The Wicked and the Witless

by Hugh Cook

  Much later, Sarazin woke. 'Zelafona?' he murmured.

  Opening his eyes. To a horror-shock insult to soul and sensibility. He was lying beside a dead woman on a frowsty truckle-bed in a filthy cottage, a place of whispering dust and creaking spiders, of rustling shadows and grey- masked rats. 'Zelafona?' he cried.

  Nobody answered his call. The haggard flesh of the crone beside him looked like old leather cracked by a thousand seasons of relentless weather. Her slack jaw gaped down revealing a jumble of decayed teeth. A swollen purple tongue furred with green and yellow.

  She stank of cat's piss.

  Sarazin stumbled naked from the bed. He grabbed his mud-wet trousers, shuddering. Boots, where were his boots? In the corner, in a heap with the rest of his clothes, plus sword belt and sword. He dressed in haste, as if summoned to a battle. Then checked his pockets — and found his magic missing.

  All his gifts from the druid Upical were gone. The silver ring of invisibility on its silver chain. The magic mudstone. The small bottle in which lurked the dragon Untunchilamon and eight other beasts almost as mighty. The green candle which was worth killing for.

  All stolenl

  Floorboards creaked as he strode to the door. Which fell off its hinges as he yanked it open. He strode out into the mud, the drizzling rain, the dismal grey, looking around as if hunting for a murderer.

  The cottage, which had a thatched roof, stood beside a ramshackle barn in a wasteland of waterlogged mud in which lay a dead dog and the corpse of a bullock. A paling of sorts ran round that field of mud, and on the fenceposts were some lumpy things which Sarazin realised were the heads of assorted men and animals.

  Beyond the fence was the dark, brooding forest. Over- head, a louring sky. Sarazin trudged through the drizzle to the barn, where he found his pony, looking thoroughly miserable. Something stirred in a heap of decaying straw, then sat up. It was the dwarf, Glambrax, grinning like an open wound.

  'How did you like your night of passion?' said Glambrax in a sly, insinuating voice.

  Where is Zelafona?' said Sarazin, with murder in his voice.

  'She's in bed, where you left her.'

  'There's nothing in bed but a . . . a . . .'

  That's her,' said Glambrax, grinning still. 'She knew she was going, so she wanted to go out in style.'

  You mean . . . you . . . but. . . gods, this can't be true! She — she was a princess. She said so. An elven princess. That's what she said she was. She said she was a princess of the elven folk.'

  'And you believed her!' said Glambrax scornfully. 'Aren't you a little old for fairy tales? She was no elf. There's no such thing as elves.'

  Then what was she?'

  'A witch, of course,' said Glambrax. 'A death-hag. A nightwalker. You're lucky, oho, lucky you met her near death, my child.'

  'Lucky! She — that—'

  Sarazin thumped his head against the wall of the barn. This was intolerable!

  'Doubtless you got a bit of a shock this morning,' said Glambrax. 'But, face it — -any woman you have will end up that way. There's no such thing as immortal youth. Only difference is, most decay so slowly you've got time to get used to it.'

  'I don't understand this,' said Sarazin. 'How come she knew my name? How come the monster — was that part of her game?'

  'Oh, she saw you coming, you might say,' said Glam- brax. 'Oh yes, she saw you coming.'

  Then, whistling in a cheerful way, he quit the stable. Sarazin slumped down on the straw, cold, hungry, depressed, humiliated and disgusted with himself, with mortal flesh, with life, the world and the universe. He indulged himself in self-pity and despair until he was roused by the smell of smoke. Fire? Was something burning?

  He quit the barn — and found the house aflame, with Glambrax capering up and down in front of it.

  The house went up with a roar, vomiting smoke and spitting flame. A flight of blood-red bats burst from beneath the eaves, screaming in shrill, demented voices as they fled. Rats scarpered across the mud, making for the forest.

  Sarazin ran towards the cottage, half-imagining he could extinguish the fire. He plunged into the billowing smoke. Its stench sent him staggering backwards, retching. Eyes bleared by smoke, he looked round wildly and saw Glambrax laughing.

  You!' said Sarazin, in fury. Tell! How did the house catch fire?'

  'I set it alight,' said Glambrax.

  'I never told you to!'

  You never told me not to.'

  There were things of mine lost somewhere within,' said Sarazin.

  What kind of things?' said Glambrax.

  'There was — oh never mind.'

  'A ring, perhaps?' said Glambrax.

  There was — suddenly! — a silver ring on a silver chain dangling from his fingers.

  'Give me that!' said Sarazin, grabbing for it.

  Glambrax jerked his hand away.

  'First you have to promise,' said Glambrax.

  'Promise? Promise what? Give me my property, mannikin!'

  'Ah,' said Glambrax, darting away. 'Promise first. To honour your oath.' What oath?'

  'See!' said Glambrax. You've forgotten already!'

  Belatedly, Sarazin remembered. He had sworn to keep Glambrax with him as his servant. For life. A disastrous mistake! For, as he saw all too clearly, the dwarf was unlikely to be an asset to his lifestyle.

  'I have given my oath on the matter already,' said Sara- zin. 'If you trust not my oath, what good is a promise?'

  'So it remembers,' said Glambrax, cackling. 'It remembers!'

  Yes,' said Sarazin, bitterly, 'and I remember this, too. My oath was extracted from me under false pretences.'

  Was it?' said Glambrax. 'Oh no, I don't think so. I heard the lady say herself her time with you would be but brief. Your authority to think otherwise was but that of your own ego.'

  Sarazin thought back to the day before and remembered.

  Yes,' he said. You're right. But I — I — oh, never mind. Give me my valuables.'

  Satisfied, Glambrax handed over the ring of invisibility. And the magic mudstone. And the bottle.

  'The candle!' said Sarazin. 'Give me the candle!'

  What do you want with a stub of old candle?' said Glambrax.

  'Never you mind about that. Give it!'

  The dwarf rummaged in his pockets and yielded up the green candle which Sarazin treasured away. Then Sarazin asked:

  'Why did Zelafona make you mine?'

  'Oh,' said Glambrax, 'she wouldn't want me alone in the world. I'm her son, you see. Her first born. Her only born.'

  'A likely story!' said Sarazin.

  'But true,' said Glambrax. 'But true!'

  Well,' said Sarazin, 'if you're to be my servant, then start making yourself useful. Make ready my horse.'

  With that said, Sarazin sploshed away through the mud to the forest where he relieved his bowels and his bladder. When he returned, he found Glambrax standing atop the barn, looking around in all directions.

  'What are you doing up there, clown?' said Sarazin.

  'Searching for your horse, master,' said Glambrax.

  'It's in the barn, half-wit!' said Sarazin.

  'Nay, master. There's no horse within.'

  Startled by this intelligence, Sarazin panicked into the barn. He found his noble steed within and led it outside. Glambrax was still on the roof.

  'What do you think this is?' demanded Sarazin. 'That?' said Glambrax. "That is a pony, unless I'm mistaken.'

  'It's my horse!' said Sarazin. 'Get down from there so I can kick you.'

  'Oho!' said Glambrax. 'A tyrant, is it? Will it kick me for not finding cat when it sends me for dog? Will it boot me for not bringing water when it asks after wine? That is no horse you have there. That is but a pony, ill-fed, ill-bred, ill- broken, aye, and dying of the glanders unless I'm mistaken.'

  You claim your mother a witch but I think her more likely a lawyer,' said Sarazin in disgust. 'Either that, or you were fathered by a passing solicitor. Come down h
ere this instant!'

  So saying, Sarazin pointed at the mud at his feet. Without a moment's hesitation Glambrax jumped. Landing feet together on the precise spot indicated. Sending mud flying in all directions. One of those directions was Sarazin's.

  Then Sarazin finally realised, with dismay, that he had acquired the worst kind of servant imaginable: that is, one who will do exactly what he is told.

  You and me,' said Sarazin, breathing heavily, 'are going to have to go a long way together. So don't give me any trouble or I'll throttle you.'

  Yes, master,' said Glambrax, meekly.

  Then grinned.

  Then giggled.

  Until Sarazin, provoked beyond endurance, kicked him to obtain his silence.

  Shortly, with Glambrax saddled up behind him, Sarazin was on his way again. Hoping he could somehow find his way to Shin and to King Lyra's palace. Hoping his long- suffering pony could make the distance before it collapsed and died. He had stolen the horse for this journey; he now made a vow that, next time he played horse thief, he would get himself something more worth the stealing.

  Where are we making for?' said Glambrax.

  'Shin' said Sarazin. 'That's somewhere to the east, I think.'

  Whether it is or isn't,' said Glambrax, 'you'll never find it this way. East is a vague direction, is it not? Vague as a quarter of the sky. An unknown city is but a lightless star in that quarter.'

  'I don't need your pessimism,' said Sarazin, who found Glambrax's comments uncomfortably accurate.

  'I talk not pessimism but sense,' said Glambrax. Head north till you pick up the Velvet River, then follow the river upstream to Shin. Shin is by the river, is it not? So that way we can't get lost, can we?'

  This advice was so sound that Sarazin was sure there must be something seriously wrong with it. But, in the end, he turned his horse to the north, thinking it worth a try.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Place: Shin, capital of Chenameg. Stands on southern bank of Velvet River. Eastern end of North Road lies directly across river; a ferry runs between city and road. Most notable features: King Lyra's palace (known as the Great House); associated Great Hall; Phoenix Temple; four lumber yards; sawmill; ferry house. Population: 2,467 on the day of Sarazin's arrival in the autumn of Alliance 4325.

  When Sarazin reached Shin, Thodric Jarl was there waiting for him. By then, Sarazin had worked up the most marvel- lous story about his heroic defiance of the terrorists who had kidnapped him, and his escape from the same. Glam- brax corroborated the tale, which was well received by almost everyone in the city.

  Only Lod had his doubts.

  'I don't believe such dog-snot nonsense,' said Lod, when Sarazin was admitted to the dung-smelling jail where his friend was incarcerated, awaiting trial on charges of being a wastrel.

  'But it's true,' protested Sarazin, 'all true.'

  'No,' said Lod, bitterly, 'it's but part of a ploy to free yourself from Selzirk. Why did you do it? Do you hate me? Or what?'

  'I don't understand!' said Sarazin, dismayed. You called, I came. You petitioned Farfalla, you—'

  'Dolt!' said Lod. Tvfo trial in Chenameg can start until every witness sought by the defence is on hand. Hence my petition. By demanding a witness forever unavailable I delayed my trial forever, my conviction forever, my execution forever. I made myself immortal! Till you damned me to trial then death.'

  With that said, Lod began to weep. Helplessly. As tears ran down his jail-grimed face, Sarazin, dismayed, said:

  'But I — how was I — I mean . . .'

  You stupid sod,' said Lod. You stupid stupid sod. If you don't know the law, why not ask a lawyer? You suck- face fool! You've killed me!'

  Sarazin's first thought was to flee from Shin to save Lod's life. So he sought an audience with King Lyra at which he said:

  'My lord, it is not meet that I should dally here in Shin. Now that I have escaped the terrorists, duty compels me to Selzirk. There must I enlist with the army, for such is my doom, as all who know the Constitution of the Harvest Plains know well.'

  "Nonsense, boy,' said King Lyra. You must stay for Lod's trial, for he wants you as a witness. We've scheduled it for after the Phoenix Festival.'

  The Phoenix Festival?' said Sarazin.

  Ten days of song, dance, feasting and poetry,' said King

  Lyra. 'It starts on Midwinter's Day. We have hunting, too. Excellent hunting.'

  'If it's going to be so long before the trial starts,' said Sarazin, 'surely I could go to Selzirk now then return after Midwinter's Day.'

  'Oh no,' said King Lyra, shaking his head. 'Lod's lawyers will want you on hand from now till then to help prepare your testimony. No, I forbid it. You must stay here.'

  'But,' said Sarazin, 'what if those in Selzirk think me lingering here in deliberate dereliction of my military duty?'

  Your brother Celadon is here as military attache to the embassy your countrymen maintain in our fair city. Ill send him home with tidings of your fate. Thus Selzirk will know you are held here by my decree, not by your own choice.'

  "May I speak with the ambassador himself?' said Sarazin.

  'Impossible,' said King Lyra, 'for the ambassador is dead of a fever. Relax, young man, relax. No harm will come to you from this adventure.'

  'I fear,' said Sarazin, trying one last move, 'that the terrorists who plucked me from Selzirk will seize me here in Shin. I was lucky to escape from them the first time. I doubt I'd manage it twice.'

  'I've thought of that already,' said King Lyra. 'By my command, Thodric Jarl remains in Shin as your body- guard. With thirty of the finest fighters of Selzirk's Watch to guard you he'll keep you safe enough.'

  Well! Sean Sarazin had certainly tried. On realising his presence doomed Lod to defeat and death, he'd done his level best to quit Shin. But King Lyra had made that impossible. So what could he do but make the best of a bad thing?

  He resolved to get on with the business which had really inspired him to come to Shin in the first place. To seduce Amantha (and marry her), to kill Tarkal (and perhaps King Lyra as well) and set himself up as king of Chenameg.

  He would strike at Lod's trial, after midwinter. The trial would bring all Chenameg's dignitaries together, so Sarazin could capture all in a coup. King Lyra had but two dozen men of arms serving under him, and those were of dubious quality. Since Sarazin commanded (or thought he commanded) the loyalty of Thodric Jarl and the men of the Watch, the weight of numbers appeared to be on his side already.

  He would also, of course, have the advantage of surprise.

  King Sarazin. It had such a nice ring to it that he could hardly wait. King Sarazin? Perhaps he should use his new name and style himself King Watashi. That sounded even better!

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  With literacy hath no trivia its termination For print preserves all paltriness forever; With literacy can no man recall his paradiso Or conjure forth the glories with his tongue. Thus Talaman said of the librarians: 'Kill them, lest they mute us.' Quite rightly.

  —Arez Stone, 'With Literacy'

  'He's coarse,' said Hanny, peering at Sarazin through one of the spyholes cut in her fan.

  'He's incredibly conceited,' said Jilth, giggling.

  'He amuses me,' said Amantha, fanning herself lightly. 'For the moment.'

  'He has no breeding whatsoever!' said Flanny.

  'Neither,' said Amantha, "has my parrot. Yet both amuse.'

  Sarazin was a novelty, hence — for the moment — fashionable. Novelty was in season, for it was Midwinter's

  Day, the start of the Phoenix Festival. To the delight of all, the winter rains had taken a rest, and the day was graced with sunshine. Everyone consented to ignore the mud.

  By way of preliminary entertainment, they listened to the famous Arez Stone, a wild-eyed ancient with flowing beard and glittering eye, who held that literacy was the cause of all social evils.

  To prove his point. Stone had elaborated his thesis in some 5,037 cantos in 473 differe
nt languages (some dead, some living, some three-parts missing), and planned to write a further 4,761 cantos before he dropped dead. Unfortunately, Stone's wisdom would inevitably die with him, since he refused to allow his productions to be written down, and nobody but himself could master the memorising of his epic productions.

  After Stone had finished (he had been restricted to a recital of a mere two of his cantos) two minor poets performed. Then all gathered in the grounds of the Phoenix Temple where they were to watch the arrival of the phoenix itself, which was due at noon.

  Once the phoenix used to arrive in Chenameg on Midsummer's Day. But, thanks to a curse put upon the land during the War of the Witches, it now arrived on the coldest, shortest day of the year, which of course considerably reduced the potential of the occasion as a tourist attraction.

  The audience awaiting that arrival first had to listen to a scholarly dissertation by King Lyra, who was endeavouring to prove that the phoenix is in fact a reptile (though every reputable treatise available names it as a bird).

  Sarazin was troubled to find himself profoundly bored by the king's dissertation. Maybe there was some ineluct- able flaw in his character which prevented him from appreciating truly aristocratic intellectual pursuits.

  At last, the king finished. Sarazin breathed a sigh of relief — then felt ashamed of himself. As it was noon, they all looked around for the phoenix.