Tales of the Dying Earth (34 page)

The girl shrank to her end of the boat. Cugel stepped astern and joined her. “Here I am, your spousel Are you not overjoyed that finally we are alone? My chamber at the inn was far more comfortable, but this boat will suffice.”

“No,” she whimpered. “Do not touch me! The ceremony was meaningless, a trick to persuade you to serve as Watchman.”

“For three-score years perhaps, until I rang the gong from utter desperation?”

“It is not my doing! I am guilty only of merriment! But what will become of Vull? No one watches, and the spell is broken!”

“So much the worse for the faithless folk of Vull! They have lost their treasure, their most beautiful maiden, and when day breaks Magnatz will march upon them.”

Marlinka uttered a poignant cry, which was muffled in the mist. “Never speak the cursed name!”

“Why not? I shall shout it across the water! I will inform Magnatz that the spell is gone, that now he may come for his revenge!”

“No, no, indeed not!”

“Then you must behave toward me as I expect.”

Weeping, the girl obeyed, and at last a wan red light filtering through the mist signaled dawn. Cugel stood up in the boat, but all landmarks were yet concealed.

Another hour passed; the sun was now aloft. The folk of Vull would discover that their Watchman was gone, and with him their treasure, Cugel chuckled, and now a breeze lifted the mists, revealing the landmarks he had memorized. He leapt to the bow and hauled on the anchor line, but to his annoyance the anchor had fouled itself.

He jerked, strained, and the line gave a trifle. Cugel pulled with all his strength. From below came a great bubbling. “A whirlpool!” cried Marlinka in terror.

“No whirlpool here,” panted Cugel, and jerked once more. The line seemed to relax and Cugel hauled in the rope. Looking over the side, he found himself staring into an enormous pale face. The anchor had caught in a nostril. As he looked the eyes blinked open.

Cugel threw away the line, leapt for the oars and frantically rowed for the southern shore. A hand as large as a house raised from the water, groping. Marlinka screamed. There was a great turbulence, a prodigious surge of water which flung the boat toward the shore like a chip, and Magnatz sat up in the center of Lake Vult.

From the village came the sound of the warning gong, a frenzied clanging.

Magnatz heaved himself to his knees, water and muck draining from his vast body. The anchor which had pierced his nostril still hung in place, and a thick black fluid issued from the wound. He raised a great arm and slapped petulantly at the boat. The impact threw up a wall of foam which engulfed the boat, spilled treasure, Cugel and the girl toppling through the dark depths of the lake.

Cugel kicked and thrust, and propelled himself to the seething surface. Magnatz had gained his feet and was looking toward Vull.

Cugel swam to the beach and staggered ashore. Marlinka had drowned, and was nowhere to be seen. Across the lake Magnatz was wading slowly toward the village.

Cugel waited no longer. He turned and ran with all speed up the mountainside.

THE MOUNTAINS WERE BEHIND the dark defiles, the tarns, the echoing stone heights — all now a sooty bulk to the north. For a time Cugel wandered a region of low rounded hills the color and texture of old wood, with groves of blue-black trees dense along the ridges, then came upon a faint trail which took him south by long swings and slants, and at last broke out over a vast dim plain. A half-mile to the right rose a line of tall cliffs, which instantly attracted his attention, bringing him a haunting pang of deja-vu. He stared mystified. At some time in the past he had known these cliffs: how? when? His memory provided no response.

He settled himself upon a low lichen-covered rock to rest, but now Firx became impatient and inflicted a stimulating pang. Cugel leapt to his feet, groaning with weariness and shaking his fist to the southwest, the presumable direction of Almery. “lucounu, lucouuu! If I could repay a tenth of your offenses, the world would think me harsh!”

He set off down the trail, under the cliffs which had affected him with such poignant but impossible recollections. Far below spread the plain, filling three-quarters of the horizon with colors much like those of the Uchened rock Cugel had just departed: black patches of woodland: a gray crumble where ruins filled an entire valley; nondescript streaks of gray-green, lavender, gray-brown; the leaden glint of two great rivers disappearing into the haze of distance.

Cugel's brief rest had only served to stiffen his joints; he limped, and the pouch chafed his hip. Even more distressing was the hunger gripping his belly. Another tally against Lucounu! True, the Laughing Magician had furnished an amulet converting such normally inedible substances as grass, wood, horn, hair, humus and the like into a nutritious paste. Unfortunately — and this was a measure of Lucounu's mordant humor — the paste retained the flavor of the native substance, and during his passage of the mountains Cugel bad tasted little better than spurge, cuUion, blackwort, oak-twigs and galls, and on one occasion, when all else had failed, certain-refuse discovered in the cave of a bearded thawn. Cugel had eaten only minimally; his long spare frame had become gaunt; his cheekbones protruded like sponsons; the black eyebrows which once had crooked so jauntily now lay flat and dispirited. Truly, truly, Lucounu had much to answer for! And Cugel, as he proceeded, debated the exact quality of revenge he would take if ever he found his way back to Almery.

The trail swung down upon a wide stony flat where the wind had carved a thousand grotesque figures. Surveying the area, Cugel thought to perceive regularity among the eroded shapes, and halted to rub his long chin in appraisal. The pattern displayed an extreme subtlety — so subtle indeed that Cugel wondered if it had not been projected by his own mind. Moving closer, he discerned further complexities, and elaborations upon complexities: twists, spires, volutes; disks, saddles, wrenched spheres; torsons and flexions; spindles, cardioids, lanci-fonn pinnacles: the most laborious, painstaking and intricate rock-carving conceivable, manifestly no random effort of the elements. Cugel frowned in perplexity, unable to imagine a motive for so complex an undertaking.

He went on and a moment later heard voices together with the clank of tools. He stopped short, listened cautiously, then proceeded to come upon a gang of about fifty men ranging in stature from three niches to well over twelve feet. Cugel approached on tentative feet, but after a glance the workers paid him no heed, continuing to chisel, grind, scrape, probe and polish with dedicated zeal.

Cugel watched for several minutes, then approached the overseer, a man three feet in height who stood at a lectern consulting the plans spread before him, comparing them to the work in progress by means of an ingenious optical device. He appeared to note everything at once, calling instructions, chiding, exhorting against error, instructing the least deft in the use of their tools. To exemplify his remarks he used a wonderfully extensible forefinger, which reached forth thirty feet to tap at a section of rock, to scratch a quick diagram, then as swiftly retract.

The foreman drew back a pace or two, temporarily satisfied with the work in progress, and Cugel came forward. “What intricate effort is this and what is its object?”

“The work is as you see,” replied the foreman in a voice of penetrating compass. “From natural rock we produce specified shapes, at the behest of the sorcerer Pharesm.... Now then! Now then!” The cry was addressed to a man three feet taller than Cugel, who had been striking the stone with a pointed maul. “I detect Qverconfidence!” The forefinger shot forth. “Use great care at this juncture; note how the rock tends to cleave? Strike here a blow of the sixth intensity at the vertical, using a semi-clenched grip; at this point a fourth-intensity blow groin-wise; then employ a quarter-gauge bant-iron to remove the swange.”

With the work once more going correctly, he fell to studying his plans, shaking his head with a frown of dissatisfaction. “Much too slow! The craftsmen toil as if in a drugged torpor, or else display a mulish stupidity. Only yesterday Dadio Fessadil, he of three ells with the green kerchief yonder, used a nineteen-gauge freezing-bar to groove the bead of a small inverted quatrefoil.”

Cugel shook his head in surprise, as if never had he heard of so egregious a blunder. And he asked: “What prompts this inordinate rock-hewing?”

“I cannot say,” replied the foreman. “The work has been in progress three hundred and eighteen years, but during this time Pharesm has never clarified his motives. They must be pointed and definite, for he makes a daily inspection and is quick to indicate errors.” Here he turned aside to consult with a man as tall as Cugel's knee, who voiced uncertainty as to the pitch of a certain volute. The foreman, consulting an index, resolved the matter; then be turned back to Cugel, this time with an air of frank appraisal.

“You appear both astute and deft; would you care to take employment? We lack several craftsmen of the half-ell category, or, if you prefer more forceful manifestations, we can nicely use an apprentice stone-breaker of sixteen-ells. Your stature is adjusted in either direction, and there is identical scope for advancement As you see, I am a man of four ells. I reached the position of Stirker in one year, Molder of Forms in three, Assistant Chade in ten, and I have now served as Chief Chade for nineteen years. My predecessor was of two ells, and the Chief Chade before him was a ten-ell man.” He went on to enumerate advantages of the work, which included sustenance, shelter, narcotics of choice, nympharium privileges, a stipend starting at ten terces a day, various other benefits including Pharesm's services as diviner and exorciser. “Additionally, Pharesm maintains a conservatory where all may enrich their intellects. I myself take instruction in Insect Identification, the Heraldry of the Kings of Old Gomaz, Unison Chanting, Practical Catalepsy and Orthodox Doctrine. You will never find master more generous than Pharesm the Sorcererl”

Cugel restrained a smile for the Chief Cbade's enthusiasm; still, his stomach was roiling with hunger and he did not reject the proffer out of hand. “I had never before considered such a career,” he said. “You cite advantages of which I was unaware.”

“True; they are not generally known.”

“I cannot immediately say yes or no. It is a decision of consequence which I feel I should consider in all its aspects.”

The Chief Chade gave a nod of profound agreement “We encourage deliberation in our craftsmen, when every stroke must achieve the desired effect. To repair an inaccuracy of as much as a fingernail's width the entire block must be removed, a new block fitted into the socket of the old, whereupon all begins anew. Until the work has reached its previous stage nympharium privileges are denied to all. Hence, we wish no opportunistic or impulsive newcomers to the group.”

Fine, suddenly apprehending that Cugel proposed a delay, made representations of a most agonizing nature. Clasping his abdomen, Cugel took himself aside and, while the Chief Chade watched in perplexity, argued heatedly with Firx. “How may I proceed without sustenance?” Firx's response was an incisive motion of the barbs. “Impossible!” exclaimed Cugel. “The amulet of Lucounu theoretically suffices, but I can stomach no more spurge; remember, if I fall dead in the trail, you will never rejoin your comrade in Lucounu's vats!”

Firx saw the justice of the argument and reluctantly became quiet. Cugel returned to the lectern, where the Chief Chade had been distracted by the discovery of a large tourmaline opposing the flow of a certain complicated helix. Finally Cugel was able to engage his attention. “While I weigh the proffer of employment and the conflicting advantages of diminution versus elongation, I will need a couch on which to recline. I also wish to test the perquisites you describe, perhaps for the period of a day or more.”

“Your prudence is commendable,” declared the Chief Chade. “The folk of today tend to commit themselves rashly to courses they later regret. It was not so in my youth, when sobriety and discretion prevailed. I will arrange for your admission into the compound, where you may verify each of my assertions. You will find Pharesm stern but just, and only the man who hacks the rock willy-nilly has cause to complain. But observe! here is Pharesm the Sorcerer on his daily inspection!”

Up the trail came a man of imposing stature wearing a voluminous white robe. His countenance was benign; his hair was like yellow down; his eyes were turned upward as if rapt in the contemplation of an ineffable sublimity. His arms were sedately folded, and he moved without motion of his legs. The workers, doffing their caps and bowing in unison, chanted a respectful salute, to which Pharesm returned an inclination of the head. Spying Cugel, he paused, made a swift survey of the work so far accomplished, then glided without haste to the lectern. “All appears reasonably exact,” he told the Chief Chade. “I believe the polish on the underside of Epi-projection 56-16 is uneven and I detect a minute chip on the secondary cinctor of the nineteenth spire. Neither circumstance seems of major import and I recommend no disciplinary action.”

“The deficiencies shall be repaired and the careless artisans reprimanded: this at the very least!” exclaimed the Chief Chade in an angry passion. “Now I wish to introduce a possible recruit to our work-force. He claims no experience at the trade, and will deliberate before deciding to join our group. If he so elects, I envision the usual period as rubble-gatherer, before he is entrusted with tool-sharpening and preliminary excavation.”

“Yes; this would accord with our usual practice. However...” Pharesm glided effortlessly forward, took Cugel's left hand and performed a swift divination upon the fingernails. His bland countenance became sober. “I see contradictions of four varieties. Still it is clear that your optimum bent lies elsewhere than in the hewing and shaping of rock. I advise that you seek another and more compatible employment.”

“Well spoken!” cried the Chief Chade. “Pharesm the Sorcerer demonstrates his infallible altruism! In order that I do not fall short of the mark I hereby withdraw my proffer of employment! Since no purpose can now be served by reclining upon a couch or testing the perquisites, you need waste no more irreplaceable tune.” Cugel made a sour face. “So casual a divination might well be inaccurate.”