thing, perhaps. It's just a possibility, of course; and I didn't think it worth giving you anything to worry about as long as you had Robert to take care of, and all that. And anyway—"

  "What is it?" asked Angie gently.

  "Well," said Jim, "you remember there was that magician Son Won Phon who had questioned my use of hypnotism, claiming it was an oriental magic and I hadn't been properly taught by a magician who was an oriental instructor?"

  "I remember it perfectly," said Angie.

  "Well, anyhow," said Jim, "it seems he and some other magicians were a little upset over my being promoted to C rank when I really wasn't qualified for it—oh, by the way, you'll be happy to know I've just qualified for C rank. Just the last time I saw Carolinus, he told me I had."

  "When was that?" asked Angie.

  "Oh, a day or so ago, maybe a bit longer than that. Several days back, perhaps. It didn't seem particularly important, since I was being treated like a C anyway, and I've had so much to do. I should have told you, but it slipped my mind. Forgive me."

  "That's marvelous, Jim!" said Angie. "But that isn't what you were about to tell me. Is it?"

  "Not exactly," said Jim. "Or rather, it's part of it. To make a long story short, Son Won Phon and some other magicians evidently got upset because of that unusual promotion of me to a C-rank magician, when I technically still wasn't any more than a D—which is no problem now that I've qualified—but also because I was given that unlimited drawing power on magical energy. Their apprentices felt that they ought to have had a chance at something like that; and, well you know how it is…"

  Jim let his voice trail off and smiled at her.

  "Go on," said Angie.

  "Oh," said Jim, "yes. Well, the rest of the story is that there's been something of a fuss about it; and there's a possibility, just a scant possibility, you understand, that a majority of the magicians might be brought to vote that they didn't want a couple of twentieth-century people like us interfering with the way history is developing here; and they might decide to deport us back to the twentieth century. When Carolinus first told me, it was before we'd decided to keep Robert; and of course I'd been thinking you'd be happy to be able to go back to the twentieth century. But, since you've found Robert…"

  He ran out of words again.

  Angie sat silent for a minute, looking more or less past him.

  "Yes," she said. "Of course, Robert changed everything. I couldn't leave him to that Agatha Falon. I know what she'd do. She'd push him down a well, or smother him while he's sleeping; the way she started to do here before I walked in on her."

  She got up suddenly, came over and sat down in Jim's lap, put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  "Poor Jim," she said, pressing her cheek against his. "No wonder you've been worried to death. You should have told me a long time ago you had this worrying away at you."

  "There were some other things," said Jim guiltily. "I mean, it wasn't only that. I mean that wasn't, well—"

  "Don't worry any more," said Angie. "Carolinus can take care of that problem, I'm sure of it; they won't send us back. You can relax and be sure of it, too."

  "Yes," said Jim. "The thing is, though—"

  He hesitated. Angie pulled back her head and looked at him suspiciously.

  "Is there something more about this you still haven't told me?"

  "Like what?" said Jim uneasily.

  "Certainly, if they let us stay here, none of these other things will be all that important in the long run, will they?"

  "Yes, and no," said Jim uncomfortably. "You see, there's a drawback to their leaving us here. If they did, they might take away any magic powers I have. I'd be left without any at all, permanently."

  "Well, what of it?" said Angie. "We've done without it before. Most of the last three months, for example, you've been out of magic—or thought you were, before Carolinus told you you could get more from your unlimited drawing account. We'll hardly miss it. Maybe you can even stay home a little more, now."

  "It's not that simple," said Jim. "You see, evidently the Dark Powers could want to get back at me. Because of the way I've spoiled things for them in the past, you understand."
>
  Angie stared at him.

  "You don't mean all the other magicians would just leave you defenseless to face the Dark Powers? And, even if they would, come to think of it, I thought Carolinus gave us the idea that the Dark Powers weren't like a human individual. I mean, I didn't think they'd want something like revenge, the way humans would. Like Sir Hugh de Bois, for example, would, because we took Malencontri from him?"

  "Maybe not," said Jim. "But I don't know if, even without magic, I still wouldn't be something the Dark Powers would consider in their way. I mean, you and I are making a difference, in small ways anyway. Like the fact everyone here at the Earl's now knows all the words to 'Good King Wenceslas' and sings it, years before the carol was written. And besides, we've made differences even in Malencontri itself—in the castle, I mean."

  He paused, waving his free hand in the air a little. "Plus, we may have made a difference in some of the vital elements of history, as when we all rescued the Prince from Malvinne. The Dark Powers wouldn't have to attack us for revenge. It'd be enough if they felt I was still a piece of grit in their machinery. They'd simply want me out of there. The way they do things, that would mean destroying me—possibly both of us—even Malencontri itself, and even close friends of ours, like Brian, Giles and Dafydd."

  "And Robert!" said Angie, suddenly stiffening. She jumped up from his lap and stared down at him. "Jim, you've got to do something!"

  "There you are," said Jim wearily. Angie swooped down, hugged and kissed him again.

  "I didn't mean that the way it sounded," she said. "I mean we'll have to do something. I'll help as much as I can. What can I help you with?"

  "Actually," said Jim, "nothing I can think of. The only possible things would be to let me off from being Saint Joseph, and you being the herald for Mnrogar. But you're right about my being needed for the Joseph role, and the fact that you couldn't be the herald—and they're small things compared with the bigger problems. I think probably the best you can do for me is just talk to Carolinus, as you said you'd do just now. If anyone can make him exert himself to the utmost, it'll be you."