by Jack Vance
Carfilhiot and Rughalt walked here and there, seeking the booth from which Triptomologius sold his essences. Rughalt, uttering low moans of frustration, pointed out heavy purses easily to be taken, were it not for his debilities. Carfilhiot halted to admire a team of two-headed black horses, of great size and strength which had drawn a wagon upon the common. In front of the wagon a boy played merry tunes on the pipes, while a pretty blonde girl stood by a table directing the antics of four cats which danced to the tunes: prancing and kicking, bowing and turning, twitching their tails in time to the music.
The boy finished his tune and put aside the pipes; on a platform in front of the wagon stepped a tall spare young-seeming man, with a droll face and sand-colored hair. He wore a black mantle displaying Druidic symbols, a tall black hat with fifty-two small silver bells around the brim. Facing the throng he raised his arms for attention. The girl jumped up to the platform. She was dressed as a boy in white ankle-boots, tight trousers of blue velvet, a dark blue jacket with golden frogs on the front. She spoke: "Friends! I introduce to you that remarkable master of the healing arts, Doctor Fidelius!"
She jumped to the ground and Dr. Fidelius addressed the throng. "Ladies and Sirs: We all know affliction of one sort or another—the pox, or boils, or hallucinations. Let me state at the outset, my powers are limited. I cure goiter and worm, costive impaction, stricture and bloat. I soothe the itch; I heal the scabies. Especially I mourn the anguish of cracking and creaking knees. Only one who suffers the complaint can know its' trouble!"
As Dr. Fidelius spoke, the girl moved about the crowd selling ointments and tonics from a tray. Dr. Fidelius displayed a chart. "Observe this drawing. It represents the human knee. When injured, as at the blow of an iron bar, the kneecap recedes; the joint becomes a toggle; the leg rasps back and forth like a cricket's wing, with clicks and cracking sounds."
Rughalt was profoundly stirred. "My knees might serve as models for his discourse!" he told Carfilhiot.
"Amazing," said Carfilhiot.
Rughalt held up his hand. "Let us listen."
Doctor Fidelius spoke on. "The affliction has its remedy!" He picked up a small clay pot and held it on high. "I have here an ointment of Egyptian source. It penetrates directly into the joint and strengthens as it relieves. The ligaments recover their tone. Persons creep into my laboratory on crutches and stride out renewed. Why suffer this debilitation when relief can be almost immediate? The ointment is valuable, at a silver florin per jar, but it is cheap when one considers its effects. The ointment, incidentally, carries my personal guarantee."
Rughalt listened with fascinated attention. "I must surely put the ointment to a test.'"
"Come along," said Carfilhiot curtly. "The man is a charlatan. Don't waste time and money on such foolishness."
"I have nothing better to waste it on," retorted Rughalt with sudden spirit. "Were my legs once more nimble I would have money to spare'."
Carfilhiot looked askance toward Dr. Fidelius. "Somewhere I have seen that man."
"Bah!" growled Rughalt. "It is not you who suffers the pangs; you can afford skepticism. I must grasp at every straw! Hey there, Dr. Fidelius! My kneecaps answer your description! Can you bring me relief?"
Dr. Fidelius called out: "Sir, come forward! Even from this distance I diagnose a typical condition. It is known as ‘Roofer's Knee,' or sometimes ‘Robber's Knee,' since it often comes from the impact of the knee against roof-tiles. Please step over here, so that I may examine your leg with care. I can almost guarantee your surcease in a very short time. Are you a roofer, sir?"
"No," said Rughalt curtly.
"No matter. A knee, after all, is a knee. If left untreated, it will eventually turn yellow, extrude bits of decaying bone and become a source of annoyance. We shall forestall these events. Step over here, sir, behind the wagon."
Rughalt followed Dr. Fidelius to the other side of the wagon. Carfilhiot impatiently turned away and went off in search of Triptomologius, and presently found the necromancer stocking the shelves of his booth with articles brought by dog cart.
The two exchanged greetings and Triptomologius inquired the reason for Carfilhiot's presence. Carfilhiot responded in oblique terms, hinting of intrigues and mysteries which might not be discussed. "Tamurello was to leave a message for me," said Carfilhiot. "Have you been in late contact with him?"
"As lately as yesterday. The message made no mention of you; he remains at Faroli."
"Then I will make for Faroli with all speed. You must provide me a good horse and ten gold crowns, for which Tamurello will reimburse you."
Triptomologius drew back in shock. "His message told me none of this!"
"Then send a new message, but be quick about it, as I must I depart Avallon at once—tomorrow at the latest."
Triptomologius pulled at his long gray chin. "I can spare no more than three crowns. You must make do."
"What? Must I eat crusts and sleep under the hedge?"
After a period of undignified wrangling, Carfilhiot accepted five gold crowns, a horse, suitably furnished, and saddle-bags packed with provisions of carefully stipulated kind and quality.
Carfilhiot returned across the common. He paused by the wagon of Dr. Fidelius, but the side doors were closed and no one could be seen: neither Dr. Fidelius, the girl or boy, nor yet Rughalt.
Once more at the Black Bull, Carfilhiot seated himself at a table in front of the inn. He sprawled out his legs, drank the yellow wine of muscat grapes, and reflected upon the circumstances of his life. In recent days, his affairs had not gone well. Images thronged his mind: he smiled at some and frowned at others. Thinking of the Dravenshaw ambush, he uttered a small moan and clenched his hand on the goblet. The time had come to destroy his enemies once and for all. In his mind he saw them in the semblance of beasts: snarling curs, weasels, boars, black-masked foxes. Melancthe's image appeared to him. She stood in the shadows of her palace, nude save for a wreath of violets in her black hair. Calm and still, she looked through him, past and away... Carfilhiot straightened sharply in his chair. Melancthe had always treated him with condescension, as if she felt a natural ascendancy, apparently on the basis of the green fume. She had preempted all of Desmei's magical apparatus, allowing him none. From compunction, or guilt, or perhaps only to stifle his reproaches, she had beguiled the magician Shimrod, so that Carfilhiot might plunder his magical appurtenances— which, in any event, due to Shimrod's cunning lock, had brought him no benefit. Upon his return to Tintzin Fyral he must surely... Shimrod! Carfilhiot's instincts prickled. Where was Rughalt, who had limped forward so confidently to take treatment from Dr. Fidelius?
Shimrod! If he had taken Rughalt, who would be next? Carfilhiot felt cold and his bowels went queasy, as if they needed relief.
Carfilhiot rose to his feet. He looked out across the common. There was no sign of Rughalt. Carfilhiot cursed between his teeth. He had neither coin nor gold, and would have none till the morrow.
Carfilhiot worked to regain his composure. He drew a deep breath and clenched his fist. "I am Faude Carfilhiot! I am I, the best of the best! I dance my perilous dance along the edge of the sky! I take the clay of Destiny in my hands and shape it to my will. I am Faude Carfilhiot, the nonpareil!"
With a firm light step, he set off across the common. Lacking a weapon of any sort, he halted to pick up a broken tent-stake: a length of ash something over a foot long, which he concealed under his cape, then proceeded directly to the wagon of Dr. Fidelius.
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Once behind Dr. Fidelius' wagon, Rughalt spoke in a reedy voice: "You have mentioned sore knees, which I have in abundance, to the number of two. They creak and click and on occasion bend in reverse direction, causing me discomfort."
"Interesting!" exclaimed Dr. Fidelius. "Interesting indeed! How long have you been so troubled?"
"Forever, or so it seems. It came upon me duri
ng the course of my work. I was subjected to alternating heat and cold, dampness and dry. Meanwhile I was forced to great exertions, twisting, turning, pushing, pulling, and I feel that I weakened my knees in the process."
"Precisely so! Still, your case shows peculiarities. It is not typical of the Avallon sore knee."
"I then resided in South Ulfland."
"I am vindicated! For the South Ulfland disease we will need certain medicines which I do not keep in the wagon." Shimrod called to Glyneth; she approached, looking back and forth between the two men. Shimrod took her somewhat aside. "I'll be in conference with the gentleman for perhaps an hour. Close up the wagon, put the horses to their traces. Tonight we may be on the road to Lyonesse."
Glyneth nodded her head in assent and went back to Dhrun with the news.
Shimrod turned his attention back to Rughalt. "This way, sir, if you will."
Presently Rughalt put a plaintive question: "Why are we going so far? We are quite away from town!"
"Yes, my dispensary is somewhat isolated. Still, I think I can promise you total palliation."
Rughalt's knees began to click and creak in earnest, and his complaints became increasingly peevish. "How far must we go? Every step we take is a step we must retrace. Already my knees are singing a sad duet."
"They will never sing again! Surcease is absolute and final."
"That is good to hear. Still, I see no sign of your dispensary."
"It is just yonder, behind that alder thicket."
"Hmf. An odd place for a dispensary."
"It should serve our purposes very well."
"But there is not even a path!"
"So we ensure our privacy. This way then, behind the thicket. Mind the fresh pads of cow-dung."
"But there is nothing here."
"You and I are here, and I am Shimrod the Magician. You robbed my house Trilda and you burned my friend Grofinet over a flame. I have sought you and your comrade a very long time."
"Nonsense! Nothing of the sort! Absurd, every word... What are you doing? Stop at once! Stop! Stop!, I say!"
And later: "Have mercy! No more! I was commanded to the work!"
"By whom?"
"I dare not tell... No, no! No more, I will tell—"
"Who commanded you?"
"Carfilhiot, of Tintzin Fyral!"
"For what reason?"
"He wanted your magic stuff."
"That is far-fetched."
"It is true. He was encouraged by the magician Tamurello, who would give Carfilhiot nothing."
"Tell me more."
"I know nothing more... Ah! You monster! I will tell you!"
"What then? Hurry, do not stop to think. Do not gasp; talk!"
"Carfilhiot is in Avallon, at the Black Bull... What now are you doing? I have told you all!"
"Before you die you must toast a bit, like Grofinet."
"But I have told you everything! Have mercy!"
"Yes, perhaps so. I have no real stomach for torment. Die then. This is my cure for sore knees."
Carfilhiot found Dr. Fidelius' wagon closed, but the team of two-headed horses was hitched to the wagon-pole, as if in readiness for departure.
Carfilhiot went to the door at the back of the wagon and pressed his ear against the panel. Silence, so far as he could determine, with the noise of the fair behind him.
He walked around the wagon, and discovered the boy and girl beside a small fire where they toasted skewers of bacon chunks and quartered onion.
The girl looked up as Carfilhiot approached; the boy kept his attention on the fire. Carfilhiot wondered briefly as to his detachment. A shag of golden-brown curls fell over his face; his features were fine, yet decisive. He was, thought Carfilhiot, a boy of remarkable distinction. His age was perhaps nine or ten. The girl was two or three years older, in the early springtime of her life, as gay and sweet as a daffodil. She looked up, to meet Carfilhiot's gaze. Her mouth drooped and she became still. She spoke, however, in a polite voice: "Sir, Dr. Fidelius is not here just now."
Carfilhiot came slowly forward. The girl rose to her feet. The boy turned to look in Carfilhiot's direction.
"When will he be back?" asked Carfilhiot gently.
"I think very soon," said the girl.
"Do you know where he went?"
"No, sir. He had important business, and we were to be ready to leave when he returned."
"Well then, everything is quite in order," said Carfilhiot. "jump into the wagon and we will drive directly to Dr. Fidelius."
The boy spoke for the first time. Despite his clear features, Carfilhiot had thought him pensive, or even a trifle daft. He was taken aback by the ring of authority in the boy's voice. "We cannot leave here without Dr. Fidelius. And we are cooking our dinner."
"Wait in front, sir, if you will," said the girl and turned her attention back to the sizzling bacon.
Chapter 27
THE RIVER CAMBER, approaching the sea, joined the Murmeil and became an estuary some thirty miles long: the Cambermouth. Tides, swirling currents, seasonal fogs and sand bars which appeared and disappeared with changes of weather made for uncertain navigation in and out of Avallon Harbor.
Approaching Avallon from the south by Icnield Way, the traveler must cross the estuary, at this point two hundred yards wide, by a ferry, tethered to an overhead cable by a chain hanging from a massive pulley-block. At the south the cable was secured to the top of Cogstone Head beside the lighthouse. At the north it terminated at a buttress of concreted stone on River Scarp. The cable crossed the estuary at a skewed angle; the ferry leaving Cogstone landing was thereby propelled by the flooding tide across the estuary to the dock at Slange, under River Scarp. Six hours later, the ebbing tide thrust the ferry back to the south shore.
Aillas and his companions, riding north along Icnield Way, arrived at Cogstone halfway through the afternoon. Riding over the Cogstone ridge they paused to overlook the wide view which suddenly spread before them: the Cambermouth extending in a sinuous curve to the west where it seemed to brim over the horizon; the estuary to the east spreading wide to join the Cantabrian Gulf.
The tide was at the turning; the ferry lay at Cogstone Landing. Ships finding a fair insore wind drove into the estuary to the west spreading wide to join the Cantabrian Gulf.
The tide was at the turning; the ferry lay at Cogstone Landing. Ships finding a fair inshore wind drove into the estuary with all canvas spread, including a large two-masted felucca flying the flag of Troicinet. As they watched it edged toward the northern shore and docked at Slange.
The three rode down the road to the landing where the ferry waited departure only upon full flood of the tide.
Aillas paid toll for the passage and the three rode aboard the ferry: a heavy scow fifty feet long and twenty feet wide, well loaded with wagons, cattle, peddlers and mendicants on their way to the fair; a dozen nuns from Whanish Isle convent, on pilgrimage to the Holy Stone brought by St. Columba from Ireland.
At Slange Aillas went to the Troice felucca for news, while his friends waited. He came riding back in a state of despondency. He brought out the Never-fail, and exclaimed in frustration as the tooth pointed north.
"In truth," declared Aillas, "I don't know what to do!"
Yane asked: "So then, what is the news from Troicinet?"
"They say King Ospero lies sickly in his bed. If he dies and I am not on hand, then Trewan will be crowned king—which is as he planned... I should be riding full speed south at this instant, but how can I with Dhrun my son to the north?"
Cargus, after a moment's thought, said: "You cannot ride south in any event until the ferry takes you back to Cogstone. Meanwhile, Avallon is an hour's ride north, and who knows what we will find?"
"Who knows? Let us be off!"
The three rode hard along the final miles of Icnield Way, between Slange and Avallon, arriving by a road which bordered the common. They discovered a great fair to be in progress, though already it had gone into its wa
ning stages. Beside the common Aillas consulted the Never-fail. The tooth pointed north to a target across the common and perhaps beyond. Aillas made a disgusted sound. "He might be out there on the common or a hundred miles north, or anywhere in between. Tonight we shall check to the edge of town, then tomorrow, willy-nilly, I ride south by the noon ferry."
"That is good strategy," said Yane, "and even better if we are able to find lodging for the night."
"The Black Bull yonder seems appealing," said Cargus. "A mug of bitter ale, or even two, will not come amiss."
"The Black Bull then, and if luck is with us, there will be room to lay down our bodies."
At their request for lodging the innkeeper first held out his hands in despair, then was nudged by one of the porters. "The Duke's Room is open sir. The company never arrived."
"The Duke's Room, then! Why not? I cannot hold a choice lodging the whole night through." The landlord rubbed his hands together. "We call it the ‘Duke's Room' because Duke Snel of Sneldyke honored us with his custom, and not twelve years ago. I'll take silver for the rent. During the Grand Fair, and for the Duke's Room, we ask a premium fee."