by Jack Vance
Madouc pulled at her right ear with the fingers of her left " hand. "Am I myself again?"
"Yes," said Sir Pom-Pom regretfully. "You are as usual."
Madouc heaved a sigh of relief. "With the glamour upon me I feel somewhat conspicuous."
King Throbius smiled. "You must learn to ignore it, since, in your case, the glamour is no more than a reflection of the near future." He looked up into the sky and signalled. Down flew a small green faylet with gauzy wings. King Throbius gave instructions: "Gather your cousins, fly hither and yon, ensure that all creatures of the neighborhood, save only three-headed Throop, Fuluot, Carabara, and Gois, learn the news of the decree which Bosnip will recite to you. Three especially must hear: Sir Jaucinet of Castle Cloud, the peasant Nisby, and the faceless creature who saunters abroad by moonlight wearing a broad-brimmed black hat."
The faylet was gone. King Throbius gave Madouc a grave salute. "I trust that our little scheme fulfills its purpose, without mistakes or inconvenience. In due course-" A sudden tumult from across the meadow attracted his attention. He spoke in amazement. "Can it be? Shemus and Womin, both officials of high degree, are at odds!"
King Throbius marched off across the meadow, so swiftly that the implets who carried his train were jerked from their feet and swept through the air.
King Throbius went to where a long table had been set with a variety of fine comestibles: ichors and wines in quaint glass bottles; pastries flavored with milkweed cream and the pollen of daffodil, buttercup and crocus; tarts of currants both black and red; candied crab apples and jellies; the crystallized nectars of sweetbriar, rose and violet. Beside the table an altercation had suddenly been transformed into a confusion of shouts, blows and curses. The parties at contention were Womin, Registrar of Rightnesses, and Shemus, Conductor of Rituals. Shemus had seized Womin's beard with one hand and was beating him over the head with a wooden mug, from which he had been drinking parsnip ale.
King Throbius spoke sharply: "Why this sordid moil? It is shameful conduct on a day of such happiness!"
Shemus cried out in a passion: "I would agree in all respects, Your Highness, had I not suffered an abominable affront from this rat-fanged old scavenger!"
"What are the facts? Describe your complaint!"
"Gladly! This degenerate registrar thought to work a vulgar prank upon me! When I turned away for a moment, he dropped his foul stocking into my mug of parsnip ale."
King Throbius turned to Womin. "And what was your motive?"
"I had no motive!"
"None?"
"None! For this reason: I was not a party to the deed! The accusation is a canard! Yonder sits Falael, who witnessed the whole episode; he will attest to my innocence!"
King Throbius swung about. "Well then, Falael: let us hear your testimony."
"I was weaving a daisy chain," said Falael. "My attention was fixed upon my work; I saw nothing germane to the case."
"Nonetheless, I am guiltless," declared Womin. "In view of my reputation, only a person with pot cheese for brains could think otherwise."
"Not so!" stormed Shemus. "If you are innocent, why are you wearing a single stocking? Why does the stocking I found in my ale show the same puce color as that on your leg?"
"It is a mystery!" stated Womin. "Your Highness, hear me out! The party at fault is this ale-swilling old toad, who stands here fulminating like a mad thing! He struck me several stout blows, meanwhile drenching my stocking in his revolting tipple, into which he had undoubtedly snuffled and sniffed."
Shemus jumped up and down in fury. "That remark is a further provocation, worth at least two more blows!" Shemus would have chastised Womin further had not King Throbius stepped forward.
"Desist from this folly! Evidently a mistake has been made; let us carry the case no further!"
Womin and Shemus turned their backs on each other and peace was restored. King Throbius returned across the meadow. He spoke to Madouc. "I will bid you farewell, for the nonce. When you return with your three gentlemen-in-waiting, as we must call them, then we shall prove identities to your full satisfaction, and you will know your pedigree."
Sir Pom-Pom could no longer restrain his own urgencies. "Please, Your Highness! I too need instruction! How shall I find the Holy Grail?"
King Throbius looked in puzzlement to Twisk. "What might be the 'Holy Grail'?"
"I have heard mention of the object, Your Highness. Long ago Sir Pellinore spoke of such an article. I believe it to be a cup, or something of the sort."
"It is a chalice sacred to the Christians," said Sir Pom-Pom. "I am anxious to find it, that I may earn a royal boon."
King Throbius pulled at his beard. "I know nothing of such an object; you must seek elsewhere for information."
Travante also made bold to put a request: "Perhaps Your Highness will instruct me as to where I might search for my lost youth."
King Throbius again pulled at his beard. "Was it mislaid or truly lost? Do you remember any of the pertinent circumstances?"
"Unfortunately not, Your Highness. I had it; I lost it; it was gone."
King Throbius gave his head a dubious shake. "After such long neglect, it might be almost anywhere. As you travel the roads, you must keep on the alert. I can tell you this: if you find it, be nimble indeed!" King Throbius reached high into the air and brought down a silver hoop two feet in diameter. "If you find what you seek, capture it with this hoop. It was once the property of the nymph Atalanta, and is in itself a great curiosity."
"I thank Your Highness." Travante placed the hoop carefully over his shoulder.
King Throbius and Queen Bossum gave stately bows of farewell and strolled away across the meadow. Even as they went a new commotion broke out near the long table, again involving Womin. The activity consisted of screams, outcries and angry gesticulations. It appeared that someone, both cunning and deft, had purloined Womin's single remaining stocking and had affixed it to the crest of the chatelaine Batinka's elaborate coiffure, where it created a ridiculous and humiliating spectacle. Batinka, upon discovering the prank, had chided Womin and had tweaked his nose. The usually mild-mannered Womin, after taking Falael's quiet advice, had retaliated by pushing Batinka's face into a pudding. At this point King Throbius intervened. Batinka cited Womin's misdeeds which Womin denied, save for his use of the pudding. Once again he asserted that Falael could bear witness as to his blamelessness. King Throbius, as before, turned to Falael for the facts, but Falael, as before, claimed to have been preoccupied with his daisy chain, to the exclusion of all else.
King Throbius considered the case for a moment or two, then turned to Falael: "Where is the daisy chain upon which you have been so diligently employed?"
Falael was taken aback by the unexpected request. He looked here and there and at last cried out: "Aha! Here it is!"
"Indeed. You are certain?"
"Of course!"
"And you worked throughout the period of both episodes involving Womin, without so much as raising your eyes-so you have attested."
"Then it must be so, since I am a stickler for accurate detail."
"I count nine flowers to this chain. They are marigolds, not daisies. What do you say to that?"
Falael shifted his gaze here and there. "I was paying no great heed, Your Highness."
"Falael, the evidence suggests that you have been paltering with the truth, giving false testimony, performing mischievous pranks and attempting to deceive your king."
"It is surely a mistake, Your Highness!" said Falael, his expression brimming with limpid innocence.
King Throbius was not deceived. In a grave voice, and despite Falael's reedy expostulations, he imposed a penalty of another seven years' itch. Falael dolefully went to sit on his post, and once more began to scratch his affected parts.
King Throbius called out: "Let the festival proceed, though now we must consider it a celebration of hope rather than accomplishment!"
Meanwhile Twisk had bidden Madouc and her compan
y farewell. "It has been a pleasure to have seen you again! Perhaps some day at another time-"
"But good mother Twisk!" cried Madouc. "Have you for gotten? I shall soon return to Thripsey Shee!"
"True," sighed Twisk, "presuming that you avoid the dangers of the forest."
"Are these then so terrible?"
"Sometimes the forest is sweet and clear," said Twisk. "Sometimes evil lurks behind every stump. Do not explore the morass which borders on Wamble Way; the long-necked heceptors will rise from the slime. In the gully nearby lives the troll Mangeon; avoid him as well. Do not fare west along Munkins Road; you would come to Castle Doldil, the seat of three-headed Throop the ogre. He has caged many a brave knight and devoured many more, perhaps including gallant Sir Pellinore."
"And where shall we sleep by night?"
"Accept no hospitality! It will cost you dear! Take this kerchief." Twisk gave Madouc a square of pink and white silk. "At sundown place it upon the turf and call out 'Aroisus!' It will become a pavilion for both safety and comfort. In the morning, call out: 'Deplectus!' and the pavilion will again become a kerchief. And now-"
"Wait! Where is the way to Idilra Post?"
"You must cross the meadow and pass under the tall ash tree. As you go, pay no heed to the festival! Taste no wine; eat no fairy-cake; tap not so much as your toe to fairy music! Beside the ash tree Wamble Way leads to the north; after twelve miles, you will come to the crossing with Munkins Road, and here stands Idilra Post, where I suffered my many trials."
Madouc spoke soothingly: "It was, on the whole, a lucky occasion, since, as a consequence, I am here to gladden your heart!"
Twisk could not restrain a smile. "At times you can be quite appealing, with your sad blue eyes and strange little face! Good bye then, and take care!"
Madouc, Sir Pom-Pom and Travante crossed Madling Meadow to the ash tree and set out to the north along Wamble Way. When the sun sank low, Madouc placed the kerchief upon the turf of a little glade beside the way and called out: "Aroisus!" At once the kerchief became a pavilion furnished with three soft beds and a table loaded with good food and flasks of wine and bitter ale.
During the night peculiar sounds could be heard from the forest, and on several occasions there was the pad of heavy foot steps along Wamble Way. On each occasion, the creature halted as it paused to inspect the pavilion, and then, after consideration, continued along the way and about its business.
Morning sunlight slanted through the forest to lay bright red spatters on the pink and white silk of the pavilion. Madouc, Sir Pom-Pom and Travante arose from their beds. Outside the pavilion dew glistened on the turf; the forest was silent save for an occasional bird-call.
The three breakfasted at the bountiful table, then prepared to depart. Madouc called out "Deplectus!" and the pavilion collapsed to a pink and white kerchief, which Madouc tucked into her wallet.
The three set off up Warnble Way, with both Sir Pom-Pom and Travante keeping a careful lookout for the objects of their quest, as King Throbius had advised.
The lane skirted a tract of quaking black mud, intersected by rills of dark water. Tussocks of reed, burdock and saw grass beds broke the surface, as well as an occasional clump of stunted bitter willow or rotting alder. Bubbles rose up through the slime, and from one of the larger tussocks came a croaking voice, of unintelligible import. The three wayfarers only hastened their steps, and without untoward incident left the morass behind.
Wamble Way veered to avoid a steep-sided hillock with a crag of black basalt at the summit. A path paved with black cobbles led into a shadowy gulch. Beside the path a sign, indited with characters of black and red, presented two quatrains of doggerel for the edification of passersby:
NOTICE!
Let travellers heed! This message confides
That Mangeon the Marvellous herein resides!
When Mangeon is wrathful his enemies quail;
But friends drink his health in beakers of ale.
His visage is handsome, his address is fine;
His touch causes damsels to sigh and repine.
They beg his caress; at his parting they weep,
And they murmur his name full oft as they sleep.
The three passed sign and cobblestone path without so much as a pause, and continued northward along Wamble Way. With the sun halfway up the sky they arrived at the crossing with Munkins Road. Beside the intersection stood a massive iron post: almost a foot in diameter and eight feet tall.
Madouc surveyed the post with disfavor. "Taken all with all, the situation is not to my liking. But it seems that I must carry out my part in the charade, misgivings or not."
"Why else are you here?" growled Sir Pom-Pom.
Madouc deigned no reply. "I will now work the glamour upon myself!" She tweaked her left ear with the fingers of her right hand, then looked toward her companions. "Has the spell taken effect?"
"Noticeably," said Travante. "You have become a maiden of fascinating appeal."
Sir Pom-Pom asked: "How can you bind yourself to the post when we lack both chain and rope?"
"We will do without the binding," said Madouc decisively. "Should there be a question, I will make an excuse."
Travante uttered a caution: "Keep your magic stone ready at hand, and take care not to drop it!"
"That is good advice," said Madouc. "Go now and take yourselves well out of sight."
Sir Pom-Pom became difficult and wanted to hide nearby in the bushes, that he might see what went on, but Madouc would not listen. "Leave at once! Do not show yourselves until I call! Furthermore, do not be peeking and peering, inasmuch as you might be seen!"
Sir Pom-Pom demanded in sour tones: "What will you be doing that requires such privacy?"
"That is none of your affair!"
"I am not so sure of that, especially were I to earn the royal boon." Sir Pom-Pom showed a sly grin. "Even more especially since you control the glamour."
"The boon will not include me; rest easy on that score! Now go, or I will touch you with the pebble and send you off in a stupor!"
Sir Pom-Pom and Travante went off to the west along Mumkins Road and around a bend. They discovered a little glade a few yards from the road and seated themselves on a log where they could not be seen by passersby.
Madouc stood alone at the crossroads. She looked in all directions and listened carefully. Nothing could be seen or heard. She went to Idilra Post and gingerly seated herself at its base.
Time went by: long minutes and hours. The sun reached its zenith, then slid past into the west. There were neither comings nor goings, save only for the furtive appearance of Sir Pom-Pom, who came peering around the bend in Munkins Road that he might discover what, if anything, had taken place. Madouc sent him back the way he had come with a sharp rebuke.
Another hour passed. From the east came the faint sound of someone whistling. The tune was sprightly, yet somehow tentative as if the whistler were not completely confident or assured.
Madouc rose to her feet and waited. The whistling grew louder. Along Munkins Road came a young man, stocky and stalwart, with a broad placid face and a thatch of chestnut hair. His garments and soiled buckskins identified him as a peasant well acquainted with both pasture and barn.
Arriving in the crossroads he halted and surveyed Madouc with frank curiosity. At last he spoke: "Maiden, are you pent here against your will? I see no chain!"
"It is a magic chain, and I may not win free until three persons undertake my release, and this by an unconventional method."
"Indeed so? And what awful crime could have been committed by so lovely a creature?"
"I am guilty of three faults: frivolity, vanity and foolishness." The peasant spoke in puzzlement: "Why should they bring so stern a penalty?"
"That is the way of the world," said Madouc. "A certain proud person wished to become over-amiable, but I derided him and pointed out his lack of appeal. He ordained my humiliation, so here I wait upon the charitable attention of three s
trangers."
The young peasant came forward. "How many have assisted you to date?"
"You are the first to pass."
"As it happens, I am a man of compassion. Your plight has aroused my pity, and something else besides. If you will dispose yourself comfortably, we shall spend a merry interval, before I am obliged to return home to my cows and their milking."
"Step a bit closer," said Madouc. "What is your name?"
"I am Nisby of Fobwiler Farm."
"Just so," said Madouc. "Come just a bit closer."
Nisby stepped bravely forward. Madouc touched the pebble to his chin. Nisby at once became rigid. "Follow me," said Madouc. She led him off the road and behind a copse of bay berry trees. On the turf she laid the pink and white kerchief.
"Aroisus!"
The kerchief became a pavilion. "Enter," said Madouc. "Sit down on the floor; make neither sound nor disturbance."
Madouc returned to Idilra Post and seated herself as before. The hours passed slowly, and once again Sir Pom-Pom could not restrain his curiosity; Madouc saw the shine of his face through a growth of mullein plants. Pretending not to notice, she hissed softly through her teeth and activated the Tinkle-toe Imp-spring. Up from the mullein leapt Sir Pom-Pom, to bound a full three feet into the air. Madouc called out: "What are you up to now, Sir Pom-Pom, with your wild leaps? Did I not beg you to remain out of sight until I called?"
"I only wanted to make sure of your safety!" declared Sir Pom-Pom in a surly voice. "I did not intend to disturb you, no matter what you were up to; still, for some reason, I was forced to leap into the air."
"Please do not trouble yourself again," said Madouc. "Go back to where you left Travante."
Sir Pom-Pom departed with poor grace, and again Madouc disposed herself to wait.
Fifteen minutes passed. A jingling sound reached her ears. She rose to her feet and stood waiting. Down Wamble Way from the north came a creature running on eight splayed legs. Its head was like that of a great sea-horse, rearing high from a torso segmented of dark yellow plates. Astride the creature sat a faun with a crafty brown face, small horns, and lower limbs over grown with coarse brown fur. From his saddle and bridle hung a hundred small bells, which jingled to the gait of his bizarre steed.
