by Jack Vance
Dhrun shook his head. "I thought you amusing and altogether remarkable-as I do now."
"More now than then, or less?"
Dhrun took her hands. "Now you are begging for compliments."
Madouc looked up at him. "But you still haven't told me-and I value your compliments."
Dhrun laughed. "More, of course! When you look up at me with your blue eyes I become weak."
Madouc held up her face. "All this being the case, you may kiss me."
Dhrun kissed her. "I thank you for your permission, although I was about to kiss you anyway."
"Dhrun! You frighten me with your savage lust!"
"Do I indeed?" Dhrun kissed her again, and again. Madouc stood back, breathing hard.
"Now then," said Dhrun. "What of that?"
"I cannot understand why I feel so odd."
"I think I know," said Dhrun. "But there is no time to explain now, since the footman is coming to call us." He turned to leave, but waited as Madouc knelt beside the oak. Dhrun asked: "What are you doing?"
"There is someone missing. She should be here."
"Who might that be?"
"My mother, Twisk! It is my duty as a daughter to invite her to an occasion so merry!"
"Do you think she will come?"
"I will call her." Madouc selected a blade of grass and made a grass flute. She played a piping note and sang:
‘Lirra lissa larra lass Madouc has made a flute of grass.
Softly blowing, wild and free She calls to Twisk at Thripsey Shee,
Lirra lissa larra leer A daughter calls her mother dear!
Tread the wind and vault the mere;
Span the sky and meet me here.
So sing I, Madouc.'
In a swirl of vapor Twisk appeared. Her delicate features were placid, her blue hair coiffed into a crest along the top of her scalp and engaged in a silver mesh.
Madouc cried out in delight: "Mother, you are more beautiful than ever! I marvel at you!"
Twisk smiled with cool amusement. "I am pleased to merit your approval. Dhrun, I must say that you present yourself most agreeably. Your early training has served you well."
"So it may be," said Dhrun politely. "I shall never forget it, certainly."
Twisk turned back to Madouc. "Our compliments have been exchanged; what was your purpose in calling me?"
"I wanted you, my dear mother, on hand to share our merriment at a banquet, which even now is about to begin. It is a small but select occasion, and we will take pleasure in your company."
Twisk shrugged. "Why not? I have nothing better to do."
"Hmf," said Madouc. "Enthusiasm or none, I am still pleased! Come, we have already been called to the table!"
"I will naturally avoid the gut-clogging impact of your coarse food; still, I may taste a drop of wine and perhaps the wing of a quail. Who is that handsome gentleman?"
"That is King Aillas. Come, I will introduce you."
The three strolled across the lawn to where the table had been laid with-linen napery and salvers of silver. Aillas, in conversation with one of his escort, turned to watch the three approach.
Madouc said: "Your Highness, allow me to present my mother, Twisk, often known as ‘Twisk of the Blue Hair'. I have invited her to share our banquet."
Aillas bowed. "Lady Twisk, you are more than welcome!" He looked from Twisk to Madouc and back to Twisk. "I think I see a resemblance, though certainly not in the color of the hair!"
"Madouc's hair was perhaps the only birthright rendered her by her father, a certain Sir Pellinore, of frivolous bent."
Shimrod approached the group. Madouc called out: "Mother, I would like to present another of my dear friends!"
Twisk turned, and her blue eyebrows lofted high. "So, Sir Pellinore! At last you choose to show yourself! Have you no shame?" Twisk turned to Madouc. "I advise more caution in the choice of your friends! This is the secretive Sir Pellinore, your father!"
Madouc gave a poignant cry: "I can choose my friends, Mother, but as for my father, the choice was yours!"
"True," said Twisk equably. "Indeed, it was from Sir Pellinore that I learned the caution I am now trying to teach you."
Madouc turned to Shimrod. "Are you truly Sir Pellinore?"
Shimrod attempted an airy gesture. "Many years ago, I wandered the land as a vagabond. It is true I occasionally used the name Sir Pellinore when the mood came upon me. And, indeed, I remember an idyll in the forest with a beautiful fairy, when I thought the name Sir Pellinore rang with romantic reverberations-far more than simple ‘Shimrod'."
"So it is true! You, Shimrod, are my father!"
"If the Lady Twisk so asserts, I shall be honoured to claim the relationship. I am as surprised as you, but not at all displeased!"
Aillas spoke: "Let us take our places at the table! Our goblets are full with wine! Madouc has found her father; Shimrod has found a daughter, and the family is now united!"
"Not for long," said Twisk. "I have no taste for maudlin domesticity."
"Still, you must acknowledge the moment. To the table then, and we will celebrate Lady Twisk's surprising disclosures!"
"First: we shall salute my absent queen Glyneth and the new Princess Serle!"
"Second: to the Lady Twisk, who astounds us with her beauty!"
"Third: to Madouc, one-time Princess of Lyonesse, who became demoted to ‘Madouc the vagabond', and now by royal dispensation becomes once again: Madouc, Princess of Lyonesse!"
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Document creation date: 12.06.2008
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