by Jack Vance
Aillas heaved a fretful sigh. “Tomorrow I must consult my ministers, or they will think harshly of me. Then I will ride out to Watershade… . With magic at hand I would be happy to see Shimrod. But I cannot send for him every time one or the other of us feels a bode. He would quickly lose patience with me. Ah well, we shall see. Now I am ravenously hungry. The food aboard the Pannuc is at best only adequate. Perhaps the kitchen can find us something savory for our dinner: a fowl, or some ham and eggs, with some turnips in butter and some leeks.”
As they ate, Yane told of King Casmir’s secret warship. With many precautions the hull had been launched from the ways in Blaloc, and according to all reports it was a fine hull indeed, built of staunch oak and sound bronze nails, with low freeboard and lateen rig for crisp sailing, and ports for rowing with forty oars when the winds went calm.
To evade notice, the hull had been towed by night from the shipyard to a fitting-out dock further up the Murmeil Estuary, where the rigging would have been installed. Instead, Troice ships had closed in; the tow-lines were cut and the hull drifted down the estuary and out into the open sea. At dawn, Troice ships picked up the line and towed the hull to the south of Dascinet and into one of the deep narrow inlets, where the hull, suitably rigged, would eventually join the Troice navy. Yane reported that Casmir, raging over the loss, had pulled half the hair from his beard.
“Let Casmir build ships by the dozen!” cried Aillas. “We will continue to take them until not a hair remains to his face!”
As Aillas and Yane took their cheese and fruit, Dhrun burst into the chamber, travel-worn and wild-eyed. Aillas jumped to his feet. “Dhrun! What is amiss?”
“Glyneth is gone! She has disappeared from Watershade! I could not prevent it; it happened the day before I arrived!”
“How did she disappear? Did someone take her?”
“She went wandering into the Wild Woods as she often has done; she never came back! No one is sure but a certain odd fellow named Visbhume is thought to be responsible. He is also gone.”
Aillas sagged into a chair. The world, only minutes before so bright and fair, had suddenly gone gray. A dull weight pressed upon his heart. “Naturally you made a search?”
“I went out at once with Noser and Bunce. They traced her well enough to a glade in the forest and there the trail died. I called out searchers, and a hundred men sought her high and low, and they are still searching. I rode here to get help, and I have not stopped along the way except to change horses! I am greatly relieved to find you, for I am at my wit’s end!”
Aillas threw his arm around his son’s shoulders. “Good Dhrun, I could have done no more or no better! There is magic at work, and we cannot cope with it.”
“Then we must send for Shimrod!”
“That we will do! Come!”
Aillas led the way to the study at the side of his parlour. On a taboret a stuffed owl sat on a perch. From the owl’s beak dangled a blue cord by a string with a gold bead at the tip. “Ah!” cried Aillas. “Shimrod has preceded us!”
He gently pulled at the blue cord and the stuffed owl spoke: “I have gone to Watershade. Join me there.”
Chapter 14
I
THE SEASON CAME AROUND to the high solstice, a time of great significance for astronomers. The night skies were ruled by the gentle constellations of summer: Ophiuchus, Lyra, Cepheus, Deneb the Swan. Arcturus and Spica, noble stars of spring, sank in the west; from the east rose Altair to stare down upon sullen Antares, where Scorpio sprawled across the south.
Under the cool stars and everywhere across the Elder Isles folk conducted their endeavors: sometimes in joy, as at King Gax’s coronation of Aillas; sometimes in fury, as in the case of King Casmir and his stolen ship. Elsewhere husbands chided wives and wives discerned flaws in their husbands; at village inns and wayside taverns boasting, gluttony and wine-swilling were rife, to the thud of mugs, the clinking of coins and gusts of laughter. At Kernuun’s Antler, on the shore of Lake Quyvern, avarice was embodied in the person of the innkeeper Dildahl, and here, perhaps, is an appropriate occasion to recount further incidents in regard to Dildahl which otherwise might be lost in the spate of larger events.
Two days before the solstice, a group of druids came to Kernuun’s Antler for their midday meal. Despite double portions of Dildahl’s good boiled beef and braised lamb shanks, their conversation was pitched in tones of vehement indignation. At last Dildahl could no longer contain his curiosity. Putting a question, he learned that a band of sacrilegious outlaws had stormed the sacred islet Alziel, put torches to the great wicker crow and liberated the sacrificial victims, so that the usual rite was no longer feasible. The circumstance, so the druids asserted, was somehow connected with the accession of a new king at Xounges, who had sent out gangs of cutthroats to harass and ambush the Ska.
“Outrageous!” declared Dildahl. “But if they were in pursuit of Ska, why did they destroy the crow and so spoil the rite?”
“We can only believe that the new king’s personal fetish is the crow. Next year we will construct a goat, and no doubt all will be well.”
Later in the afternoon a pair of middle-aged travellers arrived at the inn. Dildahl, watching from a window, adjudged them persons of no great distinction, although their garments and the silver medals on their hats indicated a decent level of prosperity, and each rode a horse of obvious spirit and quality.
The two dismounted, tied their horses to a rail and entered the inn. They found Dildahl, the tall, saturnine innkeeper, behind the counter in the common room and requested food and lodging for the night, giving their names as Harbig and Dussel.
Dildahl agreed to supply their needs in whatever style they desired, then, citing the unalterable rule of the house, he tendered to each a document for signature. Harbig and Dussel, reading, discovered a firm stipulation that should the visitor fail to pay his score, he must surrender and forfeit his horse, saddle and bridle, in full and even discharge of his debt.
Harbig, the elder of the travellers, frowned at the uncompromising terms used in the contract. “Is not this language somewhat harsh? After all, we are honest men.”
Dussel asked: “Or are your prices so high that one must pay the worth of a horse for a night’s accommodation?”
“See for yourself!” declared Dildahl. “There on the board I advertise my menu for the day. Tonight I serve boiled beef with horseradish and cabbage, or, should one prefer, a good platter of lamb shanks braised with peas and garlic, or a savory soup of lentils. The prices are marked plain and clear.”
Harbig studied the board. “Your tariffs would seem wholesome but not severe,” he stated. “If the portions are of satisfactory size, and the garlic is not scamped in the cooking, you shall find no complaint in this quarter. Dussel, am I correct in this?”
“In every respect, save one,” said Dussel, a person moonfaced and a trifle portly. “We must verify the charges and subcharges for our lodging.”
“Quite so; a wise precaution! Landlord, how do you quote our room-rent, stated in toto, inclusive of all extras, imposts, fees for water, heating, cleaning and ventilation, and with free access to the latrine?”
Dildahl quoted rates for his various styles of accommodation, and the two travellers settled upon a chamber with rates and amenities to their satisfaction.
“Now then,” said Dildahl. “All is in order, except your signatures on the documents. Here, and here, if you please.
Harbig still held back. “All seems in order, but why must we subject our poor horses to the shameful burden of Hens? Somehow I find the condition a source of anxiety.”
Dussel nodded in thoughtful agreement. “It seems to ensure a nervous visit for the traveller.”
“Aha!” cried Dildahl. “You cannot imagine the sly tricks and feats of criminal cunning which the ordinary innkeeper must endure! Never will I forget this apparently innocent young couple who rode down from the Brakes and commanded from me my best. I kindly obliged and served to
their order, so that the whole kitchen was in an uproar with the preparation of special dishes and the serving of fine wines. In the morning, when I presented my modest little account, they claimed penury. ‘We have no money!’ they told me, merry as larks. I said: Then I fear I must take your horses!’ They laughed again. ‘We have no horses! We traded them all for a boat!’ That day I learned a bitter and costly lesson. Now I keep custody of my surety, in my own barn!”
“A sorry tale!” said Dussel. “Well then, Harbig: what of this paper? Shall we sign?”
“What harm can come of it?” asked Harbig. “These prices seem fair and we are neither paupers nor fly-by-nights.”
“So be it,” said Dussel. “However I must, in all conscience, add a notation. Landlord, I write: ‘My horse is extremely valuable and must have excellent care.’ “
“A good idea!” said Harbig. “I will write the same… . There! And tonight I shall put prudence behind me! Though it cost a round penny or more, I vow that I will partake of Dildahl’s special boiled beef with horseradish sauce and good bread and butter!”
“I am heartily of your persuasion!” declared Dussel. At suppertime, Harbig and Dussel came handily to the common room, and took their places at the table. When Dildahl came to see to their pleasure, Harbig and Dussel both commanded a goodly portion of boiled beef. Dildahl dolefully reported that the meat had burned in the pot and all had been thrown out to the dogs. “Still, we have fine fish to offer: indeed, fish is our specialty!”
Harbig said: “I think that, in lieu of good beef, 1 will make do with lamb shanks, and let there be no stinting with the garlic!”
“For me the same!” declared Dussel. “And shall we not also crack a bottle of good but inexpensive red wine?”
“Exactly in order!” declared Harbig. “Dussel, you are a man of exquisite discrimination.”
“Alas!” sighed Dildahl. “At noon six druids arrived and each ate lamb shanks with both cheeks, so that tonight the kitchen boy ate the remaining scraps for his supper. But no matter; I can offer a succulent pie of crayfish tails, or a brace of fine brown trout, at their prime, sizzling in butter and vinegar.”
Harbig scanned the board. “They are not written on the menu. How are the prices? Fair, or so I expect, with the whole lake at your doorstep?”
“When it comes to fish, we are at our best! What of two dozen pilchard, with lemons and sorrel?”
“Toothsome, no doubt, but price, man! What of the price?”
“Oh ha ha, I am not certain; it varies with the catch.”
Harbig dubiously eyed the menu. “Lentil soup might be tasty.”
“Soup is off,” said Dildahl. “What of a plate of splendid salmon roe, with capers and butter, with a salad of cress and parsley?”
“And the price?”
Dildahl gave his hand a deprecating wave. “It might be more or it might be less.”
“I rather fancy the salmon roe,” said Dussel. “Tonight that shall be my meal.”
“I shall dine on trout,” said Harbig. “Let there be an adequacy of side-dishes.”
Dildahl bowed and rubbed his hands. “So it shall be.”
The two were served their fish, which they consumed with gusto, along with two bottles of wine. Soon thereafter they sought their beds.
In the morning, Dildahl provided a breakfast of porridge with curds. Harbig and Dussel ate briskly, and then called out for their scores.
With a grim smile Dildahl brought each man his tally.
Harbig cried out aghast. “Am I reading correctly? Or are the figures upside-down? My score comes to nineteen silver florins fourpence!”
Dussel was likewise dumbfounded. “For a platter of roe I am accustomed to paying no more than a few groats or maybe a good red penny; I seem to see here a demand for twenty-one silver florins! Harbig, are we awake? Or still asleep and roaming some never-never land?”
“You are awake and my prices are real,” said Dildahl shortly. “At Kemuun’s Antler, fish is very dear, since it is prepared by secret recipes.”
“So be it,” said Harbig. “If pay we must, then pay we will.”
The two travellers glumly opened their wallets and paid over silver coins, to the sum required. Harbig said: “Now, if you please, bring us our horses, as we are in a hurry to be off and on our way.”
“Immediately!” Dildahl called an order to the kitchen boy, who ran out to the barn. A moment later he returned faster than he had gone. “Sir, the barn is broken open! The door hangs loose and the horses are gone!”
“What!” cried Harbig. “Do I hear aright? My great champion Nebo which I value at a hundred pieces of gold? Or even two hundred?”
In shock Dussel cried: “And my prize steed from Morocco, which cost me one hundred golden crowns, but which I would not sell for three hundred?”
Harbig said sternly: “Dildahl, your joke has gone far enough! Produce our horses upon this instant, or else pay us over their value, and precious horses indeed they were! For Nebo I demand two hundred crowns of gold!”
Dussel declared his loss to be even greater: “For Ponzante I need two hundred and fifty gold crowns even to approach a settlement.”
Dildahl finally found his tongue. “These cited prices are absolutely outrageous! For a single gold crown I can buy the finest of steeds!”
“Ah ha ha! Our horses are like your fish. Pay on this instant four hundred and fifty gold crowns!”
“You cannot enforce this insane demand!” declared Dildahl. “Be off with you, or the stablemen will beat you well, and cast you into the lake!”
“Trouble yourself only to look along the road,” said Harbig. “You will notice an encampment of twenty soldiers, from the army of Aillas, King of Ulfland. Reimburse us our stolen horses, or prepare to kick from the royal gibbet.”
Dildahl ran to the door and with pendulous lower lip sagging, took note of the encampment. Slowly he turned back to Harbig. “Why have these soldiers come to Lake Quyvern?”
“First, to attack Ska and drive them from the region. Second, to burn the wicker crow and to liberate druid captives. Third, to investigate rumours of villainy at Kernun’s Antler, and to hang the landlord if the charges seem well-grounded.”
Dussel said sternly, “Once more: pay us for our horses or we will call for the king’s protection!”
“But I own no such sum!” Dildahl grimaced. “I will return your florins; that must suffice.”
“Bah! Not enough! We now take title to the inn, as you take title to your guests’ horses, ‘in full and even exchange’. Dussel, at last you fulfill your dreams! You are the landlord-in-residence at a fine country inn! As a first step, impound all the coins in yonder drawer and the gold in Dildahl’s strongbox.”
“No, no, no!” cried Dildahl. “Not my precious gold!”
Dussel ignored the outcry. “Dildahl, show me the strongbox. Then you must go, and promptly. We will allow you the clothes on your back.”
Dildahl still could not accept his fate. “This is an unthinkable turn of events!”
Harbig raised his eyebrows dubiously. “Surely you did not believe that you could continue robbing your guests forever?”
“It is a mistake! Somewhere there must be recourse!”
Harbig said: “Be grateful that you deal with us, not the sergeant of yonder platoon, who already has selected a tree and measured a rope.”
Dildahl growled: “I detect strange coincidences. How do you know so much about yonder troop?”
“I am their captain. Dussel, if you must know, has been chief cook at Jehaundel, but with King Gax gone, his services are no longer required, and he has always hoped to keep a country inn. Dussel, am I correct in this?”
“In every respect! Now, Dildahl, show me the strongbox, then be on your way.”
Dildahl set up a great moaning. “Have mercy! My spouse is afflicted in the lower limbs and cannot walk; the veins circle her legs like purple snakes! Must we crawl on our hands and knees in the dust?”
&n
bsp; Harbig spoke to Dussel: “Dildahl seems to manage well enough at the stove, and deals especially kindly with fish. Why not keep him at work as pot-boy and under-cook, while his spouse makes herself useful milking the cows, making cheese and butter, digging turnips, carrots and leeks, and working the soil, all from a kneeling position, to spare her sore legs? Entirely by the mercy of King Aillas, of course.”
“Dildahl, what do you say?” demanded Dussel. “Will you serve me faithfully, without complaint or shiftlessness, at my direction?”
Dildahl rolled his eyes high, and clenched his fists. “If I must, I must.”
“Very good. First, point out the location of your, or, better to say, my strongbox.”
“It is under the flagstone of my private parlour.”
“Now my parlour. You must move at once, out to one of the cottages. Then scour this floor until each plank glows the colour of new straw! I wish to see neither soil nor stain on the floor of the Lakeshore Inn, which is certain to become a rustic resort for the gentility of Xounges!”
II
TWITTEN’s CORNERS, in the Forest of Tantrevalles, was the site each year of three fairs, to which came traders and buyers from all across the Elder Isles, human and halfling alike, each hoping to discover some wonderful charm or trinket or elixir to bring advantage to his life or gold to his wallet.
The first and the last of these so-called ‘Goblin Fairs’ marked, respectively, the spring and autumn equinoxes. The second, or middle, fair started on that evening known to the druids as ‘Pignal aan Haag’, to the fairies of Forest Tantrevalles as ‘Summersthawn’, to the Ska archivists as ‘Soltra Nurre’, in the language of primaeval Norway: a time marking the start of the lunar year, defined as the night of the first new moon after the summer solstice. For reasons unknown this night had come to be a time of unusual influences and oblique pressures from entities aroused to sentience. Wanderers of high places often thought to hear the echo of windy voices and the drumming of far galloping hooves.
