The Eyes of the Overworld (23 page)

“To what end?” asked Garstang. “On that occasion we were only misled and confused.” He led the way down the beach toward the village. As they approached they could see folk moving across the central plaza: a graceful golden-haired people, who spoke to each other in voices like music. Garstang advanced joyfully, expecting a welcome even more expansive than that they had received on the other shore; but the villagers ran forward and caught them under nets. “Why do you do this?” called Garstang. “We are strangers and intend no harm!”

“You are strangers; just so,” spoke the tallest of the golden-haired villagers. “We worship that inexorable god known as Dangott. Strangers are automatically heretics, and so are fed to the sacred apes.” With that they began to drag Cugel and Garstang over the sharp stones of the fore-shore while the beautiful children of the village danced joyously to either side.

Cugel managed to bring forth the tube he had secured from Voynod and expelled blue concentrate at the villagers. Aghast, they toppled to the ground and Cugel was able to extricate himself from the net. Drawing his sword he leapt forward to cut Garstang free, but now the villagers rallied. Cugel once more employed his tube, and the villagers fled in dismal agony.

“Go, Cugel,” spoke Garstang. “I am an old man, of little vitality. Take to your heels; seek safety, with all my good wishes.”

“This normally would be my impulse,” Cugel conceded. “But these people have stimulated me to quixotic folly; so clamber from the net; we retreat together.” Once more he wrought dismay with the blue projection, while Garstang freed himself, and the two fled along the beach.

The villagers pursued with harpoons. Their first cast pierced Garstang through the back. He fell without a sound. Cugel swung about, aimed the tube, but the spell was exhausted, and only a limpid exudation appeared. The villagers drew back their arms to hurl a second volley; Cugel shouted a curse, dodged and ducked, and the harpoons plunged past him into the sand of the beach. Cugel shook his fist a final time, then took to his heels and fled into the forest.

Chapter VI
The Cave in the Forest

Through the Old Forest came Cugel, step by furtive step, pausing often to listen for breaking twig or quiet footfall or even the exhalation of a breath. His caution, though it made for slow progress, was neither theoretical nor impractical; others wandered the forest with anxieties and yearnings greatly at odds to his own. All one terrible dusk he had fled and finally outdistanced a pair of deodands; on another occasion he had stopped short at the very brink of a glade where a leucomorph stood musing: whereupon Cugel became more diffident and furtive than ever, skulking from tree to tree, peering and listening, darting across open spaces with an extravagantly delicate gait, as if contact with the ground pained his feet.

During a middle afternoon he came upon a small dank glade surrounded by black mandouars, tall and portentous as hooded monks. A few red rays slanting into the glade illumined a single twisted quince tree, where hung a strip of parchment. Standing back in the shadows Cugel studied the glade at length, then stepping forward took the parchment. In crabbed characters a message was indicated:

Zaraides the Sage makes a generous offer! He who finds this message may request and obtain an hour of judicious counsel at no charge. Into a nearby hillock opens a cave; the Sage will be found within.

Cugel studied the parchment with puzzlement. A large question hung in the air: why should Zaraides give forth his lore with such casual largesse? The purportedly free was seldom as represented; in one guise or another the Law of Equivalence must prevail. If Zaraides offered counsel — dismissing the premise of absolute altruism — he expected some commodity in return: at minimum an inflation of self-esteem, or knowledge regarding distant events, or polite attention at a recitation of odes, or some such service. And Cugel re-read the message, his skepticism, if anything, augmented. He would have flung the parchment aside had not he felt a real and urgent need for information: specifically knowledge regarding the most secure route to the manse of Iucounu, together with a method for rendering the Laughing Magician helpless.

Cugel looked all about, seeking the hillock to which Zaraides referred. Across the glade the ground seemed to rise, and lifting his eyes Cugel noticed gnarled limbs and clotted foliage on high, as if a number of daobados grew on lofty ground.

With maximum vigilance Cugel proceeded through the forest, and presently was halted by a sudden upthrust of gray rock crowned with trees and vines: undoubtedly the hillock in question.

Cugel stood pulling at his chin, showing his teeth in a grimace of doubt. He listened: quiet, utter and complete. Keeping to the shadows he continued around the hillock, and presently came upon the cave: an arched opening into the rock as high as a man, as wide as his outstretched arms. Above hung a placard printed in untidy characters:

ENTER: ALL ARE WELCOME!

Cugel looked this way and that. No sight nor sound in the forest. He took a few careful steps forward, peered into the cave, to find only darkness.

Cugel drew back. In spite of the genial urgency of the sign, he felt no inclination to thrust himself forward, and squatting on his haunches he watched the cave intently.

Fifteen minutes passed. Cugel shifted his position; and now, to the right, he spied a man approaching, using a caution hardly less elaborate than his own. The newcomer was of medium stature and wore the rude garments of a peasant: gray trousers, a rust-colored blouse, a cocked brown hat with bill thrust forward. He had a round, somewhat coarse face, with a stub of a nose, small eyes set far apart, a heavy chin bestubbled with a fuscous growth. Clutched in his hand was a parchment like that which Cugel had found.

Cugel rose to his feet. The newcomer halted, then came forward. “You are Zaraides? If so, know me for Fabeln the herbalist; I seek a rich growth of wild leeks. Further, my daughter moons and languishes and will no longer carry panniers; therefore —”

Cugel held up his hand. “You err; Zaraides keeps to his cave.”

Fabeln narrowed his eyes craftily. “Who then are you?”

“I am Cugel: like yourself, a seeker after enlightenment.”

Fabeln nodded in full comprehension. “You have consulted Zaraides? He is accurate and trustworthy? He demands no fee as his prospectus purports?”

“Correct, in every detail,” said Cugel. “Zaraides, who is apparently omniscient, speaks from the sheer joy of transmitting information. My perplexities are resolved.”

Fabeln inspected him sidelong. “Why then do you wait beside the cave?”

“I also am a herbalist, and I formulate new questions, specifically in regard to a nearby glade profuse with wild leeks.”

“Indeed!” ejaculated Fabeln, snapping his fingers in agitation. “Formulate with care, and while you arrange your phrases, I will step within and inquire regarding the lassitude of my daughter.”

“As you will,” said Cugel. “Still, if you care to delay, I will be only a short time composing my questions.”

Fabeln made a jovial gesture. “In this short period, I will be into the cave, out and away, for I am a man swift to the point of brusqueness.”

Cugel bowed. “In that case, proceed.”

“I will be brief.” And Fabeln strode into the cave. “Zaraides?” he called. “Where is Zaraides the Sage? I am Fabeln; I wish to make certain inquiries. Zaraides? Be so good as to come forth!” His voice became muffled. Cugel, listening intently, heard the opening and closing of a door, and then there was silence. Thoughtfully he composed himself to wait.

Minutes passed and an hour. The red sun moved down the afternoon sky and passed behind the hillock. Cugel became restive. Where was Fabeln? He cocked his head: once more the opening and closing of a door? Indeed, and here was Fabeln: all then was well!

Fabeln looked forth from the cave. “Where is Cugel the herbalist?” He spoke in a harsh brusque voice. “Zaraides will not sit down to the banquet nor will he discuss leeks, except in the most general terms, until you present yourself.”

“A banquet?” asked Cugel with interest. “Does the bounty of Zaraides extend so far?”

“Indeed: did you not notice the tapestried hall, the carved goblets, the silver tureen?” Fabeln spoke with a certain saturnine emphasis which puzzled Cugel. “But come; I am in haste, and do not care to wait. If you already have dined, I will so inform Zaraides.”

“By no means,” said Cugel, with dignity. “I would burn with humiliation thus to slight Zaraides. Lead on; I follow.”

“Come then.” Fabeln turned; Cugel followed him into the cave, where his nostrils were assailed by a revolting odor. He paused. “I seem to notice a stench — one which affects me unpleasantly.”

“I noticed the same,” said Fabeln. “But through the door and the foul odor is no more!”

“I trust as much,” said Cugel peevishly. “It would destroy my appetite. Where then —”

As he spoke he was swarmed upon by small quick bodies, clammy of skin and tainted with the odor he found so detestable. There was a clamour of high-pitched voices; his sword and pouch were snatched; a door was opened; Cugel was pitched into a low burrow. In the light of a flickering yellow flame he saw his captors: creatures half his height, pallid of skin, pointed of face, with ears on the tops of their heads. They walked with a slight forward hunch, and their knees seemed jointed opposite to those of true men, and their feet, in sandals, seemed very soft and supple.

Cugel looked about in bewilderment. Nearby crouched Fabeln, regarding him with loathing mingled with malicious satisfaction. Cugel saw now that a metal band encircled Fabeln's neck, to which was connected a long metal chain. At the far end of the burrow huddled an old man with long white hair, likewise fitted with collar and chain. Even as Cugel looked about him, the rat-people clamped a collar to his own neck. “Hold off!” exclaimed Cugel in consternation. “What does this mean? I deplore such treatment!”

The rat-folk gave him a shove and ran away. Cugel saw that long squamous tails depended from their pointed rumps, which protruded peculiarly from the black smocks which they wore.

The door closed; the three men were alone.

Cugel turned angrily upon Fabeln. “You tricked me; you led me to capture! This is a serious offense!”

Fabeln gave a bitter laugh. “No less serious than the deceit you practised upon me. By your knavish trick, I was taken; I therefore ensured that you should not escape.”

“This is inhuman malice!” roared Cugel. “I shall see to it that you receive your just deserts!”

“Bah,” said Fabeln. “Do not annoy me with your complaints. In any event, I did not lure you into the cave from malice alone.”

“No? You have a further perverse motive?”

“It is simple: the rat-folk are nothing if not clever! Whoever entices two others into the cave wins his own freedom. You represent one item to my account; I need furnish a second and I go free. Is this not correct Zaraides?”

“Only in a broad sense,” replied the old man. “You may not tally this man to your account; if justice were absolute you and he would fulfil my score; did not my parchments bring you to the cave?”

“But not within!” declared Fabeln. “Here lies the careful distinction which must be made! The rat-folk concur, and hence you have not been released.”

“In this case,” said Cugel, “I hereby claim you as an item upon my score, since I sent you into the cave to test the circumstances to be encountered.”

Fabeln shrugged. “This is a matter you must take up with the rat-folk.” He frowned and blinked his small eyes. “Why should I not claim myself as a credit to my own account? It is a point worth asserting.”

“Not so, not so,” came a shrill voice from behind a grate. “We tally only those items provided after impoundment. Fabeln is tallied to no one's account. He however is adjudged one item: namely, the person of Cugel. Zaraides has a score of null.”

Cugel felt the collar at his neck. “What if we fail to provide two items?”

“A month is your time; no more. If you fail in this month, you are devoured.”

Fabeln spoke in a voice of sober calculation. “I believe that I am as good as free. At no great distance my daughter waits. She is suddenly impatient with wild leeks and hence redundant to my household. It is fitting that by her agency I am released.” And Fabeln nodded with ponderous satisfaction.

“It will be interesting to watch your methods,” Cugel remarked. “Precisely where is she to be found and how will she be summoned?”

Fabeln's expression became both cunning and rancorous. “I tell you nothing! If you wish to tally items, devise the means yourself!”

In disgust and contempt, Cugel turned to Zaraides. “And what is the basis of your method?”

Zaraides gestured to a board where lay strips of parchment. “I tie persuasive messages to winged seeds, which are then liberated into the forest. The method is of questionable utility, luring passersby to the mouth of the cave, but enticing them no further. I fear that I have only five days to live. If only I had my librams, my folios, my work-books! What spells, what spells! I would rive this warren end to end; I would convert each of these man-rodents into a blaze of green fire. I would punish Fabeln for cheating me … Hmmm. The Gyrator? Lugwiler's Dismal Itch?”

“The Spell of Forlorn Encystment has its advocates,” Cugel suggested.

Zaraides nodded. “The idea has much to recommend it … But this is a forlorn dream: my spells were snatched away and conveyed to some secret place.”

Fabeln snorted and turned aside. From behind the grate came a shrill admonition: “Regrets and excuses are poor substitutes for items upon your score. Emulate Fabeln! Already he boasts one item and plans a second on the morrow! This is the sort we capture by choice!”

“I captured him!” asserted Cugel. “Have you no probity? I sent him into the cave; he should be credited to my account!”