The Return of Fursey

by Mervyn Wall

  Fursey, with his head on one side, contemplated the bowl in its circle of robbers’ skulls.

  “It’s very genteel,” he replied.

  Cuthbert rubbed his meagre hands with satisfaction and allowed his eyes to travel back and forward through the cave.

  “All in the best of taste,” he remarked. “Now all we have to do is to place the brazier where it won’t be knocked over and leave beside it an adequate supply of soothing perfumes for burning.”

  As the sun shot its last beams from the distant horizon, the first of the guests arrived, a small, swarthy warlock from a cave near at hand.

  “An ill-bred fellow,” muttered Cuthbert to Fursey; “he would be the first to arrive. His father was a tradesman, so I suppose we can’t expect anything else.”

  The warlock shook hands with his hosts in a perfunctory manner and, not noticing Cuthbert’s slight hauteur, immediately began to talk shop. He drew from his capacious pocket a rope plaited the wrong way and a handful of weasel’s teeth, and began to extol their magical properties. Cuthbert escaped from him as the other guests began to arrive and took his stand in the opening of the cave, shaking hands with each newcomer and introducing Fursey to those who did not already know him. Although most of the guests had perforce left their wardrobes behind in their flight from the authorities, they each had made an attempt at formal or festive attire. There was a considerable display of black gowns ornamented with stars, pentagrams and crescents, and many wore wreaths of wild parsley around their necks. Fursey had never seen so many long beards assembled together before, and he blushed when affable notice was taken of him. Most of the guests were wizards, but Turko the crystallomancer had also been invited, as well as a mathematician, a scryer and a clair­voyant. The reciter of poetry was not amongst those asked, as he was not considered good class. There was one gate-crasher, the alchemist, who came wandering in, pretending that he did not know that a party was in progress. He was loud in his offers to retire, but Cuthbert, very tight-lipped, insisted that he should remain. The guests stood around in genteel conversation, wondering when the eating and drinking was going to begin. At last the atmosphere became so charged with impatience that Cuthbert turned to apologise, saying that he was waiting for the arrival of the last guest, Festus Wisenuts.

  “I know that no one would wish to sit down to table,” he said smilingly, “without our revered landlord.”

  The company hastily deprecated the very idea of starting supper without Festus, but their eyes continued to wander longingly towards the row of flagons in the corner. At last Festus arrived in a cloak flashing silver and golden stars, the very latest thing in sorcerer’s dress. As he paused to speak a few rich man’s words to Cuthbert, complaining of his worries and the present state of the bullock market, Fursey withdrew towards the back of the cave and hoped that he would not be seen; but as they all seated themselves at the table and addressed themselves to the first course, a porridge of eel’s meat and winkles, Festus fixed Fursey with a terrible eye. Fursey rose nervously and busied himself in helping to fill the robbers’ skulls with ale, mead or metheglin according to each consumer’s taste.

  “Who’s that fellow?” Festus asked Turko, who was sitting beside him.

  “Which fellow?”

  “That small, tubby man with the shock of white hair and the round, moonlike face?”

  “Oh, that’s Fursey, Cuthbert’s apprentice. A nice fellow, but somewhat thin-minded. Why do you ask?”

  Festus blew hard through his nostrils. “I am doubtful and suspicious of his origin. I don’t know that I didn’t create him.”

  The small, swarthy warlock, whose father was a tradesman, was talking loudly with his elbows on the table. To the disgust of everyone present he was spearing his food with the point of a hunting knife and so conveying it to his mouth, instead of eating it in a genteel fashion with his fingers like everyone else.

  “I do think Cuthbert should be more selective in whom he invites,” muttered the scryer to the mathematician. The mathematician nodded rapidly. He had never seen so much food on a table in his life and he hadn’t time to reply in words. Turko raised his skull of ale and bowed smilingly to Fursey, who experienced a rush of happiness at this renewal of their friendship. At the head of the table, Festus Wisenuts was denouncing the government of King Cormac.

  “We’re taxed out of existence,” he complained. “I had to surrender twenty head of cattle this year to meet the cost of the war with Thomond. Politicians are all the same. They hate the rich. They crush us with taxes, but they never think of taxing the poor.”

  The four of his tenants who were within earshot, nodded their heads sympathetically and waited in respectful silence for his next utterance.

  It was a most successful banquet. Cuthbert knew that the secret of a successful party is a never-empty beaker and a judicious mixing of the drinks of those who tend to be abstemious. The good humour increased as course followed course of the most delectable viands, smelts, lampreys, mussels, fowl, edible roots, mountain berries, honeycomb and acorn pie. As the black, yellow and golden liquor flowed in an unending stream, Festus Wisenuts sat back on his lump of rock and tolerantly allowed those near him to speak as well as himself. Esoteric jests with a strong Black Art flavour were bandied from one bearded mouth to another, and even the mathematician was heard to emit a hoarse laugh. The small, swarthy warlock started an intense argument with the scryer about divination from the flight of birds, a subject about which he knew nothing; but the company’s good humour was by now such that they regarded his ill-breeding with greater tolerance. Fursey spent most of his time swilling mead and laughing at nothing in particular. He laughed at every sentence addressed to him, thinking it was a joke; and he even began to laugh whenever he caught anyone’s eye. Cuthbert, who knew his responsibilities as a host, drank moderately and unobtrusively watched everything and everyone. When he judged that his guests were replete and in sufficiently good humour, he gave the signal to rise. He then drew everyone’s attention to himself by a slight but penetrating cough. When all eyes were focussed on him, he gently enunciated a few unrecognised words and waved his right hand. Immediately all traces of the meal vanished from the table, leaving the rock bare. Even a piece of acorn pie which Fursey was stuffing into his mouth disappeared from between his fingers. After a moment’s initial surprise, there was a burst of polite applause from the company. Very neat, was the comment, a great labour-saving device which must ultimately do away altogether with the necessity for domestic help. The only one who looked at all anxious was the wizard, who had lent Cuthbert his unique and valuable set of robbers’ skulls; but Cuthbert allayed his anxiety a moment later by producing them undamaged from the rock shelf and re-filling them for his guests. The company then disposed itself in comfortable positions on rocks and boulders, and waited for the next part of the entertainment.

  Cuthbert constituted himself master of ceremonies in virtue of his position as host, and began by inviting a sprightly, young wizard to perform a piece of magic. The young man came forward, blushing shyly. He was a trifle nervous, but the benevolent interest apparent on every face seemed to give him courage. He began to speak in cultured tones, carefully enunciating a spell which he had apparently learnt by heart for the occasion. Then he made some circles in the air over the rock table. A water dog came slowly into being, squatting on its hunkers. It looked around the circle of approving faces with its wise dog’s eyes and carefully wagged its tail. The young wizard reversed the circles in the air, spoke some further magical words, and successfully reconducted the animal into nothingness. There was a round of polite applause and he retired, bowing gracefully.

  “Encore!” shouted the swarthy warlock, who was by this time half drunk.

  The nostrils of the assembled wizards quivered slightly in disdain of the vulgarian. Those in his vicinity turned their backs and engaged in learned conversation. Cuthbert’s eye had fallen on the alchemist, who had spoken to no one since his arrival uninvited, but
had guzzled everything within his reach during supper. He was now sitting in the front row, leering delightedly at the free entertainment.

  “Maybe our friend the alchemist will oblige,” suggested Cuthbert. “I’m sure we should be all interested to see him manufacturing a few bars of gold.”

  Every face lit expectantly, but faded again as the alchemist began to protest that most unfortunately he had left all his machinery at home. Cuthbert turned from him, the shadow of a supercilious smile playing about his mouth, and immediately fixed his gaze on a tall sorcerer, who, notwithstanding his flowing white beard, retained still the lively and audacious eyes of youth. Cuthbert nodded slightly.

  “Our friend Gustavo?” he queried.

  Gustavo came forward at once and laying a phial of mercury on the table, began to conjure by air, fire, water and earth. Then he withdrew a mouse from his sleeve and tossed it into the air. Some weird gestures followed and the enunciation of rugged verses. Then with elaborate ceremony he poured a few drops of mercury from the phial. A cool breeze brushed the faces of those present, there was a sensation of throbbing in the cave, and seven young eagles fell from the ceiling into the alchemist’s lap. There was a titter from the wizards as they saw the alchemist’s face. The moment that the manifestation was over, the disconcerted alchemist rose and pleaded to be excused. He explained that he had just remembered a valuable herbal stew left simmering on the fire in his cave, and that he would really have to return and attend to it. He shook Cuthbert hastily by the hand and thanked him for a very pleasant evening.

  When the gate-crasher was gone, Cuthbert called upon the mathematician. The old man explained that his subject was excessively curious; and spreading some sand on the table, he traced a triangle with his forefinger. Then he prolonged two of the sides and proceeded to demonstrate that the angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal. The company listened intently; and when the demonstration was over, sat back somewhat exhausted by the mental wrestlings involved. Then a mild-featured wizard advanced and laying himself on the ground, called on the spirit of darkness. As the spirit troubled him, he tore and wallowed, and his howls and yells were truly terrific. At length there appeared a weird form which emitted a curious kind of light. It seemed to be some class of serpent with a cock’s head, but it vanished again before its nature could be properly studied. As the wizard rose to his feet and dusted himself down, the company applauded politely, but there was a general feeling that the demonstration was not altogether in good taste.

  Then the scryer delivered a short discourse on divination by observation of the heavens and the planetary courses, by the interpretation of dreams, from sneezing or from the voices of birds. Having burnt some laurel, he produced a raven from beneath his cloak, and from its croaking divined that there would be an increase in taxation in the ensuing year.

  Cuthbert, observing that interest was flagging, sent Fursey around the cave to renew the drinks. The guests brightened somewhat, and Cuthbert called on Turko the Crystallomancer to give a demonstration of his art. The swarthy warlock volunteered himself as subject, and Turko went through the ceremony already familiar to Fursey. But when the clouds in the crystal divided, the warlock became suddenly wan. He announced in trembling tones that all he could see was the leaping flames of a pyre and a circle of grim-visaged clerics standing around it, apparently chanting a requiem. When the vision faded he rose with a white face and made his way unsteadily back to his corner where he remained for a long time taking no apparent interest in the subsequent proceedings and seemingly plunged in gloomy foreboding. The other guests too seemed affected and became very silent. Turko explained in an apologetic whisper to his host that the phenomena in the crystal were altogether outside his control. Cuthbert reassured him in kindly tones that no one would think of blaming him, and with his hand on his shoulder conducted him back to his seat.

  Many other interesting demonstrations followed. Severed hands phenomenized, a banshee came into being screaming and sobbing, and a swarm of flies as big as nuts flew in circles about the cave. Each won its meed of applause, and the company had begun to tell one another that this was one of the best parties they had ever attended, when Cuthbert turned to Festus Wisenuts and asked him would he deign to give a demonstration of his magical skill. The landlord signified his willingness and rose rather importantly. He took his stand by the table in the centre and bending down to the floor, drew a circle, which he examined carefully to satisfy himself that there was no break however small in its circumference. From his pompous bearing it was borne in on everyone present that a magical operation of a major character was imminent. With one accord the guests moved in closer to the circle so as to miss nothing.

  “Gentlemen,” began Festus, “after much labour I have perfected a conjuration for the creation of a tawny Moor. I am now about to bring him into existence.”

  The wizards shifted in their seats and looked at one another doubtfully, but no one said anything. Festus planted the brazier in the centre of the circle and began to feed the flames with bruised herbs. Then he made a circuit of the circumference breathing to left and right. In spite of their doubts as to his ability, the interest of the onlookers increased as he produced a mole from a bag and immolated it. They watched with bated breath as he began to sway gently from side to side and chant an incantation in a low melodious voice. Before long the air became brittle. The assembled magicians manifested a certain uneasiness when they found themselves suddenly involved in a hollow cloud, but it was not until a thick darkness supervened that they began to whisper to one another nervously. The atmosphere had become foul, portending that something extraordinary was about to happen. Their confidence returned somewhat as the darkness cleared, and Festus was seen to be standing calmly by the brazier heaping on odiferous herbs. As they bent forward so as to watch his every gesture, there was a sudden blinding flash of flame, which burnt the beards of everyone present. So intent, however, were the wizards on not missing any part of the experiment, that at first few noticed their loss.

  “That Festus is a real hard ticket,” commented Turko to Fursey as he picked up a handful of singed hair from his lap.

  “ ’Twill be well if nothing worse ensues,” replied Fursey nervously.

  He had no sooner spoken that it was observed that a hare had appeared from nowhere and was coursing in circles round the interior of the cave. It sprang and tumbled over rocks and other obstacles, its antics watched with the greatest interest by all present.

  “There can be no doubt,” whispered Turko admiringly as the hare ran along the ceiling, “but that Festus Wisenuts is a remarkable man. Nothing could be more beautiful than his ideas, but I cannot acquit him of being a trifle precious . . .”

  Before he could finish his sentence, the hare sprang from the ceiling on to the table in the centre, and there vanished before their eyes. A sickly green light illuminated the cavern, there was a crackle of thunder overhead, and the rafters of the sky began to shake. Outside the rain fell in torrents. All at once there appeared suspended in the air over the heads of the company, two-thirds of an horrific monster vomiting flames. A shower of fire and blood descended. The assembled magicians retreated precipitately to the back of the cave. It was obvious to everyone that something had gone amiss. One had but to look at the hideous and appalling specimen overhead struggling furiously to bring its missing one-third into existence, while Festus Wisenuts sweated as he strove with magical gesture and conjuration to wipe out the two-thirds which he didn’t want.

  “It’s a kraken,” muttered Cuthbert in awe stricken tones.

  “I adjure thee, thou old serpent,” Festus was shouting, while outside a terrible tempest raged, with lightnings, thunder and fireballs. The magicians cowered against the back wall, while Festus who to gain greater freedom of movement had stripped off his cloak and stood in a star-spangled singlet and drawers, waved his arms frantically, doing all the magic he knew. At last he succeeded, and the kraken faded slowly out of existence snorti
ng sparks and bellowing indignantly. But it was apparent that things had been upset in the world of shadows. A series of ghastly illusions followed one another with great rapidity, evil-favoured spectra in divers and horrible forms and with much din. The crouching magicians saw Festus struggling manfully to explode these painful phenomena, but no sooner had he banished one than there was another gnashing its teeth in its predecessor’s place. They followed one another with bewildering rapidity while the quaking sorcerers at the back of the cave shouted frenzied advice. At length the succession of manifestations slackened. They appeared and vanished more slowly, and began to present an increasingly watery appearance. The last of them was little more than a shadow, and when Festus banished him, he went with a querulous croak which was scarcely audible. Festus stood leaning against the table completely exhausted, but with the light of victory deep down in his eyes. He did not enjoy his triumph long; for as the guests rose from their haunches and ventured a wary return to the centre of the cave, there was a flash of blue light, and when the pungent smoke had cleared, there was nothing left of Festus Wisenuts but a small circle of grease on the floor. The company stood for a moment staring at the circular patch, then those of them who were wearing hats, removed them reverently. Cuthbert did his best to reanimate the party, but a general gloom prevailed; and one by one his guests took their leave with silent hand-shaking.

  CHAPTER VII

  When Fursey awoke on the ensuing morning he found the cave cluttered with magical stores, horrible rarities and incantatory equipment of every description. Cuthbert was standing in the midst haggard but satisfied.

  “I have not slept,” he explained. “I spent the night travelling back and forward to the cave of our late, lamented friend, Festus Wisenuts. Poor Festus! He had a great regard for me, and I know that he would have wished me to have his personal effects. Moreover there was much in his cave that was exquisite and dangerous, and it would not do at all if it were to fall into unskilled or unworthy hands. Many of our acquaintance, I regret to say, are of an acquisitive disposition; and I’m afraid that when they awake this morning and shuffle their thoughts together, there will be a most indecent rush towards the cave of the deceased. How do you feel yourself? Every time that I looked at you last night, you had a flagon of mead balanced on your nose.”