by Jack Vance
Cugel moved quietly to the entrance, and when the attention of all were distracted, slipped out into the passage. Gathering up the chain, he crawled in that direction which he thought led to the surface, but encountering a side-passage became confused. The tunnel turned downward and, becoming narrow, constricted his shoulders; then it diminished in height, pressing down on him from above, so that he was forced to writhe forward, jerking himself by his elbows.
His absence was discovered; from behind came squeals of rage, as the rat-folk rushed this way and that.
The passage made a sharp twist, at an angle into which Cugel found it impossible to twist his body. Writhing and jerking, he squeezed himself into a new posture, and now could no longer move. He exhaled and with eyes starting from his head, lunged about and up, and drew himself into a passage more open. In a niche he came upon a fire-ball, which he carried with him.
The rat-folk were approaching, screaming injunctions. Cugel thrust himself into a side-passage which opened into a store-room. The first objects to meet his eye were his sword and pouch.
The rat-folk rushed into the room with tridents. Cugel hacked and slashed and drove them squealing back into the corridor. Here they gathered, darting back and forth, calling shrill threats in at Cugel. Occasionally one would rush forward to gnash its teeth and flourish its trident, but when Cugel killed two of these, they drew back to confer in low tones.
Cugel took occasion to thrust certain heavy cases against the entrance, thus affording himself a moment’s respite.
The rat-folk pressed forward, kicked and shoved. Cugel thrust his blade through a chink, eliciting a wail of intense distress.
One spoke: “Cugel, come forth! We are a kindly folk and bear no malice. You have one item upon your score, and shortly no doubt will secure another, and thus go free. Why discommode us all? There is no reason why, in an essentially inconvenient relationship, we should not adopt an attitude of camaraderie. Come forth, then, and we will provide meat for your morning porridge.”
Cugel spoke politely. “At the moment I am too distraught to think clearly. Did I hear you say that you planned to set me free without further charge or difficulty?”
There was a whispered conversation in the corridor, then came the response. “There was indeed a statement to that effect. You are hereby declared free, to come and go as you wish. Unblock the entrance, cast down your sword, and come forth!”
“What guarantee can you offer me?” asked Cugel, listening intently at the blocked entrance.
There were shrill chittering whispers, then the reply: “No guarantee is necessary. We now retire. Come forth, walk along the corridor to your freedom.”
Cugel made no response. Holding aloft the fire-ball he turned to inspect the store-room, which contained a great store of articles of clothing, weapons, tools. In that bin he had pushed against the entrance he noticed a group of leather-bound librams. On the face of the first was printed:
ZARAIDES THE WIZARD
His Work-book: Beware!
The rat-folk called once more, in gentle voices: “Cugel, dear Cugel: why have you not come forth?”
“I rest; I recover my strength,” said Cugel. He took forth the libram, turned the pages, and found an index.
“Come forth, Cugel!” came a command, somewhat sterner. “We have here a pot of noxious vapor which we propose to discharge into the chamber where you so obdurately seclude yourself. Come forth, or it shall be the worse for you!”
“Patience,” called Cugel. “Allow me time to collect my wits!”
“While you collect your wits we ready the pot of acid in which we plan to immerse your head.”
“Just so, just so,” said Cugel absently, engrossed in the work-book. There was a scraping sound and a tube was thrust into the chamber. Cugel took hold of the tube, twisted it so that it pointed back into the corridor.
“Speak, Cugel!” came the portentous order. “Will you come forth or shall we send a great gust of vile gas into the chamber?”
“You lack that capability,” said Cugel. “I refuse to come forth.”
“You shall see! Let the gas exude!”
The tube pulsed and hissed; from the corridor came a cry of vast dismay. The hissing ceased.
Cugel, not finding what he sought in the work-book, drew forth a tome. This bore the title:
ZARAIDES THE WIZARD
His Compendium of Spells
— Beware! —
Cugel opened and read; finding an appropriate spell he held the fire-ball close the better to encompass the activating syllables. There were four lines of words, thirty-one syllables in all. Cugel forced them into his brain, where they lay like stones.
A sound behind him? Into the chamber from another portal came the rat-folk. Crouching low, white faces twitching, ears down, they crept forward, tridents leveled.
Cugel menaced them with his sword, then chanted that spell known as the Inside Out and Over, while the rat-folk stared aghast. A great tearing sound: a convulsive lift and twist as the passages everted, spewing all through the forest. Rat-folk ran squealing back and forth, and there were also running white things whose nature Cugel could not distinguish by starlight. Rat-folk and the white creatures grappled and tore ferociously at each other, and the forest was filled with snarling and gnashing, shrill screams and small voices raised in outcry.
Cugel moved quietly away, and in a bilberry thicket waited out the night.
When dawn arrived he returned cautiously to the hillock, hoping to possess himself of Zaraides’ compendium and work-book. There was great litter, and many small corpses, but the articles he sought were not to be found. Regretfully Cugel turned away and presently came upon Fabeln’s daughter sitting among the ferns. When he approached, she squeaked at him. Cugel pursed his lips, shook his head in disapproval. He led her to a nearby stream and attempted to wash her, but at the first opportunity she disengaged herself and hid under a rock.
Chapter VII
The Manse of Iucounu
The spell was the ‘Inside Out and Over’, of derivation so remote as to be forgotten. An unknown Cloud-rider of the Twenty-first Aeon had construed an archaic version; the half-legendary Basile Blackweb refined its contours, a process continued by Veronifer the Bland who added a reinforcing resonance. Archemand of Glaere annotated fourteen of its pervulsions; Phandaal had listed it in the “A”, or “Perfected” category of his monumental catalogue. In this fashion it had reached the workbook of Zaraides the Sage, where Cugel, immured under a hillock, found it and spoke it forth.
The results were of dramatic scope. The hillock ejected its contents, scattering the hoard of that murine race which had lived below; then, heaving and re-establishing, was as before.
Searching through the multifarious litter Cugel found articles of every description: garments new and old; jerkins, vests and cloaks; antique tabards; breeches flared after the taste of Kauchique, or fringed and tasseled in the style of Old Romarth, or pied and gored in the extravagant Andromach mode. There were boots and sandals and hats of every description; plumes, panaches, emblems and crests; old tools and broken weapons; bangles and trinkets; tarnished filigrees, crusted cameos; gem-stones which Cugel could not refrain from gathering and which perhaps delayed him from finding that which he sought: the workbooks of Zaraides, which had been scattered with the rest.
Cugel searched at length. He found silver bowls, ivory spoons, porcelain vases; gnawed bones and shining teeth of many sorts, these glittering like pearls among the leaves — but nowhere the tomes and folios which might have helped him overcome Iucounu the Laughing Magician. Even now Iucounu’s creature of coercion, Firx, clamped serrated members upon Cugel’s liver. Cugel finally called out: “I merely seek the most direct route to Azenomei; you will soon rejoin your comrade in Iucounu’s vat! Meanwhile take your ease; are you in such an agony of haste?” At which Firx sullenly relaxed his pressure.
Cugel wandered disconsolately back and forth, looking among branches and under roots,
squinting up the forest aisles, kicking among the ferns and mosses. Then at the base of a stump he saw that which he sought: a number of folios and librams, gathered into a neat stack. Upon the stump sat Zaraides.
Cugel stepped forward, pinch-mouthed with disappointment. Zaraides surveyed him with a serene countenance. “You appear to seek some misplaced object. The loss, I trust, is not serious?”
Cugel gave his head a terse shake. “A few trifles have gone astray. Let them moulder among the leaves.”
“By no means!” declared Zaraides. “Describe the loss; I will send forth a searching oscillation. You will have your property within moments!”
Cugel demurred. “I would not impose such a trivial business upon you. Let us consider other matters.” He indicated the stack of tomes, upon which Zaraides had now placed his feet. “Happily your own property is secure.”
Zaraides nodded with placid satisfaction. “All is now well; I am concerned only with that imbalance which distorts our relationship.” He held up his hand as Cugel stood back. “There is no cause for alarm; in fact, quite the reverse. Your acts averted my death; the Law of Equivalences has been disturbed and I must contrive a reciprocity.” He combed his beard with his fingers. “The requital unfortunately must be largely symbolic. I could well fulfill the totality of your desires and still not nudge the scale against the weight of the service you have performed, even if unwittingly, for me.”
Cugel became somewhat more cheerful, but now Firx, once again impatient, made a new demonstration. Clasping his abdomen Cugel cried out: “Preliminary to all, be good enough to extract the creature which lacerates my vitals, a certain Firx.”
Zaraides raised his eyebrows. “What manner of creature is this?”
“A detestable object from a far star. It resembles a tangle, a thicket, a web of white spines, barbs and claws.”
“A matter of no great difficulty,” said Zaraides. “These creatures are susceptible to a rather primitive method of extirpation. Come; my dwelling lies at no great distance.”
Zaraides stepped down from the stump, gathered his compendia and flung them into the air; all lofted high to float swiftly over the treetops and out of sight. Cugel watched them go with sadness.
“You marvel?” inquired Zaraides. “It is nothing: the simplest of procedures and a curb on the zeal of thieves and foot-pads. Let us set forth; we must expel this creature which causes you such distress.”
He led the way through the trees. Cugel came after, but now Firx, belatedly sensing that all was not to his advantage, made a furious protest. Cugel, bending double, jumping sidewise, forced himself to totter and run after Zaraides, who marched without so much as a backward glance.
In the branches of an enormous daobado Zaraides had his dwelling. Stairs rose to a heavy drooping bough which led to a rustic portico. Cugel crawled up the staircase, along the bough, and into a great square room. The furnishings were at once simple and luxurious. Windows looked in all directions over the forest; a thick rug patterned in black, brown and yellow covered the floor.
Zaraides beckoned Cugel into his workroom. “We will abate this nuisance at once.”
Cugel stumbled after him and at a gesture settled upon a glass pedestal.
Zaraides brought a screen of zinc strips which he placed at Cugel’s back. “This is to inform Firx that a trained wizard is at hand: creatures of his sort are highly antipathetic to zinc. Now then, a simple potion: sulfur, aquastel, tincture of zyche; certain herbs: bournade, hilp, cassas, though these latter are perhaps not essential. Drink, if you will … Firx, come forth! Hence, you extra-terrestrial pest! Remove! Or I dust Cugel’s entire interior with sulfur and pierce him with zinc rods! Come forth! What? Must I flush you forth with aquastel? Come forth; return to Achernar as best you may!”
At this Firx angrily relinquished his grip and issued from Cugel’s chest: a tangle of white nerves and tendrils, each with its claw or barb. Zaraides captured the creature in a zinc basin which he covered with a mesh of zinc.
Cugel, who had lost consciousness, awoke to find Zaraides serenely affable, awaiting his recovery. “You are a lucky man,” Zaraides told him. “The treatment was only barely in time. It is the tendency of this maleficent incubus to extend its prongs everywhere through the body, until it clamps upon the brain; then you and Firx are one and the same. How did you become infected with the creature?”
Cugel gave a small grimace of distaste. “It was at the hands of Iucounu the Laughing Magician. You know him?” For Zaraides had allowed his eyebrows to arch high.
“Mainly by his reputation for humor and grotesquerie,” replied the sage.
“He is nothing less than a buffoon!” exclaimed Cugel. “For a fancied slight he threw me to the north of the world, where the sun wheels low and casts no more heat than a lamp. Iucounu must have his joke, but now I will have a joke of my own! You have announced your effusive gratitude, and so, before proceeding to the main body of my desires, we will take a suitable revenge upon Iucounu.”
Zaraides nodded thoughtfully and ran his fingers through his beard. “I will advise you. Iucounu is a vain and sensitive man. His most vulnerable spot is his self-esteem. Turn your back on him, take yourself to another quarter! This act of proud disdain will strike a pang more exquisite than any other discomfort you might devise.”
Cugel frowned. “The reprisal seems rather too abstract. If you will be good enough to summon a demon, I will give him his instructions in regard to Iucounu. The business will then be at an end, and we can discuss other matters.”
Zaraides shook his head. “All is not so simple. Iucounu, himself devious, is not apt to be taken unawares. He would instantly learn who instigated the assault, and the relations of distant cordiality we have enjoyed would be at an end.”
“Pah!” scoffed Cugel. “Does Zaraides the Sage fear to identify himself with the cause of justice? Does he blink and draw aside from one so timid and vacillating as Iucounu?”
“In a word — yes,” said Zaraides. “At any instant the sun may go dark; I do not care to pass these last hours exchanging jests with Iucounu, whose humor is much more elaborate than my own. So now, attend. In one minute I must concern myself with certain important duties. As a final signal of gratitude I will transfer you to whatever locale you choose. Where shall it be?”
“If this is your best, take me then to Azenomei, at the juncture of the Xzan with the Scaum!”
“As you wish. Be so good as to step upon this stage. Hold out your hands thus … Draw your breath deep, and during the passage neither inhale nor exhale … Are you ready?”
Cugel assented. Zaraides drew back, called a spell. Cugel was jerked up and away. An instant later the ground touched his feet and he found himself walking the main concourse of Azenomei. He drew a deep breath. “After all the trials, all the vicissitudes, I am once again in Azenomei!” And, shaking his head in wonder, he looked about him. The ancient structures, the terraces overlooking the river, the market: all were as before. Not far distant was the booth of Fianosther. Turning his back to avoid recognition, he sauntered away.
“Now what?” he ruminated. “First, new garments, then the comforts of an inn, where I may weigh every aspect of my present condition. When one wishes to laugh with Iucounu, he should embark upon the project with all caution.”
Two hours later, bathed, shorn, refreshed, and wearing new garments of black, green and red, Cugel sat in the common room of the River Inn with a plate of spiced sausages and a flask of green wine.
“This matter of a just settlement poses problems of extreme delicacy,” he mused. “I must move with care!”
He poured wine from the flagon, ate several of the sausages. Then he opened his pouch and withdrew a small object wrapped carefully in soft cloth: the violet cusp which Iucounu wished as a match for the one already in his possession. He raised the cusp to his eye but stopped short: it would display the surroundings in an illusion so favorable that he might never wish to remove it. And now, as he contempla
ted the glossy surface, there entered his mind a program so ingenious, so theoretically effective and yet of such small hazard, that he instantly abandoned the search for a better.
Essentially, the scheme was simple. He would present himself to Iucounu and tender the cusp, or more accurately, a cusp of similar appearance. Iucounu would compare it with that which he already owned, in order to test the efficacy of the coupled pair, and inevitably look through both. The discord between the real and the false would jar his brain and render him helpless, whereupon Cugel could take such measures as seemed profitable.
Where was the flaw in the plan? Cugel could see none. If Iucounu discovered the substitution, Cugel need only utter an apology and produce the real cusp, and so lull Iucounu’s suspicions. All in all, the probabilities of success seemed excellent.
Cugel finished his sausages in leisure, ordered a second flagon of wine, and observed with pleasure the view across the Xzan. There was no need for haste; indeed, while dealing with Iucounu, impulsiveness was a serious mistake, as he already had learned.
On the following day, still finding no fault in his plan, he visited a glass-blower whose workroom was established on the banks of the Scaum a mile to the east of Azenomei, in a copse of fluttering yellow bilibobs.
The glass-blower examined the cusp. “An exact duplicate, of identical shape and color? No small task, with a violet so pure and rich. Such a color is most difficult to work into glass; there is no specific stain; all must be a matter of guess and hazard. Still — I will prepare a melt. We shall see, we shall see.”
After several trials he produced a glass of the requisite hue, from which he fashioned a cusp superficially indistinguishable from the magic lens.
“Excellent!” declared Cugel. “And now, as to your fee?”
“Such a cusp of violet glass I value at a hundred terces,” replied the glass-blower in a casual manner.