by Jack Vance
Glyneth said, "One thing more, sir. As you see, Dhrun here has been blinded by the forest fairies. We have been advised to seek a magician who will set matters straight. Can you suggest someone who might help us?"
Numinante swallowed a good pint of ale. After reflection he said: "I know of such persons, but by reputation only. In this case I cannot help you, since I have no magic, and only magicians know other magicians."
"Janton suggested that we visit the fair at Hazelwood, and press our inquiries there."
"That would seem sound advice—unless he proposes to meet you along the way and rob you yet again. I see that Enric has laid you a good meal; eat with appetite."
With sagging shoulders Dhrun and Glyneth followed Enric to the table he had set and though he had provided his best, the food lacked savor. A dozen times Glyneth opened her mouth to tell Dhrun that he had lost only an ordinary pebble, that his fairy stone had been broken to bits; as many times she closed her mouth, ashamed to admit her deception.
Enric showed them the road to Hazelwood, "It's up hill and down dale for fifteen miles, then through Wheary Woods, then across the Lanklands, up and over the Far Hills, then follow the Sham River into Hazelwood. You'll be a good four days in the going. I take it you carry no great sum of money?"
"We have two gold crowns, sir."
"Let me change one into florins and pennies and you'll have an easier time of it."
With eight silver florins and twenty copper pennies chinking in a small cloth sack, and with a single gold crown secure in the waistband of Dhrun's trousers, the two set out along the road to Hazelwood.
Four days later, hungry and footsore, Dhrun and Glyneth arrived at Hazelwood. The journey had been uneventful save for an episode late one afternoon near the village Maude. A scant half-mile short of town they heard moans emanating from the ditch at the side of the road. Running to look, they discovered a crippled old man who had wandered from the road and had fallen into a growth of burdock.
With vast effort Dhrun and Glyneth brought him to the road and assisted him into the village, where he collapsed on a bench., "Thank you, my dears," he said. "If dying must be done, better here than in a ditch."
"But why should you die?" asked Glyneth. "I have seen living folk in far worse case than you."
"Perhaps so, but they were surrounded by loved ones or were able to work. I have not a copper to my name and no one will hire me, and so I will die."
Glyneth took Dhrun aside. "We can't abandon him here."
Dhrun spoke in a hollow voice. "We certainly can't take him with us."
"I know. Even less could I walk away and leave him sitting here in despair."
"What do you want to do?"
"I know we can't help everyone we meet, but we can help this particular person."
"The gold crown?"
"Yes."
Wordlessly Dhrun worked the coin from his waistband and gave it to Glyneth. She took it to the old man. "This is all we can spare, but it will help you for a while."
"My blessings on you both!"
Dhrun and Glyneth continued to the inn, only to discover that all the chambers were occupied. "The loft over the stable is full of fresh hay, and you may sleep there for a penny, and if you'll help me in the kitchen for an hour or so, I'll serve you your supper."
In the kitchen Dhrun shelled peas and Glyneth scoured pots until the innkeeper rushed forward. "No more, no more! I can see my face in them now! Come, you've earned your supper."
He took them to a table in the corner of the kitchen and served them first a soup of leeks and lentils, then slices of pork roasted with apples, bread and gravy and a fresh peach apiece for dessert.
They left the kitchen by way of the common-room, where a great festivity seemed in progress. Three musicians, with drums, a flageolet and a double lute, played merry quicksteps. Looking through ranked onlookers Glyneth discovered the old cripple to whom they had given the gold coin now drunk and dancing a boisterous hornpipe with both legs flying through the air. Then he seized the serving wench and the two danced an extravagant prancing cakewalk up and down the length of the common-room, the old man with one arm around the serving wench and the other holding high a great pot of ale. Glyneth spoke to one of the bystanders: "Who is that old man? When I saw him last he appeared to be crippled."
"He is Ludolf the knave and no more crippled than you or I. He'll saunter out of town, make himself comfortable beside the road. When a traveler passes he starts to moan in a pitiful fashion, and as like as not the traveler helps him into town. Then Ludolf blithers and sniffs and the traveler usually gives him a coin or two. Today he must have encountered a bashaw from the Indies."
Sadly Glyneth led Dhrun to the stable, and up a ladder into the loft. Here she told Dhrun of what she had seen in the common-room. Dhrun became furious. He gritted his teeth and drew back the corners of his mouth. "I despise liars and cheaters!"
Glyneth laughed mournfully. "Dhrun, we mustn't trouble ourselves. I won't say we've learned a lesson, because we might do the same thing again tomorrow."
"With many more precautions."
"True. But at least we need not feel ashamed of ourselves."
From Maude to Hazelwood the road took them through a varied landscape of forest and field, mountain and valley, but they encountered neither harms nor alarms, and arrived in Hazelwood at noon on the fifth day out of Lumarth. The festival had not yet commenced, but already booths, pavilions, platforms and other furniture of the fair were in the process of construction.
Glyneth, holding tight to Dhrun's hand, appraised the activity, "It looks as if there will be more merchants than ordinary' folk. Perhaps they'll all sell to each other. It's truly gay, with all the hammering and new bunting."
"What is that delightful smell?" asked Dhrun. "It reminds me of how hungry I am."
"About twenty yards to windward a man in a white hat is frying sausages. I agree that the smell is tantalizing—but we have only seven florins and a few odd pennies to our name, which I hope will keep us until somehow we can earn morel money."
"Is the sausage-seller doing a brisk business?"
"Not really."
"Then let's try to win him some trade."
"All very well, but how?"
"With these." Dhrun brought out his pipes.
"Very good idea." Glyneth led Dhrun close to the sausage-seller's booth. "Now play," she whispered. "Brave tunes, happy tunes, hungry tunes!"
Dhrun began to play, at first slowly and carefully, then his fingers seemed to move of themselves and fairly flew over the stops, and from the instrument came a set of lovely skirling melodies. Folk stopped to listen; they gathered around the sausage-seller's stand, and many bought sausages, so that the vendor became very busy.
After a period Glyneth approached the sausage-seller. "Please, sir, may we too have sausages, since we are very hungry. After we eat, we'll play again."
"That is a good bargain from my standpoint." The sausage-seller fed them a meal of bread and fried sausages, then Dhrun played once more: jigs and jump-ups, merry wind-arounds, reels and hornpipes, to set the heels to twitching and the nose to trembling along the aroma of frying sausages, until, inside the hour, the sausage-seller had sold all his wares, whereupon Glyneth and Dhrun sidled inconspicuously away from the stand.
In the shadow of a nearby van stood a tall young man with strong wide shoulders, long legs, a long nose and clear gray eyes. Lank sand-colored hair hung to his ears, but he wore neither beard nor mustache. As Glyneth and Dhrun passed by he stepped forward and accosted them.
"I have enjoyed your music," he told Dhrun. "Where did you learn such sleight?"
"It's a gift, sir, from the fairies of Thripsey Shee. They gave me the pipes, a purse of money, an amulet of bravery and seven years' bad luck. We've lost purse and amulet, but I still keep the pipes and the bad luck, which hangs on me like a bad smell."
"Thripsey Shee is far away, in Lyonesse. How did you arrive here?"
"
We traveled through the great forest," said Glyneth. "Dhrun discovered some forest fairies; they were bathing and quite naked. They sent magic bees into his eyes and now he can't see, until we drive the bees away."
"And how do you propose to do that?"
"We have been advised to seek out Rhodion, king of the fairies, and seize his hat, which will force him to do our bidding."
"That is sound advice as far as it goes. But first you must find King Rhodion, which is not at all simple."
"He is said to frequent fairs: a merry gentleman in a green hat," said Glyneth. "That is something to start on."
"Yes indeed... Look! There goes one now! And here comes another!"
Glyneth said dubiously: "I don't think either of them is King Rhodion, certainly not the drunken man, even though he is the merrier of the two. In any case, we have other advice: to ask the aid of an arch-magician."
"Again the advice is easier spoken than acted upon. The magicians take pains to isolate themselves from what otherwise would be an endless stream of supplicants." Looking from one somber face to the other, he said: "Still, there may be a way to avoid these difficulties. Let me introduce myself. I am Doctor Fidelius. I travel Dahaut in this van which is drawn by two miraculous horses. The placard on the side explains my business."
Glyneth read:
DOCTOR FIDELIUS
Grand gnostic, seer, magician.
HEALER OF SORE KNEES
... Mysteries analyzed and resolved: incantations uttered in known and unknown languages. ... Dealer in analgesics, salves, roborants and despumatics.
... Tinctures to relieve nausea, itch, ache, gripe, scurf, buboes, canker.
SORE KNEES A SPECIALTY
Glyneth, looking back to Doctor Fidelius, asked tentatively: "Are you truly a magician?"
"Indeed I am," said Doctor Fidelius. "Watch this coin! I hold it in my hand, then presto and hey-nonny-no! Where does the coin go?" "Into your other hand."
"No. It is here on your shoulder. And look! Here is another on your other shoulder! What do you say to that!"
"Marvelous! Can you cure Dhrun's eyes?"
Doctor Fidelius shook his head. "But I know a magician who can and who, so I believe, will."
"Wonderful! Will you take us to him?"
Doctor Fidelius again shook his head. "Not now. I have urgent business in Dahaut which must be done. Then I will visit Murgen the magician."
Dhrun asked: "Could we find this magician without your help?"
"Never. The road is long and dangerous and he guards his privacy well."
Glyneth asked diffidently: "Is your business in Dahaut likely to take a very long time?"
"That is hard to say. Sooner or later a certain man will visit my van, and then..."
"'And then'?"
"I expect that we will visit Murgen the magician. Meanwhile you shall join my company. Dhrun shall play the pipes to attract customers, Glyneth will sell salves, powders and lucky charms, and I will watch the crowds."
"That is very generous of you," said Glyneth, "but neither Dhrun nor I have skill in medicine."
"No matter! I am a mountebank! My medicines are useless, but I sell them cheap and usually they work as well as if prescribed by Hyrcomus Galienus himself. Dismiss your qualms, if you have any. The profits are not large but always we will eat good food and drink good wine, and when the rain falls we shall be snug inside the van."
Dhrun said glumly, "I carry a fairy's curse of seven years' bad luck. It may well infect you and your undertakings."
Glyneth explained: "Dhrun lived most of his life in a fairy castle until they cast him out with the curse on his head."
Dhrun said: "It was the imp Falael, who brought it down on me, just as I departed the shee. I would reflect it back on him if only I could."
"The curse must be lifted," declared Doctor Fidelius. "Perhaps we should watch for King Rhodion after all. If you are playing the fairy pipes he'll be sure to step up close to listen!"
"Then what?" asked Glyneth.
"You must seize his hat. He will roar and bluster, but in the end he will do your bidding."
Glyneth frowningly considered the program. "It seems rather rude to steal the hat of an utter stranger," she said. "If I made a mistake, the gentleman will no doubt roar and bluster, and then chase me and catch me and give me a fine beating."
Doctor Fidelius agreed. "Of course that is possible. As I pointed out, many merry gentlemen wear green hats. Still, King Rhodion can be known by three signs. First, his ears show no lobes and are pointed at the top. Second, his feet are long and narrow, with long fairy toes. Third, his fingers are webbed like frog's feet and show green fingernails. Also, so it is said, when you stand close beside him, he gives off a waft, not of sweat and garlic, but of saffron and willow-catkins. So, Glyneth, you must be ever on the alert. I will also be watching, and between us we may well capture Rhodion's hat."
Glyneth hugged Dhrun and kissed his cheek. "Do you hear that? You must play your best and sooner or later King Rhodion will wander by. Then it's off and away with seven years bad luck."
"Only good luck will bring him past. So I have seven years to wait. By then I'll be old and crippled."
"Dhrun, you are ridiculous! Good music always defeats bad luck, and never forget it!"
"I endorse that view!" said Doctor Fidelius. "Come with me now, both of you. We have a few changes to make."
Doctor Fidelius took the two children to a merchant dealing in fine shoes and garments. At the sight of Dhrun and Glyneth he threw his hands into the air. "Into the back room with you."
Servants set out tubs of warm water and sweet-scented Byzantine soap. Dhrun and Glyneth disrobed and washed away the grime and grit of travel. The servants brought them towels and chemises of linen, then they were dressed in handsome new garments: blue trousers, a white shirt and a nutmeg-buff tunic for Dhrun; a frock of pale green lawn for Glyneth and a dark green ribbon for her hair. Other garments were packed into a case and sent back to the van.
Doctor Fidelius surveyed the two with approval. "Where are the two ragamuffins? We have here a gallant prince and a beautiful princess!"
Glyneth laughed. "My father was only a squire of town Throckshaw in Ulfland, but Dhrun's father is a prince and his mother a princess."
Doctor Fidelius' interest was aroused. "Who told you this?" he asked Dhrun.
"The fairies."
Doctor Fidelius spoke slowly: "If this is true, as well it may be, you are a very important person. Your mother may have been Suldrun, Princess of Lyonesse. I am sorry to say that she is dead."
"And my father?"
"I know nothing of him. He is rather a mysterious figure."
Chapter 20
EARLY IN THE MORNING, with the sun low behind the trees and dew still wet on the grass, Graithe the woodcutter took Aillas to Madling Meadow. He indicated a low mound on which grew a small gnarled oak. "That is Thripsey Shee. To mortal eyes it looks like very little, but long ago, when I was young and rash, I stole here through the woods of a Midsummer's Eve, when the fairies do not trouble to dissemble; and where you now see hummocks of turf and an old tree, I saw pavilions of silk and a million fairy lamps and towers rising one on the other. The fairies ordered musicians for a pavanne, and the music began. I felt that I must run out and join them, but I knew that if I danced so much as one step on fairy sward, I must dance without surcease the rest of my life, so I put my hands over my ears and went staggering away like a man bereft."
Aillas searched Madling Meadow. He heard bird-calls and tinkles which might have been laughter. He walked three steps out into the meadow. "Fairies, I pray you, listen to me! I am Aillas, and the boy Dhrun is my son. Will someone please come to talk to me?"
Silence fell across Madling Meadow, except for what might have been another bird call. Near the mound lupines and larkspur jerked and bobbed, though the morning air was calm.
Graithe pulled at his sleeve. "Come away. They are preparing mischief. If they wished to talk
to you they would have done so at once. Now they are plotting harm. Come away, before you suffer their tricks."
The two returned through the woods. Graithe said, "They are a strange folk. They think no more of us than we do of a fish."
Aillas took his leave of Graithe. On the way back to the village Glymwode he turned aside and approached a half-decayed stump. From the wrapping he took Persilian and propped it upright on the stump. For an instant he saw himself in the glass, comely despite the harsh structure of jaw, chin and cheekbone, with eyes bright as blue lights. Then Persilian, from perversity, altered the image, and Aillas found himself looking into the face of a hedgehog.
Aillas spoke: "Persilian, I need your help." "Do you wish to put a question?"
"Yes."
"It will be your third."
"I know. Therefore, I want to describe the sense of my question, so that you will not return a glib evasion. I am seeking my son Dhrun, who was taken by the fairies of Thripsey Shee. I will ask you: ‘How may I bring my son alive and well into my own custody?' I want to know exactly how to locate my son, release him from Thripsey Shee in possession of his health, youth and mental faculties, without incurring penalty. I want to locate and free my son now and not in a program involving weeks, months or years, nor do I want to be fooled or frustrated in some way I haven't considered. Therefore, Persilian—"
"Has it occurred to you," asked Persilian, "that your manner is most arrogant? That you demand my help as if it were a duty I owed you, and you, like all the others, jealously refuse to free me by asking a fourth question? Do you wonder that I regard your problems with detachment? Have you reflected an instant upon my yearnings? No, you exploit me and my power as you might use a horse to draw a load; you chide and domineer as if by some heroic deed you had earned the right to command me, when in fact, you stole me in the most furtive manner from King Casmir; do you still choose to hector me?"
After a confused moment Aillas spoke in a subdued voice: "Your complaints for the most part are fair. Still, at this moment, I am driven to find my son to the exclusion of all else.
"Therefore, Persilian, I must repeat my charge: give me in full detail a response to this question: "How may I bring my son into my care and custody?"
