by Jack Vance
"Then, am I for a fact mountebank, fraud and charlatan?" Glyneth jumped up to stand beside him. "You must judge for yourselves. Notice here my pretty associate—if you have not already noticed her. Glyneth, open wide your mouth. Sirs and ladies, observe this aperture! These are teeth, this is a tongue, beyond is the oral cavity, in its natural state. Watch now, as I insert into this mouth an orange, neither large, nor yet small, but of exact and proper size. Glyneth, close your mouth, if you will, and if you can... Excellent. Now, sirs and ladies, observe the girl with the distended cheeks. I tap her on the right and on the left, and hey presto! The cheeks are as before! Glyneth, what have you done with the orange? This is most extraordinary! Open your mouth; we are bewildered!"
Glyneth obediently opened her mouth and Dr. Fidelius peered within. He exclaimed in surprise. "What is this?" He reached with thumb and forefinger. "It is not an orange; it is a beautiful red rose! What more is here? Look, sirs and ladies! Three fine ripe cherries! What else? What are these? Horseshoe nails! One, two, three, four, five, six! And what is this! The horseshoe itself! Glyneth, how is this possible? Have you any more surprises? Open wide your mouth... By the moon and sun, a mouse! Glyneth, how can you consume such stuff?"
Glyneth answered in her bright clear voice: "Sir! I have been taking your digestive pastilles!"
Dr. Fidelius threw his hands in the air. "Enough! You defeat me at my own trade!" And Glyneth jumped down from the platform.
"Now then, as to my potions and lotions, my powders, pills and purges; my analepts and anodynes: are they the alleviants I claim them to be? Sirs and ladies, I will make this guarantee: if, upon taking my remedies, you mortify and die, you return the unused medicine for a partial refund. Where else will you hear such a guarantee?
"I am particularly expert in the treatment of sore knees, especially those which creak, clack, or otherwise complain. If you or someone you know is afflicted with sore knees, then I want to see the sufferer.
"Now let me present my other associate: the noble and talented Sir Dhrun. He will play you tunes on the fairy-pipes, to make you laugh, to make you cry, to set your heels to twitching. Meanwhile, Glyneth will dispense the medicines while I prescribe. Sirs and ladies, a final word! You are hereby notified that my embrocations burn and tingle as if distilled from liquid flame. My medicines taste vilely, of cimiter, dogbane and gall: the body quickly returns to robust health so that it need assimilate no more of my foul concoctions! That is the secret of my success. Music, Sir Dhrun!"
As she circulated through the crowd Glyneth watched carefully for a person in a nut-brown suit and a scarlet feather in his green cap, especially one who heard the music with pleasure; but on this sunny forenoon at Long Danns, hard by the Forest of Tantrevalles, no such person showed himself, nor did any obvious scoundrel, of dark visage and long nose, come to Dr. Fidelius for treatment of his sore knees.
In the afternoon a breeze began to blow from the west, to set the banners fluttering. Glyneth brought out a table with high legs and a tall stool for Dhrun. From the wagon she carried a basket. As Dhrun played a jig on the pipes, Glyneth brought out her black and white cats. She tapped the table with a baton and the cats raised on their hind legs and danced in time to the music, hopping and skipping back and forth across the table, and a crowd quickly gathered. At the back a fox-faced young man, small and dapper, seemed to be especially enthusiastic. He snapped his fingers to the music, and presently began to dance, kicking this way and that with great agility. He wore, so Glyneth rioted, a green cap with a long red feather. Hurriedly she put her cats in the basket and sidling up behind the dancing man, snatched off his cap, and ran to the back of the wagon. In astonishment the young man chased after her. "What are you up to? Give me my hat!"
"No," said Glyneth. "Not till you grant my wishes."
"Are you mad? What foolishness is this? I can't grant wishes for myself, let alone you. Now give me my cap, or I'll have to take it from you, and beat you well in the bargain."
"Never," declared Glyneth bravely. "You are Rhodion. I have your hat, and I will never let it go until you obey me."
"We'll see about that!" The young man seized Glyneth, and they struggled until the horses snorted, reared and showing long white teeth lunged at the young man, who drew back in fear. Shimrod jumped down from the wagon and the young man cried out in fury: "This girl of yours is mad! She seizes my cap and runs off with it, and when I ask for it, most civilly, she says no, and names me Rhodion or something similar. My name is Tibbalt; I am chandler at the village Witherwood and I have come to the fair to buy wax. Almost instantly I am snatched hatless by a mad hoyden, who then insists that I obey her! Have you ever heard the like?"
Shimrod gave his head a grave shake. "She is not a bad girl, just a bit impetuous and full of pranks." He stepped forward. "Sir, allow me." He brushed aside Tibbalt's brown hair. "Glyneth, observe! This gentleman's ear-lobes are well developed."
Glyneth looked and nodded. "That is so." Tibbalt demanded: "What is this to do with my hat?"
"Allow me one more favor," said Shimrod. "Show me your hand... Glyneth, notice the fingernails; there is no trace of web and the fingernails are not filmy."
Glyneth nodded. "I see. So I may give him his hat?"
"Yes indeed, especially since the gentleman exudes the odor of bayberry and bees-wax."
Glyneth returned the hat. "Please, sir, forgive me my prank."
Shimrod gave Tibbalt a pottery jar: "With our compliments, please accept this half-gill of hair pomade, which will cause eyebrows, beard and mustache to grow silky and fine."
Tibbalt departed in good spirits. Glyneth went back to her table in front of the wagon and reported her mistake to Dhrun, who merely shrugged, and once again began to play the pipes. Glyneth again produced her cats, which hopped and danced with zeal, to the great wonder of those who halted to watch. "Wonderful, wonderful!" declared a portly little gentleman with spindle-shanks, thin ankles, long thin feet in green leather shoes with preposterous rolled-up toes. "My lad, where did you learn to play the pipes?"
"Sir, it is a gift from the fairies."
"What a marvel! A true gift of magic!"
The wind blew a sudden gust; the gentleman's green hat whisked from his head and fell at Glyneth's feet. She picked it up and noticed the scarlet feather. Dubiously she looked at the man who smilingly held out his hand. "Thank you, my pretty dear. I will reward you with a kiss."
Glyneth looked at the outstretched hand which was pale and plump, with small delicate fingers. The nails were carefully tended and polished milky-pink. Was this film? The flaps of skin between the fingers: was this web? Glyneth slowly looked up and met the gentleman's eyes. They were fawn-brown. Sparse sandy-red hair curled past his ears. Wind lifted the hair; in fascination Glyneth saw the lobes. They were small: no more than little dimples of pink tissue. She could not see the top of the ears. The gentleman stamped his foot. "My hat, if you please!"
"One moment, sir, while I brush off the dust." Sneezer and Smirrish once more were popped into the basket, and Glyneth ran off with the hat.
With notable agility the gentleman bounded after her, and so maneuvered to press her back against the front of the wagon where they could not be seen from the common. "Now, miss, my hat, and then you shall have your kiss."
"You may not have your hat until you grant my wishes."
"Eh? What nonsense is this? Why should I grant your wishes?"
"Because, your Majesty, I hold your hat."
The gentleman looked at her sidewise. "Who do you think I am?"
"You are Rhodion, King of the Fairies."
"Ha ha hah! And what do you wish me to do?"
"It is not a great deal. Lift the curse which hangs upon Dhrun and give him back his eyes."
"All for my hat?" The portly gentleman advanced upon Glyneth with his arms wide. "Now then, my downy little duckling, I will embrace you; what a sweet little armful you are! Now for the kiss, and perhaps something more..."
Glyneth ducked under his arms, jumped cleverly backward and forward, and ran behind the wagon. The gentleman chased after her, calling out endearments and imploring the return of his hat.
One of the horses thrust out its left head to snap viciously at the gentleman's buttocks. He only bounded the faster around the wagon, where Glyneth had halted, grinning in mingled mischief and distaste to see the portly little gentleman in such a state. "Now my little kitten! My adorable little comfit, come for your kiss! Remember, I am King Rat-a-tat-tat, or whatever his name, and I will grant your fondest desires! But first, let us explore beneath that brave doublet!"
Glyneth danced back and threw the hat at the gentleman's feet. "You are not King Rhodion; you are the town barber and a saucy lecher to boot. Take your hat and welcome!"
The gentleman uttered a hoot of exultant laughter. He clapped the hat to his head, and jumped high into the air, clicking his heels to both sides. In great glee he cried: "I tricked you! Oho! What joy to befuddle the mortals! You had my hat, you might have commanded me to your service! But now—"
Shimrod stepped from the shadows behind him and snatched away the hat. "But now"—he tossed the hat to Glyneth—"she has the hat orice more, and you must do her bidding!"
King Rhodion stood crestfallen; his eyes round and woeful. "Take pity! Never force a poor old halfling to your will; it wearies me and causes a tumult of grief!"
"I am without pity," said Glyneth. She called Dhrun from his stool and brought him behind the wagon.
"This is Dhrun, who lived his youth at Thripsey Shee."
"Yes, the domain of Throbius, a merry shee, and notable for its pageant!"
"Dhrun was cast out and sent away with a mordet of bad luck on his head and now he is blind, because he watched the dryads as they bathed. You must remove the curse and give him the sight of his eyes!"
Rhodion blew into a little golden pipe and made a sign into the air. A minute passed. From over the wagon came the sounds of the fair, muted as if the fair stood at some far distance. With a small pop! King Throbius of Thripsey Shee stood beside them. He dropped to one knee before King Rhodion, who, with a benign gesture, allowed him to stand. "Throbius, here is Dhrun, whom once you nurtured at Thripsey Shee."
"In truth it is Dhrun; I remember him well. He was amiable and gave us all pleasure."
"Then why have you sent him off with a mordet?"
"Exalted! This was the work of a jealous imp, one Falael, who has been roundly punished for his spite."
"Why was not the mordet removed?"
"Exalted, that is bad policy, which induces irreverence among the mortals, to think that they need only sneeze or suffer a bit to gainsay our mordets."
"In this case it must be removed."
King Throbius approached Dhrun and touched his shoulder. "Dhrun, I bless you with the bounties of fortune! I dissolve the fluxes which have worked to your suffering; let the skites of malice who implemented these evils go twittering back to Thins-mole."
Dhrun's face was white and pinched. He listened, showing no quiver of muscle. In a thin voice he asked: "And what of my eyes?"
Throbius said courteously: "Good Sir Dhrun, you were blinded by the dryads. That was bad luck at its most extreme, but it was bad luck by ill chance and not by the malice of the mordet; and so the blinding is not our doing. It is work of the dryad Feodosia, and we cannot melt it."
Shimrod spoke: "Then go now to deal with the dryad Feodosia and offer her fairy favors if she will undo her magic."
"Ah, we captured Feodosia and another named Lauris as they slept; we took them and used them at our pageant for entertainment. They became deranged with fury and fled to Arcady, where we cannot go and in any case she has lost all her fairy force."
"So: how will Dhrun's eyes be cured?"
"Not by fairy lore," said King Rhodion. "It lies beyond our craft."
"Then you must concede another boon."
"I want nothing," said Dhrun, in a stony voice. "They can give me only what they took."
Shimrod turned to Glyneth, "You hold the hat, and you may ask a boon."
"What?" cried King Rhodion. "This is the sheerest extortion!
Did I not waft King Throbius here and dissolve the mordet?"
"You mended a harm of your own making. That is no boon; that is mere justice and where are the amends for his suffering?"
"He wants none, and we never give what is not wanted."
"Glyneth holds the hat; you must gratify her wishes." Everyone turned to look at Glyneth. Shimrod asked her; "What do you wish most?"
"I want only to travel with you and Dhrun in this wagon forever."
Shimrod said, "But remember, all things change and we will not ride the wagon forever."
"Then I want to be with you and Dhrun forever."
"That is the future," said Rhodion. "It lies beyond my control, unless you wish me to kill the three of you at this instant and bury you together under the wagon."
Glyneth shook her head. "But you can help me. My cats often disobey and ignore my instructions. If I could talk with them, they could not pretend to misunderstand. I'd also like to talk with horses and birds and all other living things: even the trees and flowers, and the insects'."
King Rhodion grunted. "Trees and flowers neither talk nor listen. They only sigh among themselves. The insects would terrify you, if you heard their speech, and cause you nightmares."
"Then I can speak with birds and animals?"
"Take the lead amulet from my hat, wear it around your neck, and you will have your wish. Do not expect profound insights; birds and animals are usually foolish."
"Sneezer and Smirrish are clever enough," said Glyneth. "I will probably enjoy our conversations."
"Very well then," said portly King Rhodion. He took the hat from Glyneth's loose fingers, and, with wary attention for Shimrod, clapped it on his head. "The game is done; once again I have been outwitted by the mortals, though this time it has been almost a pleasure. Throbius, return as you will to Thripsey and I am away to Shadow Thawn."
King Throbius held up his hand. "One last matter. Perhaps I can make amends for the mordet. Dhrun, listen to me. Many months ago a young knight came to Thripsey Shee and demanded to know all knowledge concerning his son Dhrun. We exchanged gifts: for me a jewel of the color smaudre; for him a Never-fail pointing steadfast toward yourself. Has he not found you? Then he has been thwarted, or even killed, since his resolution was clear."
Dhrun spoke huskily: "What was his name?"
"He was Sir Aillas, a prince of Troitinet. I go." His form became tenuous, then disappeared. His voice came as if from far away: "I am gone."
King Rhodion paused on his spindle shanks, walked back around the front of the wagon. "And another small matter, for Glyneth's attention. The amulet is my seal; wearing it you need fear no harm from halflings: neither fairy nor imp, nor troll, nor double-troll. Beware ghosts and horse-heads, gray and white ogres, and things which live under the mire."
King Rhodion passed around the front of the wagon. When the three followed he was nowhere to be seen.
Glyneth went for her cat-basket, which she had stowed on the wagon's front seat, to find that Smirrish had pried the cover ajar and had almost gained his liberty.
Glyneth cried out: "Smirrish, this is sheer wickedness; you know that you are supposed to stay in the basket."
Smirrish said: "It is hot and stuffy inside. I prefer the open air, and I plan to explore the roof of the wagon."
"All very well, but now you must dance and entertain the folk who watch you in admiration."
"If they admire me so much, let them do their own dancing. Sneezer is equally earnest in this regard. We only dance to please you."
"That is sensible, since I feed you the finest milk and fish. Surly cats must make do with bread and water."
Sneezer, listening from within the basket, called out quickly, "Have no fear! If dance we must, then dance we will, though for the life of me, I can't understand why. I care not
a fig for those who stop to watch."
The sun died on a couch of sultry clouds; outriders slid overhead to cover the evening sky and darkness came quickly to Long Danns' common. Dozens of small fires flickered and guttered in the cool damp breeze, and the peddlers, merchants and booth-tenders huddled over their suppers, eyes askance at the dismal sky, dreading the prospect of a rain which would drench them and their wares.
At the fire behind their wagon sat Shimrod, Glyneth and Dhrun, waiting for the soup to cook. The three sat absorbed in private thoughts: a silence finally broken by Shimrod. "The day has certainly been of interest."
"It could have been worse and it could have been better," said Glyneth. She looked at Dhrun, who sat, arms clenching knees, staring sightlessly into the fire; but he had nothing to say. "We've removed the curse, so at least we'll have no more bad luck. It won't be good luck, of course, until Dhrun can see again."
Shimrod fed the fire with fresh fuel. "I've searched across Dahaut for the man with the sore knees—this you know. If I don't find him at Avallon Fair we'll travel to Swer Smod in Lyonesse. If anyone can help it will be Murgen."
"Dhrun!" whispered Glyneth. "You mustn't cry!"
"I'm not crying."
"Yes, you are. Tears are running down your cheeks." Dhrun blinked and put his wrist to his face. "Without you two to help me I'd starve, or the dogs would eat me."
"We wouldn't let you starve." Glyneth put her arm around his shoulders. "You're an important boy, and the son of a prince. Someday you'll be a prince as well."
"I hope so."
"So then, eat your soup, and you'll feel better. I notice also a nice slice of melon waiting for you."
Chapter 26
CARFILHIOT'S CHAMBERS, at the top of Tintzin Fyral, were of modest dimension, with white plaster walls, scrubbed wooden floors and a bare sufficiency of furnishing. Carfilhiot wanted nothing more elaborate; that spare environment soothed his sometimes over-fervent nature.
