Forward the Mage 
by Eric Flint & Richard Roach 




This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any 
resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. 

 Copyright  2002 by Eric Flint & Richard Roach 

 All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. 

A Baen Books Original 
Baen Publishing Enterprises 

P.O. Box 1403 
Riverdale, NY 10471 
www.baen.com 
ISBN: 0-7434-3524-9 


Cover art by Larry Elmore 


First printing, March 2002 


Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data 
Flint, Eric. 
Forward the mage / Eric Flint, Richard Roach. 


p. cm. 
A Baen Books originalT.p. verso. 
ISBN 0-7434-3524-9 
1. ArtistsFiction. 2. Women soldiersFiction. I. Roach, Richard. II. Title. 
PS3556.L548 F67 2002 
813.54dc21 2001056468 
Distributed by Simon & Schuster 
1230 Avenue of the Americas 
New York, NY 10020 

Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH 
Printed in the United States of America 


This book is dedicated to our wives and 
mothers, who always believed; 

and to those great pioneers who first aroused our enthusiasm for fantasy: 
Francois Rabelais, Miguel Cervantes, Voltaire, and Jonathan Swift; 

and, of course, to the worlds Sancho Panzas. 


Baen Books by Eric Flint 

Joes World series 

The Philosophical Strangler 
Forward the Mage (with Richard Roach) 


1632 


Mother of Demons 


Rats, Bats, and Vats (with Dave Freer) 


Pyramid Scheme (with Dave Freer) 

The Shadow of the Lion (with Mercedes Lackey & Dave Freer) 

The Belisarius series, with David Drake: 

An Oblique Approach 
In the Heart of Darkness 
Destinys Shield 
Fortunes Stroke 
The Tide of Victory 


By James H. Schmitz, edited by Eric Flint: 

Telzey Amberdon 
T n T: Telzey & Trigger 
Trigger & Friends 
The Hub: Dangerous Territory 
Agent of Vega & Other Stories 


By Keith Laumer, edited by Eric Flint: 

Retief! 
Odyssey 



Wisely hath it been written that those great upheavals which so enflame the passions of 
society that they excite the masses to rebellion and enmity against all lawful custom and 
sovereignty, wherefore the common herd is led to commit many profane mischiefs against 
the peace, including both mad foreign adventures and rude civil revolts, may not be 
comprehended as mere brutish conflicts between vast opposed powers, each bent on 
conquering for itself the Helm of State. Rather, we say that they are compounded of many 
societal atoms, indeed, of a multitude of small dramas, mere chance encounters, perhaps, 
twixt private persons of divers degrees and sorts. 

Vulgar history will, of course, take no heed of these events, for they will appear to those 
witless sycophants of Clios muse to be so contemptible, prosaic and inglorious, compared to 
the deeds of kings, ministers, generals, revolutionists and agitators, to the discordant flux of 
the classes and the masses, that they will be blinded to their import and, forsooth, will 
roundly and churlishly despise them. Yet these small episodes, we say, are the true stuff of 
History. For, though men go their way quietly in tranquil times, yet, in such epochs when 
storm clouds gather oer the State and insurrectionary thoughts steal into the minds of the 
pauper classes, then may the separate lives of men be severally fused as if by a lightning bolt 
of social hatred, wherein all of society is transformed, and, like the wounded Leviathan, 
vents its unleashed fury at mute and fear-filled Nature. 

Of course, we find in the literature other theories, chiefly opposed to our own. These, 
however, we may dismiss, for they are all of them perniciously false and utterly repugnant to 
the human intellect in every respect. 

The College of Historians 
University of Ozarae (in Exile) 


PRELUDE. 

 In Which We Introduce the Gentle Reader to Our Tale Through a Most Cunning 
Usage of the Ancient Narrative Device of The Plunge Direct Into the Turbulence of 
the Times. Taken From the Autobiography of the Notorious Scapegrace, Benvenuti 
Sfondrati-Piccolomini. 

Autobiography of Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini, 
Episode 1: Police, Potters, Pedants and Plunderers 

I arrived in the city of Goimr upon the most wretched ship imaginable. The CSS Lucre, it was 
called, a name which was as inappropriate as possible. The CSS Pigsty would have served 
better; the Shipwreck-in-the-Making, ideal. 

Yet, upon my first glimpse of Goimr, I was almost sorry to disembark. The sight which 
greeted my eyes was even more disheartening than the ship. I had expected, without really 
giving it much thought, to find Goimrs harbor a smaller version of my native Ozars great 
port, the Horn of Surfeit. At the very least, I should have thought Goimrwhich is, after all, 
the chief port of southeastern Grotumto be a match for any of the smaller harbors of the 
Philistine at which my ship had stopped on the voyage from Ozar. 

Not so. I was encountering my first taste of that reality which has given rise, throughout 
Grotum, to the expression grubby as Goimr. Upon the oily, sluggish waters of the harbor 
bobbed a variety of vessels, which seemed to compete with each other in their disrepair and 
desuetude, not to mention their antiquity and obsolescence. Numerous dilapidated 
warehouses dotted the quays, most of them boarded up, if not burnt and gutted. Everything 
was covered with a deep layer of grime. Roofs sagged, doors were unhinged, steps were 
cracked and broken. The very stones of the quays seemed corroded by some foul reagent. 

The sole exception to the general miasma of decay was the building in front of which my 
ship was docked. The building was gigantic, stretching a full two hundred yards along the 
center of Goimrs waterfront. Above it, facing the waterfront, rested a huge sign announcing 
to the world: 

GREAT GROTUM NORTHERN, EASTERN, 
SOUTHERN, WESTERN, 
CENTRAL AND ENVIRONS EXPRESS 
AND TRAVEL COMPANY 
(a subsidiary of THE CONSORTIUM) 



At least theres a trace of Ozarine energy in this miserable place, I muttered to myself, 
descending the gangway. And indeed, the Consortium buildingthough it shared the 
general aura of squalorwas bustling with activity. Numerous barges, skiffs, scows and hoys 
plied the waters adjacent, bringing cargoes to and from the several ships moored nearby. A 
constant bustle of men and wagons carrying goods, supplies or passengers swarmed about 
the quayside in front of the building. 

The moment I stepped ashore, I was delivered into this seething frenzy of commercial and 
maritime activity. Wending my slow way past oxen teams drawing huge loads, dodging 
gangs of stevedores, I left the docks and entered the relative calm of the building. After some 
inquiries, I eventually made my way out of the labyrinthine edifice and into the passenger 
area on the far side, from which transportation into the city proper was available. There I 
rented a large locker, into which I placed my traveling sack and my easel. It wouldnt do, of 
course, to visit the King of Goimr with luggage under my arm. 

As I was heading out the main archway to the plaza beyond, I stepped aside to let a man 
hurry by. Strange-looking fellow! Strange, not so much in his featuresfor he was normal 
enough in that regard, aside from the excessively severe look on his bearded face. But his 
clothing! A long, shabby, flowing robe, covered with obscure and cabalistic symbols. A wide-
brimmed, floppy pointed hat. In his hand he bore a long staff, carved with runes. I realized 
that I was actually face to face with one of that legendary breed of sorcerers which are 
peculiar to Grotum. 

As I stepped aside, I heard the mage say: Make haste, wretched gnome, make haste! For 
even as I speak, time wanes! 

I looked to see the person to whom he was speaking. My jaw dropped with astonishment. 
Wizard indeed! For behind himas if transported by levitationloomed an immense sack, 
bulging at every seam, from which protruded the snouts and extremities of weird 
instruments too bizarre to describe. 

From beneath the sack I heard a whining voice: But master, its heavy, and I cant see. I 
now saw a pair of spindly legs under the sack, twinkling in their efforts to keep pace with the 
wizards long stride. 

Watch out! I cried. Theres 

But my effort to warn the servant of the portmanteau just ahead of him did not come in 
time. In an instant, the little legs tripped and the gigantic sack went flying. 

At the sound, the sorcerer spun about. A look of great fury came upon his face. 

Unspeakable wretch! he cried. Did I not entrust to your care the safekeeping of my 
possessions? And so saying, the wizard began smiting the prostrate servant with his staff. 

Hold there, sirrah! I exclaimed. It was but an accident! Your man could not possibly 
have seen the obstacle before himdid he not tell you himself that he couldnt see? If there 
is any fault here, it is yours alone. You should have warned him. 

The wizards look of wrath was transferred onto me. 

You are impudent, youth! he bellowed. 

Ignoring him, I stepped over and took the arm of the servant, who was now on his knees, 
shaking his head. I lifted the tiny fellow to his feet. 

Th-thank you, s-sir, he stammered. His voice was very clear and sweet. 

I did not reply, so great was my astonishment. I had thought the wizard a strange looking 
fellow! His servant, I now perceived, was a dwarf. And while I myself did not share the 


general prejudice against dwarves, I was struck speechless by his appearance. For, truly, this 
was the hairiest and ugliest dwarf I had ever encountered. It was only the freshness of his 
voice which enabled me to determine that the servant was a young mannot much more 
than a boy, really. From his appearance alone, I would have thought him an ancient and 
horrid sub-human, a miniature demi-troll, escaped from some cavern of the earth. 

But the boy seemed harmless enough. He immediately dove under the sack, positioning 
himself to lift it. I reached down and seized a fold of the sack, attempting to aid him. 

The thing was unbelievably heavy! I am a large man, well muscled and strong, but I do not 
think I could have possibly lifted it by myself. Yet here was this dwarfsmaller than a 
striplingeven now hoisting the monstrous sack onto his back. In but two seconds, he was 
back on his feet. 

Thank you very much for your help, sir, came his little voice from beneath the sack. 

Not at all, I replied. 

Cease and desist this unconscionable chitchat, wretched dwarf! exclaimed the wizard. 
By your clumsiness, you have already delayed me! 

I had had quite enough of this fellow, thank you. I stepped up to him and said: You, 
sirrah, are the only wretch about! 

The wizards face began to redden with anger. But after a moment he turned away. 

Bah! he exclaimed. I have no time to bandy words with a layabout. The coach to Prygg 
departs momentarily, and I cannot afford to miss it. Good day to you, sirrah, and may we 
never meet again! 
My sentiments exactly, I growled to his retreating back. 

Little did I know then . . . Not only was I destined to meet again with the wizard and his 
servant, but in the years to come my life and fate was to become inextricably intertwined 
with theirs. 

Indeed, the first coil of that intertwining was even now upon me. For no sooner did I 
emerge from the archway onto the plaza, looking about for a means of transport to the Royal 
Palace, than a black coach came careening up. A half-dozen black-garbed men were 
precariously perched on top. GOIMR SECRET POLICE was painted on its side in bold red letters. 
In slightly smaller letters beneath: 

Classified information! 
Tell no one on pain of death! 


As soon as the coach stopped, the men on top leapt to the ground. The doors to the coach 
opened and another half-dozen men spilled out from the interior. I was so struck by the 
improbable sight that I stood motionless. My artists sense of perception was attempting to 
determine by what magic means so many menbeefy types, to boothad managed to fit 
inside the not very commodious coach. I would have done better to have noticed the fact that 
every other person in the crowded plaza had disappeared. 

One of the policemen pointed to me and cried: Seize him! A moment later I was brought 
down by the horde, chained and manacled, protesting my innocence all the while. 
He must be guilty as sin, Sergeant, I heard a policeman chortle. The only one who 
didnt run! And listen to him pleading his innocence! 
A foreigner, too! cackled another. Listen to that outlandish accent! 


Im from Ozar, I protested. A momentary pause in the bustle of binding, manacling and 
chaining. Then: 

The blackguard! Impersonating an Ozarine! 

Gag him, came a tone of command. No need for honest secret policemen to listen to the 
honeyed words of treason. 

Before I knew itnow gagged, to bootI was hustled into the coach. As I was forced into 
its dark interior, I heard the sergeant say: You two stay here and search the area for the 
other one. A moment later, the coach careened into motion. 

By now I was in a dark and gloomy mood, full of self-reproach. In my minds eye, I could 
already hear my uncle Ludovigos sneering voice. 

Forgot everything I taught you, you fooland at the very first opportunity! Here he 
would glower in his inimitable style. Idiot. Cretin. Moron. This would go on for no little 
time, accompanied by much clapping of despairing hands to aggrieved forehead. Then the 
lecturing voice of my uncle: 

What is the first law of secret police? 

The innocent flee where no man pursueth. 

The second law? 

Protestations of innocence stand in direct proportion to guilt. 

The third law? 

Who wants to hear it, anyway? 

I was not looking forward to my next meeting with my uncle, let me tell you. No point 
lying to him, eitherhed see right through it. After the heaping of foul names upon my 
head, the ritual clapping of despairing hands onto his own head, there would come the great 
sigha genius casting pearls before a swineand then, horror, the inevitable lecture. 

I will try again, my witless nephew. As I have told you before, time and againhere 
would follow the history of the universe, beginning with the coalescence of the galaxies 
and sowill you try to remember?if you wish to be a great artist you must expect many 
encounters with the secret police, many an interrogation by the forces of Church and State, 
many a long stay in the donjons and bastilles, many a beating and torture. Especially in 
Grotum! For these ineluctable modalities of the risible, you must be as well trained and 
prepared as your uncles Giotto, Algardi, Donatello and Salviati have made you for the actual 
exercise of your art itself. 

Here would follow the ceremonial chewing of mustachios. Then: 

And why do you want to be an artist, anyway? Its a foolish ambition, no matter what 
those other uncles tell you! Much better for you to become a condottiere like myself or your 
uncles Rodrigo and Filoberto and the others. You have a talent for arms, and its a much 
safer occupation than being an artist! 

The rest of his future lecture I was able to rehearse in advance, as the coach banged and 
clattered its way along the cobblestoned streets. And there was this benefit from the gloomy 
experience, that by the time the secret police of Goimr reached their destination, I was well-
prepared for the immediate prospect of torture, having reviewed in my mind all of my 
uncles instructions. 

I was hustled into a great, gray, windowless building, which shared the general shabbiness 
which I was coming to realize was inseparable from Goimr. SECRET POLICE HEADQUARTERS 
read the sign above the door. (With, needless to say, the same bloodcurdling threat 
concerning classified information below.) Down a long corridor, a turn to the left, and there 


it wasthe interrogation room, replete with all the requisite engines and tools of torture. 

And then 

My rigorous rehearsal for the ordeal proved greatly excessive. Forwould you believe it? 
the incompetent fools began with a bastinado! My greatest problem was not to burst into 
laughter. The soles of my feet were covered with iron-hard calluses a half-inch thickthis 
the product of my uncles rigorous training, which included walking on coals and soaking in 
brine. The blows of the cudgels were like a tickle. 

But, of course, I never once lost my now-firm grasp on the fourth law of secret police: 

Shrieks of agony soothe the savage beast. 

Nor the fifth: 

Stoic silence inflames the policemans heart. 

Normost importantthe sixth: 

Admissions of guilt stand in direct proportion to innocence. This, you will of course 
recognize, is but the obverse of the second law. 

 And so I interspersed my screams of agony with the most lurid confessions: 

Yes! Yes! I did it! I admit everything! (Here I emitted a horrid shriek.) I murdered the 
Popesall twelve of them at once! The blood flowed like a river! O hideous impiety! And 
then! (Here I dissolved into broken blubbering.) I dismembered them! And ate them! O 
foul ecclesiophagy! (Here I threw in the cackle of the criminally insane.) And then! And 
then! After letting nature take its course, I defecated on holy ground! Like a wolf staking its 
territorial claim! Oh! Oh! I am a monster of depravity! 

Not that, you idiot! roared the sergeant. Not the Popes! What about the King? What did 
you do to the King? 

Which king? Then, thinking I was bordering dangerously on proclaiming innocence, I 
immediately howled with glee and pain. There have been so many! Butchered kings by the 
score, I have! The Kaysor of Kushrau I poisoned! And thenI fed the poisoned meat to his 
hounds! They died in agony! And then I cut the canines from the canines(here followed 
demonic shrieks of ecstasy at the pun)and with these newfound weapons I slew the Great 
Mogul of Juahaca! Plunged the teeth into his throat while he slept! Gave him a dogs collar of 
his own! (Lunatic laughter.) And then! Oh! I murdered the Doges of the Philistine! All of 
them at one swoop! Crept up on them while 

Not that, you idiot! roared the sergeant. The King of Goimr! Herein Goimr! What did 
you do to the King of Goimr! 

Oh! Him! Here I fell into a minute or two of insensate ululation, for at the mention of 
the King of Goimr, the two policemen applying the bastinadoes had fallen into a truly 
vigorous beating of my feet. Then: I forgot him! Thereve been so many kings! But him! Yes! 
Yes! I remember now! I disemboweled him with a scythe! Danced a fandango with his guts! 

The Kings still alive, you idiot! And not a mark on him! But hes insane! How did you 
drive him mad? 

I gasped with shock. Still alive! You mean I missed? With a scythe? Missed! Im going 
mad myself! But thats it! Thats it! It must have been the horrible sight of my demented 
leerthe ghastly scythe in my hands!drove the King of Goimr mad! O wondrous! O 
wondrous! I am such a criminal! Such an archdevil! A paragon of purest evil! Drove the King 
mad! Yes! Yes! I remember now! 

Its looking bad, sir, I heard one of the policemen say, his voice filled with 
discouragement. The bastinado slacked off. 


But the sergeant was made of sterner stuff. Ill have none of it! he roared. You there! 
Apply the cudgels smartly! Dyou hear me, you laggards? 

The bastinado renewed itself with a frenzy. Not to be thwarted, I immediately launched 
into a semi-coherent confessionary babble, recalling to mind all of the various crimes which 
my uncle Ludovigo had made me memorize. Fortunate I was in my training! On my own, I 
couldnt have thought up a tenth of those deeds of villainy. 

At length, the bastinado fell off again. 

Its hopeless, sir, came the same policemans voice, now sullen in its failure. 

Yes, I know, came the sergeants morose reply. Truth to tell, I lost heart earlier, when 
he confessed to seducing the Elf Queens unicorn and abandoning the beast in her 
pregnancy. But this latest! Kidnapped the magnetic monopoles. Prevented the decay of the 
proton. And thendid you hear him? Murdered every one of the worlds astronomers and 
cosmologists to protect the dark secret. 

Perhaps, came the obsequious voice of another policeman, we could try the rack? 
To what purpose, you fool? demanded the sergeant. What crime has he not confessed 
already? 
Well, hemmed the obsequious voice, he hasnt confessed to buggering and murdering 
the Maharaj of Naham. 

Oh, but I did! I screeched. It was my greatest crime! Through the use of cunning 
potions I brought all his mahouts under my sway! Taught them to sodomize the great war 
elephants! And then! The elephants now corrupted! The immense creatures filled with 
unnatural passion! I had but to wave the Kings bedclothes under their snouts! The hideous 
sight! The herd of aroused pachyderms! Their tusks and trunks raised to the heavens! Their 
great bellows of lust! The palace trampled flat! The King fleeing for his life! But in vain! My 
greatest coup! There! The King! Racing across the Royal Grounds! There! The pachyderms 
in hot pursuit! And then! Oh! Oh! The 

Shut up! roared the sergeant. Just shut up! I fell silent, grimacing in an effort to hide 
my smirk. 
Untie him, grumbled the sergeant. Well take him to Gerard. Then, very gloomily: 
Theres going to be hell to pay when the Chief Counselor hears about this. 

A minute later I was carried out of the building, a burly policeman hoisting me by each 
arm. I could have walked quite easily, though I wouldnt have cared to dance a gavotte. But I 
saw no reason to enlighten the brutes as to the true condition of my hardened feet. 

Another rough ride followedthe cobblestones of Goimrs streets shared the general state 
of disrepairand we debouched onto a large plaza bordering a sluggish river. This, I 
realized, must be the river Moyle, at whose mouth the city of Goimr is located. And there, on 
an island in the middle of the river, lay the Royal Palacejust as described in the travel 
brochures. 

Ha! The actual palace bore the same relation to the one pictured on the travel brochures 
as the corpulent and toad-faced Madame Hexe bore to my grandfather Goyas portrait of 
her, The Naked Madame. 

Isnt there one building in this city that isnt half-crumbling? I asked. 
Silence! roared the sergeant. Then, sourly: Its a poor country, we are. Not like your 
precious Ozarae. 
His own gloom was no deeper than my own. To Goimr had I come, my brain flushed with 
visions of making my fame and fortuneinvited by the King himself. A Royal Artist 


alreadyand me not yet twenty-four years of age! But now, gazing at the Royal Hovel, I 
reflected that I would be lucky if the King of Goimr could afford the paints, much less any 
decent fee. And I was not pleased by the suggestion, during my interrogation, that the King 
was not quite in possession of his senses. 

But I had little time for reflection. Soon enough, a barge was found to transport the 
policemen and myself over to the Isle Royale, and from there it was but a few minutes before 
I was ushered into a large chamber. 

The furnishings in the chamber were of the sort I was coming to expect. The tapestries 
were particularly wretched, although they did serve to cover most of the grime and water 
stains on the walls. Behind a desk sat a man of easy grace. 

Whats this, Sergeant? he demanded, as soon as we entered the room. Have you 
captured the wizard? 
The sergeant coughed apologetically. Well, Chief Counselor Gerard, the truth iswe 
believe this mans innocent. 

Chief Counselor Gerards face was a study in confusion. 

What man? he demanded. 

Why, this man here, sir, explained the sergeant, pointing to me. The one we caught red-
handed at the travel station. But after we put him to the question, it became clear that 

Imbecile! The Chief Counselors face was flushed with anger. What has this man to do 
with anything? I told you to capture the wizard! Does this man look like a wizard to you? 
Look at his clotheshes obviously from the Ozarine. Why would you seize him? 

The sergeant looked embarrassed. Well, sir, when we arrived at the travel station 
following your instructions, sir, I must point outeveryone fled but this man here. Stood 
there as guilty as sin, he did. Well, sir, as you know, its the first law of secret police work. 
Only a guilty man would attempt to act innocent. And then, after we caught him, he pleaded 
his innocence! Well, sir, as you know, only a guilty man 

Oh, be quiet, snapped the Chief Counselor. A look of weariness crossed his face. The 
end result of all this is that if the wizard did make his escape from the city through the travel 
station, then hes long gone by now. 

Well, yes, sir. They move along right quick, sir, the Consortiums transports do. Not at all 
like it was in the good old days. The bad old days, I mean to say. 

The sergeant drew himself up, attempting a gesture of subtle reproof aimed at a superior. 
And in any event, if you dont mind my saying so, sir, we really have no reason to think the 
wizard would have tried such an obvious escape route as the official travel station of the city. 
More likely, sir, hed have tried to leave through one of the lesser-used gates. 

Yes, yes, I know. Ive got police squads covering all the gates. We should know something 
soon. Fortunately, the wizards a noticeable man. That ridiculous gown! The hat and the 
staff! The perfect image of the sorcerer of popular superstition. And that horrid servant. 
God, Sergeant, did you ever see such a frightful dwarf? And that incredible sack he carries! 

Well, I am neither stupid nor unobservant, and it was immediately obvious to me that the 
wizard of the police search was the very same unpleasant fellow I had encountered on my 
way out of the station. Had the police not been distracted by my stupidity they would have 
apprehended their culprit but moments later. 

Warring impulsesI should say, warring adviceraged within my mind. 

On the one hand, I was mindful of the unanimous advice of my artist uncles: 

Always curry favor with the rich and powerful. As long as you curry favor with the 


swine, you can do anything elsecheat em, take their money, seduce their wives, 
whatever. But always curry their favor. 

On the other, there was the unanimous advice of my condottiere uncles: 

Dont tell the high and mighty anything. Theres nothing more suspicious than a man 
who volunteers information. The torture chambers are full of blabbermouths. Its the 
seventh law of secret police: If he spills his guts freely, just think what hell do under The 
Question. 

In the end, oddly enough, the question was resolved for me by the memory of the pitiful 
dwarf. A nice enough boy hed seemed, ugly though he was. And I had no illusions as to a 
dwarfs fate in the hands of the secret police. So I kept my mouth shut. And in so doing, I 
sealed not only my own fate but that of the world. 

You may go, Sergeant, said Chief Counselor Gerard. Then, as the sergeant took my arm 
and made to drag me away, Gerard added: Leave him here. 

The sergeant began to say something, thought better of it, and left. 

When the door closed, Gerard turned to me. Who are you, sir? Am I not correct, that you 
are from the Ozarine? What are you doing here in Goimr? 

Quite so, Chief Counselor. My name is Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini, of the famous 
clan of scholars and artists. I just arrived from Ozar on board the CSS Lucre. Indeed, I do 
not believe I had spent more than ten minutes on Goimric soil before I was seized by your 
secret police. 

The look of embarrassment on Gerards face encouraged me to press home the advantage. 

As to the reason for my being here, I was invited by the King of Goimr to set up as the 
Royal Artist. With a flourish, I drew the Kings letter from my pocketwhich the secret 
police of Goimr, in that inefficient manner which I was coming to associate with everything 
Goimric, had not even searched. 

And here, I added dramatically, as soon as Gerard finished reading the Kings letter, is a 
letter of recommendation from the Consortiums Director of Companies. 

I handed him the second letter. Gerards face grew gloomy. The Kings letter had not 
seemed to produce much effect on him. But the letter from the Director of Companies was a 
different story altogether. 

Upstanding young man, he read from the Directors letter, scion of a great family . . . 
one of Ozars most promising new artists. Etc., etc., etc. 

Actually, Id never met the Director of Companies. My uncle Giotto, however, is one of his 
favorite artists, and hed persuaded the Director to sign the letter, which, needless to say, 
Giotto had written himself. 

This letter wouldnt do you much good in Ozar, of course, my uncle had said to me as he 
handed it over. Everybody here knows that wretched plutocrat hasnt the faintest sense of 
art. But in Grotum itll stand you in good stead. Fawn all over Ozarine wealth, they do, the 
nobility of Grotum. A miserable, medieval place. But theres no denying its the greatest 
source of the worlds art as well as most of its mischief. 

The truth of his words was attested to by Gerards very evident discomfort. 

Recommended by the Director of Companies himself! Um. A fine man. Noa great man! 
Been a mighty blessing to us here in poor and backward Goimr, he has. Um. No need to 
mention this recent unpleasantness to him, I should think? 

I nodded my head graciously, mentally rubbing my hands with glee. Get something over 
the bastards as soon as you can, my uncles had told meartists and condottiere alike. 


Gerard smiled feebly. Then he heaved a sigh. 

Unfortunately, sir, Im afraid youve arrived at a bad time. Our blessed King has become 
unhingeddriven to insanity by the machinations of the villainous sorcerer Zulkeh. The 
realm is in an uproar. The King mad. The Heir Apparent a hopeless incompetent. All the 
heirs, indeedwell! No need to go into that here. But the point is, my good young man, that 
theres simply no place at the moment in Goimr for a Royal Artist. Not likely to be forfor 
some time, I should think. 

I pleaded and remonstrated, but all to no avail. Truth to tell, now that Goimr was a reality 
rather than an illusion, I was none too sure myself that a promising young artists career 
would be much advanced by lingering in such a place. 

I did, however, in the course of my ensuing discussion with the Chief Counselor, manage 
to achieve a modest victory in what my uncles call The Artists Quest. 

I squeezed some money out of him. 

Not much, I admit. But then, I found myself not disbelieving his claim that the treasury of 
Goimr was practically empty. But I got enough to enable me to survive, while I decided on 
my next course of action. I also obtained a brief letter with his signature which would, so he 
assured me, avoid any further complications with the police. 

When I left the palace, it was sundown. My first task, clear enough, was to find lodgings 
for the night. I hired a small boat to transport me back across the river and began searching 
for a hotel. 

Imagine, if you will, the tedium of looking for lodgings in Goimr. Even in the vicinity of 
the palace, the choices seem to vary from shabby to grim to hazardous. In the end, I settled 
on a run-down boardinghouse, whose proprietor seemed not quite as avaricious and 
slovenly as most I had encountered. Not saying much, that. Exhausted as I was by the days 
travails, I was up half the night confronting the most sullen and difficult batch of rodents it 
has ever been my displeasure to encounter. 

The next morningnot much rested, I can tell youI returned to the travel station and 
obtained my belongings from the locker. I then set out in search of other lodgings in a poorer 
part of town. My experiences of Goimr had so quickly lowered my threshold of 
fastidiousness that I was determined, at the least, to find lodgings which were not exorbitant 
in their price. 

By early afternoon, I had wended my way into a truly disreputable part of the city. Truth 
to tell, I had long since forgotten about finding new lodgings. I had become absolutely 
fascinated by the baroque squalor which surrounded me. Ozar, of course, has its miserable 
tenements and ghettoes, like any great city. But nothing to compare to these slums! 

The determination to capture this nonpareil wretchedness on canvas seized me. In part, 
this determination was prompted by my artists instinct. But, in the other part, it was 
prompted by my artists reason. For, as my uncle Giotto had told me many times, there are 
two subjects whichcaptured with paintsthe rich will always pay through the nose to hang 
on the walls of their mansions: their own glorified features, and the misery of the poor. The 
misery of the poor, because it comforts them to ponder the tragedy of the human condition. 
Their own idealized portraits, because it comforts them to ponder their own worth in 
escaping that condition. 

Rounding a corner, I found myself on a particularly odious street. Not only were the 
cobblestones in severe disrepair, not only were the gutters strewn with garbage and less 
mentionable items, not only were the ramshackle buildings which loomed over the street the 


very epitome of tenements, but 

Therenot twenty feet before mea woman was being attacked by a mob of cutthroats! 

I was taken completely off guard. Until I rounded the corner, I had heard not a hint of 
clamor. The struggle under way was being waged in complete silence, save the occasional 
hiss and grunt. 

For a moment, I was paralyzed, like a statue, rooted to the spot. From horror, you would 
think. But no, it wasnt that. I am an artist, with an artists eye, and it was the impossible 
drama of the scene which transfixed melike a tableau from ancient legend. 

The struggle bore little if any resemblance to the image which might normally come to 
mind when one hears of a woman assaulted by a mob of cutthroats. Think rather of a 
lioness assaulted by a pack of hyenas. 

The woman was a striking figure. This, in three ways. First, she wasnot beautiful; not, at 
least, in the normal sense of the termbut so fierce in her countenance as to burn every 
feature into my mind. More so, indeed, even in the first instant I saw her than any woman I 
had ever seen before, or have seen since. The regal poise, the nose with the pure curve of a 
hawks, the gleaming black eyes, the firm jaw and chin, the full lips, the great mass of kinky 
hair like midnight, the swarthy complexion now even more flushed with passion and fury. 
No, not exactly beautiful, but what has a goddess to do with earthly concepts of beauty? 

Then, she was big. Not obese, you understand. To the contrary. Her every movementand 
these were fierce and energetic even as I took in the scenebespoke a body that was 
muscular and sinewy. Even shrouded as her body was in a plain and baggy set of tunic and 
trousers, there was no denying its quite evidently female nature. The woman seemed almost 
a giantess. She matched my six feet of height, if not exceeded it. And though I am considered 
a large and well-built man, I had no doubt that she weighed perhaps as much. 

She certainly outsized her opponents! For these men, as I saw when I finally tore my gaze 
from this fantastic vision of a demi-goddess out of a desert nomads legend, were rather 
small and rattish in their every aspect. Yet they pressed their assault with great vigor, 
lunging at the woman from every side. They seemed actually in a frenzy, leaping at her with 
drawn knifes, attempting to stab and slash any portion of her body they could reach. 

I said that the woman was striking in three ways. And the third of these ways was the 
unbelievable ferocity of her defense. With her right hand she would pluck an assailant out of 
the airin mid-leapand with her left hand, which clasped an immense butcher knife, she 
would remove her opponents head with one blow of the blade. For all the world like a 
farmers wife beheading chickens! Even as I watched, two heads joined the half dozen 
whichI now noticedwere lying about in the street like an urchins rag balls. 

Despite her ferocity, she was vastly outnumbered. There were still a good dozen assailants 
remaining. And even with her back to the wall of a building, they could come at her from 
three sides. The end of such an uneven contest was inevitable, given a willingness on the part 
of her opposition to press the fight to its conclusion, disregarding their own casualties. And 
small though they might be, and rattish in their countenance, there was no denying that her 
assailants were possessed of a ferocity the equal of her own. As I watched, a knife blade 
slashed the womans hip. It was not a particularly deep cut, hardly more than a scratch, but 
she immediately hissed. A look of great pain came into her face. Her opponents squealed 
with triumph. 

It was only then that I noticed the odd sheen of their knives. Poisoned blades! 

It was that outrage which finally snapped my trance. I dropped my baggage and charged 


forward carrying my easel like a three-pronged lance. An easel! You laugh! But no ordinary 
easel, this. For, combining the teachings of my various uncles, I had long ago designed this 
easel with a condottieres sense of art. Each of the legs came to a sharp point, edged like a 
razor. Furthermorebut that in a moment. 

For now, let me say with all due modesty that I slew three of the scoundrels with a 
perfectly executed coup darrire tripodiste. Then, before their bodies had even hit the 
ground, I drew my sword from its cunningly disguised sheath in the upright of the easel. A 
moment later it was plunged through the back of the nearest poisoner, piercing his heart. A 
quick twist of the wrist to free the blade, and a moment later another poisoner was run 
through the back. Another quick twist of the wrist 

Through the back? you say. Certainly! Though I am an artist, I am also a most proficient 
swordsman. I was trained by my uncle Rodrigo from the time I was six. 

As pretty-faced and brash a boy as you are, Benvenuti, hed said to me (not without a 
sneer), youll be bound to land in a duel by the time youre sixteen. Some outraged husband, 
no doubt. So youd best learn to use a blade at least as well as you learn to use a paintbrush. 

I was a good student, and even my uncle eventually admitted that I had the knack of 
swordplay. But his instruction was stern and severe. Many was the time I was soundly 
cuffedeven thrashedfor committing what my uncle Rodrigo considered the greatest of all 
swordsmans sins. 

Chivalry. 

Who dyou think you are, you little snot? he would roar, applying the whip. Some great 
lord of the land parading around with airs? Youre a wretch of an artist, you dolt! None of 
this bowing and posturing for the likes of you! 

Whimper and plead though I would, each transgression of my uncles code would earn me 
the full ten lashes. A stern regimen, but by the time I was seven I could recite the code in my 
sleep: 

Whenever you can, stab em in the back. 

Better yet, stab em in the back in the dead of night. 

Best of all, stab em in the back in the dead of night while theyre asleep. 

If youve got to stab em in the front, try a low blow. 

If none of that works, then use all your skills as best you can, you stupid dummy. 

My uncle would, I believe, have been pleased. The masterpiece with the easel. The next 
two, felled with a backstab. From then on, of course, my foes were alerted and I was forced 
to face them from the front. But the next two went down before my low blownot without 
bestowing a look of great indignation upon me as they expired. A strange moralityset upon 
a woman with poisoned knives, but take offense at a sword through the groin. 

Alas, after that it became sticky. Two more of the villains were dispatched by the woman 
before the poison began to take effect upon her. She half-collapsed against the wall, 
dropping her knife. Hissing with triumph, one of the men hurled himself upon her, blade 
high. Foolish move! Even as the impetuous hyena moves in too quickly for the kill of a 
wounded lioness. For the woman seized his throat in both hands and wrung his neck. A most 
horrible sound, really. She then flung the body at the others, bowling two of them over like 
tenpins. But that was her last gasp. She slumped to the ground, dead or unconscious. 

In a frenzy, I forced my way to her side, in order to protect her now-helpless form from 
certain death. Six assailants were still left alive. 

No, five. For as they came in upon me, I suddenly changed tactics and thrust high, 


piercing one right through the throat. 

Unfortunately, my blade was momentarily caught in his neck bones as he fell, and I was 
unable to withdraw it in time to parry a blow from another. His knife sank into my side. 

Not deeply, not deeply, for I twisted aside even as the thrust came in. But the pain! It was 
as if I had been injected with acid! I recall my astonishment that the woman had simply 
hissed when so struck. I myself screamed like a banshee. 

But there was this much to be said for the agony, that for a brief few seconds it galvanized 
me to a pure fury. A moment later, two more of my opponents were overborne by my rage, 
their blades beaten down, their faces slashed, their guts spilled onto the street. 

Alas, the galvanizing pain was soon replaced by a great weakness. I staggered back, lost 
my footing. Then I fell against the wall of the building, right next to a door. It is strange how, 
at such moments, one notices the most insignificant thing. For my eyes fixed themselves 
upon a small, much-worn placard dangling by one screw from the door. DEATH HOUSE OF 
GOIMR, it read. 

The irony of it caused me to laugh. I think it was that wild laugh which momentarily 
stayed my remaining opponents. The three paused, stooping over me. It was that pause, 
perhaps, which saved my life. 

For at that moment, the door to the death house opened and a giant emerged. A true 
gianteven in my dazed state, I now realized that the woman whom I had taken for a 
giantess was but a very large woman. But this man! He had to stoop in order to get out of the 
doorand it was a large door. Eight feet tall, at least, he must have been. 

My three opponents were transfixed by the sight. Not the size of the newcomer alone, but 
the way his eyes rolled about, the way he giggled like a madman, the drool issuing from his 
loose lips. And the words he spoke: Isnt this just the craziest thing? Who would have 
thought it would come to this! And in Goimrof all places! 

He beamed down at the three knifemen. 

Dont you just love it? he asked. Then he raised the huge club which I now noticed for 
the first timeand so, judging from their expressions, did my opponentsand crushed one 
of them like an insect. 

The other twono cowards, I will say itinstantly launched themselves at the giant. In 
vain. Another swipe of that immense cudgel and both of them went flying. One of them was 
clearly deadI could see the rib cage shattered like the side of a barrel. For a moment, I 
thought the other dead as well. But he struggled to his feet, shaking his head to clear the 
daze. He stared up at the giant, who was shambling toward him, club raised high. 

Madness and confusion, madness and confusion, oh its so lovely, babbled the giant. He 
cackled with glee. I think it was that insane cackle which finally broke the villains nerve. He 
turned and raced down the street. 

Or, I should say, tried to race down the street. It took the giant but four huge strides to 
catch up with his prey and smash him to the ground. I could hear the skull splatter. 

Then darkness claimed me and I knew no more. 

My consciousness returned slowly, my hearing leading the way. 
And how is my dear aunt? Such was the first sound I recalled. It was spoken in a high-
pitched mans voice. 
The same as usual, came the reply, this in a female voice pitched so low that I dont 
know what to call it. Contralto profundo? The voice continued: Head in the clouds. 


Oh, Gwendolynalways so stern! When did you join the Sisterhood, by the way? 

Me? A Sister? A snort. Not likely! 

But I understood you to say you were carrying a message for Zulkeh from the Abbess 
Hildegard. I assumedbut then! Perhaps I misunderstood. Probably did. Probably imagined 
the whole thing. Im crazy, you know. Mad cackling. Hear voices all the time. 

Stop drooling! Its disgusting. 

Sorry. Cant be helped. Goes with my dementia. The head psychiatrist at the asylums told 
me many times that 

Wolfgang, shut up! 

Even in my semiconscious state, the momentary silence which followed seemed filled with 
reproach. Then, a sigh, and the contralto profundo spoke again. Quite a beautiful voice, 
really, once you got used to the rumble. 

I didnt mean to hurt your feelings. I just dont want to hear it. And to answer your 
question, the reason I was carrying Hildegards message is because she asked me to. She said 
the Sisters were being watched too closely. 

This is a long way to come just as a favor. 
Another sigh. Tell me about it. Halfway across Grotum, a good part of it on foot, with a 
knife fight at the end of the trip. And I never did get to deliver the message. 

Cant be helped. Zulkeh left yesterday. Just as well, all things considered. The 
Fangs would have taken him before he finished his first sentence, replete with arcane 
allusions to the classics. 

Is he really that bad? 

The male voice snorted. The worlds greatest pedant, my dear Gwendolyn. I take it youve 
never made his acquaintance? 

Dont meet too many pedants in my circles. 

I should think not! 

Must you roll your eyes like that? 

Mad cackling. Such intolerance! Quite odd, really, given your extreme ideological views. 

The female voice snorted. Eight-foot-tall lunatics who can afford to buy their own private 
insane asylums dont qualify as members of the downtrodden masses. 

I should hope not! But tell me, what exactly was this message you were to deliver? 

Silence. 

Oh, come, come, Gwendolyn. If you cant trust a madman, who can you trust? After all, 
whod believe me anyway? Can you picture the scene? Its marvelous! Myself, strapped to the 
rackwouldnt fit actually, theyd have to build one specialthe dungeon filled with 
Inquisitors and Cruds and Fangs! The great ones! Cardinal Ignomini! The Angel Jimmy 
Jesus! Gods Own Tooth! They speak! Their voices filled with hate! Tell us, Wolfgang, what 
were you doing down there in the secret passageways leading off from the abandoned death 
house? Myself, screaming with pain! Oh! That feels good! Excruciating agony! Just what 
the head psychiatrist at the asylum recommends 

Wolfgang! 

What? Oh, sorry. But the mans a genius, you know? A giant in the field of psychology. 
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, strapped to the rack, screaming with ecstasy. I was talking 
with the notorious agitator Gwendolynthe demoness herself! The Queen of the Railroad. 
And she was telling me how the Abbess Hildegard asked her to hike all the way across 
Grotumjust as a personal favor, you know?in order to tell Zulkeh, the worlds egghead 


supreme, that he was mixed up in Joe business. And then 

How did you know? demanded the womans voice. A voice now frighteningly harsh. 

But its obvious! Why else would Hildegard get involved? And why else would you agree 
to come? 

I didnt do it because of Joe! Cant stand all this Joe nonsense. Its one of the reasons Id 
never join the Sisterhood. Its idiotic. Were all supposed to stand around contemplating our 
navels. And meantime Ozar gobbles up Grotum along with the rest of the world. Let the poor 
starve! Let the dwarves be butchered! Her voice assumed a clipped high-pitched tone.  
When Joe comes back, dear, these things will all get straightened out. In the meantime, we 
must do our best to salvage what we can. 

I must say, thats quite a good imitation of Hildegard. My favorite auntIm really very 
fond of her. Shes quite mad, you know? A classic obsessive-compulsiveespecially when it 
comes to her correspondence with God! The head psychiatrist at 

Wolfgang! 

Oh. Sorry. Where was I? Other than in a state of lunacy? Oh, yes. You were about to tell 
me the message you were to deliver to the wizard. 

I was not. Besides, you seem to know all about it already. And while were on the subject, 
just exactly what were you doing in the death house? 

When? 

When you came out and clubbed the rest of the Fangs, you idiot! What were you doing 
here? 

I was watching you, actually. Theres a peephole in the door. You were marvelous. Just 
marvelous! Hacking and hewing Fangs right and left! Reminded me of this ax murderer we 
have in the asylum. Wonderful man, really. Of course, the head psychiatrist took away his ax. 
Cant blame him, I suppose. Therapys difficult with an ax in your skull, even if youre the 
worlds greatest psychiatrist. But it was horrible the way the poor madman wailed and 

Wolfgangshut up! Just shut up about your damned asylum! You mean to tell me you 
stood there and watched the whole thing? And didnt do anything? You lousy bastard! 

The male voice sounded aggrieved. Didnt do anything? Thats crazy! If youll pardon the 
expression. Didnt I come out and finish the job? 

Not until I was already cut and for all you knew dead from those damned poisoned 
blades! 

Nonsense. It was obvious the Fangs were trying to capture you alive. To put you to The 
Question, dont you know? Better to be dead, of course. But if theyd been an assassination 
team theyd have been wearing green cockades. Green for gangrene, you know? Theyre 
really quite maniacal, the Fangs, in a horribly sane sort of way. 

You mean they werent trying to kill me? It sure seemed that way! No sooner did I knock 
on the door than they came piling out of the death house. Didnt say a word, just started 
stabbing at me right away. 

Yes, yes, I know. As I said, a lot of maniacs. Theyve gotten it into their heads that 
Zulkehs meddling with the Kings dream would stir up awful things. You should have heard 
them carrying on in here. They came in not six hours ago. Absolutely furious that theyd 
missed the wizard. Ransacked the whole place. A frightful scene! Theres nothing here except 
a lot of old bones, of course. The wizard took all his stuff with him when he left. I watched 
the whole thing from my hideout. Mad cackling. Amazing! Such disrespect for the dead 
from such paragons of piety! Crypts dumped, bones scattered, urns shattered! Im afraid that 


by the time you knocked on the door theyd worked themselves up into quite the devout 
frenzy. You should have heard them pouring out of the catacombs and racing up to the main 
level. 

What if Id been an innocent bystander? demanded the woman. 

Absolutely insane and hysterical laughter followed this question. 

Whats so damned funny? 

My dear Gwendolyn! Are you such a naf? What a questionand coming from you! 
Gwendolyn Greyboar! The Terror of Theocracy! The Lady of the Lowlife! The Nabobs 
Nemesis! Dumb as a schoolgirl! Suddenly the mad voice was tinged with anger. When has 
anyone been an innocent bystander in the eyes of the Godferrets? 

All right, all right, grumbled the woman. But Id still like to know why you didnt come 
out sooner. 

Well, actually, I was about to take the plunge when this marvelous young man came 
along. Such a hero! And so young and handsome! The coup with the tripod! Brilliant! And 
what an exquisite backstab hes got. You were probably too busy to notice, dear. A pity, 
really. Best backstab Ive seen in years. Skewered two of them in a trice. And then! When the 
Fangs turned to face him! The low blows! Oh, marvelous! Marvelous! That kind of 
treacherous swordworks a lost art, nowadays. Havent seen such cunning bladesmanship 
since Rodrigo Sfondrati-Piccolomini. It was 

My uncle, I mumbled. I tried to open my eyes, but I couldnt. 

Hes waking up! exclaimed the woman. 

What a silly goose you are. Hes been awake for some time. Now hes regaining 
consciousness. Clucking sounds. Really should require you sane people to take courses in 
psychology. Wont find a lunatic who cant tell the difference between being awake and being 
conscious. Its the key to the whole thing, you know? Insanity, I mean. The head psychiatrist 
at the asylum wrote a wonderful 

Wolfgang! You mean hes been listening to us talk? 

Well, not exactly. More accurate to say hes been hearing us talk. Listening implies 
consciousness, you see. And I was just explaining that in his article the 
Shut up! You idiot! Hes heard too much! 
The sound of motion, somehow ominous. Then the mans voice: Gwendolyn! 
I opened my eyes. The womanyes, it was she, the lionessstood crouched above me, her 

great knife upraised for a death blow, her eyes blazing. 
Perfect! I cried. Right there! Dont move! My brushes! My paints! I tried to move, 
couldnt. 
The woman frowned. Her frown had to be seen to be believed. I began weeping with 
frustration. A masterpiece it would have been! Goddess In Judgement. 

What did he say? she said, turning her head. My eyes followed her gaze. There, sitting on 
a stone slab, was the shambling giant who had emerged from the doorway and administered 
the final blows to the knifemen. A lunatic, it was now obvious. He began a wild and insane 
cackling. 

He wants to paint your portrait! he howled. A true Sfondrati-Piccolomini! Of the 
artistic branch! Cant bear to die without painting his doom firstoh, marvelous. 
Marvelous! 

He wiped tears from his eyes, then babbled further. 

Really a much finer lot than my own clan, Ill be the first to say it. Not such good scholars, 


the Sfondrati-Piccolominis, but youll never find such great mad artists among the 

Laebmauntsforscynnewelds. 

He wants to what? 

Portrait, I whispered. Your portrait. Youre perfect. Just like you were beforein the 
fight. 

She gazed down at me. Slowly lowered her cleaver. Shook her head. 

Youre as crazy as he is, she growled. 

Perhaps some introductions are in order, said the giant in his oddly high-pitched voice. 
I am Wolfgang Laebmauntsforscynneweld, of the noted scholarly clan of that name. This 
magnificent lady with the great cleaver in her hand is Gwendolyn Greyboar, famous 
throughout Grotum for 

Shut up, Wolfgang! Hes an Ozarine, by the looks of him. 

Well, of course hes an Ozarine. As I was just about to say, Benvenuti Sfondrati-
Piccolomini, of the noted scholarly clan of that nameand not just scholars! Oh no! Artists 
and condottiere galore! Come to Goimr to seek his fame and fortune. Here he broke into a 
horrid cackling. And they say Im crazy! 

My feebleness was rapidly fading. I muscled myself up into a sitting position. In the 
process, I noticed that my wound had been expertly bandaged. Looking around, I saw that I 
was in a chamber hewn directly out of bare rock. Along one side was a stone bench, where 
Wolfgang was sitting. Behind him, bored into the rock wall, were some odd-looking holes. 
The chamber was otherwise bare, except for the entrance to a dim tunnel which loomed in 
the far wall. The woman leaned against the wall next to the tunnel. 

How do you know so much about me? I demanded. 

The giant stopped cackling and shrugged. Well, I read the letters in your pocket, while 
Gwendolyn was bandaging you up. Quite impressive. An invitation from the King. A 
recommendation from the Consortiums Director of Companies. A letter ofGwendolyn! 

I turned, flinched. The woman was looming above me again, cleaver upraised. 

An Ozarine agent! she raged. A Consortium spy! 

Nonsense! boomed Wolfgang. Hes an artist. 

What kind of artist would have letters in his pocket from the Director of Companies? 
hissed Gwendolyn. 

A Sfondrati-Piccolomini, of course. They didnt get to be one of the two great learned 
clans in the world by being wallflowers, you know? Great self-promoters, the SfondratiPiccolominis
take it from a Laebmauntsforscynneweld! Besides, the letter wasnt even 
written by the Director. I recognized Giottos handwriting. Been corresponding with him for 
years. Oh, Ive no doubt the Directors signature was genuine enough. Never catch a 
Sfondrati-Piccolomini in outright forgery! And so what? The man must sign twenty letters 
like that a day. Hes not much better than a parvenu, the Director, and he knows full well 
that if hes to take his place at the summit of Ozarine society hes got to develop a reputation 
as a Patron of the Arts. Its part of the plutocrat ritual. 

Gwendolyn was still frowning, that amazing frown. And its odd, looking back after all 
these years, how my life went off course so early. Cant say as I regret it, mind you. But still, 
its odd. A young mans heart is supposed to be caught by a young girls eye, or the smile on 
her lips, or the curve of her neck, or the toss of her hair. 

At that very moment a faint sound was heard. Wolfgang held up his hand, motioning us 
silent. He pressed his ear to one of the holes in the wall behind him. A moment later 


Gwendolyn had joined him on the bench, her ear pressed to another hole. And it was but 

another moment before my ear was pressed to a third. 

Make your report, I heard a voice say. A hard, cold, cruel voice. 

The dead men are all Fangs, Mr. Inkman. 

Again, the cold sneering voice: Tell me something I dont know. 

Its hard to tell exactly what happened, sir. The wounds are strangely varied. Some were 
decapitated, as by an ax. Others skewered. An expert swordsmans work, thata cunning 
one, to boot. Perfect backstabs and low blows, the most of those killed by the sword. And 
then there are the three who look like they were clubbed by an ogre. Crushed flat, those 
were. 

Three killers, mused Inkman. Silence. Then, he spoke again: What did you do with the 
bodies? 

A harsh laugh. We put them in the lower catacombs. Rolled them right back up in the 
shrouds and bones theyd pitched. Nobodyll look for them there. Certainly not the Goimr 
police! Couldnt find their dicks in the dark, those clowns. And I dont think there are any 
Fangs left alive in Goimria. Leastways, all the ones I knew are lying right now on cold stone 
slabs below. By the time Gods Own Tooth finds out what happened and sends another ferret 
pack, thesell all be moldy bones. 

Excellent! Were the only ones who know what happened, then? 
A cough. Well, not exactly, Mr. Inkman. The killers know what happened. Know more 
than we do, actually. 
Them! Who cares? Hasnt the Angel said it a thousand times? Its your friends who are 
the problem. Enemies take care of themselves. 

Yes, sir. Thats what he says, sir. 

So! What could be more perfect? For once, the miserable Fangs will be in the dark, 
instead of us. The Angel will be very pleased. Hes been trying to convince the Committee 
and the Nabobs for months that it was time to send a Rap Sheet to Grotum. Theyve been 
stalling, listening to the damned Fangs whispering in their ear. Dont rouse the Groutch 
beast from its sleep. Let Grotum lie. Thats all the Fangs ever say! Bah! Is the swelling 
grandeur of Ozar to be denied by these ancient legends of Grotum? Nonsense! Its long past 
time we took firm and direct measures. The Senators will whine and whimper, of course, like 
a typical lot of politicians. But the Nabobs are made of sterner stuff. Especially the Director 
of Companies! Now theres a man of action, after my own heart. 

The Fangs wont like it much, sir, responded the second voice. 

Theres the beauty of it, replied Inkman. This little massacre here will throw them into 
a panic. And well it should! When was the last time a whole pack was wiped out to the last 
ferret? 

Silence. Then, Inkman again: Never, thats when. I cant stand the holier-than-thou 
bastards, but theres no denying theyre a murderous crew. Can you imagine the reaction of 
Gods Own Tooth when he hears? Hell be baying for Groutch blood! 

Hell want to know who did it, too. Dont you think we should 

Nonsense. What? Are we to waste our time trying to sort out which lot of Groutch 
malcontents butchered the Fangs? No, no, it wont do. Remember the Angels motto: Do in 
your friends first, and your enemies are bound to follow. 

As you say, sir. 

So, lets be off. You are sure you cleaned up all the evidence? 


All except the bloodstains on the street. But wholl notice that, in Grotum? 

Well said! It wont be long now before this entire miserable sub-continent bends its knee 
to Ozar. Not with a Rap Sheet here on the scene to help us. 
Goimr will fall into our laps for sure, with a Rap Sheet. 
Bah! Who wants Goimr? No, Ill be proposing to the Angel that we start with the Rap 

Sheet in Prygg. I know hell agree. Hes often said Prygg was the key to Grotum. 

The last sentence I only heard faintly, for the voices were dwindling into the distance. 
When I looked up, I was struck by the differing ways in which my two companions in the cell 
were reacting to the conversation we had just overheard. 

Wolfgang was grinning from ear to ear. 

Gwendolyns face was flushed with fury. 

The Ozarine dogs! she cried. The filthy Cruds! 

The vainglorious fools! cackled Wolfgang. The incredible idiots! He began laughing 
insanely. 

Gwendolyn glared at him. Theyre going to bring a Rap Sheet to Grotum to complete their 
conquest of our homeland. And you think thats funny? 

Wolfgang wiped tears from his eyes. But, my dear Gwendolyn, dont you see the irony of 
the whole thing? The fools propose to bring one of Joes great relics to subdue Joes own 
homeland. Doesnt it strike you that theres a hint of folly in the logic? Typical Cruds! Here 
the giant imitated Inkmans cold voice:  As the Angel says, first do in your friends. Then 
your enemies will fall. He fell again into his horrible mad laughter. 

I love it! he cried. The Ozarine paranoids will hide the massacre of the ferret pack from 
the Fangs, so the Fangswho know the lurking danger in Grotum better than anyone! 
wont be able to get in the way of the Ozarines when they come trampling all over the place 
and rouse the lurking danger to full fury. 

Gwendolyn was still glaring at him. 
Wolfgang shook his head. Gwendolyn, the whole problem here is that you dont really 
understand the Joe question. 

I dont want to hear about it! she snapped. All I know is that the Ozarine Empire 
which has already half swallowed Grotum!now intends to gulp us down complete. What do 
you propose to do? Sit around drooling and giggling while we wait for some myth to rescue 
us? 

Well, not exactly. I do believe Joe will need a little help along the way. But dont let me 
stop you. I quite admire your efforts! Sally forthby all means! Smite the Ozarine with your 
cleaver! 

I thought that last was an unfortunate turn of phrasethe more so when Gwendolyn 
turned her hot glare onto me. 

I spread my hands in a calming gesture. Madame, let me assure you that 

Dont call me Madame! she barked. 

I took a deep breath, tried again. Gwendolyn, then. Its true Im an Ozarine. What of it? 
Im an artist, before all else. I care not a fig for the pomposities of the rulers of Ozar. 
Certainly not the Angel Jimmy Jesus and that whole lot of Cruds! Nasty creatures. Besides, 
like every genuine artist I know, my heart lies with Grotum. Its the center of the worlds art! 
Its music! 

Its mischief! giggled Wolfgang. 

I nodded at him. Perhaps, perhaps. Its certainly a livelier place than Ozar. At first, I 


thought Goimr an unutterably dull place 

It is, spoke Wolfgang and Gwendolyn in unison. 

but here I amnot a day since I landedand already Ive been arrested, tortured, been 
in a bloody swordfight, hidden in a secret hidey-hole, spied on Crudswhat next? What 
next? 

Next youll have to make your escape, said Wolfgang. The both of you. 

He turned to Gwendolyn, who wasand I was glad to see itcalmer in her aspect. 

I assume youll be trying to follow Zulkehwhen you discover where he wentto deliver 
Hildegards message. 

A pox on Zulkeh! came the response. A pox on Hildegard and her damned schemes! 
Ive got better things to do than be chasing all over Grotum looking for some obscure 
sorcerer. Ive got to warn my comrades. If the movement isnt prepared for it, the Rap Sheet 
will cut through us like a scythe. Even with an advance warning, its going to be bad enough. 
Besides, I dont even know where the wizard went. 

The key moments of decision come unexpected in life. If I have learned nothing else, this I 
have. And when they come, it amazes me how instantly they are made. Later, musing over 
the events, I was struck by how light were the feathers that wafted my fortune. A dwarfs 
voice, a womans frownthese the things that sent me off on a road unforeseen. 

I had told the police nothing, but now I spoke. 

The wizardZulkeh, that is his name? Accompanied by a dwarf servant? 

His apprentice, corrected Wolfgang. Shelyid, his name is. 

Yesan ugly creature. But he seemed a sweet boy. Anyway, theyve gone to Prygg. I told 
them of my encounter with Zulkeh and Shelyid at the travel station, and the words I 
overheard spoken by the wizard. 

But why would he go to Prygg? asked Gwendolyn. She peered closely at Wolfgang. 

Its time for some answers, you lunatic. Youve been keeping things from me. 

Wolfgang looked aggrieved. My dear Gwendolyn! He began rolling his eyes wildly. 

Cut out the act, Wolfgang! she snarled. Who is this wizard, anyway? And why is 
everyone so interested in him? Including you! 
Me? 
Gwendolyn waved at the chamber. This hidey-hole. This wasnt put here by the wizard. 

Look at the scale of the chamberand that tunnel. This was built by you. Why? 

Wolfgang coughed, then smiled. Cant put a thing past you, can I? Well, yes, actually I 
built this chamber so I could keep an eye on the wizard. Built it years ago. Zulkehs never 
known about it. The room beyondthe one which these holes enable you to listen tothats 
the wizards study. 

Why? demanded Gwendolyn fiercely. Whats so damned important about this sorcerer? 
You said yourself he was just a pedant. 
Wolfgang looked hurt. I said nothing of the sort. I said he was the worlds greatest 
pedant, thats true. But I never said he was just a pedant. Dear me, no! Ridiculous! 

Gwendolyn threw up her hands. Enough. Enough! Ill never get any sense out of you. And 
I dont care, anyway. Ill let lunatics like you worry about the legendary Joe. Ive got real 
things to worry aboutreal enemies, and real comrades, and real struggles. And Ive wasted 
enough of my time already. The wizards gone to Prygglet him go! Im not chasing after 
him. Ive got to get back to the Mutt. The Ozarines with a Rap Sheet here in Grotum will 
wreak havoc. Ive got to get the warning outand quick. 


She rose, like a tiger, and turned to the tunnel. Then stopped abruptly. 

Where does this tunnel lead to, anyway? 

Where else? giggled Wolfgang. To my secret door. But, Gwendolyn, will you please stop 
long enough to think? 

He raised his hands, as if to fend off the blow of her glare. 

Please, my dear, please! Im not trying to talk you out of your plans. Forget the wizard 
by all means! Its no problem, anyway. Ive had a hankering to visit Prygg again. Its Magrit, 
you know. He smirked, for all the world like a schoolboy. She and I are quite the item! 
Such a passionate witch! 

He coughed. Well, enough of that. The point is, Ill follow the wizard. But if you want to 
warn your people, you first have to get out of Goimr. The police will be everywhere. You 
heard Benvenutitheyll be watching every gate. Youre rather a noticeable woman, you 
know? How do you think youll get out? 

Gwendolyn frowned. Well, I hadnt really thought about it. I just walked in, I thought Id 
just walk out. 

If I might make a suggestion, andhere he cackledif you can manage to overcome 
your anti-Ozarine prejudices for a moment, I believe that Benvenuti might be the solution to 
your problem. 

He turned to me. Tell me, my boy, have you given any thought to your future? 

It took me a moment to grasp his meaning. 

No, I hadnt. Not really. My original plans seem to have fallen through. 

I should say! Idiotic plans, to begin with. Imagine. Wanting to be the Royal Artist of 
Goimr! 

He and Gwendolyn both burst into a fit of laughter. Now that Id experienced Goimr, I 
admit I found it impossible not to laugh myself. 

You see, Gwendolyn? demanded Wolfgang. Just as I said! A marvelous young man! The 
perfect traveling companion for you. 

What are you talking about? she demanded. 

Dont you see? Its perfect! For both of you. Benvenuti has a letter vouching for him, 
signed by Chief Counselor Gerard. Thatll get him through the gates with no questions asked. 
As for himself, the sooner he shakes the mud of this wretched city off his boots, the better. 

He smiled at me. A wonderful smile he had, actually, if you left aside its demented aura. 

The place for an aspiring young artist, my boy, is New Sfinctr! Theres the ticket! Oh, its 
a horribly wicked city, I admit. The pesthole of the planet, they call it. But exciting! Alive! 
Vigorous! Just the place for you. But your problem, of course, is how to get there. Its all the 
way across Grotum. Youll have to traverse forests, mountainsthe Groutch wilderness. On 
your own, youd lose your way. Lose your life, no doubt. But with Gwendolyn as your guide, 
itll be a Sunday stroll, near enough. 

Im not going to New Sfinctr, growled Gwendolyn. 

Wolfgang dismissed her protest with a wave. Quibbles, quibblesand you know it! Youre 
going as far as the Mutt, arent you? 

She nodded. 

And isnt New Sfinctr but a hop, skip and a stumble from there? Of course it is! A well-
traveled route, too. Even a simpleton could find his way from the Mutt to New Sfinctr. And 
Benvenutis no simpleton. Not even todayand he certainly wont be one by then. No, not at 
all! Hell be what the Ozarine call an old Groutch hand. 


I wished hed left off that last bit. Needless to say, the mention of the Ozarine brought a 
scowl from Gwendolyn. 

And thats another thing! There are people Ive got to meet. She glared at me. People I 
dont want this damned Ozarine to see, so he can run and tell his people who they are. 

Damn you, madame! I overrode her bellow with one of my own. And dont tell me not 
to call you madame! Arent you acting the perfect high and mighty lady? I assure you, no 
Ozarine heiress could do it better. I told you onceI will say it againI am an artist, not a 
politician. And Im certainly not a policeman! Make any detour you wish. See anyone you 
desire. If you want me to remain off to one side while you undertake your mysterious 
missionswhy, so I will. If you choose to have me accompany youwhy, I will say nothing to 
anyone. 

I spat on the floor. And finallymadameyou may rest assured that not all Ozarines are 
pig-bellied plutocrats. My own branch of the Sfondrati-Piccolominis has known its share of 
poverty and hard times. But weve always been artists, or scholars, or soldiers of fortune. 
Orif those words dont suit you!call us potters and pedants and plunderers. But thereve 
been precious few respectable bourgeois in the lot. And never a police informer! 

We were glaring at each other fiercely, practically nose to nose. It was she who stepped 
back, with a new look in her eyes. Respect, I thought, and I was stunned by how much I 
cared. 

Got quite the bite, this boy does, she chuckled. 

No boy, Gwendolyn! exclaimed Wolfgang. No boy could have carved up so many 
Godferrets. Skill and training be damnedthat takes an adult passion. He did save your life, 
you know. Well, actually, I would have saved it if he hadntbut he didnt know that at the 
time. Quite the hero lurking somewhere inside this young fellow, if my twin powers of 
madness and amnesia are to be trustedand they are! They are! 

The round of insane laughter which followed from the giants mouth enabled both 
Gwendolyn and me to catch our breath and take new stock. 

And then she smiled, for the first time since I had met her. Not a sunny smile, 
Gwendolyns, nevertoo many scars had forged that smile. But there was a great cool gleam 
in it, like moonlight, and friendship, and a sense of unyielding courage. 

All right, she said. Im willing, if you are. I warn you, the trip will be long, hard, and 
dangerous. 

I didnt need to answer with words. I was grinning from ear to ear, and laughing, and 
happier than Id beenever, I think. An adventurous life, Id wanted, since I was a lad. And 
here it was! 

But after Wolfgang explained the details of his plan, I wasnt happy at all. And the look on 
Gwendolyns face was positively terrifying. 

Butbut I was stammering like a schoolboy. Id thoughtperhapsGwendolyn could 
pose as my wifewell, local girlfriend, in any eventthe police might know Id just arrived 
unaccompaniedbut I was actually blushing. 

Nonsense! boomed Wolfgang. The whole ideas preposterous! Look at her. Oh, dont 
mistake meshes an immensely handsome woman, Gwendolyn is. Butlets face it. Would 
the dullest-witted policeman in the world believe, for one moment, that this Amazon would 
be some Ozarine playboys skirt of the evening? 

Gwendolyns face was like an iron mask. 

Hes right, damn him. His plan will work, Ive no doubt of it. Thats why I hate it. 


Even Wolfgangs air of perpetual good cheer seemed clouded, for a moment. 

I know, my dear. But thats partly why itll work. The police may have learned by now that 
youre here in Goimr. If they have, theyll be looking for you, as sure as the sunrise. But not 
as a draywoman! Not ever! Not Gwendolyn Greyboar! 

His gaiety returned. No, the real problem here is with Benvenuti. Its his part in the play 
Im concerned about. Youll need nerves of steel, my boy! And I hope youve as good a hand 
with a whip as you have with a sword. The whole thing will have to look real, you know? 

I took a breath. Im actually better with a whip. 

Oh, good! cried Wolfgang. Oh, thats very good! He coughed, chuckled. Actually, Id 
say your life may depend on it. 

Looking at Gwendolyn, I had no doubt of it. Even beforeas if by an involuntary reflex 
the cleaver appeared in her huge hand. 

If that whip so much as scratches me! It was amazing, really, how deep her voice was. 

If it does, she continued, when we reach the forest, Ill gut you like a pig. 


 
PROLOGUE. 

 In Which, Our Prelude Passed, We Acquaint the Gentle Reader with the Heroes of 

Our Tale, The Sorcerer Zulkeh and His Stupid But Loyal Apprentice Shelyid. 

Accompanied By Some Brief and Modest Notes Introducing Your Narrator, 

Alfred CCLXXIX, and My Noble Clan of Chroniclers. 

The times were most rank. For the Old Geister brooded alone and disconsolate far away in 
the bowels of his cloud-shrouded citadel, taking scant heed of the affairs of men. Meanwhile 
eons passed, millennium upon millennium, and the world fell into corruption. Skepticism 
and unreason swept across the land, even as the wenchs oestrus inflames the puberts loins. 
Yet the Old Geister acted not, for his rancor was overcome by melancholia. 

Worse than the damage to human morals was the damage to human minds. Men began to 
doubt, then question, then snigger at, then openly scorn, the once revered mysteries of old. 
Soon it was apparent that humanity preferred natural acts to unnatural lore. Thus, as 
generation followed upon generation, the candle of the old knowledge flickered out, and 
expired in the common memory of mankind. 

Yet, as we approach the time of our tale, there remained abroad in the world a few score 
scholars devoted to the retrieval of lost arts and philosophies. They could be found 
scratching among the rubble of ruined libraries and ancient temples, hoping thereby to 
unearth fragments of old writ. Each believed that there was to be discovered by the perusal 
of old scrolls and tablets, and the cunning exegesis thereof, the deepest secrets of the powers 
of the universe. 

Their lot was hard. As a result, their numbers, never great, declined steadily as the time of 
our tale draws near. Many factors contributed to this end. Some were martyrs to their own 
experiments, falling victim to spells ill-cast, demons misconjured, potions botched, 
talismans malwrought. Others were undone by the perils of the itinerant life attendant upon 
their pursuit of wisdom: the cholers of nature, the intemperance of wild beasts, the 
deprivations of disease, and the like. Still others, and these the most numerous of all, fell 
prey to the brutish acts of their fellow humansfor these latter are, as is well known, an 
unruly lot, given to sudden tempers and disputes. Hence the popular aphorism: He who 
lives by reason, dies by the sword. 

The survivor of these happenstances would yearn at length for a sanctum, some refuge 
wherein to contemplate the mysteries of Truth, unhampered by the pogroms of man and 
nature. Perforce they would forego, for a time, the peripatetic life and repair to some town or 
city, therein to peruse at leisure whatever ancient pearl of wisdom might have been acquired 


in their travels. 

To support a domicile for these scholarly pursuits, the sorcerer would typically apply his 
or her learning as a scrivener, teacher, lecturer, tutor, or healer of incurable maladies. Of 
these, of the mere handful of wizards populating the earth now at the time when our tale is 
ripe for the telling, we note that the least notable was a certain Zulkeh of Goimr, physician. 

The ancient city of Goimr is located on the underbelly of the great sub-continent of 
Grotum, at the place where the river Moyle joins the sea. Here, in a vast old abandoned 
death house, replete with many strange vaulted chambers connected by dark and crumbling 
passageways winding convolutedly like so many intestines deep into the bowels of the earth, 
down ever downward, into small niche-pocked vaults filled with damp worm-eaten caskets, 
many askew and half-opened crypts of the long dead, urns of dust, and the scattered bones 
of dogs and man, here, chose Zulkeh to rest and ponder his wealth of artifacts and relics, his 
scrolls and tablets, his talismans and tomes, the fruit gathered of his many journeys. 

A personage of such marked cerebral bent as the thaumaturge of Goimr could not, of 
course, afford to be troubled by the vulgar exigencies of attending his own person. 
Accordingly, Zulkeh had taken for the purpose an apprentice. This individual, one Shelyid, 
was evidently an orphan, for he had been discovered one evening by the wizard in a crude 
basket placed before the door to the death house. Zulkeh had at once taken in the wretch, 
not, it must be admitted, as an act of kindness, but rather in the pursuit of science. For the 
unfortunate Shelyid had been cursed with a most disgusting physiognomy. The victim of 
dwarfdom, the wretched Shelyids runtish body was ill served and thus doubly cursed by bad 
nerves, the slightest agitation of which would produce the most indecorous results: pox, 
palsy, jitters, quivers, tremors, convulsions, paroxysms, fevers, the staggers, the jerks, 
shortness of breath, frequent and uncontrolled excretion, irregularities of the pulse, lockjaw, 
ague, fidgets, timorousness, and a general feeling of social inferiority. These, of course, 
the classic symptoms of that most dread of nervous conditions, hysteria follicularia, the 
uncontrolled growth and spread of hair upon the body. 

The sorcerer had taken in the much-afflicted Shelyid in the belief that the dwarf was 
unnaturally wrought, the creature of some puissant though unknown power in the universe. 
For many years did the wizard peruse his scrolls and tomes, searching for some clue to the 
dwarfs provenance. Finding nothing, he turned to a consideration of events in the world at 
large which might be relevant to Shelyids origin. But in truth the year of the gnomes 
discovery was a remarkably quiescent year, at least by the standards of the modern turmoil. 
Only two events of general historic interest had occurred: the publicationmuch to the 
outrage of the Ecclesiarchsof Father Cosmo Sfondrati-Piccolominis infamous letter from 
the Sssuj, and the mysterious disappearance of the Colossus of Ozarae. As both these events 
occurred in lands far distant from Goimr, and as no connection with Shelyids arrival was 
discernible, the wizard dismissed these coincidences from his mind. 

The time came when Zulkeh drew his conclusions and summoned the dwarf to his 
chambers. 

Shelyid, spoke the mage, I have determined the source of your squalidness. 

Oh, master! cried Shelyid, fairly fainting from joy and expectation. You are the wisest 
and most powerful of wizards! 
Indeed, concurred Zulkeh. The truth was most trickily hidden from my powers, most 
cunningly disguised from my perceptions. 


Yes, yes! quivered the dwarf. 

I perceive now that my error lay in my too great wisdom, for it was natural that I should 
assume that your affliction lay in some supernatural source, whereas it is in fact purely 
commonplace. Thus I tell you that you are in truth not an occult but a genetic specimen. And 
though the world in its ignorance perceives in you nothing but an odious eyesore 
scrofulous, repulsive and loathsomethat behind this veneer my genius has penetrated to 
the truth. To wit, that you are in fact nothing but an odious eyesorescrofulous, repulsive 
and loathsome. 

The wizard continued in this vein, opening up to Shelyids understanding the wondrous 
and tortured path of logic whereby Zulkeh had arrived at the essence beneath the 
appearance. But it must be admitted that his labor was in vain, for the dwarf had long since 
fainted dead away, whether in awe of such deep and profound thoughts or in horror at the 
now-revealed permanence of his fate, it is difficult to say. Fortunately for the dwarf, his years 
of service to the wizard had reconciled this latter to Shelyids limitations, and Zulkeh 
concluded that he would retain the runt as his apprentice, despite Shelyids now-
demonstrated lack of worth. 

Thus, at this the beginning of our tale, do we find our principal dramatis personae 
ensconced at Goimr, the sorcerer earning an irregular income by his knowledge of physic, or, 
on those all too frequent occasions when none sought his services, by dispatching Shelyid 
into the tombs to scratch over the possessions of the long dead, extract the occasional gold 
tooth, and whatnot. 

And now it is time to introduce myself, for I am your narrator; and, though I subscribe to 
the ancient wisdom that a tales narrator should be as unobtrusive as possible, yet it is mete 
that the gentle reader should know somewhat of the provenance of this tale, lest he become 
afflicted with false doubts concerning its veracity and authenticity. 

Your narrator, I named myself, yet this term must at once be qualified. In truth, it would 
be more proper to call myself the compiler of this narration, rather than the narrator 
himself. The principal source of our tale, the central thread around which I have been forced 
to weave other annals and accounts, is the Chronicle of the Great Calamity scribed by my 
illustrious forefathers, the Alfredae. I say, around which I have been forced to weave other 
annals and accounts, for among the hazards and adventures of my ancestors flight from the 
Great Calamity many portions of their manuscript were, alas, lost forever. Nor, in the nature 
of things, was it always possible for my ancestors to directly observe various events and 
incidents of great moment to our history. 

Thus did it fall to my unworthy self, Alfred CCLXXIX, despite my frailties and paltry skills 
in comparison to my incomparable forebears, to attempt to fill the lacunae in their chronicle 
with other sources. As for these latter, I will vouch for their authenticity but not their 
veracity, as they are all of them the product of human hands and thus inherently suspect, 
due to the well-known mendacious proclivities of that malign race. 

No better example to illustrate this last point could be found than the very same 
Autobiography of Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini which I chose as the prelude to our tale. 
A strange choice for an introduction to scrupulous history! For the autobiography of this 
artist is, of course, notorious for its unreliability, inexactitude, and preposterous self-
aggrandizement. Yet, it seemed to me that any chronicle seeking to clarify the events and 
inner forces leading to the Great Calamity must, of necessity, include within its compass the 


tale told by Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini. This, for two reasons. 

Imprimis, Benvenuti himself played no small part in the ruination of civilization which we 
know by the name of the Great Calamity. At each and every critical juncture of that tangled 
skein of events and episodes which led to the Great Calamity, does his presence and 
influence make itself felt. And not his alone, nay, but those of the maleficent characters 
which he attracted about him like flies to honey, as well. Name all the individuals prominent 
in the destruction of our lost heritage, beginning with the Rebel himself, and you will find, in 
four instances out of five, this lowest common denominatoran association with the 
scoundrel Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini. 

Secundus, the wizard Zulkeh himself, blamed by all gentility for the Great Calamity, 
insisted to his dying day that a proper analysis of Benvenutis Autobiography made clear the 
truth of the matter. Of this thesis, I myself remain dubious. Yet, in fairness to the historical 
personage of the sorcerer, I felt it both judicious and proper to incorporate into this 
chronicle the Autobiography of the infamous artist. 

With those portions of our tale directly transcribed from my ancestors account, the 
matter is naturally otherwise. These may be regarded as unblemished truth, and this for two 
reasons. Imprimis, my peerless forefathers accompanied Zulkeh and Shelyid throughout 
their famous odyssey, in the course of which the hidden meaning of the Great Calamity was 
revealed. They were present at every juncture, there to observe and record both the event 
and its inner purport. Secundus, my ancestors chronicle was not compiled by witless 
humans but by members of that infinitely superior race to which my ancestors and I belong. 
I speak, of course, of pediculus humanus. 

A louse! you exclaim. 

Yes, I say proudly, a louse. And typical tis that even you, gentle reader, will automatically 
respond with the genocidal impulse of your bestial race, so evident even in ancient times and 
now, since the Great Calamity, grown systematic and ruthless in its horror. I am a louse, and 
my ancestors were lice before me. And not just any lice!but lice whose devotion to science 
was of such all-consuming passion that they readily resided upon the none-too-well-fed 
Shelyid, taking advantage of the latters hirsute plenitude to record a history of our modern 
times which is nonpareil. Would humans have done as much? To ask the question is to 
answer it. 

I urge you thus, gentle reader, to suppress your barbarous instincts and heed attentively 
the tale which follows. For though you despise us, consider this patent truththat while you 
squat here in wretched exile, dreaming with bitter regret of your lost wealth and luxuries, we 
squat here upon you and regret much less, for by your squalid existence you assure our 
sustenance. 

Cease then your fruitless scratching! say I, and attend rather to my tale. For though the 
Great Calamity has cast us into ruination, yet it is said that History moves in its cycles. The 
time may come again when weor rather, our descendantsregain that high estate to which 
our breeds are entitled. Such latter Restoration, however, depends in no small part upon the 
diligence with which you and your ilk absorb the lessons of the past. Thus I say again: attend 
to my tale, putting aside all useless antipathies. For we are companions in misfortune. 


PART I 


The Which 
Consists of Alfred CCLVIs 
Account of Zulkehs Last Days 
in Goimr, the Events and Thoughts 
of Those Final Days, and His Decision 
and Departure. Taken From the First 
Chapters of the Great 
Chronicle of the 
Alfredae. 


CHAPTER I. 

A Sublime Discourse on the Nature of Gravity. A Knock on the Door. The Wizard 

Is Summoned by the King! 

It was Zulkehs habit of the evening to instruct Shelyid in the art of wizardry and the lore of 
science. With the dwarf ensconced upon a stool in a corner of the study, the wizard would 
pace to and fro, expounding at length upon whatever subject struck his fancy. On this 
particular evening, Zulkeh had chosen to enlighten the dwarf upon the nature of gravity. 

So you see then, Shelyid, spoke the mage, this question of gravity has gripped the mind 
of man since time immemorial. The great ancient philosopher Disquo was the first to 
provide a general answer to the question: Why do all objects rest where they do? His answer 
was of the piercing simplicity of all true genius. 

 Because they belong there, said Disquo, and no one has been able to refute this 
proposition since. This is because it is irrefutable, for tis clear to even the dullest intellect 
that all things exist in their place because they belong there. Indeed, it must be so, for if they 
did not belong there, they would be somewhere else. Is this clear? 

Oh yes, master! cried Shelyid. 

Good. We may continue. Following the destruction of ancient civilization for those 
reasons which I have on earlier occasions opened up to your understanding, Disquos great 
truth disappeared in the chaos of barbarism. Only centuries later, after a passing semblance 
of culture had been resurrected under the aegis of the Ecclesiarchy, was the insight of 
Disquo revived, albeit in a form more suited to the needs of Religion. For it was then that the 


famed theologian St. Quinine brought forth Disquos dictum anew, but now with the caveat 
that all things belong where they are because God wills it. This thesis was to dominate 
human thought for a millennium. It is, of course, utterly specious. 

How so? you ask, groping in the dimness of your runtish intellect. It is self-evident. The 
true scientist understands by the nature of inquiry that such is designed to answer such 
questions as are posed through the examination of the question which is posed, and no 
other. Thus, the answer to the question: Why do objects rest where they do? can only be 
scientifically answered by explaining why objects rest where they do. This Disquo had already 
done: Because they belong there. To add to this truth the quibble that this is so 
because God wills it, adds nothing whatever to the investigation. If God exists, then tis 
rampant tautology to say that he causes all objects to belong where they are, for He is 
naturally the source of all objects, being and belonging. If God does not exist, then He has 
nothing to do with any of these. The revered saints thesis thus merely posits the existence of 
God under the guise of explaining the nature of gravity. But it advances us no further than 
Disquos formula. Indeed, it throws confusion over the problem. Is this clear, dwarf? 

Oh yes, master! cried Shelyid. 
Good. We may continue. A sudden frown enveloped the wizards brow. Zulkeh peered 
fiercely at his apprentice, who shrank before his gaze. 

Misinterpret not my words, spoke the mage. My intent is not to cast aspersions upon 
Religion, for such is necessary to discipline the passions of the common herd. In this task, 
the servants of Religion perform a most exemplary service. For this work they deserve all 
just credit and due, despite their superstitious habit of cloaking the Old Geisters immanence 
in all manner of frivolous and ridiculous trappings. Is this understood? 

Oh yes, master! cried Shelyid. 

Nevertheless, continued Zulkeh, it is apparent, from the standpoint of the higher 
reason, that St. Quinines contribution to the study of gravity is nought but a diversion. Even 
so, infinitely more sublime was Quinines thinking to that of his historical successor, whose 
advent was but another symptom of the sad decline of science in the modern world. 

For know, Shelyid, that the most significant figure following Quinine to treat of this 
questionsignificant not, as I shall in a moment expose, for his contribution, but for the 
vulgar popularity which it has received among the plebeianswas Oldgram. Sir Oldgram, for 
such was he titled in the barbarous land whence he originated, invented what he pompously 
called the Law of Gravity, thereby arrogating to himself, before his time and without reason, 
an honor which is properly mine. This law, or rather, law so-called (for it is nothing of the 
sort), states the following impudent proposition: to wit, that objects attract each other in 
direct proportion to their mass and in inverse proportion to their distance. 

This imbecility has long since swept the modern world, and it grieves me to relate that 
the Law of Gravity is today considered synonymous with the name of Oldgram. Yet so far 
from representing an advance of science, much less the formulation of an actual Law (most 
sublime of Theses), this outrage to all reason has rather dragged the level of scientific 
thought far below the stage earlier attained by Disquo, even in ancient times. 

For look you, gnome, what is the purpose of science? demanded the wizard. 

I d-dont know, master, stammered Shelyid. 

An excellent response, spoke the wizard, patting the dwarfs head. For it is only mete 
that a lowly apprentice should first learn science, then the higher truth of which it is the 
expression, and only at the last its purpose. But I will open up a small portion of this secret 


to your understanding. 

Here Zulkeh struck a solemn pose. The purpose of science, Shelyid, is to answer the 
question Why? Is this clear? 

Oh yes, master! cried Shelyid, pleased to be asked the normal question. 

With this understood, it is immediately apparent that Oldgrams proposition is sheer 
effrontery. Does Oldgram explain why objects rest where they do? By no means! He merely 
correlates the relationship of all objects to each other according to some crude ratio evident 
to the base senses. 

We may thus dismiss Oldgram as an importunate impostor, a parasitic empiricist, a flea 
upon the body of science. To the question why do objects rest where they do? Disquo had 
already answered correctlybecause they belong there. Neither the necessities of Religion 
nor the jackanapes of Oldgram have advanced the study a single inch beyond. It was left to 
me, and to me alone, to unravel the riddle. And this I have done according to that mode of 
subtle reasoning which is my wont and habitude. Is this clear, dwarf? 

Oh yes, master! cried Shelyid instantly, for this was a question whose answer he had 
long since mastered. 

Excellent. To the question why do all objects rest where they belong? or, to phrase it 
differently: why do all objects obey the Law of Gravity? (properly so named only by myself) 
I have provided the following astonishing insightbecause all objects contain graveness. 
Yes, Shelyid, graveness, the illusive essence of gravity which has hitherto escaped the ken of 
all mankind save myself. 

And thus we have it, Shelyid. The Law of Gravity, the true Law of Gravity discovered 
firstand so far only, I might addby myself. The Law may be stated as follows: Objects 
come to rest where they do because all objects contain greater or lesser amounts of 
graveness and hence gravitate downward to the precise degree determined by the quantity 
of graveness present within them. 

Immediately we see that this keen postulate not only brings the problem of gravity into 
full accord with all rational cosmography, but sheds as well a broad beam of light upon the 
most diverse questions hitherto unanswered. To give just one example, from the field of 
ethnology: why, Shelyid, is it the custom to bury the dead? 

I d-dont know, master, stammered the dwarf. 

Of course you dont! exclaimed the mage. How could you, without understanding the 
Law of Gravity? The reason is simple, my stupid but loyal apprentice. The dead are buried 
because it is only proper that the final end of life, which is a grave undertaking, should be 
death, which is graver still. And what more fitting place for the dead, therefore, than the 
grave? 

But with all these mysteries resolved, went on the wizard, surely your mind has begun 
to grope at a related but contradictory problem. To wit, the gravitation of objects having 
been explained, why do certain objects rise? 

The answer to this question, Shelyidwhose discovery is also a monopoly of my genius 
is to be found in the explication of the Law of Levity. What is the Law of Levity? The Law of 
Levity postulates that objects rise in accordance with the 

At that moment the sorcerers discourse was suddenly interrupted by a loud knocking on 
the door of the study. 

Shelyid! spoke Zulkeh. Someone is at the door. 

I know, master, muttered Shelyid, his anxious visage peering from behind the cabinet 


where he had instantly retreated at the sound of knocking. 

Then answer it, dolt! 

But, master, whined the dwarf, what if its a stranger? 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Who else would it be, cretin? I command you, open the door! 

Yes, master, grumbled the runt. Shelyid inched from behind the cabinet and, 
apprehension writ plain upon his face, slowly approached and opened the door. 

Now, the gentle reader is perhaps puzzled by the peculiar attitude evidenced by the 
misshapen apprentice toward this mundane task of opening a door in response to a knock. 
But the matter is, in truth, simple of explanation. We have already alluded most delicately to 
the dwarfs unfortunate nervous condition. By his nature, Shelyid greeted all events not 
strictly routine as incipient calamities. The attitude, common to the general run of mankind, 
that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, was incomprehensible to 
Shelyid. In the dwarfs mind, grass was not green to begin with. It was brown and coarse and 
grew only in rare clumps. Fences were not challenges to an audacious spirit, they were 
excellent constructs which served the salutary purpose of keeping at bay the monsters with 
which Shelyids mind peopled the universe, according to them as well the fixed and 
unilateral purpose of doing him harm. So, far from finding his own clump of crabgrass 
inadequate and longing for other pastures, the dwarf found in fences the sole complaint that 
they were invariably too short, too flimsy, too low and too few. 

Yet the gentle reader should not conclude that this outr world view was solely the 
product of Shelyids fevered fantasies. Alas, no, the dwarfs weltschmerz was all too well 
grounded in brute fact. For Shelyid, as we have explained, was cursed not simply with a 
grotesque nervous condition but with an equally grotesque appearance. All too often had he 
been mistaken, at first sight, for some strange and loathsome beastif not a vicious 
carnivore then at the least some disease-ridden creature escaped from the bowels of the 
earth, perhaps unnatural, certainly abnormal, a suitable object for curses and blows. More 
than once, opening the door of their abode to a stranger, had the pitiful gnome been greeted 
with a gasp and a boot. 

Upon this occasion, however, his luck was better. 

The door open, Shelyid and his master perceived in the dim entryway a small and wiry 
man, well dressed and bearing an air of self-importance. This worthy stared at the 
apprentice for some long moments and then, wrinkling his nose, looked to the wizard. 

Is the sorcerer Zulkeh present? he inquired. 

I am he, spoke the mage. 

In that case, I have a message to deliver. He reached into his cloak and brought forth a 
letter, sealed with wax. 
Bring me the letter, Shelyid, spoke Zulkeh. The dwarf took the proffered missive and 
scurried to his masters side. Zulkeh broke the seal and examined the contents of the letter. 

This is a summons from King Roy, King of Goimr! he exclaimed. 

Quite so, agreed the stranger. You are to present yourself at the palace tomorrow 
morning following the eighth bell. See to it that you are prompt. He turned to go. 
Hold there! spoke Zulkeh. What is the Kings purpose in summoning me to his side? 
The man inspected the wizard, his apprentice, and their lodgings. That, he sneered, is a 

good question, and strode off. 
Impudent rogue! oathed the wizard. King Roy would be well advised to dispense with 
his services! 


But what could the King want with us, master? queried Shelyid. 

As to the specifics of your question, responded Zulkeh, I know not. But tis hardly 
strange that the King should call for me. Rather the contrarytis most apt that the mighty 
of the earth should flock to my side for counsel and sagacity. That they have never done so is 
but further proof of the decrepitude of these our modern times. In truth, it is King Roy who 
should come to me, not I to King Roy. But as I have always been a respecter of temporal 
authority, we shall answer his summons. And now, Shelyid, to bed. 


CHAPTER II. 

Journey Through Goimr. A Discourse on the Geography and History of the City. 

The Palace Doors Swing Wide! 

The following morning, Zulkeh and Shelyid set forth to the palace. As the distance to be 
traveled was great, the wizard determined to engage a hansom, though his meager funds 
normally precluded such extravagance. 

We take here the occasion to educate the gentle reader in the geography and history of 
Goimr. The realm of Goimr is a small kingdom located on the southeastern coast of the subcontinent 
of Grotum. The city of Goimr itself is located at the extremity of the Gulf of Goimr, 
the which extends westward from Grotum Long Bay. To the north and west, the kingdom is 
surrounded by mountains, with only the Dreary Gap on its northwest frontier offering access 
to the Grimwald and the other lands of Grotum which lie beyond that noisome forest. To the 
south, the farmlands of Goimr steadily give way to the Great Southern Steppes, which are 
more or less considered to begin at a line bounded on the west by Joes Lakes and on the east 
by Joes Dunes. Further still to the south lies the Great Wall of Grotum, an ancient stone 
palisade erected in the dim mists of the Groutch past by the legendary Emperor of the 
Grinding Hegemony, as a bulwark protecting Grotum from the incursions of the various 
nomadic tribes which infest the Great Southern Steppes. 

The Great Wall itself, sad to say, is but a pitiable remnant of its ancient glory. Over the 
eons, the forces of man and nature have taken their grim toll upon the once mighty rampart. 
In many places along its length large breaches occur, and even at its best the Wall is crumbly 
and dilapidated. Not for many centuries has it served as an effective barrier to the outrages 
of the nomadic hordes, the which plunder and pillage the southern portions of Goimria at 
will. So regular and frequent are these barbarous incursions that the much-ravaged 
peasantry of the realm commonly refers to the ancient bastion as the Great Hall of Grotum. 
This practice is, of course, forbidden by royal decree, but as the police of Goimr are hardly 
more efficient than its army, it continues unchecked nonetheless. 

As the hansom made its slow way to the Royal Palace, which was located on an island in 
the middle of the river which bisected Goimr, Zulkeh took the occasion to educate his 
apprentice on the historiography involved. 

The existence of this ancient ruler, my stupid but loyal apprentice, is a matter of much 
controversy among historians. Indeed, the subject has become one of the major arenas of 
contention between the two great scholarly clans, the Laebmauntsforscynnewelds and the 
Sfondrati-Piccolominis. 


Here Zulkeh stroked his beard vigorously, as he was wont to do when deep in scholarly 
exposition. For millennia, the account of this monarch presented in the classic annals of the 
ancient Herodotus Laebmauntsforscynneweld were considered to be, in the main, accurate. 
Herodotus depicted the Emperor of the Grinding Hegemony as a mighty despot whose 
power held sway over all of Grotum and other lands bordering on Joes Sea. So august was 
this ancient ruler, so near divine in his aspect, that it was considered sacrilege for either 
himself, his entourage, or even his means of transport, to touch anything but human flesh in 
his travels about the realm. 

Shelyids eyes widened. Seeing the expression of shock and surprise in his wards face, the 
wizard nodded sagely. Indeed so, dwarf. A most superstitious and barbarous lot, our 
ancestors. Twas even the custom for the Emperors chariot to be drawn over the prostrate 
bodies of his subjects, the which laid themselves upon every inch of every road whence his 
frequent journeys took him. 

Zulkehs brows lowered as he weighed the various aspects of the question in his mind. 
From a mathematic viewpoint, of course, the policy was ill-advised. As the Emperors 
chariot was an immense vehicle carved from a single block of jade, resting upon two great 
iron wheels inlaid with gold and gems, and drawn by four buffalo, the practice weighed 
heavily upon the populace. Hence, according to Herodotus, the derivation of the Emperors 
cognomen. Hence also, according to Herodotus, the rapid decline of his empire. 

Here, glowering fiercely, Zulkehs eyes ranged across the dilapidated slums through whose 
narrow and crooked streets the hansom was passing. Since that timeas even you can no 
doubt deduce from our miserable surroundingsthe history of Goimr can most politely be 
described as undistinguished. 

Everybody says its a dump, master, agreed the apprentice cheerfully. Most wretched 
place in Grotum, they say. 

Nonsense! exclaimed the mage. Squalid though it be, Goimr is a veritable paradise 
compared to Kankr. His brow furrowed. Nor do I recall giving you leave to insult what is, 
when all is said and done, my chosen place of study and cogitation. 

The dwarfs head lowered, acknowledging the deserved reproof. Zulkeh continued: 

The official historical account, perpetuated by the royal family at great expense, has it 
that Goimr was once the seat of a great empire ruling all of Grotum, which was brought to an 
end by the unfortunate pile-up of silt at the mouth of the Moyle. This interpretation leans 
heavily on the aforementioned legend of the Emperor of the Grinding Hegemony, and is 
considered utterly preposterous by the entire population. But we must leave off this 
fascinating but perhaps not pressing matter. For I see we have arrived at the ferry which will 
convey us to King Roys island. 

Eventually, Zulkeh and Shelyid arrived at the palace door, upon which the wizard rapped 
imperiously with his staff. 

Whos there? queried a voice within. 

It is the wizard Zulkeh, come in response to King Roys summons. 

Moments later the door creaked open. A slovenly individual in the livery of the Royal 
Guard peered forth, then stood aside. 

You may enter. Go that way, he muttered, pointing down a long corridor to their right 
with one hand as he scratched his stomach with the other. Zulkeh attempted to solicit more 
precise directions, but the guard ignored him and slouched into a rickety chair. 


Grumbling at the discourtesy, Zulkeh strode forth down the hallway. Ere long, however, 
his humor improved as he regarded the multitude of portraits which hung along both sides 
of the hall, the which depicted the long line of the royalty of Goimr. 

Respect for ones ancestors, Shelyid, is a sure sign of good breeding, spoke the wizard as 
he inspected the portraits. Pity tis in this regard that you have no known ancestry to 
respect. The dwarf hung his head in shame. On the other hand, given your malformities, 
tis perhaps as well that your provenance remains unknown. 

At the end of the hall stood two guards before another door. These wights were as 
unprepossessing as the first. Informing them of his name and the nature of his visit, Zulkeh 
and Shelyid obtained admittance to the room beyond. In this antechamber, bare of all 
furnishings, they were joined shortly by a man of easy grace, yclept Gerard, who pronounced 
himself Chief Counselor to the Throne. 

Ah, Zulkeh, said this latter. He regarded the wizard and his apprentice for some long 
moments, not, or so it seemed, with any great pleasure. You are here at the behest of King 
Roy, who bade me search the city for a sorcerer to aid him in his current melancholia. You 
were the only one I could find. I will tell you straight out, sirrah, that I view the Kings hope 
in your assistance with considerable skepticism. 

Such is the folly of men, spoke the wizard, stiffly erect. 

Indeed, sniffed Gerard. Well, be that as it may. The King has made his wishes clear. The 
matter stands thus. King Roy has had a dream, a most terrible dream, or so it seems, and 
certain of my colleagueshere he gestured vaguely toward a small body of men who 
appeared in the entry beyondtook it upon themselves to alarm His Majesty and to 
intimate that this dream bodes ill for the realm. I, of course, have no truck with these 
fantasies, for it is plain to the man of reason that dreams are nothing but dreams, and thus 
I am frank with you, sirrahit seems misguided to raise such commotion about a paltry 
matter. You are here thus against my advice, but we must make the best of it. In this respect, 
I am certain that you, as a man of science, will see the matter in the same light as do I, and 
thus aid me to assuage King Roys fears and dispel the fog of misgiving which currently 
clouds his brain. 

Indeed, sirrah, spoke the wizard, being, as you so rightly put it, a man of science, I am 
forced to hold precisely the opposite opinion, if so pallid a term as opinion can be used to 
describe the crystalline certainty of my views. 

What? demanded the courtier. Do I understand you to believe in dreams? 

Certainly not. You mistake my meaning. I do not believe in dreams, but in Reason, which 
resides in dreams, however obfuscated and difficult to interpret. You grasp, of course, the 
distinction? 

Zulkeh squinted at the courtier and awaited acknowledgment. He, in turn, squinted back. 
Once again Gerard examined the eccentric raiment of the sorcerer and the oddities of his 
apprentice. 

I am not at all sure that I do, he said at length. But the King has called for you and I 
will therefore introduce you to the August Presence. Whatever else, do nothing to alarm 
him. 

With that, Gerard passed through the far entry, Zulkeh and Shelyid following behind. 
Beyond, they perceived a drawn and haggard visage, who rose from a rather shabby throne, 
eyes streaming with tears. 

Oh Gerard! moaned this figure. Who have you brought to torment me now? His face 


contorted, became vicious with remembered treasons. I have kenned your plotyou seek to 
drive me mad! 

King Roy tottered forth, gesticulating with some energy. And what are my loyal subjects 
about today? Setting mantraps for my police? Cutting down my forests? Poaching my game? 
Eating my herds? Scoffing my heralds? Stoning my tax collectors? 

He scuttled forward, in an obliquely crablike manner, and thrust his face into Zulkehs. 
And whore you? he demanded. 

I am Zulkeh, spoke the mage, the sorcerer whom you summoned. 

I summoned? King Roy frowned. Why, yes, so I did. He peered at Zulkeh suspiciously. 
You dont look like a sorcerer. 
Before Zulkeh could respond, the King waved his hand in a gesture of infinite weariness. 

Well, Im the King of Goimr. And believe me, its no picnic. When my grandfather was 
King nobody fooled with him, let me tell you. If they did, he took their property, sold their 
family into slavery, and cut them up to feed his racing dogs. But today the plebes are so 
wanton nobody knows who their families are, and all their belongings are already mortgaged 
to the Consortium. The last peon I cut up for feed gave my kennel the runs and I missed the 
sweepstakes. King Roy paused, disconsolate. I needed the money, too. 

Zulkeh made to speak. Your Majestys Chief Counselor, Gerard 

That traitor! shrieked the King. He leveled a quavering finger at Gerard and the other 
courtiers, who were gathered on the opposite side of the room. Theyre all miscreants, the 
lot of em. I pay them a fortune to sit on my Council of Ministers, but their avarice knows no 
bounds. Gerard, here, is in the pay of the Ecclesiarchs, and that onethere!hes the 
Minister of War, runs a pool on the exact time of my assassination. Were it not for my sense 
of duty Id abdicate and let that ingrate who claims to be my son try his hand at this 
miserable business, assuming he could learn to count his fingers. 

Gerard detached himself from the knot of councilors and came to Zulkehs side. 

Your Majesty is ill-served by lending credence to such rumors, he soothed. I dally with 
the Ecclesiarchs to obtain information, not to give it out. Naturally I must accept their 
bribes, lest they suspect my motives. As for the War Ministers pool, its purpose is solely to 
draw forth would-be assassins that they might be the more promptly dispatched by your 
efficient executioners. 

But let us now to the business at hand, he continued, spreading his arms in a calming 
gesture. The wizard Zulkeh is here at your express request, to dispel the fears roused by 
Dispel the fears! shrilled King Roy. What good can a wizard do? I was mad to even 
think of it! Here he glared most ferociously at Zulkeh. 

Ha! Youwizard! Can you conjure up a battalion of troops who wont flee from their own 
shadows? Can you cast a stupefying spell over the entire populace, so that these ministers of 
mine could deal with them as equals? Can you? Can you? Ha! Wizardha! Fraud! 
Impostor! 

Then, even as the thundercloud enfolds its roiling fury round the granite crown of the 
awesome peak, so did the mages brow oerboil with rage. 

Silence! he spoke. I perceive that civilization has decayed even further than I feared, 
since respect for Knowledge has fled not only the brute masses upon whom its hold was 
always faint, but the puissant as well. 

The King of Goimr gibbered in outrage, but the wizard paid no heed. Indeed, he spoke 
further. 


Yet in these paltrous times do I live, and living so must need support the temporal power, 
no matter its feeble merit, lest chaos reign supreme. This truth, however, renders it 
imperative for the secular representatives of Order to grasp at least the rudiments of science. 
For know, Your Majesty, that truth reveals not itself as itself. Nay, fie upon such witless 
notions! Rather does Reason insinuate itself through the obscureto most, the opaque. It 
moves through the angularities of logic, the vectors of analysis, the immanence of the 
unfolding speculation. Surely you grasp my point? 

Zulkeh paused to observe the Kings response. As the latter was still gabbling in mindless 
fury, the wizard cut impatiently to the core. 

What, then, he demanded, was the nature and content of this dream? 

And at that, at the very mention of the word, King Roys distemper fled like a ghost. His 
eyes rolled wildly. My dream! he shrieked, and collapsed to the floor. 


 
CHAPTER III. 

A Portentous DreamIts Contents Revealed. The Mage Is Troubled in His Mind. 

King Roys Wrath. The Mage Elucidates. King Roys Anxiety. The Wizard Is 

Commanded! 
The hairthe hair!everywhere I turnedpulling me down, binding my limbsthen! My 
tonguecaught! Caught, I say, caught!grasped by a great beard sprung suddenly up before 
me, coiling about like a thousand serpents, writhing and twistingbut worseit spoke! Yes, 
it spoke, I say! The beard spoke! Oh God, did it speakon and on and on and on, babbling in 
some heathen tongue. 

But I couldnt speakit was horrible! I couldnt give ordersnot a one!and me, a King! 
And who ever heard of a beard speaking, anyway? Certainly not to a King! I mean, whats 
happened here to the basic rules? 

Then it was worse stillfor suddenly it wasnt just the one great beard, oh no! Thousands 
of beards, millions of them, millions I tell you! Little ones mostlybut so many! 
Everywheregrowing over the whole palace, sprouting up everywhereright on my dinner 
plate, I tell you! 

I couldnt move, couldnt lift a fingerevery finger was held down by beards! And worst 
of allI couldnt give orders, not a oneand me, a King! The great beard still had me by the 
tongue! 

But it got worse! For thenall the beards started to speak! Oh God and what a fearful 
racket they mademillions and millions of little beards, all of them gabbling away in 
hundreds of barbarous tongues, not one of which made any proper sense. 

Thensuddenlythe beards let me go! I jumped upran awaythey all hissed at me but 
they let me goI thoughtbut I was wrong! For just when I thought I was getting away I 
saw this figure before me. Not muchsomething small. But it was hideous! Hairy and 
frightful!and then! It started to grow! It wasnt small at all! No! It tricked me! And mea 
King! It was huge! It was gigantic! And it kept growing and growing, higher and highero 
horrible! Horrible! Horrible! 

No more, wept King Roy. No morethe rest is lost, I remember no more. It is all like a 
black stain, all other memory is lost. He fell silent, hunched on his throne, scepter clenched 
in bony fist, ashen-faced, eyes haggard and unseeing. 

So, spoke Zulkeh, musing in deep thought. At length he emerged from his 
contemplation. I must ponder upon this matter, Your Majesty. A most profound 
maloneirophrenia! Now had it been snakes which grasped you so, twould be a simple 


problem. Snakes are a trifle. Ropes are also quickly fathomed. Tentacles, likewise. But 
beards? That is quite a different matter. 

The mage fell silent, lost for some moments in his thoughts, then spoke again. Your 
Majesty, this problem will require my full study, the application of my most cunning 
dialectic. But rest assuredthe solution will emerge in due time. 

Time? demanded King Roy. How much time? 

Tis difficult to say, Your Majesty. Certainly weeks, probably months, possibly years. 

Months! screeched King Roy. Years! His eyes bulged. I dont have years! I must know 
now! I must know the danger, that I may take steps to avert it! 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Think you a question of such gravitya portent of such 
overwhelming perilcan be discerned in its unveiled essence in the twinkling of an eye? 
Years, I said, and years it may well be. I shall almost certainly be forced to travel to divers 
and odd locations, heathen lands and the like, where beard lore is most fully developed. 

Then did apoplexy seize upon the royal visage. You are hereby commanded by royal edict 
to report to me at this palace one week from today! 

Utterly impossible! spoke the mage. One week could barely allow me to scratch the 
surface of the problem. 

Two weeks, thenand not a minute more! And with these words King Roy lowered his 
head, grasping it in both hands. Go now! he groaned. 

What does it all mean, master? asked the dwarf later, as they rode through the crooked 
alleys back to their domicile. 

It means ill, Shelyid, great ill, spoke the wizard in a dark voice. Of what ill, and whence, 
I know nothing as yet. But the truth is there, and I shall unearth itnever fear!wherever 
the search may take us. 

Us? queried Shelyid. Us, master? His beady eyes began to glaze. But what have I to 
do with searching out great ills, master? He whined in his throat. That sounds dangerous, 
searching for great ills and perils and such. I am no mighty mage such as yourself, to wander 
about the world like that. Im just a dwarf, a wretched dwarf. 

True, quite true, agreed Zulkeh, patting the gnomes head. But you will be needed to 
carry my things. 

And then did the wizard launch into a most learned discourse, opening up to Shelyids 
understanding the necessary place of the burden carrier in history, recounting tales of 
faithful servitors of yore and their role in sundry legendary exploits of ancient sorcerers and 
warlocks, in which these humble drudges found not only their proper place but a share as 
well (paltry though it was) of the glory andalas, usuallythe gory end of these selfsame 
puissant probers of the unknown. But, in truth, his exposition was in vain, for his apprentice 
had long since fainted dead away, whether in awe at such deep and profound thoughts or in 
horror at the now-revealed impermanence of his fate, it is difficult to say. 


 
CHAPTER IV. 

A Wizards Travail. FailureBut the Truth Revealed Therein. The Dwarf 

Reproved. The Wizards Decision. The Dwarf Reproved. The Wizards Command. 

The Dwarf Reproved. 

In the days which followed, Shelyids fears slowly abated. For it seemed, after all, that the 
wizard had no intention of departing his domicile. To the contrary, Zulkeh did now forego 
even the morning promenades which he had in the past enjoyed upon occasion. Not once did 
he leave the death house. 

Yet this sedentary life bespoke not sloth on the mages part. Quite the contrarynever had 
Shelyid seen the wizard so engrossed in his work. At all times Zulkeh could be found in his 
study or laboratory, delving into the sorcerous arts, taking neither rest nor sustenance. Soon 
the multitude of tomes, tablets and scrolls which filled their domicile became disarranged 
even further, as the mage investigated their arcanities. Odd experiments did he conduct, in 
the course of which many revolutionary advances in the field of alchemy were achieved, only 
to be impatiently discarded as irrelevant to the task at hand. Bizarre talismans did he bring 
forth, applying to them the most peculiar incantations. Conjurations, summoningsmore 
than once did Shelyid flee in terror as the misty form of some fell creature from the 
netherworld took shape, called up by the wizards lore. 

But all was in vain. The truth lay hidden, the secret of the Kings dream obscure. At 
length, after a week of frenzied study, Zulkeh ceased his travails. Then for four days did he 
remain ensconced in his chair in the study, pondering silently. Around him Shelyid tiptoed, 
careful not to disturb his masters musingsalthough on one occasion the loyal apprentice 
made so bold as to brush off the dust which had accumulated upon the wizards immobile 
person. 

The wizard remained undisturbed during this period, despite the incessant arrival of 
messengers from King Roy demanding to know what progress could be reported. For the 
loyal Shelyid rebuffed these assaults with unwonted determination. Indeed, he became 
rather adept at opening the communication port in the door and shouting out: Go away! 
The master is busy, cant be disturbed, go away! 

Alas, the day came when a whole squad of Royal Constabulary arrived. 

Open up in the name of King Roy of Goimr, open up in the name of the law! bellowed 
the lieutenant in charge, all the while pounding on the great oaken door with his truncheon 
of office. Shelyid, to his credit, attempted to stand fast. But, when six burly troopers began to 
apply their shoulders to the door, the dwarf undid the bolts and lifted the bar, swinging the 


door wide just as the staunch six hurtled at it. They came crashing through into the entry 
hall where they piled up like so many falling duckpins, dislodging as they fell a neat pyramid 
of mummified heads. These unpleasant items, not much more than skulls, reallystrands of 
beard still attached to their mandibleshad been stacked there by Shelyid pursuant to his 
masters command to retrieve the heads of all bearded men from the crypts as part of the 
wizards investigation. 

Shelyid shrank back into an alcove as the policemen made frantic efforts to arise from the 
carpet of heads, the sight of which objects did little for their morale, judging, at least, from 
their wails. At length the officer entered and commanded his troopers to silence and order. 
As they moodily regrouped, casting fearful glances down the various dark and dank passages 
which emanated from the foyer, the officer addressed himself to Shelyid. 

Youthere in the alcovepresent yourself! Where is the wizard Zulkeh? 

Shelyid stood mute, his teeth chattering. 

Speak, grotesque dwarf! Or Ill set the squad on you! 

The constables brightened visibly and began to finger their various belts, clubs, coshes, 
sticks, straps, gloves, knucks and other instruments of lawful persuasion. One of the beefy 
policemen reached out a hand and dragged Shelyid forward by the scruff of the neck. 

You want I should give him the third degree, Lieutenant? he demanded with a leer. 

Wait! Wait! cried Shelyid. Ill take you to the master! 

Do so, then! barked the lieutenant. Released by the constable, Shelyid started toward a 
flight of steps at the opposite end of the hall. As he headed down the steps, followed by the 
Royal Constabulary, the dwarf said timidly: Thingsll look a little weird, but you dont have 
to be afraid. Its just that the masters trying the cantrips of Escher 
Laebmauntsforscynneweld and I always hate it when he does because 

The gnomes words were cut off by great cries of fear and shock from the Constabulary. Of 
a sudden, the staircase they were descending was inverted and tipped to a ninety degree 
horizontal angle. The policemen dropped to their knees in startlement, despite the dwarfs 
warning cries. 

No! No! Dont do that! The staircase isnt really 

Alas, the warning came too late. In a trice, the policemen had inadvertently rolled 
themselves down the staircase, even though it appeared they were rolling up and sideways. 
Their progress downup? along?it was difficult to saythe staircase was precipitous in 
the extreme, and most painful to boot, judging by their cries of hurt and distress. Shelyid 
sprang aside as the squad made their way forward like so many fleshy tumbleweeds, the 
lieutenant rolling up the rear. 

The dwarf hurriedly followed the law enforcement bowling balls, calling out: 

When you get to the bottomI mean, the topI mean, the enddont move! Dont 
move! 

Alas, his words went unheeded. No sooner did the Constabulary pile up at the terminus of 
the staircase than they staggered to their feet, bellowing with outrage like bulls. A moment 
later they were flattened by the arrival of a giant tarot card onto their heads. The Knave of 
Batons, fittingly enough. 

Shelyid raced up and pried the card off the backs and buttocks of the Georgias of order, 
now squealing with outrage like so many boars. The policemen staggered to their feet again, 
and looked around. They were standing on top of an enormous desk, next to a huge bowl 
containing a pipe the size of a buffalo and two used matches the size of logs. Nearby loomed 


a gigantic humidor. A bit farther off, huge books leaned against buildings, the which 
marched in stately progression, side by side, down a normal looking street. The street was 
filled with people going about their business. 

Average men would have been paralyzed with astonishment. But these were stalwart 
officers of the law, trained and disciplined, ready to handle the unexpected. At once they 
drew their billy clubs and advanced upon Shelyid. Things would no doubt have gone badly 
for the dwarf, save for the intervention of the wizard. 

Or rather, the wizards voice, which instrument of wrath descended on the Constabulary 
like the proverbial Word of God. 

Cease this intolerable impertinence! 

Stunned into frozen statues by the great voice, the Constabulary stared up in shock. There, 
at a great distance, loomed the gigantic visage of the wizard Zulkeh. The mage was holding a 
pack of cards in his left hand, a single card in his right. Judging by the expression on his 
face, he was wroth with wrathand it was impossible not to judge correctly, for his face was 
the size of a great monument. 

By what right do you interrupt my studies? 

The lieutenant, his expression no longer arrogant, cleared his voice. Sirrah wizard, a 
thousand apologies! But I have been sent by King Roy to oversee your studies and report on 
your progress. 

Bah! Impudent knave! You are in no wise competent to oversee 
my studies! Nor, I misdoubt me not, are you capable of accurately 
reporting so much as a sliver of my science. 

The wizard glowered in the distance like a volcano. Suddenly, he flicked his wrist. The 
knot of policemen were flattened by the arrival of another giant card onto their heads. 

I shall tell your fortune. Ahthe Knight of Swords! You are 
headstrong, careless, heedless of warnings. 

Oh yes, master! cried Shelyid. I tried to warn them! 

Another card landed atop the thrashing Constabulary. 

The Fool, reversed. Foretells of major problems arising from 
reckless, impulsive action. 

Another card. The policemen were now buried from sight. 

The Tower, reversed. Predicts the calling down of a disaster 
which might have been avoided. Unnecessary suffering. Self-
undoing. 

Great squeals of fear and pain emanated from beneath the growing pile of cards. The 
wizard drew another card. 

I shall now predict my own future. Ahexcellent! The Six of 
Swords! Indicates that some obstacle has been overcome and 
progress can now be resumed. 

The wizard stretched out his hand and scooped up the knot of squirming constables onto 
the card. With a quick flick of the wrist, he flung them into a corner of the room. As they left 
the tabletop, the policemen resumed their normal size. Not to their great satisfaction, 
however, judging from the bellows of displeasure with which they greeted their landing on 
the floor. 


The lieutenant scrambled to his feet and began to speak. He was immediately interrupted 
by the wizard. 

Silence, dolt! oathed the mage. You desire to oversee my studies, do you? Well, then, be 
silent and observe! 

And so saying, the mage reached out and drew forth one of the books leaning against the 
buildings on the desk. He slammed the book down flat on the table. The clapping sound 
caused the desk top to shimmer. A moment later, the previous objects were seen to have 
vanished, replaced by several others. In the brief glimpse they were allowed, the constables 
saw an oddly shaped, multisided object, a bowl containing a cactus, a corked bottle and a 
glass, andsuddenly, a horde of hideous reptiles began to emerge from a drawing pad lying 
beneath the book. Lizards, newtsit was difficult to say. In the blink of an eye, the reptiles 
were racing about in a circle, appearing and reappearing, squirming about in a most 
nauseating manner. The lieutenant and his men became dizzy. 

Their discomfort soon passed, however, driven away by a greater unease. For the circling 
reptiles were picking up their pace. In but three seconds, their individual figures had 
vanished in a swirling scaly maelstrom. 

A moment later a new formindistinct in shape, but strange and fearful in its aspect 
materialized above the desk, wavering like a flame in the wind. The officer moaned. The 
squad of constables herded together in a corner, lowing in fear. 

Officer, let me introduce you to the devil KKR, said the wizard. I have summoned it to 
assist me in my investigation of the Kings dream. The devil glowed a bit brighter. A 
cackling sound came from itsmouth? 

Devil! spoke the mage. Do you have anything to report regarding King Roys dream? 

Not a thing. 

Explain yourself! demanded the mage. I have given you ample time to investigate the 
matter. 
The devilsneered? It was difficult to saybut certainly unpleasant. 
Kiss off, Zulkeh. Im not one of those puny devilkins youve been summoning with the 

hexes of Hieronymus Sfrondrati-Piccolomini. So dont try that tone with me! Besides, weve 
got orders from the topfrom the CEO himself. King Roys dream is off limits. 

There came the impression of a satanic leer. 

Then again, I might be open to a little insider trading. Against all the rules, of coursebut 
whats the point of being a devil if you cant make a little on the side? 
Zulkeh frowned. And what would you demand in exchange? An eternal soul, I assume? 
KKR howled with laughter. The constabulary huddled yet closer in the corner. The 

officers face was white as a sheet. 

Oh, Zulkeh, you are such an incorrigible romantic, cackled the devil. An absolute 
throwback! A pure medievalist! No, no, my dear magesouls arent worth a thing in these 
modern times. Progress, progress! Nowadays, I only deal in commodities. Bulk commodities. 


Bah! oathed the wizard. I do not possess bulk commodities, evil dullard! Look about 
youdo you see any such mundane trivia? 

Well, as a matter of fact The devil flared an ominous purple, like the sky before a 
hurricane. A great bloodshot eye emerged from its vague form, waving about on a stalk. The 
eye fixed its gaze on the policemen in the corner, who, for their part, bayed in fear and 
distress. 


Theres always a good market in pork bellies. 

The constables stampeded from the room, trampling their superior underfoot. They 
blundered up the staircase and into the entry hall above, stumbling over mummy heads, and 
jammed themselvesall six at onceout of the front doorway. A moment later the kings 
officer leapt to his feet and raced out. In a few seconds all trace of the Royal Constabulary 
had vanished. 

Neither on the next day nor on any day that followed did a messenger come from King 
Roy to inquire of the wizard Zulkeh. Then, two days before he was to return to the Royal 
Palace, the mage arose from his chair and summoned Shelyid to his presence. 

Shelyid, he spoke, I have determined the true state of things. 

Oh master! You have discovered the secret of the Kings dream! 

Nay, dwarf, I have not. And therein lies the mysteryfor, of itself, the secret of King Roys 
dream should long since have yielded itself up to my science, the which is superb in all fields 
and without equalhere I eschew false modestyin the art of divination. Yet I have failed, 
failed utterly, to unveil it. 

Oh. After a moment, the apprentice assumed a mien of cheerful consolation. Dont feel 
bad, master. After all, even a mighty sorcerer such as yourself cant always succeed. 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. You are impertinent, gnome! The wizard glowered fiercely. Dolt 
of an apprentice! Product of idiot loins! 

Shelyid cringed before his masters fury, groveling at his feet. Please, master, he 
whimpered, I wont do it again. 

See to it that you do not! A deep sigh issued from the wizards lips. But then, perhaps 
you are not to blame. Oft do I forget me that error is the result of intelligence misapplied. 
Thus, where intelligence is absent, we are confronted not with error but with the natural, if 
repugnant, behavior of the common brute. 

Thank you, master, bubbled Shelyid, pleased to have escaped a thrashing. 

But now, Shelyid, attend me closely, and ponder upon my words, each and every one of 
them. For the concepts which I am about to unfold are wondrous in their construction, 
impeccable in the geometry of their logic. 

Yes, master! The dwarf knitted his brows in preparation for thought. 

We begin with the major premise, to wit, that I am peerless in the art of divination. It is 
thus in the nature of things that there exists no dream whichall other things equalI 
cannot decipher through the application of my powers. Is this clear? 

Oh yes, master! 

Good. Let us now move to the minor premise, to wit, the fact that I have, nevertheless, 
failed in the task of unveiling the meaning of King Roys dream. Is this clear? 
Oh yes, master! 
The conclusion follows as night from day. All else is not equal. Why have I been unable to 
discern the secret? Clearly, because I have been prevented from doing so. 

But by whom, master? 

Yes! Precisely! Well done, Shelyid! You have instantly penetrated to the heart of the 
matter. By whom, indeed? The answer is clearby my enemies. 
Enemies, master? queried the dwarf, confusion and alarm writ plain upon his face. I 
didnt know you had any enemies. 
Neither did I, dwarf. But enemies I clearly have. And most puissant enemies, to boot, for 


not only have these fiends succeeded in preventing me from discovering the import of the 
Kings dream, they have, as wellthe villainous rogues!kept their identity, nay, even their 
existence, hidden from my sight, the which resembles clairvoyance in its precision. Butha! 
I have foiled their plot! Yea, verily, I have uncovered the foul schemers! 

The wizard paced to and fro, gesticulating with great vehemence. Yet here confront we 
now a difficulty, Shelyid, for though my grasp of thaumaturgy is, as you know, equaled by 
none, yet there exist certain minor and esoteric branches of science which remain, if I may 
indulge in metaphor, outlying provinces not yet fully incorporated into the empire of my 
intellect. Of these, of these fewmere handful, in factdoes foety include itself. 

Foety, master? What is foety? 

It is the study and lore of foes, Shelyid, including within its compass such fields as 
antagonology, enmitics, opponent psychology, developmental feudery, vindictrism, 
oppugnatic calculus, and, of course, the applied artsrevenge-work, table-turning, and so 
forth. 

For some moments did the mage stand silent, motionless, poised in deep thought. 

At length he spoke. Well! There is nothing else for it, Shelyid. The true man of wisdom 
recognizes as well his limitations, few and meager though these be. My skills in foety have 
remained dormant, lo these many years, having as I do no foes, due to my invariant courtesy 
of manner and demeanor. Yet foes it now appears I have, and powerful ones. I shall need 
assistance. So. Let us be off! 

Off, master? queried Shelyid, a hint of anxiety creeping forth upon his simian brow. Off 
where? 

To Prygg, of course. Where else? There does the witch Magrit dwell, and there is none on 
earth who has her mastery of foety. And well tis for her sake, the vile harridan, for rudeness 
and intemperance have made her a host of enemies. Indeed, were it not for my well-known 
forbearance, I should number myself among them. As it is, the encounter will not be 
pleasant, indeed, may even be fraught with danger. 

 Danger, master? cried Shelyid, the hint of anxiety now grown to full stature. 

Of course, danger! What did you think? And not just from Magrit! Nay, much more, for 
the road to Prygg is long and oft perilous, replete as it is with savage beasts and diverse odd-fellows, 
ruffians and the like. 

Then did the dwarf cry out in anguish, blubbering most pathetically, calling upon his 
master to leave him behind, extolling the cleanliness and order of the domicile which would 
await the sorcerer upon his triumphant return from great deeds of renown, if left to the 
loving care of his loyal apprentice during the mages absence. But it was to no avail. Indeed, 
for his pains the dwarf was most soundly chastised by his master. 

And thus I command you, unworthy wretch, prepare the necessities of our journey, 
concluded the wizards reproof. Grumbling, but now obedient, the dwarf set about his 
newfound task. As the mage and his apprentice possessed but little in the way of clothing, 
toiletries, and other such paraphernalia of human existence, the gathering together and 
packing of these items took but a moment. 

We can go now, master, piped Shelyid, depositing two small haversacks on the floor. 
Were all packed. 

 Zulkeh frowned. Do you trifle with me, gnome? 

No, master, protested Shelyid. Of course not. 

See to it that you do not. Hasten then and attend to the packing of the necessities of our 


journey. This I have already bade you do, and I am not pleased by your sloth in carrying out 
my command. 

But, master whined Shelyid, we are packed. Seehere are our bags. I put everything in 
them: your spare robe, your other pair of socks, and all my stuff. Thats all we have. 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. I am in no mood for bumptious jests! What do I care for these 
trifles? Again, I command youpack the necessities of our journey! 

But what are they, master? queried the puzzled dwarf. 

My instruments, dolt! What else? My scrolls! My tomes! My talismans! My artifacts! 

H-how many of th-them do you w-want, master? stammered the dwarf, his rapidly 
glazing eyes roving about their quarters, noting the many thousand scrolls heaped untidily 
upon workbenches and shelves, the stone figurines and clay tablets scattered about the floor, 
the thick leather-bound tomes of great weight stacked precariously hither and yon, the vials, 
beakers, jars, jugs, amulets, talismans, vessels, bowls, ladles, retorts, pincers, tweezers, pins, 
the bound bundles of sandalwood, ebony and dwarf pine, the bags and sacks of incense, 
herbs, mushrooms, dried grue of animal parts, the bottles of every shape and description 
filled with liquids of multitudinous variety of color, content and viscosity, the charms, the 
curios, the relics, the urns of meteor dust, the cartons of saints bones and the coffers of 
criminals skulls, and all the other artifacts of stupendous thaumaturgic potency crammed 
into every nook and cranny of every niche, room, closet and hallway in the death house, not 
excluding the heavy iron engines in the lower vaults. 

All of them, of course! spoke the wizard. Everything. Not a single item necessary to my 
science can be left behindand they are all of them necessary, for I am not in the habit of 
collecting useless trivia. 

Most piteous were Shelyids moans. 


CHAPTER V. 

A Dwarfs Travails, and the Wizards Comments Thereon. The Dwarf Succeeds. 

An Imminent Departure, Forestalled by a Gnomes Subterfuge. A Pathetic Scene! 

Long were the labors of the dwarf Shelyid which ensued, following his masters clarification 
of the task at hand. For, twas not simply the immensity of the actual collection and storage 
of the mages possessions which faced the apprentice. Early on, as the small mountain of 
said possessions began to pile up in the wizards study, it occurred to the dwarf that he had 
no vehicle, no vessel, within which to stow these objects for transport. 

This realization come, Shelyid pointed out to the wizard the vast disparity between the 
hillock of objects to be conveyed and the small size of their haversacks. The dwarf then 
proposed, as a solution to the quandary, the ruthless elimination of all possessions not 
absolutely necessary to the wizards work. Indeed, the diminutive apprentice waxed 
eloquent. He extolled the sorcerers great powers of mind, the titanic scope of his intellect, 
the oceanic breadth and depth of his spirit, all of which, argued the gnome, led to the 
inexorable conclusion that so puissant a thaumaturge as Zulkeh required, in actual point of 
fact, no more in the way of possessions than his staffwhich he would, naturally, wish to 
carry himselfand his spare robe and extra pair of socks. 

The mage was not convinced. Indeed, he now waxed most eloquently himself. He 
excoriated the apprentices feeble powers of mind, his stupefying lack of wits, the oceanic 
formlessness and viscous sludge of his spirit, all of which, contended Zulkeh, led to the 
inexorable conclusion that so sullen an apprentice as Shelyid required, in actual point of 
fact, the application of the wizards staff to his backside. Theory here led at once to practice. 

The dwarf now properly chastened, Zulkeh ordered him to manufacture some suitable 
sack in which to stow the possessions in question. And so did the apprentice set about this 
newfound task. 

Here, as well, his labors were long and arduous. For the wizard himself possessed no cloth 
of a size sufficient to make such a sack. Thus was Shelyid perforce required to descend into 
the catacombs, gravely disturbing, your narrator is pained to relate, the slumbers of the 
dead. For the apprentice did tumble out of their eternal resting place many a skeleton and 
many a mummy, seeking, by the collection of their burial shrouds, to amass together a 
quantity of cloths out of which he could manufacture the great sack. 

Alas, these labors seemed in vain. The dwarf was no more nimble-fingered than he was 
nimble-witted. His attempts at cutting and sewing, not to mention the more subtle of the 
tailoring arts, were inept in the extreme. Of course, this proved to be something of a boon. 


For the dwarf was, by virtue of his clumsiness, blessed with a most educational lecture on 
the part of his master. Zulkeh sat in his chair in the study, observing the gnome at his work, 
and lightened Shelyids labors with a lengthy monologue on the subject of bungling and 
botchery, opening up to the dwarfs understanding various theoretical and historical 
subtleties of the question which had heretofore escaped Shelyids attention, this, though the 
subject itself was actually one of the more frequent of the mages topics of discourse. 

Then, the sack at last stitched and knotted together, in a most crude and unsightly 
fashion, the apprentice discovered that his labors not only seemed to be, but were in actual 
fact, in vain. For no sooner had but the fourth part of the mages belongings been stuffed 
into the sack than this would-be conveyance ripped at a dozen places, disgorging its would-
be contents back onto the floor of the study. 

In fairness to the dwarf, it should be said that the fault lay not with his seam-manship. 
Indeed, his rough-hewn seams were the only places where the sack did not rip. The fault lay 
rather in the fact, now obvious to the slow-witted Shelyidespecially with the wizards 
accompanying and most lucid exposition on the related subjects of idiocy and cretinism to 
assist him in his reasoningthat the moldy and worm-eaten shrouds of the long dead are 
not, all things considered, the most suitable material out of which to forge a sturdy traveling 
sack designed to carry objects not only of vast multitude and great collective weight, but 
sporting many sharp points and edges as well. 

But master, I dont have anything else to make a sack from, whined the dwarf. 

Bah! oathed the mage. Zulkeh rose from his chair and stalked over to a shelf, from which 
he drew forth a book and a box. 

Thoughtless lout! The mage extended the box to Shelyid. Have you forgotten this? 

Shelyid gingerly took the box. 

But, master, you told me never to open this box. So I dont know whats in it. 

Do not attempt to excuse your ignorance with ignorance, wretched gnome! Of course I 
forbade you to open the box, for it contains nothing less valuable than the hide of a 
guthfish. 

Shelyids brow furrowed. 

Whats a guthfish? 

Lazy dwarf! The nature of said magical piscoid is recounted in this penetrating volume by 
the Potentates Laebmauntsforscynneweld, The Guthfish of Grotum, its history and natural 
philosophy. 

The wizard now extended the book. 

Had you but read this tomeinstead of lolling about in idlenessit would have opened 
up to your understanding the divers uses of the creatures hide as well as the strange and 
wonderful characteristics thereof. 

But, master, you told me never to read that book, lest I should be felled in my mind 
actually you said the cluttered pit which passes for my mindby the subtle and cunning 
things which are contained therein. 

Bah! oathed the mage. Do you seek to excuse your disobedience with obedience? 

Zulkeh thrust the book into Shelyids hands. 

Read this, unworthy wretch!and proceed to fashion the sack according to its 
instructions. 
Yes, master, sighed the dwarf, seating himself on his stool. 
Shelyid quickly read through the first chapters, in which was recounted the history and 


habits of the rare guthfish of Grotum. Therein he learned that the fabled fish had onceor 
so, at least, was the legendswallowed the entire universe when it was tiny and disgorged it 
back out when it was huge. He was then introduced to the lore of the guthfish hide itself, its 
many attributes and curious characteristics, which included the fact that it was not only the 
strongest and most elastic material known to exist, that it could not only conform to 
whatever object or objects it encompassed, but that, in addition, it possessed the strange 
power of infinite expansionthis last property being apparently magical, since it could be 
analyzed by the use of any mathematical formula known to man, including several which 
were mutually contradictory. 

The last chapter contained instructions for fashioning the guthfish hide into a useful sack. 
This Shelyid read carefully, noting that the hide could only be cut with a singularity (left 
drawer, upper cabinet), could only be sewn with a needle made from the square root of -1 
(middle shelf, small box under the curious amulet from Obpont), and could only be stitched 
with superstring thread made from the Theory of Everything, of which, needless to say, the 
wizard had a vast amount stored on spools scattered all over the abandoned death house. 

After reading the last chapter twice, Shelyid took up the box and examined it. The 
following was written on the front of the box: 

GENUINE GUTHFISH HIDE 


100% Pure and Undiluted! 
Large Economy Size!! 
Use It For Everything!!! 
Fits Anything!!!! 


WARNING: Studies by pettifogging government agencies and alarmist environmental fanatics have indicated that guthfish hide is toxic to the health of some 
people. Further study, however, by sober and reputable industrial scientists has shown that such people are not worth a damn and would be better off dead 
anyway. Symptoms may include the onset of bad nerves, pox, palsy, jitters, quivers, tremors, convulsions, paroxysms, fevers, the staggers, the jerks, shortness 
of breath, frequent and uncontrolled excretion, irregularities of the pulse, lockjaw, ague, fidgets, timorousness and a general feeling of social inferiority, these, 
of course, the classic symptoms of that most dread of nervous conditions, hysteria follicularia. Use at your own risk. 

Shelyid also read this label carefully, especially the warning. Having done so, he spoke to 
his master. 

But, master, whined the dwarf, it says here that this stuff can cause 

Diminutive cretin! oathed Zulkeh. The warning applies solely to individuals who arent 
worth a damn anyway. The mage glowered. And while there is mounting evidence that you 
fit this criteria perfectly, you already suffer from the classic symptoms of hysteria 
folliculariaso where is the harm that can befall you? 

Unable to counter this impeccable line of reasoning, the reluctant gnome opened the box 
and drew out the contents. Several things became apparent. First, the guthfish hide seemed 
infinitely large, for there seemed no end to the number of folds Shelyid could open. Then, 
once the dwarf had unfolded the thing to a sufficient size for the sack required, he saw that 
the shape of the hide itself seemed to suggest the very sack into which it would be made. 
Finally, it was either utterly colorless or colored in every shade of the rainbowit was 
impossible to tell. 

Quickly assembling the required tools and supplies, Shelyid launched himself into the 
making of the sack. All afternoon he labored, stretching and trimming, shaping and fitting, 
adjusting and improving. Under his fingers (the which seemed less clumsy and more adept 
than before) a huge sack soon emerged, the interior divided and subdivided into numerous 


compartments and regions, the exterior liberally bestowed with divers pockets and pouches. 

At last, all was ready. 

Shelyid proudly announced to the wizard: Master, Ive finished the sack. 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh, not looking up from the tome he was examining. Do you seek to 
excuse your indolence with diligence? See to the packing of my possessionsfor even as you 
dawdle, time wanes! 

It was the work of many hours for Shelyid to collect, categorize, store, restore, arrange, 
rearrange and pack and repack the sack, fitting each tome, artifact, talisman, scroll and all 
else carefully therein. When everything was complete, just before sunrise, he fell into an 
exhausted slumber. Only to be awakened, just after sunrise, by his master. 

Come, wretched gnome, arise and hoist the sack! You have wasted an entire day in your 
inefficiency. We must be off at oncefor even as you rub the sleep from your eyes, time 
wanes! 

Shelyid bent to hoist the burden over his shoulder. More accurately, Shelyid got down on 
his knees preparatory to burrowing under the enormous sack and hoisting the several-timeslarger-
than-himself object onto his entire diminutive person. But, at that moment, a thought 
seized himor so, at least, one can surmise from his pale and distraught expression. 

Wait! Wait! he cried. I forgot something! And so saying, Shelyid charged from the 
room, ignoring his masters expressions of impatience and displeasure. 

Back into the catacombs plunged the dwarf, his little legs scurrying frantically. Down and 
down he went, into the lowest depths, arriving at last in a small and dark crypt. He went into 
a corner of the chamber and squatted, clucking softly. 

A moment later, a large and horrid-looking brown spider emerged from a hole. Shelyid 
extended his hand, onto which the hideous creature clambered. He raised the thing before 
his eyes. The arachnid stretched out a gruesome limb and touched the dwarfs nose. 

Hullo, whispered Shelyid. Then he began to weep. The spider touched his nose several 
times with a motion which, were the idea not absurd, one would have called a caress. 
I have to leave, choked Shelyid. Then, a few sobs later: Ill miss you so much. Youre the 
only friend Ive ever had. What will I do without you? 

He looked about the dank little grotto, not much more than a cave, actually. 

My happiest timesve been the times here with you. He sniffed. Actually, been my only 
happy times. 

He stroked the monster. I know I should enjoy the masters lectures, cause theyre good 
for my brain and stuff. Wretched sniffles and snuffles. Its hard to understand what 
thmaster says, cause Im so stupid. And then he gets impatient with me and hewell, hes 
sort of mean to me. More wretched sniffles and snuffles. Real mean, actually. 

A great sob burst from the dwarfs chest. Oh, whatll become of me? Im just a dwarf. Im 
just a stupid, ugly dwarf. I dont want to go off and have adventures! Im no good for it. Ill 
get killedeaten by ogres or something! Or maimed, or He stopped, overcome. 
Then: Oh, and whats the difference? I guess Im no good for anything, anyway. Might as 
well get eaten. 

He gazed down at the spider, great tears leaking down his hairy cheeks. He stroked the 
horrible creature again. 
But Ill sure miss you, he whispered. I sure will. If I come back, I mean, if I dont get 
eaten or whatever, Ill come see you right away. I promise. The spider touched his nose. 
A faint sound echoed in the room. It bore about it the aura of the voice of a most outraged 


sorcerer. 

Thats thmaster. I gotta go, or Ill be beaten. He sniffled. Probably be beaten, anyway. 
But I just had to see you once last time. 

He placed the monster back on the ground. Gbye, he whispered, and fled from the 
chamber. 


 
CHAPTER VI. 

A Journey Begun. A Coach Ride. The Royal Palace. King Roys Dream Redux. 

Calamities. A Tumultuous Departure. The Central Travel House of Goimr. The 

Wizard Inquires. A Commercial Philosophy Explained. A Purchase. Were Off! 

Thus it came to pass that wizard and servant abandoned the abandoned death house and set 
forth on their journey of renown. 

Their initial progress was slow. Shelyid, his diminutive figure buried under the enormous 
bundle on his back, from which protruded here and there the snouts, corners and extensions 
of sundry wizardrous objects too bizarre to describe, staggered to and fro, lurching with 
every step, careening wildly from house wall to house wall, from lamppost to trash bin, from 
corner to midstreet to gutter. 

Shelyid! spoke Zulkeh. Cease this inefficient mode of travel! And take care lest you 
damage the items I have entrusted to your care. 
But, master, whined the dwarfs voice from somewhere beneath the sack, its heavy. 
And I cant see. 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Is the odyssey of science to be impeded by the physical frailties of 
such as you? Too long now, wretch, have you lolled about in the comfort of luxurious 
surroundings. The rigors of travel will do you good. It will improve your muscular tone, 
enhance your respiratory capacity, strengthen your stamina, harden your will, hone the edge 
of the blunt instrument that is your mind, and expose you to new knowledge and lore. 
Enough of this childish petulance! Make haste! For, even as I speak, time wanes. 

And with that the wizard resumed his progress, Shelyid caroming behind. 

But before our heroes had rounded the first corner, a great clattering of hooves and 
jingling of harness was heard to approach. Zulkeh stood to one side as a coach-and-four 
thundered down the narrow street accompanied by a mounted squad of the Goimr Royal 
Coachmen. Shelyid, unfortunately, bent double in concentration, failed to apprehend the 
approach of these worthies. He lurched into the center of the street just as they passed. Two 
of the riders were bowled overhorses and riders going asses over teacupswhile the others 
frantically avoided the staggering dwarf and his pack. The coach skidded dangerously but 
came to a halt without upsetting. 

The coach door flew open and a courtier leapt out. He hurried up to the wizard. 

Are you not the wizard Zulkeh? he demanded. Then, not bothering to wait for a reply, he 
continued: 

Excellent, excellent! Ive just come from the palaceChief Counselor Gerard sent me to 


bring you to the King. Please, pleaseget into the coach! We must hurry! The King is at his 
wits end! 

Even as the courtier spoke, the coach and four was brought up next to Zulkeh and Shelyid. 
A footman jumped down and opened the door. Alas, it soon became evident that Shelyid and 
his sack could not be crammed into the coach, the which was more of a dainty and elegant 
carriage than a sturdy means of transport. The courtier instantly called up the detachment of 
Royal Coachmen who helped Shelyid load the sack onto the rear of the coach. The vehicle 
settled deeply, with an ominous creaking and groaning. 

That done, Zulkeh and the courtier climbed into the coach. Shelyid made to follow them 
but was arrested by his masters fierce glare. 

Wretched gnome! Have you forgotten your duty? 

No, master, the sack is loaded and tied, explained the dwarf, his legs fairly vibrating in 
relief from their burden. 

Yes, but who will watch it? 

So saying, Zulkeh slammed the door. Shelyid, with a shrug of resignation, found a perch 
on the top of the sack where he grabbed onto one of the straps as the coach rushed off down 
the street toward the palace. 

With a squad of Royal Coachmen to clear the streets, the coach careened unimpeded 
through various lanes and byways before it debouched onto a main thoroughfare, where it 
continued pell-mell toward the landing. It was but the work of a minute for the passengers to 
alight and, with the assistance of many hands, to transfer the sack onto a water taxi. The 
boatnow deep in the waterinstantly departed for the royal isle. Once upon land, the 
courtier conducted them to Chief Counselor Gerards chamber, hissing his anxiety and haste 
all the while. 

Gerard was equally agitated. Egbert, what took you so long? King Roy has been 
screaming for the wizard. And youZulkeh! I warn you once againsay nothing to disturb 
King Roy! He is in a most unstable state. 

Zulkeh nodded curtly. He and Shelyid followed Gerard into the royal audience chamber. 
The Kings cries of distress could be heard from a considerable distance. They grew 
positively clamorous upon the entrance of the mage. 

Indeed, King Roy was a shocking sight. In the two weeks which had elapsed since the last 
interview, he had aged twenty years. His hair was straggling and gray, tufts of it plucked out. 
His clothes were disheveled, his eyes were wild. He gave off the odor of a hunted roebuck. 

Wizard! Tell me, what does it all mean? I must know, I must know! 

Your Highness, as I have previously explained, this matter is too deep for facile 
explication. In fact, I have but recently discovered that the import of your dream is 
considerably more complex, with many more hidden and obscure attributes than I had at 
first appreciated. Much additional study is required. Even at this moment I am undertaking 
a journey for 

No! No! No! I must know, know, know! Now! Now! Now! So shrieked King Roy, in a 
most unregal manner. 

Your Majestyplease! There is no need for this unseemly distress. You may rest easy in 
your mind. For the magnitude of the danger which is so clearly indicated by your dream is 
such as to preclude the thought that a mere monarch might forestall its occurrence. 

What? cried the King. But I must do something! What of my kingdom? My dynasty? My 
palace? Mywhy, even my royal person! 


A look of surprise came upon Zulkehs face. It is, then, the meaning of this dream for your 
personal fortunes that concerns you? 

Of course! What does this dream mean for me? I must have an answerand now! Do you 
hear? Now! Now! Now! 

The wizard made a soothing gesture. Calm yourself, Sire. If tis only the personal import 
of the dream that you seek, the matter is simple, even commonplace. The mystery lies 
entirely in its deeper and more obscure elements. 

King Roy goggled. You know, then, the meaning of this dream for myself? 

Certes! spoke Zulkeh, his voice full of good cheer. The problem in this regard is 
transparent. The grasping of the tongue is alone a sure sign, the forcible restraint of speech 
being, of course, the third of the seven great oneiric portents. I refer you, in this regard, to 
the classic exposition by Sigmund Laebmauntsforscynneweld, The Interpretation of 
Auguries, as well as to his more specific examination of the fear of mutism, Tongue and 
Taboo, wherein the great scholar 

A pox on your blithering pedantry! shrieked King Roy. What does the dream mean? For 
me! You hear? For me! Me! Answer, you wretched scholiast! 

Stiffly, the wizard drew himself up. Well, then! Your dream foretells the utter and 
complete destruction of your kingdom, your palace, your dynasty and your royal person. The 
destruction will naturally encompass the entire male line of your family down to three 
generations, including all collateral branches. Whether ruination will as well sweep into its 
train the female line of your family is a matter open to some doubtfor here there is much 
dispute among the savants. Sigmund would have it so, as would his famed relative Adler 
Laebmauntsforscynneweld. But, as is well know, Piaget Sfondrati-Piccolomini advances the 
proposition that ruination portents apply only irregularly to the distaff line, this due to their 
childbearing functions, the which, as he is known for saying, provide certain immunities 
from calamitous events due to the providence-favored innocence of babes. As to this latter, I 
myself have formed as yet no firm opinion, for it seems that there is some question 

But the mage expounded no further. For at that very moment, King Roywhose 
complexion had undergone in recent moments a marvelous display of the colors of the 
spectrumsprang up and cried, No! (in a most undignified manner) and hurled himself to 
the floor. 

But tis plain as day, Your Majesty, spoke Zulkeh to the writhing monarch, the signs are 
unmistakable. For as I was saying, twas none other than Sigmund 
Laebmauntsforscynneweld himself who enunciated that most basic principle of 
oneiromancy which holds that the seizure and immobilization of the tongue 

Stop! Cease! Desist! bellowed Gerard, advancing to the fore. Did I not instruct you to 
quell King Roys fears? What have you done? Your mad babble has driven the King to this 
state! Fiend! Miscreant! 

With this latest affront the mages reserve broke, even as the stately dike shatters neath 
the blow of the mighty tidal bore. Smoke and lightning issued from his ears; his eyes blazed 
hotly forth. 

Silence, ye witless sycophant! Abuse me not, lest I chastise you in my affront! Science is 
what it is, had you the sense to see it. And what boots it, the downfall of a King? This, a trifle, 
when far greater matters hang in the balance! 

Then, even as the tide ebbs, so the wizards wrath subsided. But I forget me. To ask 
perception of such as you would be to drown in folly. I can tarry no longer. For I must tend 


to the greater matters of which I am now apprised. 

With that, the sorcerer turned and strode down the long audience chamber, Shelyid 
twinkling behind. 

Gerard cried out: Stop these fiends, stop these criminals! Alarum! Alarum! Guards! 
Constables! Arrest these villains! 

In an instant, the trample of many jackbooted feet was to be heard coming from the left. 
Moments later another thunder of boots was heard on the right. Two squads of Royal Guards 
and Royal Constabulary appeared in doorways on either side. The lieutenant of the 
Constabulary drew his sword and advanced into the audience chamber, but, before he took 
three steps, he was hailed by the captain of the Guard. 

Lieutenanthalt! I must remind you that the Royal Guardand the Royal Guard alone! 
has jurisdiction within the walls of the palace. 

So saying, the captain of the Guard drew his own sword and charged after Zulkeh and 
Shelyid, whothe first preoccupied with thought, the latter with sackcontinued their 
progress toward the far door. But the captain had not taken three steps of his own before the 
lieutenant of the Constabulary planted himself in the way. A lively discussion concerning 
legal jurisdiction ensued. The debate escalated in lockstep with the paces of our heroes, 
until, by the time the wizard and his apprentice were halfway down the long chamber, the 
entire Guard and Constabulary were hacking and hewing each other with a vigorous display 
of swordsmanship. 

Drawn by the sound of clashing steel, a platoon of the Praetorian Guard burst into the 
chamber through the very door toward which our heroes made their way. 

Stop them! cried Gerard. In an instant, the fierce Praetorians charged the struggling 
mob of guards and constables, pouring around Zulkeh and Shelyid like water around rocks 
in midstream. The brawl in the center of the chamber now became three-sided. 

Then, as our heroes were but ten paces from the far door, two new bodies of armed men 
poured into the chamber from doors behind the throneJanissaries from the west, 
Mamelukes from the east. Recognizing his earlier error, Gerard now issued explicit 
instructions to these newly entered soldiery, detailing with unmistakable exactitude the 
necessity of immediately arresting the wizard and his apprentice, not forgetting to point 
directly toward the culprits, all of which precision was pointless since the Janissaries and 
Mamelukes had immediately started slaughtering each other with the gusto derived from 
hallowed and historic rivalry. 

Zulkeh and Shelyid passed through the far door into the corridor beyond. 

Dodging and weaving his way through the slashing mob, Gerard pursued. By the time he 
entered the corridor, his prey were almost to the lobby at the far end. Not twenty feet 
beyond, a squad of Secret Police stood in the lobby, fingering their cudgels, frowning with 
concern, gazing down the corridor, wondering at the sounds of struggle issuing from the 
royal audience chamber. 

The quick-witted Gerard seized the moment. To the Secret Police, he cried: Arrest the 
wizard! To the wizard he cried: Stop, Zulkehstop! 

Shouting with fierce enthusiasm, the Secret Police charged toward the wizard and his 
apprentice. The wizard turned abruptly at the sound of his name. Attempting to avoid his 
master, Shelyid tripped over the loose fringe of the faded and worn carpet and lost his 
footing. Head down, locked in concentration, completely overbalanced by the giant sack, 
Shelyidor rather, the sackplunged directly into the onrushing squad of policemen, with 


much the same results as a bowling ball striking pins. 

Half the squad was down, senseless. The ones who managed to avoid the direct blow of the 
sack now flung themselves upon the dwarf. Alas, as he recoiled from the collision, Shelyid 
turned a complete 360 degrees, knocking over another two or three of the policemen as he 
did so. Still struggling to regain his balance, the dwarf now lurched to the left, crushing one 
wight against the entry wall; then to the right, crushing another; then he caromed right into 
the lobby, rolling over the last secret policeman still conscious, and burst through the large 
entry door leading to the plaza beyond. The door shattered into pieces. In a moment the 
tumult and chaos were left behind as Zulkeh and Shelyid exited the palace and headed down 
to the lake, oblivious to the cries and alarm behind them. 

The last sight Gerard had of them, as he stood fuming in what was left of the door to the 
palace, was of Zulkeh and Shelyid climbing into the water taxi and making their way back 
across the Moyle. Throwing up his hands with rage, the Chief Counselor charged back into 
the palace. His voice could dimly be heard: 

Call out the Royal Janitors! The Royal Cooks! The Royal Gardeners! Arrest the wizard! 
Moments later, the sound of martial clangor resounded from withinmops clashing with 
pots, pans against shears, clippers versus brooms. 

For their part, Zulkeh and Shelyid went their way unmolested. At length they arrived at 
the central travel station of Goimr. This edifice, huge and many-winged, had once housed a 
vast assortment of enterprises dedicated to the provision of transport for those citizens of 
Goimr seeking egress from the dismal city. In times past, the would-be traveler could hire or 
purchase a coach, a dray, a chariot, a wagon, a cart or, indeed, any other conceivable means 
of land transport. In recent times, however, all of these enterprises had been acquired by the 
Consortium, as one of that ubiquitous firms projects in its conquest of the commerce of 
Grotum. Their assets had been combined, and the entire travel station had been 
consolidated under the aegis of a newly founded corporation, the Great Grotum Northern, 
Eastern, Southern, Western, Central and Environs Express and Transport Company, a 
subsidiary of Grotum Cultural Endeavor, Ltd. (a non-profit enterprise), itself a subsidiary of 
Colonial Exploitation, Inc. (a philanthropic foundation), itself, in turn, a subsidiary of the 
Consortium. This latter was headquartered, as was the case with most commercial 
enterprises of any note in the civilized world, in the famed and far distant city of splendid 
Ozar. 

Zulkeh paused for a moment before the archway over the entrance to the great building. 

Look you, Shelyid, at this example of the inexorable progress of Reason through Time. In 
days gone by, chaos reigned here supreme. We should have been forced to waste many an 
hour in demeaning squabble with divers fellows and odd sorts of avaricious mien, quarreling 
over fare and form of travel. Today, however, this has gone the way of all unreason 
confronted by science, and we need but apply for an established and harmonized method of 
transportation suited to our needs, all of it organized, systematized and regularized by this 
most eminent and stable of firms. 

And with that he passed through the archway into the central court. Shelyid followed, 
tripping over a portmanteau. The sack went flying. The wizard was greatly displeased, the 
more so by the unwarranted intervention of a brash and impudent youth. 

But at length, this unpleasantness behind them, the wizard and his apprentice made their 
way to a door over which was suspended the sign: GGNESWC&EE&T CO.Tickets. 


Once inside, Shelyid unburdened himself of his sack and sat upon a bench against one 
wall. He seemed oppressed by the atmosphere, although the low gloomy ceiling, the 
unpainted benches equipped with shackles for the restraint of criminals and children, the 
dirty walls covered with graffiti and obscure signs of no doubt cabalistic origin, should have 
lent to the establishment a most homelike ambience. 

Meanwhile, Zulkeh approached the ticket vendors window and examined an enormous 
sign suspended on the wall above. The sign read: 

TABLE OF TRAVEL RATES AND COACH CLASSES 

Rates Classes 

Family Deluxe 
Convention Superb 
Party Royal 
Merchant First 
Commercial Second 
Clinical Third 
Military Fourth 
Clerical Fifth 
Official Coach 
Secret Economy 
Vacation Poor 
Common Scum 

After pondering this table for a moment, Zulkeh stepped forward to the vendors window. 
In the small room beyond, he discerned the dim figure of the vendor and a row of boxes 
holding tickets of different sizes and colors. 

Sirrah, spoke the mage. Are there, as would seem reasonable, twelve classes each with 
twelve rates, or twelve classes each with only one rate, or twelve rates, each with only one 
class? 

Sir, replied the ticket vendor in a voice devoid of inflection or discernible tone, am I to 
understand that you are calling into question the commercial philosophy and 
weltanschauung of the Great Grotum Northern, Eastern, Southern, Western, Central and 
Environs Express and Travel Company, a subsidiary of Grotum Cultural Endeavor, Ltd. (a 
non-profit enterprise), itself a subsidiary of Colonial Exploitation, Inc. (a philanthropic 
foundation), itself, in turn, a subsidiary of the Consortium? If so, that is to say, if such be the 
case, you may, if you wish, file a formal complaint, that, be assured, will receive the fullest 
consideration by those officials of our firm who have been appointed to deal with precisely 
the aforementioned matters. Should your complaint, after due process and close 
examination, be adjudged picayune, idle, foolish, bothersome, trivial, malicious, ill-advised, 
inconvenient, well-taken, or justified, your travel privileges on the GGNESWC&EE&T Co. 
will be revoked, now and for perpetuity; in addition, you will be fined the full administrative 
cost of processing your complaint, in addition to a punitive surcharge, such surcharge to be 
monetary in nature, though not excluding, at the discretion of that office of the Company 
which has been duly assigned to handle such matters, a thorough investigation of your 
ancestry, habits, character and associations by the Consortium Constabulary, the results of 
said investigation to be, at the whim of the Consortium, or any of its subsidiaries involved in 


the case, or any of its subsidiaries not involved in the case, broadcast to the world at large, 
with the intention, and the invariable result, of blackening your character, destroying your 
career, and breaking your spirit. 

Zulkeh thought upon these words. At length he spoke. 

Sirrah, I see that your establishment does not take these matters lightly. An attitude, I 
might say, with which I find myself in complete accord! I would, however, appreciate your 
telling me of the difference between the various classes and rates listed in yon table. 

The tickets. 

I beg your pardon? 

The tickets. Size and color. Size is class, color is rate. 

That is all? 

That is what I said. Am I to understand that you are calling into question the 

No, no, no, spoke the mage hastily. By no means. I am simply seeking to clarify the 
matter. As I now understand it, the only difference in the tickets is the tickets themselves. 
Each ticket, of no matter which class or rate, will purchase the same transport, the same 
lodgings en route, the same accommodations, etc.? 

That is correct. 

An excellent policy! In former times, prior to your acquisition of a monopoly over this 
industry, the desirous voyager was beset by impudent hagglers, each offering a different 
service for a different fee. You have cut through this mindless hurly-burly at one stroke, 
reducing the question to its intrinsic essence of prestige and social snobbery. 

That is correct. And now, sir, I am busy and you have taken much of my time. Where are 
you going? And what is your preference in class and rate? 

As for destination, my apprentice and I journey to Prygg. As for class and rate, whichever 
is the cheapestfor my worldly wealth is little, and the subliminity of my intellect requires 
no social trappings to sustain it. 

Common scum, announced the ticket vendor. Twelve piasters for two common scum to 
Prygg. 

I shall take them, spoke Zulkeh, pushing twelve small coins through the slot in the bars. 
In return, two torn and greasy scraps of paper upon which were scrawled Prygg were 
carelessly tossed back. Picking them up off the floor, Zulkeh gathered up his apprentice and 
proceeded through the gate leading to the outer court. There the tickets were inspected by an 
employee, who bestowed upon our heroes a well-practiced sneer. To the left! he barked. 

They followed these directions and, after walking through a further passageway, came 
upon their vehicle. It was a huge old coach, easily large enough to accommodate twelve 
passengers. The coach was rakishly tilted, not by design but simply because it rested on four 
wheels of varying design and diameter, the which had clearly been salvaged from other 
vehicles. 

Within, the coach gave evidence of a past glory now sadly gone. The seats had originally 
been dyed a deep green, but were now much faded with age. The padding had a tendency to 
protrude from the many rips and tears in the covers. The floor was covered by a once-plush 
carpet now stained and soiled. Ingress and egress to the coach were provided by two large 
and much-weathered doors, hanging on rusty hinges. Tattered curtains hung in the 
windows. 

Barely had Zulkeh and Shelyid entered the coach when the vehicle lurched into motion. 
Shelyid sprawled onto the floor. 


Master! he cried. Were off! 
Well spoken, dwarf. Our journey has begun. 



PART II 


In Which We Follow the 
Further Progress of the Terrorist 
Trio in Their Unlawful Escape From Goimr, 
Revealing Therein Fell Visions and Portents. 
Taken, As Before, From the Autobiography of the 
Renegade Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini, 
the Veracity of Whose Account, We Must 
Emphatically Repeat, Is In No Wise 
Guaranteed by the Noble Alfredae. 


The Autobiography of Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini, 
Episode 2: Statues, Soldiers, Snarls, and Soothsayers 

So it was on such a wretched cart that I left the city of Goimr. 

Strangely enough, the real difficulty we encountered in making our escape was none of the 
things I had foreseen. It was not the police, not the soldiers, not even the absurd spectacle of 
Wolfgang posing as a gigantic statue being hauled in the back of the cart. 

It was the damned draymasters. When we entered the boulevard leading to the Dreary 
Gate on the northwest edge of the city, there was a great mob of them lounging about in 
front of the stables. No sooner did they catch sight of Gwendolyn in her yoke, hauling the 
cart, than they rushed up and began a fierce bidding for her. 

I was appalled, really. Often enough had I heard my uncles describe Grotum as backward 
and medieval, but the reality of it had never truly penetrated until then. 

And will you look at the size of that mare! cried one. 

Ill give you three quid! exclaimed another. 

Ill make it four! came from a third. 

Five! 

Six! 

The indignity was bad enough. Worse yet was that our escape ploy stood in imminent 
danger of being ruined. I did not require Wolfgangs sotto voce hissing in my ear to realize 
that Gwendolyn would not tolerate the situation much longer. The ensuing mayhem would, 
of course, be gratifyingfierce joy filled my heart at the image of draymasters hacked and 
chopped into pieces. But it would, as the saying goes, blow our cover. 


The situation came to a crisis when one of the swine actually made so bold as to advance 
upon Gwendolyn, open her mouth with his hands, and begin inspecting her teeth, while a 
second began poking her thighs and buttocks with his thumb. 

Wolfgangs coaching now came into its own. 

Get your filthy paws off my property! I roared, cracking the bullwhip. The tooth 
inspector backed up a step, but the buttock prodder merely sneered and continued his 
examination. 

A moment later he was rolling on the ground, howling in pain. And well he should! I dare 
say I removed a good piece of his own buttock with the whip, whose tip was reinforced with 
steel wire. Two pieces, actually, one from each haunchfor the sight of his great ass in the 
air as he flopped on his belly was irresistible. 

Perhaps I should have resisted, for the second lash seemed to arouse the mob of 
draymasters as the first had not. No doubt I had transgressed some quaint local custom. 

A moment later they had surrounded the cart, bellowing their fury, shaking their fists, and 
cursing my person. 

Ozarine whelp! cried one. (I fear my accent was pronounced.) 

Well teach you better! 

Proper Groutch manners youre about to learn! 

Wolfgang was whispering some advice into my ear, but I was not paying the slightest 
attention. I should listen to a lunatic, when I had been trained by my uncle Larue? 

Its a fearsome arm, the bullwhip, hed said to me, but rememberof all weapons, its 
the one that relies the most on panache and the psychologic flair. The perfect weapon for 
you, you sassy, disrespectful little wretch. 

Would you, base curs? I roared. The first I had lashed from my seat, but now I arose and 
began laying about with a fine touchfine, not only in the hand, but in the jocularity of the 
remarks which I sent along with the strokes. The key, however, was the scalps. 

Pain will dissuade a mob, of course, as humor will depress their spirits. But theres 
nothing like the sight of a few scalps lifted from bully heads by smart cracks of the lash to 
drain their passions. The more so when the cunning of the stroke causes the scalps to fly 
directly into the whipmasters free hand. After I had collected four scalps, stuffing the bloody 
things into my belt, the draymasters fled in all directions, howling with terror. All but two, 
who made the mistake of trying to hide behind (I should say, in front of) Gwendolyn. 
Without breaking stride, she shouldered them down, trampled them under, and hauled the 
iron-rimmed wheels of the cart directly over their bodies. A cart, mind you, bearing not only 
my weight but that of the giant Wolfgang as well! 

I was adapting to Grotum, I could tell. The sound of crunching bones was a pure musical 
delight. 

Oh, well done! Well done! hissed Wolfgang. 

Thank you, muttered Gwendolyn. 

I wasnt talking to you, dear, chuckled Wolfgang. I was referring to the masterful 
whipwork. Are you by any chance related to Larue Sfrondrati-Piccolomini? 

My uncle, I whispered. And will you please shut up? Youll give it away, people see your 
lips movingyoure supposed to be a damned statue! 

Not to fear, my boy. Im a ventriloquist, you know. 

Casually I turned my head, looking into the back of the cart. There was Wolfgang, posed 
cross-legged like a sainta statue of a saint, more properly. Quite a good likeness, if I say so 


myself. I had discovered that painting a man up to look like a huge wooden icon was not all 
that difficultnot, at least, for an artist like myself who had carved and painted more 
wooden icons by the time I was nine than I could remember. 

Wolfgangs stance was perfect. He was absolutely rigid and unmoving, for all the world 
likewell, actually, like a wooden statue. 

Itll be the easiest thing in the world for me to manage, hed said after hed explained the 
scheme. The head psychiatrist at the asylum says Ive got the finest catatonic trance hes 
ever examined! Such a compliment! 

And Ill admit his ventriloquism was as good as his catatonia. I couldnt see a trace of his 
lips moving, even as he continued to babble on. 

I knew it! I knew it! The wonderful touch with the scalps! The unmistakable style! And 
the bon mots! He bubbled with mad laughtera strange sound and sight, let me tell you, 
coming from unmoving lips! Grotesque, really. 

I was there, you know, he continued, at the Criticism of the Critics. I was actually there 
in person! 

I was stunned. You were there? You saw it? 

The smug voice: Every moment. From the preface, to the disclaimer, to the rebuttal, to 
the conclusion. One of my fondest memories. 

It was before my time, of course, but it was a legend in the clan. Over the years, Ill admit 
to growing a bit skeptical. But as we made our slow way down the boulevard, Gwendolyn 
stolidly hauling the cart through the fetid crowd, Wolfgang hissed a full description of the 
great event. 

Amazing arrogance, when I look back on it, he whispered. But then, what can you 
expect from a lot of critics? A vile, contumacious breed. And quite unstable mentally. An 
incredible percentage of megalomaniacs were critics in early life, you know? Still, its 
astonishing. Had I been a critic invited to express my criticism of a young Sfondrati-
Piccolomini before his assembled condottiere brothers and cousins, I believe I should have 
declined. And Im a madman! But damned if they didnt show upa hundred of the 
parasites, at the least. Gabbling away as soon as they took their seats. The condottiere 
listened politely for an hour or so, while the critics dissected every error of the young artist 
Alessandro, wasnt it? 

Domenico, I corrected. 

Ah, yes! Anyway, on and on they went, explaining how the lad had done everything 
wrongthe colors, the strokes, the perspectiveeven the quality of the canvas and the grain 
of the wood on the frame. But they reserved their fiercest criticism for the actual content of 
the painting. On this the critics were unitedunusual circumstance!that the depiction of 
five soldiers of fortune sitting about a table quaffing their wine was a most unsuitable subject 
for a portrait entitled Gods At Their Pleasure. 

The critics never grew up in the Sfondrati-Piccolomini clan, I remarked, where respect 
for ones elders is not to be taken lightly. As it happens, my uncles were the models for the 
portrait. 

You dont say! Odd, really. I myself didnt see any resemblance at all between the divine, 
serene, and radiant features in the portrait and theyou will take no offense?scarred, 
raffish and altogether wicked-looked visages of your uncles. The more so once they began 
their own criticism of the critics! Such a scene! It was marvelous! I dont imagine half of the 
critics managed to escape the auditorium alive. 


Not many critics left in Ozar to this day, thats a fact, I commented. 

Just think of it! Such a civilized place, the Ozarine! Rapacious, grasping lot of 
imperialists, of course. But civilized. Here in Grotum, your critics are a positive plague, a 
scandal, a threat to public health! Ask any sullen, malcontented little boy or girl who cant tie 
their shoelaces what they want to be when they grow up and theyll not hesitate for an 
instantwant to be a critic! Even find a few in the mental asylums. Not manycriticism is in 
the main a disease of sane people. And they dont last long, of course. Its not conducive to 
long life, being a critic locked up with a bunch of psychopaths. 

Wolfgang continued on in this vein for a minute or so longer, but then he discontinued his 
discourse. We were now almost at the Dreary Gate. We were about to discover if Wolfgangs 
plan would work. 

But just as we drew up before the gate, an interruption occurred. A pack of cavalry horses 
were drawn up before a saloon located right next to the gateif the noble term cavalry 
horses can be applied to as sorry and broken-down a lot of nags as I ever laid eyes on. Just 
as our dray pulled even with the saloon, a disordered mob of soldiery poured out of its 
swinging doors, most still clutching their jugs. In their middle, hoisted on their shoulders, 
was a portly captain. 

Make way! Make way! bellowed this wight. Clear the gate for the Royal Goimr 
Commandos! 

The soldiers manning the Dreary Gate shooed all civilians to one side and opened the 
portal. In the event, their bustling energy was wasted, for it took the Commandos a full ten 
minutes to saddle up and ride off. A good bit of this time was consumed by the actual 
difficulty of attaining their seats on the high perches of the saddles, being, as they were, 
utterly drunken. But most of the delay was caused by the captains command to blacken 
their faces. This act, the blacking of commandos faces to ensure stealth in the night, 
seemed somewhat inappropriate for horsemen in broad daylight. But the commandos clearly 
prized this cherished privilege of their status, and they set about blacking their faces with a 
vigor. The martial effect, however, was ruined by their childish levity in smearing each other 
with the greasepaint. 

Goimr is not, I am beginning to deduce, one of the military behemoths of Grotum, was 
my whispered comment to Wolfgang. 

He even managed a ventriloquist snort. 

Eventually, the Commandos assembled into a ragged file, their horses looking gloomier by 
the minute. The captain whipped his plumed hat off his head (the bright ostrich feather 
clashed, I thought, with the logic of the blackened face) and waved it about. 

Citizens of Goimr! he cried, addressing the small crowd which was gazing upon the 
Commandos. Your noble Commandos are off to capture the renegade Zulkehthe sorcerer 
satanic!the Here he fell off his horse. When he clambered back on, he made to resume his 
speech, but his now-surly horse would have none of it, and charged through the gate. The 
rest of the Commandos lunged off in pursuit. 

The guards at the gate drew their swords in a ragged salute. 

Hail the noble Royal Commandos! cried the sergeant. 

Hail the nobleroilcomdos, muttered the guards in response. 

Death to the satanic sorcerer Zulkeh! cried the sergeant. 

Death to the stancsorcerZully, muttered the guards apathetically. 

These duties performed, the sergeant and the guards resumed their inspection of the 


papers of those seeking passage through the gate. My hopes of success in deceiving these 
vigilant men of war, let me say, were now quite high. 

Soon enough, it was our turn. My papers were examined cursorily. The sergeant essayed a 
squaring of the shoulders in respect of Gerards signature, failed miserably, resumed his 
slouch, and waved us through. 

Since he seemed harmless enough, I decided to satisfy my curiosity. 

Who is this sorcerer the Commandos are pursuing? I asked. 

I got back in reply a garbled and not very coherent account of the misdeeds of the wizard 
Zulkeh, in which the kernel of driving the King mad was intermingling with a bouillabaisse 
of other crimes. I particularly enjoyed the charge of public urination. 

Then, we were delayed by the soldiers gawking at Wolfgang. 

Ay, an is he the great icon, or what, lads? demanded one of the guards. His fellows 
indicated, with none-too-convincing expressions of piety, their agreement with his awed 
opinion. 

St. Athelbert, idnt he? asked the devout guard. 

I frowned fiercely. Ignorant dolt! Tis the spitting image of St. Abbleredepatron saint of 
lunatics and criminals! 

The fellow looked properly abashed, and with no further ado I cracked the whip and 
ordered Gwendolyn to move smartly, dye hear? I suspected, from the hunch of her 
shoulders and the tightening of her jaws, that I would pay for it later. 

Once we were beyond earshot of the gate, now on a dirt road leading into the countryside, 
Wolfgang spoke in a more normal tone of voice. 

There is no patron saint of lunatics, he cackled. Plenty for criminals, of course, but we 
raving types have been read out of the state of Holy Grace. Quite absurd, really, when you 
consider that almost all saints were obviously demented. How they get sanctified, you know? 
Going off and irritating all sorts of aborigines who boil them in oil or shoot them full of 
arrows or whatnot. I ask you, who but a madman would do such things? 

I interrupted what, with my growing experience, I could detect as a new round of witless 
babble. 

I should think the Commandos will capture the wizard soon enough, I remarked. 

That set off a new round of cackling from the icon. Gwendolyns shoulders were 
quiveringwith humor, I realized, considerably relieved. 

And why not? Sure, theyre as sorry a lot of soldiery as Ive ever seen, but theyre still 
soldiers on horseback pursuing a coach. I grant you, the coach left two days ago, but they 
should still be able to catch up easily, even allowing for drunken binges along the way. 

No doubt, if they could simply follow the coach. But the coach took the direct route, 
through the Grimwald, whereas the soldiers will have to take the roundabout road, through 
the marsh and the mountains. 

Why dont they just follow the coach? 

More cackling. 

My boy, you are such an innocent! Clear enough, youre a stranger to Grotum. The 
Grimwald, lad, is Grotums oldest and greatest forest. 
So? 
So! Are you that ignorant? Snarls, boy, snarls! They abound in the Grimwaldand forest 

snarls, to boot! Goes without saying, of coursewhat other kind of snarls would you find in a 
forest but forest snarls? 


I pondered his words, trying to decide if I was the butt of a joke. Its a crude but common 
form of humorto mock a newcomer by telling him tall tales of the local surroundings. I had 
heard of snarls, of course. What Ozarine was not enthralled, as a child, by the endless tales of 
those monsters of the Groutch wilds? But as I grew older, I wrote the tales off as fiction for 
childrenin a class with Good Saint Nick and the Tooth Fairy. 

I decided Wolfgang was too weird for crude mockery. 

So the snarls actually exist? 

Of course they exist! You can find them in all the wild parts of Grotum! Forest snarls, 
mountain snarls, swamp snarls, rock snarls, prairie snarlsthe list is well nigh endless. 
Rather rare creatures, mostly, except in some places. Joes Favorite Woods swarms with 
them, of course. And theyre very abundant in the Grimwald. 

I still dont understand why the soldiers cant traverse the forest. I mean, if a coach can 
get through, then I should think a body of armed men would have no difficulty whatsoever. 

My boy, my boy, its not like that at all. The coach will get through because the snarls will 
probably leave it alone. Snarls generally dont pester simple travelers. But soldiers! Oh, no, it 
simply wont do. Take great offense at soldiery, snarls do. Gobble them up with a ferocity. 
Police too. 

You mean neither soldiers nor police can enter the Grimwald? 

Not sane ones. Insane ones could, it goes without saying. Snarls are rather fond of 
lunatics. But what madman would be so crazy as to enlist in the army? Not to mention the 
police! 

The Grimwald must be a haven for poachers, then. 

This last remark of mine not only set off a new round of cackling but caused Gwendolyns 
shoulders to positively heave with humor. 

Such an innocent! giggled Wolfgang. Such an ignoramus! Lad, one does not poach in a 
snarl forest. Believe me, one doesnt. Not, at least, unless one is seeking a quick and messy 
form of suicide. 

I fell silent, disgruntled, if the truth be told, by this unseemly mirth at my expense. The 
day wore on, our cart making slow but steady progress. Gwendolyn showed no signs of 
tiring, even hauling our great heavy load. I now realized that she was not only 
extraordinarily large, but incredibly strong. At first, I would have said, incredibly strong for a 
woman. By the end of the day, when we finally decided to stop for the night by the roadside, 
and I observed her lowering the cart without so much as a drop of sweat on her brow, it 
finally dawned on me that she was easily the strongest human I had ever known. In the years 
to come, I was only forced to qualify that assessment once, when I met her brother. 

That realization only made the ensuing situation the more uncomfortable! 

For, after the few minutes required to make our camp for the nightsome few yards from 
the roadside, in a small groveI realized that Gwendolyn and Wolfgang were gazing at me 
with a strange intensity. Wolfgangs expression positively radiated amusement. Gwendolyns 
was much harder to read. Repressed anger, an odd, cold kind of humor. I was not certain. 

Whats this about? I queried. 

Gwendolyn said nothing, her face now like a mask. Wolfgang giggled. 

Well, he said, its actually the immemorial and time-honored custom in Grotum, at the 
end of a days haul, for the draywoman to provide sexual service for the draymaster. 

My face must have flushed red. Partly from embarrassment, partlyI cannot deny it 
because the image his words brought to my mind caused a sudden rush of passion to fall 


over me. 

Barbarous! I cried. Barbarous! I broke into a fit of coughing. Once recovered, I looked 
at Gwendolyn and said: I assure you, Gwendolyn, I have no intention of respecting such an 
infamous custom. 

Contrary woman! 
Far from bringing praise for my couth gentility, my words brought down on my 
unoffending head a veritable torrent of abuse! The gist of which was: 

And who was I, the slimy Ozarine, to give myself great airs and sneer at the barbarous 
backwardness of Grotum, when that barbarous state was maintained with Ozarine 
influence and money? 

This was but the prelude to an impassioned speech on the nefarious imperial plots of 
Ozarae, its vampiric grasp on Grotum, its suborning of all official Groutch institutions (not, 
to hear her speak, that she was filled with any great admiration for these institutions to 
begin with!), and so on, and so on, and so on. I was lost after a few minutesnot so much 
because I disagreed with her logic but because I simply couldnt follow it. Politics, 
statesmanship, all that, were of no interest to me whatsoever. I was an artist, not a diplomat! 
Ironic, actually, in light of subsequent events. 

Finally, she wound down. Wolfgang cackled. 

I do believe youve left the poor confused lad out at sea without a compass, he giggled. 

But surely, I protested to Gwendolyn, you have no liking for this hallowed Groutch 
draymasters custom? 

Of course not! she snarled. Of course its barbarous! Women are treated like beasts of 
burden in Grotum, for the most part. And most of the sexual customs belong in a cesspool. 
Ive met few enough draymasters I wouldnt cheerfully butcher. Will butcher some of them, 
come the revolution. Reactionary dogs! Not much better than slavers! 

She growled, then burst into a sudden grin. 

I will admit you handle that whip well. The hardest part of the whole day, that was, trying 
to keep from laughing at the sight of the draymasters howling and scurrying for cover. And I 
thoroughly enjoyed trampling the two of them. 

She eyed me speculatively. You might want to get rid of those scalps, by the way. Theyre 
drawing flies. 
I had forgotten them. I yanked them out of my belt and flung them into the woods. When I 
turned back, alas, the fierce scowl was back on her face. 

I just dont want to hear it from an Ozarine. I think its what angers me the most. If the 
Ozarines were honest about their imperialism, itd be bad enough. But to have to listen to the 
vultures chide we crude and uncouth Groutch for our uncivilized wayswhile they plunder 
us like pirates! She took a deep breath. Damn all hypocrites! 

I made an unwise attempt to mollify her. 
Actually, Gwendolyn, theres quite a great admiration and fascination for Grotum among 
many Ozarines. Myself included! Why, as a 

Oh, spare me! She snorted. Think I dont know every Ozarine bratling isnt brought up 
on tales of mysterious and romantic Grotum? Hah! Ive even read a few of those romantic 
adventure novels which are so popular in Ozar. One of them even had the hero magically 
incarnated as a Groutch himself. A knight, naturally, gallivanting about the countryside with 
noble Groutch companions, rescuing fair maidens. Typical Ozarine horseshit! Why doesnt 
somebody write a true novel? You know, where the heros magically incarnated as a Groutch 


peasantbetter yet, the wife of a Groutch peasant! Itd be such a jolly romantic book! Half 
her childrenand shell drop em once a year till she dries up or diesdead of disease or 
hunger before theyre five years of age. Plowing the fields day after day, toil from the time 
shes old enough to walk to the time she cant move from her deathbed. A despairing, beaten 
down husband, drunk half the timeand why not?except all his rage will fall on her and 
the children. 

She fell silent for a moment, breathing heavily. Wolfgang interjected, saying mildly: 
Actually, the boys not really responsible for all that, Gwendolyn. At least, in the short time 
weve made his acquaintance, I havent noticed him charging about spreading mass disease 
and misery. 

Gwendolyn glared at him, then sighed. 

I know, I know. Its unfair of me to throw it on to Benvenutis head. I shouldnt 
personalize these things. But still, it infuriates me, the way the Ozarines create a world that 
perpetuatesmakes worse!every injustice in it, and then cluck their tongues at the 
barbarity of it all. 

It was the first time in my life that I didnt just walk away from a political argument. I 
think it was the fierce flame in her, that drew me like a mothand didnt I know, even then, 
that it usually turns out badly for the moth! Then, too, there was thiswhich, I admit, cut a 
little close to Gwendolyns point, so I always kept it to myselfthat she made every Ozarine 
lass Id known seem like a pale shadow. Fact is, the damned woman was a romanticists 
dream! And what artist isnt a romantic? Not any Sfondrati-Piccomolinis. At least, not from 
myadmittedly somewhat disreputablebranch of the clan. My branch of the clan, truth to 
tell, has always produced a lot more adventurers than scholars. 

I did not, of course, attempt to argue the politics of her persuasion. For one thing, I would 
have been completely over my head. Even at that young age, I had enough sense not to 
dispute doctrine with a hardened Groutch revolutionist! For another, I wasnt at all sure I 
didnt agree with her, insofar as Id ever given any thought to political questions. My uncles 
had certainly never instilled in me any great feeling of pride in the grandeur of Ozar. 

But I did make the attempt to present myself in a different perspective. And so, as our 
campfire burned a spot of light in the darkness, I spoke quietly of my lifelong fascination 
with Grotum. Begun, to be sure, from a childs fairy tales. But, as I grew older, I came to 
understand the centrality of Grotum to all the worlds art and literature. This reality was 
known to all students of the arts, and often commented on by the scholarssome with 
admiration, most with rueful asperity, some even with despair. But directly or indirectly, 
Grotum acted like a great dark planet, which drew into its orbit all the brighter but smaller 
orbs. 

She said nothing, but she listened to me. Rather intently, I think. When I was done, she 
did not break her silence. But I thoughtor so I hopedthat there was less tension in the set 
of her shoulders. 

Wed best get some sleep, she said. Then, as she was rolling up in her blanket, a little 
chuckle, and she added: Youll need to be well rested tomorrow, Benvenuti, so your whip 
hand doesnt waver. But I owe you for the draymasters, so Ill give you one scratch if you cut 
it too fine. One only, mind! Or its the gutting blade. 

It took us two days to get through the Goimric countryside to the edge of the forest. The 
trip was uneventful, save for one occasion late in the afternoon of the second day, when we 


were overtaken by a platoon of cavalry. They came galloping up the road behind us, waving 
their sabers and hallooing war cries. But it became obvious that they were not interested in 
us. The platoon charged right by without so much as a glance in our direction. One of the 
cavalrymen, however, fell off his horse as he tried to ride around the cart. He landed in the 
road with a great thump. 

I hopped off and went over to him. He was sitting up, shaking his head. I leaned over and 
helped him to his feet. 

Are you all right? I asked. 

Guess so, he muttered. He looked around for his horse. The nag was off in a field some 
thirty yards distant. The soldier pursed his lips and whistled. The nag looked at him, 
defecated, and trotted away. 

Damn the beast! snarled the soldier. Now Ill have to finish the charge on foot. 

Is there a battle ahead? I asked. 

The soldier looked at me like I was retarded. 

Would I be charging into a battle? he demanded. Havent you heard? The palace 
burned down! The heirs to the throne are all dead. The word is well have a new 
government. He swelled his scrawny chest. A military government! 

He dusted off his clothes. So, anyway, the captain ordered us to charge the tavern up the 
road. Free drinks, therell be. He puffed out his chest again. After that, well maybe burn 
one or two villages. 

He retrieved his sword from the road and waved it above his head. 

For junta and country! he cried, and began a shambling run up the road. 

After I resumed my seat, Gwendolyn started the cart in motion. 

That sounds bad, I commented. 

What do you care about the Royal Palace? demanded Gwendolyn. 

Not that. Favor to the world, burning down that pile of refuse. No, I meant the part about 
the military government. You heard him. Its obvious the soldieryll take it as an excuse to 
commit atrocities on the population. 

Gwendolyn laughed. Behind me, Wolfgang giggled. 

Whats so funny? I asked, in a resigned voice. I was getting tired of being the butt of 
their humor. 

This is Goimr, my boy, cackled Wolfgang. Now, if this was Sfinctria, or even Pryggia, 
your fears would have substance. Quite the proper committers of atrocities, your Sfinctrian 
army. And the Pryggs are no slouches, either. But Goimric soldiers? Commit atrocities? I 
fear you overestimate their capabilities. 

The last time the Goimric army tried to plunder a village, commented Gwendolyn, the 
inhabitants sent them packing. She looked back at me, grinning like a wolf. And they were 
lucky the men were still in the fields. They suffered thirty percent casualties at the hands of 
the women and children. 

Theyre really that bad? 
As you have earlier surmised yourself, remarked Wolfgang, Grotum does not tremble at 
the rattling of Goimric sabers. 

I shook my head. Theyll get better, Im afraid. I dont know much about politics, but I 
spent enough time around my uncles to know that Ozar will be sending in military advisers, 
soon enough. 

With your uncles along, no doubt, came Gwendolyns sneering voice, like proper 


soldiers of fortune. 

I controlled my temper. Actually, I replied in a calm voice, theyll not be involved. They 
refuse to participate in such affairs. Its one of the reasons they always turn down the offers 
of the Ozarine government to give them regular commissions. They say occupation work 
corrodes the soul. 

Wolfgang cackled. Such a crazy world! Mercenaries with honor! Of course, they are 
Sfondrati-Piccolominis. 

I remembered the last emissary of the Senate, sent packing from our house with a boot 
mark on his behind. Ludovigos boot, thatd beenhe was always the most ill-tempered of 
my condottiere uncles. 

Have you got a war somewhere? hed demanded of the emissary. A real war, Im talking 
about? 

The emissary had hemmed and hawed, rambling on about the geostrategic significance of 
the pacification of some far distant land Id never heard of. But he didnt get very far along. 
Ludovigo is not a patient man. The boot had followed, with my other uncles contributing 
verbal mayhem. 

When the emissary was gone, scuttling down the street, Ludovigo had turned to me, 
scowling and chewing his mustachios. 

Remember this, boy, hed growled. Seventeen, you are now. Youll be a grown man 
soon, responsible for your actions. His glare was joined by that of my other uncles. The 
family will forgive a wolf, but weve no mercy for jackals. 

Certainly not! Id exclaimed, not really understanding the ins and outs of the matter. But 
I understood my uncles boot. 

What a world weve produced, sighed Ludovigo. Hed resumed his seat, planted his boot 
on the table, drained his mug. There was a time when it was a proud thing, to be an 
Ozarine. Go back in the family line, youll find that plenty of Sfondrati-Piccolominis served 
in the army of Ozarae. With pride and distinction. Pride and distinction. He sneered. Now, 
Id as soon join a pack of hyenas. 

Id rather join a pack of hyenas, my uncle Rodrigo had contributed. Never claim to be 
more than scavengers, your honest hyenas. 
Wont hear a hyena prate on and on about the grandeur of the pack and the glory of the 
carrion, added Larue. 

Unless its a scholar hyena, chuckled Filoberto. I hear our distant cousin, Rhodes 
Sfondrati-Piccolomini, has just come out with a new bookThe Ozarine Century, its 
called. 

Ive read it, said Larue. Drones on and on about the Burden of Ozar, as he calls it. 
Thats scholar-speak for lets loot everything, for the lootees best interest. Would you 
believe, the fool even calls for a new attempt at conquering the Sssuj? 

Great gales of laughter had greeted that last statement. When their glee subsided, 
however, my uncles gloom had returned. The long silence had finally been broken by my 
uncle Ludovigo, his voice hard as stone. 

That fool belongs to another branch of the clan. In our branch, in our familyweve had 
eagles and falcons, and owls, and more than a few peacocks and dodos. But theres never 
been a vulture. Hed fixed me with his glare. You hear me, boy? 

I was recalled back to the present by Wolfgangs voice. 


There it is. The Grimwald. 

I looked up. On the horizon, ahead and to my right, I could see a ragged, dark green line. 
Even from the distance, it looked somehow foreboding. 

I said as much, and Wolfgang giggled. Nonsense! Its a marvelous place, the Grimwald. 
Full of wonder and enchantment! Unicorns, even! The worlds greatest mystery, you know? 

Whats that? I asked. 

Why, its obvious! How do unicorns propagate, when theyve got this fetish about 
virginity? He cackled. Ive spent years trying to figure it out. Even asked the head 
psychiatrist at the asylum. The mans a genius, you know? But he was no help, at all. Said 
that unicorns were just a figment of my imagination. 

They are, said Gwendolyn forcefully. 

Well, of course, I know that! Wolfgangs voice was full of aggrievement. Im not stupid, 
you know, just insane. But thats the whole point! How do unicorns propagate in my 
imagination, when theyve got this fetish about virginity? My imagination certainly doesnt. 
Have a fetish about virginity, I mean. He howled like a lunatic. Quite the contrary! A 
cornucopia of sexual perversion, it is, my imagination. Ive scolded it many times, but it 
keeps coming up with the wildest ideas! For instance 

Wolfgang, shut up! roared Gwendolyn. 

Such a prude! Oh, very well. But, anyway, for some reason my imagination comes up 
short whenever it tries to picture unicorns propagating. Years, Ive spent, trying to figure out 
why. Its very important, you know, for a lunatic to understand his imagination. Sane people 
never have to worry about it, of course. You can just pass things off by saying its just my 
imagination. But a dement cant do that, because we live in the world of our imagination. 
So 

Wolfgang, shut up! roared Gwendolyn. 

But, my dear Gwendolyn, youre missing the whole point! Sane people are such cripples! 
Hamstrung, you are, by the real world. Whereas a madman can just dismiss the problem by 
saying its just the real world, and go on about the important business, which is imagining 
 

Gwendolyn heaved herself out of the yoke and stalked back to the cart. She glared up at 
the towering figure of the madman, still sitting in the pose of an icon. 

If you dont shut up, she hissed between her teeth, the real world will intrude upon your 
imagination this very minute. 

I was afraid a row might break out, with me caught between a giant and an Amazon. But 
Wolfgang only smirked and said: I shall become quite the proper icon, then. Full of grace. 

And, indeed, he fell silent for the rest of the journey into the Grimwald, except for a 
whisper meant only for my ears. 

Such a solemn woman, she is. You really must try and brighten up her spirits, young 
man. 

Such was, in fact, my very hope. But I wasnt about to acknowledge the same to a lunatic. 
Still, my stiff back must have transmitted some of my feelings, for I could hear Wolfgang 
chuckling behind me. 

A short distance further, Gwendolyn turned the cart down a narrow, rutted dirt path. We 
were now headed directly for the forest, and she began to pick up the pace. A half hour later, 
the path entered beneath the loom of the Grimwald. Gwendolyn shrugged out of the yoke. 

We can leave the cart here, she said. No one will find it for days. By then well be long 


gone, deep into the forest. 

I hopped off the cart. Wolfgang arose, as limber as if he hadnt spent the last three days 
posing as a statue. For him, stepping off the cart was not much more than for a boy to step 
off a stool. It took but a moment for the three of us to push the cart into some bushes, out of 
sight of any casual passer-by. 

Gwendolyn led the way into the forest. The dirt path quickly became a faint trail winding 
through the immense trees of the forest. Those trees! Never had I seen anything like them, 
so huge they were, and so densely packed. Every variety of tree, to boot, evergreen and 
hardwoods mixed together with no rhyme or reason that I could see. 

Crazy he might have been, but Wolfgang had an uncanny ability to discern a persons 
thoughts. 

Dont try to figure out the ecology of the Grimwald, Benvenuti. Cant be done, you know? 
The scholars gave it up long ago, after my great-grandfather Kirkpatrick went mad in the 
attempt. Locked him up, poor man, after he started babbling at the annual meeting of the 
Philosophical Society that the Grimwald was the last surviving remnant of the primeval 
Eozoon. Such a brilliant naturalist! Im quite partial to his theory of the nummulosphere, 
myself. Youre familiar with it, of course? 

I shook my head. 

What? Never heard of Kirkpatricks theory? He grimaced. Such a horrible state modern 
educations fallen to! Not surprising, of course, in Ozar. You Ozarines are such incorrigible 
rationalists. But even here in Grotum the children are not instructed in the theory of the 
nummulosphere. And such a marvelous theory! Kirkpatrick claims the whole world was built 
up, bit by bit, by the action of single-celled foramsamoebas, sort of. Claims you can see 
their fossils everywhere, if you just look closely enough. Unfortunately, hes been the only 
one able to look closely enough, so they say hes a crackpot. Too bad, really. His theorys so 
much more imaginative than all this dry stuff about tectonic plates. Can there be anything 
more boring than igneous rock? Forams, nowtheres a lively basis for world-building! And 
on he droned, making absolutely no sense at all. But I had gotten accustomed to shutting out 
his prattle. 

By nightfall, we had penetrated a fair distance into the forest. Gwendolyn apparently knew 
where we were goingI myself was hopelessly lostfor when we entered a small clearing, 
she said: This is it. Well camp here for the night. 

The next morning, Wolfgang announced that we would have to part company. 

Ill be going that way, he said, gesturing vaguely to the northeast. Got to catch up with 
the wizard, you know, and you two are off to quite different parts. 
Gwendolyn looked at him, hesitated, then spoke. 
I will ask you again. Why are youand everyone else in the world, it seemsso interested 
in this wizard? 

A look of pure innocence came upon Wolfgangs face. Me? Interested in Zulkeh? 

Gwendolyn exploded. Dont lie to me, Wolfgang! It must have taken you years to build 
those secret rooms and tunnels under the death house. And all so you could spy on this 
Zulkeh! Why? And why is everyone else so concerned with him? Why did Hildegard send me 
off on this wild goose chase? Why? 

Ive been interested in Zulkeh and his doings for years, responded Wolfgang, a rare tone 
of seriousness in his voice. Impossible to explain why, in any terms that would make sense 
to you. But its my main project in life, actually. Its because of Joe, of course. 


Seeing the fierce frown on Gwendolyns face, Wolfgang sighed. 

You are so unreasonable about this, Gwendolyn! Dont you think you should take the Joe 
question a bit more seriously, seeing as how everyone else doesfriends and foes alike? Or 
do you really think the Fangs of Pietynot to mention Hildegardare all as crazy as me? 

Theyre crazier, snapped Gwendolyn. At least you admit youre a lunatic. Hildegard 
lives in the clouds. Oh, I love her dearly. And shes a friend to the underground, Id be the 
last to deny it. Thats why I agreed to carry out this mission for her. I owe her plenty of 
favorsthe whole movement does, for that matter. But shes still nuts! She claims to 
correspond with God! 

Oh, but she does! exclaimed Wolfgang. Has a whole room in the Abbey just to store the 
Old Geisters stone tablets. Absolutely compulsive, that woman. Wont throw away anything. 
Id certainly throw away Gods stone tablets, if He sent me the kind of nasty notes He sends 
her! He shook his head. But she keeps right on with her correspondence. Says its her 
bounden duty as a pious Abbess to tell God the plain and simple truth about Himself, even if 
He doesnt want to hear it. Which He certainly doesnt! The Deity doesnt take well to 
criticism, you know, and my aunt has quite the sharp tongue. 

Gwendolyn threw up her hands. I give up! The Fangs I can understand. Those 
reactionary maniacs are just as crazy as you are, but at least they deal with the real world. 

Well, of course they do! exclaimed Wolfgang. Whats the point of being a vicious 
reactionary, if youre not going to deal with the real world? Might as well be a liberal! He 
shuddered. Such sane people, liberals. Really ought to be locked up, the bunch of them. For 
their own sake, if nothing else. Not that Id wish a pack of whining liberals on a lunatic 
asylum! The rest of the inmates would all commit suicide, just to escape the platitudes. 

He paused, beaming down on Gwendolyn. 

I can see youre about to get angry with me, again. Cant be helped, I suppose. Not too 
many sweet-tempered revolutionaries around. Executions, torture, imprisonmentdoesnt 
make for placid, jolly types. Still, I think you should 

Gwendolyn silenced him with a sharp gesture. Never mind what you think I should do. 
Suddenly she laughed. After all these years, youd think Id know better than to try to get 
any sense out of you. 

She stared off into the forest for a moment, then turned back to the giant. 

All right, she said, I suppose I can trust you. And it means nothing to me, anyway. The 
message which I was to deliver to Zulkeh from Hildegard was this. I was to tell him that 
Hildegard had a vision 

I knew it! Shes had another vision! cried Wolfgang, clapping his huge hands like a child 
filled with glee. 

and in this vision she saw Zulkeh, with a long beardlong, all the way down to his feet. 
And then, out from under his wizards hat, crawled a monster. The monster made its way 
down to the ground, using the wizards beard like a rope. It took the monster a long time to 
get down, she said, but once 

Of course it took the monster a long time! cried Wolfgang. Thats such a long and 
perilous journey, climbing down a sorcerers beard! 

Gwendolyn scowled at the interruption, then continued. 

But once the monster reached the ground, it began to swell, and grow, like a storm cloud. 
And it was very angry. And then the world ended. 

She took a breath. And thats it. Thats the message. Makes no sense to me, at all. 


She stopped, gaping with astonishment. For the giant lunatic started capering around the 
meadow, leaping and doing cartwheels, and howling like a banshee. 

Hes finally flipped, I said. 

Gwendolyn shook her head. Noat least, no more than usual. Hes just very happy and 
excited. 

Sure enough, after a couple of minutes of these bizarre acrobatics, Wolfgang calmed down 
and shambled back over to where we were standing. Tears of joy were streaming down his 
cheeks. 

Best news Ive heard in years! he boomed. Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous! Id be 
ecstatic even if Id had the vision in one of my hallucinationsbut coming from Hildegard! 
He grinned, drooling. Her visions are infallible, you know. 

I dont suppose youd explain what it means? asked Gwendolyn. 

Wolfgang looked about, like a little boy trying to keep a secret. 

Well, I suppose I could give you a hint. It means the worlds going to end. Way ahead of 
my schedule, it looks like. 
Gwendolyn visibly restrained her temper. This is good news? 
Wolfgang was shocked. Well, of course its good news! Then he clapped his head with his 

hand. Oh, of course! You thinkno! no! Dear Gwendolyn! You have such a grim, 
apocalyptic view of things! Twilight of the gods, all that rot. No, dear, the worlds going to 
end likelike, how shall I put it?yes! Like all the low things in life end! Thats it! Like all 
the things that crawl, and lie in the mud, and stink, and wriggle. 

He stooped, bringing his face down. Now do you see? 

No, I dont! exclaimed Gwendolyn. 

Wolfgang straightened, sighed. We look at things so differently, dear. From different 
angles, you might say. 
He reached out and stroked her cheek. 
But I dont care, Gwendolyn. On the last day of the worldif you dont get yourself 

killed!well see everything just the same. And in the meantime, go your way with all my 
love and hope. For I cherish you. 

Gwendolyn took his hand and held it to her cheek. 

Suddenly, she stepped back. Be off with you! You damned lunatic. Off to chase after the 
wizard, I suppose. 

Wolfgang beamed. Yes! Off to Prygg! And with no further ado he charged into the forest. 
The trees shook with his passage, the underbrush hissed their protest. But, not more than a 
minute later, while Gwendolyn and I remained unmoving in the clearing, the sights and 
sounds of his return became evident. Wolfgang reappeared, moving toward us in that 
awkward-looking shamble that covered ground amazingly quickly. 

Two seconds later he was standing in front of me, waving his arms about. 

Im so forgetful! he cried. I forgot to say good-bye to Benvenuti! Can you forgive me, 
dear boy? 
I nodded. Think nothing of it. 
Such a polite lad! Such a credit to his family! 
He extended his hand and shook mine. Myby normal standardslarge hand was 
completely lost in his huge fist. 

Perhaps we will meet again, I said, not really taking the formula seriously. 

Of course we will! cried the giant. Its inevitable! Youre up to your knees in Joe 


business, boy, and sinking fast! Of course well meet again! But until then, take care. 
And again he was off. Within a minute, all sign of him was gone. I turned to Gwendolyn. 
What now? 
For a few seconds longer, she continued to stare into the forest where Wolfgang had 

disappeared. Then she motioned to the left with her head. 
That way. 


PART III 


The Which Represents a 
Lacuna in my Illustrious Ancestors 
Account, Fortunately Made Good By My 
Discovery of a Long Lost Manuscript by 
the Undeservedly Obscure Littrateur, 
Korzeniowski Laebmauntsforscynneweld, 
Companion of the Consortium Director of 
Companies in That Superlative 
Financiers Most Bitter and 
Troubled Exile. 


The manuscript which follows herein requires a brief introduction, if I may take this liberty 
as your narrator. For, alas, my ancestors chronicle suffers from an unfortunate lacuna with 
regard to the account of the wizard Zulkehs journey from Goimr to the Caravanserai. 

The gentle reader will recall that the precipitous departure of the coach from the travel 
station of Goimr caused the dwarf Shelyid to be hurtled to the floor. Master, were off! 
cried the gnome, to which the wizard responded: Well spoken, dwarf. Our journey has 
begun. Know, gentle reader, that these words were scribed by the illustrious Alfred CCLVI 
even as he was himself flying through the air, having lost his perch on Shelyids eyebrow 
(this precarious vantage point being the preferred scribal seat of the intrepid chronicler) due 
to the gnomes clumsiness. In his devotion to duty, Alfred CCLVI did not notice that his 
airborne trajectory was taking him through the window and out of the coach entirely. This 
fact was only brought to his attention when the industrious scribe found himself sprawled in 
six-legged disarray upon the cobblestones, the coach wherein reposed his lifes work racing 
away at great speed. Hastily retrieving his scattered notes, Alfred CCLVI set off in hot 
pursuit. 

Of the odyssey which followed, the epic tale of Alfred CCLVIs endeavor to regain the 
wizards coach, I will say nothing. The interested reader is referred to Alfred CCLVIs own 
account of his adventures, the classic Across the Grimwald On 80 Hosts. For our purposes 
here, it suffices to say that Alfred CCLVI did not rejoin his clan until the arrival of the wizard 
in the Caravanserai. 

At once, Alfred CCLVI inquired if any of his senior apprentices had compiled sufficiently 
competent notes to enable the great scribe to reconstruct the events of the wizards journey. 
Alas, he found their haphazard jottings entirely inadequate. Hence did the irate chronicler 


order the immediate fumigation of his senior apprentices. 

This act was perhaps hasty and ill-considered. For it resulted in the rise to senior 
apprenticeship of that unfortunate individual later to become the notorious Alfred CCLVII. 
But that disgraceful episode belongs to a later portion of our chronicle. For the moment, we 
are left with the embarrassment of a yawning gap in the smooth unfolding of our tale. 

It gives me great pleasure to announce, however, that this gap has now been filled. After 
years of diligent search, your humble narrator was eventually able to uncover a long lost 
manuscript written by Korzeniowski Laebmauntsforscynneweld. The author of this 
manuscript is one of the least well known illuminati of the famed scholarly clan. Yet, as the 
gentle reader will soon have occasion to determine for himself, Korzeniowskis obscurity is 
entirely undeserved. It results solely from the fact thatunlike the vast majority of his clan, 
who made a pusillanimous accommodation to the forces which triumphed in the Great 
CalamityKorzeniowski Laebmauntsforscynneweld remained true to Reason and chose 
exile over surrender. Thus did he accompany the Director of Companies in that latters 
precipitous flight from the Great Calamity. 

Of the odyssey which followed, the epic tale of the voyage of Ozaraes greatest nabob and 
his companions across the uncharted oceans in a luxury yacht to their final exile in the 
islands, I will say nothing. The interested reader is referred to Nordhoffandhall 
Laebmauntsforscynnewelds classic account, Financiers Against The Sea. 

The troubled and bitter exile of the Director of Companies in the heathen islands was, as 
the gentle reader will soon discover, brief. The final end of the leader who, prior to the Great 
Calamity, was recognized the world over as the supreme embodiment of social discipline, 
can now be told. For not only does Korzeniowskis tale recount, long after the event, the 
journey of the wizard Zulkeh from Goimr to the Caravanserai, but it unfolds as well the last 
moments of the life of the Director of Companies, the greatest man of his epoch. 

Thus, it is with great pleasure as a chronicler, combined with deep sadness as a louse of 
Reason, that I herewith present the tale. 

The Last of the Line 

By Korzeniowski Laebmauntsforscynneweld 

(beginning portion) 

The native boy came onto the deck bearing a tray; upon it rested four glassesfilled with 
an amber liquid. He moved silently to the railing; set the tray upon the stool by the 
Directors side. The Director of Companies turned from his view of the oceanglanced down 
at the trayglared fiercely at the servant. 

Lord! he exclaimed. Jim, I told you to bring drinks for everyone! 

The boy gazed impassively at the Director; then, his eyes sweeping the deck in a glance, 
took in the other four of us. 
But, sahib, he said in his barbarous accent, tuan tu maik fo. 
I know two and two makes four, you ninny! roared the Director. There are five of us! 
No expression crossed Jims face; his black eyes stared opaquely at the four glasses; 

leaning over the rail, he peered at his reflection in the waters; unknowable thoughts moved 
through his mind. 

Mistaik iz mine, he muttered, and left the deck. 

Lord in heaven, rescue me! snarled the Director. I dont believe the incompetence of 


these damned natives. Cant even count the fingers on one hand. He sighed heavily and 
stared out over the ocean. The rays of the setting sun gleamed in the mirror of the sea; of a 
sudden, he thrust to his feet and gripped the railing. 

Under Westerns eyes, he said sadly, this sort of thing never happened. 

We watched his back affectionately as he stood looking seaward. We knew how sorely he 
felt the loss of his old and trusted valet; and while this loss was but the least of the calamities 
which had befallen him, perhaps, for that very reason, it vexed him the most. For me, things 
were what they were; Barleywell, Barley was Barley; as for the accountant and the lawyer, 
the worst of it wasthat it was. But for the Director it was an affront to his entire spirit. The 
typhoon of his youth had brought him to the pinnacle of success and power; only then, as he 
stretched forth the maturity of his grasp, to find his victory swept away by the sudden 
madness; leaving him as he was now, an outcast of the islands in an alien world. 

It was all Mayers folly! he roared suddenly, without looking around. He should have 
crushed the rebel when he had the chance! The idiots! All of them! He glowered out to sea; 
then spoke again. Thenthen! God, to think of itthe opportunities lost! Bungled from the 
beginning; Mayer was only the last of the fools. From the beginning, I say! Inkman and the 
Angel could have done itat one strokethey had the chance! I gave them all they asked 
then!at the beginning!even the Rap Sheet! And for what? For what? To think of it! He 
hurled his glass into the sea. 

A long silence followed his outburst. All of us shared his gloom. Barring an unexpected 
smile of fortune, there was no reason to believe the usurpers would not remain the inheritors 
of the labor and the brilliance of the past. The Director had let slip enough of the tale of his 
informerhis secret agent just arrived from Ozarfor us to understand the depth of the 
disaster. 

The shadow line of barbarism had engulfed the world, taken civilization in captivity. What 
had seemed just another outburst in Grotumcursed Grotum, the nature of a crime itself; 
age-old nursery of the craft of treasonhad spread like wildfire around the whole of Joes 
Seato Ozar itself! Madness; vile, unreasoning madness; so complete the victory of 
lawlessness that there was no longer any suspense in our hearts. We, once rulers of east and 
west, had lost our grip of the land. The heroic age was overnaught left of it but tales of 
hearsay, cobwebs and gossamer. 

The weight of the burden lay heaviest on the Directors heart. He had lost his entire 
fortunebut it was not because of the dollars that the Directors every waking hour was an 
endless torment of recrimination; andyesself-recrimination. It was the warriors soul of 
the man that shriveled, not the merchants brain. He had told us, with a false smile on his 
face, and an empty laugh, of his plans for a peaceful old age. What matters it in the end? he 
had asked. We said nothing; he went on, I shall forego the active life; after all, Im getting 
on in years. Let savagery reign! I did my best. Here, in this far-off corner of the world, I shall 
maintain a little outpost of progress, a small beaconno, no, dear friends, let us not fool 
ourselves still; not a beacon, a dim lamp, an emberlet those who come after us, those who 
willsomedayturn back the foul tide, let them perhaps take a little heart, a small sum of 
fortitude, from our efforts hereour last essays, you might say. I shall write some 
reminiscencesmy notes on life and letters; a personal record, to give what help it may to 
others. He lapsed into silence and it burned me to see him so; he was not a man of letters; 
could not hope to turn his mind in that direction. 

Remembering that conversation, I looked across the little lagoon where we anchored; 


looked to the dim dusk-shrouded huts of the native village. I thought of exiledegeneration 
among the savages. 

I met him once, said Barley suddenly. The Rebel, I mean. It was long agoas I was 
returning from my first expedition into the Sssuj. 

The Directors face turned partly; pain filled it; suddenly I wished Barley had remained 
silent, much though I found myself filled with curiosity. The Director had enough anguish as 
it was, without being reminded of the Sssuj. 

Perhapsinterrupted the accountantNo, said the Director, I want to hear the tale. It 
could hardly bother me nowfor years I was tormented byah! that brave soul alone amidst 
the savageryhow much I would have 

He fell silent, but he hadnt needed to continue; for all his fortune, we knew well he would 
have given up a considerable portion for the widows hand in marriage. To him, she was the 
secret sharer of his fortunethe real partner of his fate beside whom the myriad commercial 
co-venturers paled into mist. But she felt otherwiseher sense of duty; that sense of duty 
which had taken her so many years before into the wilds of the Sssuj; to bring godliness into 
the hearts of the savagesnone could dissuade her from her course, fraught though it was 
with unspeakable peril. No pleas, no entreaties, could stop her; she left that cold morning 
long ago, never to returnoverdue and missing; in all the years since, no word of her had 
been heard. Thrice had the Director sent Barley into the Sssuj to seek her out; thrice had 
Barley returned with nought but tales of the endless reaches of the swampthe swamp, the 
swamp, the great morass of the world, graveyard of so many brave missions and gallant 
armies. 

What can it matter now? demanded the Director. Can Ozar be any better today than the 
heart of the Sssuj? He fell silent for a moment, then turned from the rail and sat himself in 
our circle. 

Speak on, Barley. 

Barley brooded a moment; then, launched into his tale. 

As you may recall, my first essay into the swamp had been from the north; and, following 
its failure, I returned via the same routeuntil I reached Torrance. There, rather than return 
by sea, I chose a more roundabout routepartly for I was loath to bring back my sad news; 
partly for my rovers feetyou all know my taste for landfalls and departures! So, instead of 
taking ship straightway from Torrance, I resolved to journey overland through Grotum. 

I had only five companions on the coach ride to Goimr. Two of them were from Malataa 
planter, Il Conde de la Manteca, and his young wifeon their way to Prygg. In addition, 
there was a knight, Sir Carayne, from the Crapaudelike myself, going to New Sfinctr. 
Finally, there were two bizarre sisters from Torrance, Karian and Ann. They were poor 
company. Ann giggled the whole way, and her sister contributed nothing to our wayfarers 
talk except to exclaim at regular intervalsStop laughing, Ann! Fortunately, they left the 
coach at Goimr. 

Our stay in Goimr was very briefonly the knight descended from the coach. Sir Carayne 
returned soon enough; his adventures, I gathered, had not been of the greatest sort, judging 
from the ardent glances which he bestowed on La Contessa while we waited for the next leg 
of the trip to begin. On the other hand, that may not be so strange. Sir Carayne was a robust 
man in the prime of his life, very large, his shoulders and hands of a size suited for his 
calling; while La Contessaah, my friends! you know the smoldering beauty of Grenadine 
womenshort in duration, true enough, but while it blooms 


The Rebel! interrupted the Director, rather rudely; but I thought of the troubles ailing 
his mighty soul, and smiled at him in the gathering darkness. Barley evidently felt the same, 
for he nodded his head and continued. 

After the knight returned, the new travelers began arriving. The first was a fat cleric, a 
local parson on his way to the Temple of the Ecclesiarchs. Following him entered a sallow-
faced man of indeterminate years; by his uniform and the briefcase shackled to his wrist, a 
messenger of the Company. This one sat in a far corner and stared gloomily out the window, 
ignoring all around him. And thus we sat for some little while, until the driver and the guard 
appeared and clambered aboard. We seemed to be off, but there was some little delay; 
suddenly, a final pair of passengers arrived. They had barely entered when the coach jarred 
into motion. One of them, a little ugly fellow toting an enormous sack, was hurled onto the 
floor. 

 Master, were off! he squeaked. Well spoken, dwarf, said the other, a strange fellow 
garbed in an outlandish and scruffy robe, as is the habit of sorcerers in Grotum, our journey 
has begun. So it was I met the Rebel. 

He was a strange sort, to all appearances the most insignificantpaltryof persons; how 
confused reality is!a veil drawn over a missing jewel in an empty casket. Whatever; they 
took their seats. The sack itself took up twice the room of the stoutest burgher, but 
fortunately the coach was not crowded. The other passengers stared at these weird 
apparitions, their lips beginning to curl with disdain. 

But, before any could express a protest, our attention was drawn elsewhere; formind 
youGrotum as a wholecertainly Goimr!was a barbarous placethe populace not yet 
acclimated to the ways and methods of civilization; thus, when the coach careened through 
the marketplace at full speedyou all know the efficiency of modern transport 

We who made it! exclaimed the Director; we all smiled fondly. 

the beggars who infested the place were struck dumb with terror. Two of them, an old 
man and a young lad with a withered leg, were crushed beneath the wheels. We leaned out 
the windows, peering back; my first thought, that they had both been killed, was proven 
falsethe boys screams followed us as he writhed on the cobblestones, his good leg now 
matched to the other. 

 Poor lad, said the cleric sadly, to come so close to heaven, only to be thwarted at the 
pearly gates. But then, he continued more brightly, resuming his seat, no doubt this added 
disfigurement will enhance his mendicant trade. 

What think you, gentle folk? he went on, looking at us all with a benign gaze, is this not 
further proof of Gods beneficence? 

Suddenly the wizard spoke. The parson has failed to grasp the historic significance of the 
occasion. The truth of the matter lies elsewhere, not readily apparent to the untutored 
intellect. For look you, sirrahs and madame, who was that septuagenarian thus timely 
squashed? He peered at the coachs passengers most intently. 

 Yes! It was none other than he! exclaimed the wizard. Even in that brief glimpse I 
recognized him. Who? demanded Sir Carayne.  Who? you said, spoke the wizard. And 
well might you ask, for I see by your thews you are an ignorant man. Well, let me tell you, 
sirrah, that now deceased deformity was none other than Stromo Sfondrati-Piccolomini. 

 Not really? gasped the cleric. Yes, yes, continued the wizard. Not? exclaimed the 
cleric, half rising from his seat in excitement. Yes, yes, I sayeven he! The author of The 
Beggars Banquet! 


Astonishing! cried the parson, falling back in his seat; he raised his hands most high. O 
Lord, blessed is Thy spirit, for in this recent crushing, Thy majesty is revealed as was Thy 
will! 

 Who iswasthis fellow, this Tromo Svunderwhatever his name? demanded Sir 
Carayne. 

 And well should you ask, approved the cleric, for this saints life is an example for all 
mankind. Know, Sir Carayne, that Stromo Sfondrati-Piccolomini, of the famed scholarly clan 
of that name, was a man whose blessed nature in Gods eyes is proven by his life. As a youth 
he entered the field of metallurgy, the which he rapidly revolutionizedor so, at least, I am 
told, though I know little of these matters myselfyet 

 Bah! oathed the wizard. Who does not know Stromos Hammer and Tong is an 
ignoramus; moreover 

 yes, yes, no doubt! expostulated the cleric, but the more interesting and uplifting 
feature of this saints life is its later portion. For know, sirrahs and madame, that at the 
prime of his career, Stromo injured himself in a demonstration of the smithing art before a 
lecture hall full of students. Oh poor man! cried La Contessa, clutching her bosom. 

Tis true, I fear, said the cleric. Smashed his knee with a single blow of the hammer. He 
was, needless to say, disgraced; stripped of his post; cast out; disowned by his clan; but he 
saw the light, and sought to redeem himself in the eyes of God. Thus did he crawl to Goimr 
and give himself up to a life of beggary. But he did not satisfy himself with the expiation of 
his sin merely by this travail, oh no!as well he seized the opportunity to further the pursuit 
of knowledge and the Lords work by publishing his book, The Beggars Banquet, which 
plumbs the controversial question of the dietary habits of beggars. 

Bah! sneered the knight. 

 But you are wrong, Sir Carayne, protested the parson. For this was no mere 
monograph, no paltry academic investigation filled with charts and graphsno! no! a 
hundred times, no! Twas a profoundly religious work, whose entire purpose was the 
demonstration that the existence of beggars and their noxious diet is one of Gods great 
boons to humanity. 

How so? you ask, he continued, said Barley; thenAnd well you might, for twould 
appear, on the face of things, a paradox that Gods boundless mercy should take the form of 
a mutilated dotard scrabbling midst garbage-strewn streets for the scant sustenance of his 
daily life Bah! oathed the wizard; No paradox, but a conundrum kicked about by 
ruffians, tormented by mongrelsis this not passing strange? 

Not at all! snorted the knight. 

Natural order of things, agreed the Director gruffly. 

 Yet, went on the cleric, in this seeming mystery the genius and the pure spirit of 
Stromo, now cleansed by his suffering, perceived the truth. For, as he himself explained, this 
was not evidence of an ethical paradox but rather the deeper proof of Gods justice. 

 But therein lay not the source of his genius, countered the wizard. By no means. The 
demonstration that this is the best of all possible worlds is a commonplace; any student not 
hopelessly stupid in his mind can prove it by any one of several theorems. No, rather the 
brilliance of his treatise is found in the specifics of his study of the beggars diet, for therein 
he establishedwith a scrupulous logic which remains an example to all philosophesthat 
the heretofore presumed connection between social status and diet is subject to the most 
precise and detailed demonstration, in that through an examination of a mans diet we can 


determine how he arrives at his social status. This was his contribution to science. 

What bullshit! swore the knight. Beggars eat what they deserve. 

Precisely, precisely! exclaimed the wizard. But it was Stromo who first proved it. 

At this point the cleric, clearly irritated, resumed his discourse. Yes, yes, this is no doubt 
interesting, and goes to show once again the spiritual essence of Stromos mindbut the 
essential feature of the saints work was the further elaboration of Gods justice. This is 
proven by the very event which we so recently witnessed, the blessed squashing of this holy 
man. How so? you askfor is it not passing strange that such a virtuous soul should come 
to such a grisly end? Is this not, on the face of it, an ethical mystery? Preposterous! 
interrupted the wizard. No mystery, but a paradox, obvious to any half-wit. The cleric 
pressed on, his lips pursed with rising ireNot so! Rather we see here the greatest example 
of Gods mercyfor look you, sirrahs and madame, the enigma Clearly we deal here with 
a third-wit, commented the wizard. 

You are impudent, sirrah! stormed the cleric. 

 In no wise! contradicted the sorcerer. My characterization of your mentality has 
throughout been guided by the dictates of science, without a trace of spleen or personal 
malice. Quite the contrary! I find your intellect admirably shaped for your callingfor are 
you not a shepherd of the Lord, tending his spiritual flock? 

Why, quite so, admitted the cleric, somewhat mollified by these soft words. 

 There you have it, then! spoke the wizard, smiling at the parson in a most cordial 
manner, his hands outspread in a gesture of conciliation. What could be more fitting? For as 
sheep are amongst the stupidest of beasts, it is entirely proper that the shepherds brain be 
suited for his work. As lambs stray about the field, it is necessary that the shepherd grasp the 
difference between right and left; as sheep rise in the morning and sleep at night, so must 
the tender of the flock be able to distinguish night from day; as they bleat 

This was too much. Bellowing with fury, the parson rose from his seat and made to fall 
upon the wizard. Things might have come to a pretty pass, but for the intervention of the 
Company messenger. This latter had ignored the entire exchange till then, gazing out the 
window in the same moody fashion he had maintained since boarding the coach. Without 
moving his eyes, he snapped, It is forbidden to quarrel in a vehicle operated by the 
Consortium. The fine is ruinously heavy. The cleric paled slightly and resumed his seat. 

Conversation lagged. Soon Il Conde dozed off, and the knight took advantage of this 
opportunity to make his approach to La Contessa. Casually extending his leg, he began a 
surreptitious stroking of the ladys shapely ankle with his mailed and spurred boot. The hot 
blood of the Grenadine flowed freely; La Contessa uttered several remarks concerning rustic 
chivalry. Aside from this one-sided romance, the rest of the day passed quietly. Toward the 
end of the afternoon, the scattered clouds began massing. By evening, the sunny afternoon 
had become a dreary dusk of pouring rain. 

Fortunately, before long we arrived at the first way station. The coach came to a halt, and 
the passengers disembarked. Looming in the rain near the coach was a slovenly edifice built 
of logs and wattle. Above the doorway hung a crude sign which proclaimed this to be the Inn 
of the Two Whiches. The explanation for this peculiar name was soon forthcoming; for upon 
the main counter, behind which stood the dumpy form of the innkeeper, rose a rudely 
lettered placard bearing the inscription: WHICH DO YOU WANT? PALLET OR COT? PORRIDGE OR 
GRUEL? Opting for porridge and cot, I soon finished the mealif such it could be calledand 
went to sleep in a corner of the attic. 


It was still raining the next morning when I arose, though not so heavily as the night 
before. I descended to the ground floor and made to pay my bill. Ahead of me, the wizard 
and the innkeeper were quarreling. I dont care, snarled the innkeeper, you still owe me 
money. Nonsense! spoke the wizard. Honest hostels charge only for the services which 
they provide, and no other. This fine establishment is called the Inn of the Two Whiches for 
the good and proper reason that it offers a twofold option of two servicesporridge or gruel; 
pallet or cot. As my apprentice and I slept on the floor and eschewed supper, we availed 
ourselves of none of your services. Hence, we owe you nothing. And with that the sorcerer 
strode out the door, followed by the gnome tottering beneath his sack. 

The innkeeper roared with rage, and would no doubt have gone in pursuit, save that I 
stepped up and blocked his way. Innkeeper! I said loudly, I wish to settle my bill. In a 
minute, he snarled, first Im gonna get that lousy Now! I insisted; Im a busy man and I 
must be on my way! 

You should have let him go, Barley, grumbled the Director. Damned impudence of that 
wizardcheating on his bill! 

Barley shrugged. Perhaps so, but at the time my burning desire was to be rid of the place; 
it stank, and I was rather peeved by the aches and pains in my back from sleeping on the 
wretched cot which this parsimonious innkeeper had provided for quite a steep charge. 

Frugality is the necessary basis of profit, insisted the accountant. No doubt, replied 
Barley, but its unpleasant to be the source of the profit oneself.  Course! snorted the 
Director. Never sleep in one of my own hostels; fit only for the herd. 

In any event, continued Barley, the innkeeper decided to forego his quarrel and 
returned to the counter. Reaching into my pocket, I took out a coin and tossed it onto the 
counter. Then, before the innkeeper could scoop it up, Il Condes shrunken head thrust itself 
beside me. His eyes, normally half-closed in reverie, were now wide open; he peered intently 
at the coin, his lips quivering with excitement. Gasp!a Ruiz! he cried. Been looking for 
one for years! The innkeeper made to pick up the coin. Unhand that, knave! shrilled the 
nobleman, cracking the mans knuckles with his cane. So fierce was his countenance, so 
menacing the flourish of his cane, that the innkeeper fell back in fright. Not taking his eyes 
from the coin for a moment, Il Conde said to me, in a quavering voiceSirrah, I am an 
accomplished numismatist, and I must have that coin. What will you take for it? 

You can imagine my irritation. I thrust the coin toward the dotard and snapped, You can 
have itjust pay my bill! And with that, I stalked out of the inn. Outside, it was raining 
again and I hurried into the coach. Before long, all were aboard and we set off. The constant 
rain was a damper on our spirits, and only the tersest of exchanges took place. By 
midafternoon, however, the clouds began to scatter. The first ray of sunlight pierced 
downward like an arrow of gold; this shaft was soon followed by a full volleybefore long the 
day was as bright and sunny as you could ask for. Soon an animated conversation broke out, 
this time centered upon the person of La Contessa. 

La Contessas given name, as it developed, was Freya; the oddity of this name for a 
Grenadine being explained by a trace of Alsask blood in her family. In age somewhere 
between thirty and forty, her life had been spent primarily in the acquisition of husbands, an 
enterprise she had elevated to a fine art. Seven aisles had she trod to the tune of wedding 
marches, and the result of her latest wedding mumbled beside her with toothless gums. 
While she was too delicate to dwell upon it, it was clear enough that each of her spouses had 
been of the order of the current one; her husbands seemed to increase in age and wealth as 


her career progressed. As it was obvious that the seventh was soon to follow his 
predecessors, it did not take great insight to see that she had her own motives in 
accompanying Il Conde to Prygg, which focused about the nonagenarian figure of Prince 
Roman, the extravagantly wealthy cousin of the King of Pryggia. 

And so the day passed. La Contessa seemed to take a kindly interest in the wretched little 
dwarf. Several times she attempted to draw out from him his life storypeculiar woman! 
but the horrid gnome was too shy to respond with more than stumbling half-sentences. 
Eventually I dozed off for some few hours, only to awaken when the coach came to a halt. 
Night had almost fallen, but there was still enough light to discern the features of the 
surrounding countryside. Would it were otherwise!for we had arrived at the beginning of 
the next leg of the journey; but a few miles distant loomed the Grimwald, most ancient and 
somber of Grotums forests. Shivering a bit, I hurried into the inn. 

This roadside hostel was even more wretched than the last; no one had even bothered to 
give it a name. The innkeeper was an obese man of apparently infinite sloth. The 
accommodations were very simpleno choice provided here! The traveler slept on a pallet 
on the floor and supped on a thin porridge; nothing else was available. The innkeeper, either 
through a keen sense for such things or because he had been forewarned by the driver, 
immediately accosted the wizard and demanded payment in advance. A round of haggling 
ensued; at the conclusion of which it was agreed that the wizards apprentice would clean the 
hostel as payment in kind for lodging; no meal was included in the bargain. Soon the wretch 
was sent scurrying about by the innkeeper; at the end of his labors, by which time most of us 
were already asleep, the place looked no cleaner than before. The innkeeper argued that the 
bargain was forfeit; but the sorcerer countered that the inn was so innately filthy that no 
amount of cleaning could solve the problem. The argument waxed hotly, but ended soon 
enoughpartly because the wizard was obviously in the right, and partly because the innkeepers 
sloth encompassed disputation as well. 

Find out who that man is and fire him! bellowed the Director; I wont abide laziness 
among my employees! The accountant coughed softly; the others of us said nothing; I 
thought of decay in the atolls; delusions brought on by misfortune; senility pressing in like 
the darkness which congealed upon our boat. 

After a moment Barley resumed. The next morning we went on; it was a dreary daynot 
raining; but the sky was overcast from horizon to horizon. All too soonit seemedwe 
reached the edge of the forestthere the coach halted; we heard the drivers voice call out 
All passengers read the sign! Startled, we leaned out the windowsthere, on both sides of 
the road, were identical signs 

NOTICE 

You are about to enter the Grimwald, so named for good reason. The Grimwald is 
not a subsidiary of the Consortium. The GGNESWC&EE&T Co. assumes no 
responsibility for losses of property, limbs, lives or well-being incurred by 
passengers traversing the forest. Passengers continuing onward do so in full 
knowledge of the situation, and have no grounds for complaint should your 
pleasant trip be ruined in any of the myriad ways familiar to travelers with 
experience of the Grimwald. Be warned. Should any passenger, upon due 
reflection, choose not to continue the journey, you may so inform the driver and he 
will allow you to disembark. It goes without saying that finding your way back to 


what passes for civilization in these parts is entirely your own affair. The 
GGNESWC&EE&T Co. assumes no liability for any mishaps which may occur, 
these being not unlikely as the northwestern region of Goimria is notorious for its 
intemperate weather, impure waters, poisonous plants, slavering carnivores, 
voracious insects, andat their bestsullen inhabitants. Should you elect to stay 
on the coach, we hope you enjoy your trip and we thank you for traveling GGNESW 
etc. 

 Anybody gettin off? boomed the drivers voice. Last call! A moments silence; the 
passengers stared at each other; stared at the forest; stared back at the landscape just 
traversed; shrank into their seats; and were silent. Pray for us! came the drivers voice, and 
the coach lurched into motion. The forest closed around us. 


 
PART IV 


In Which We 
Momentarily Suspend 
Korzeniowskis Superlative Account 
in Order to Resume Our Examination of the 
Other Fugitives From Goimric Justice, Discovering 
to Our Horror, as We Do, that Their Social 
Villainy Is Becoming Entwined With 
the First Horrid Seeds of 
Carnal Lust. 


The Autobiography of Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini, 
Episode 3: Umbrellas, Uncles, Urchins, and Urges 

So it was in such a leafy green shroud that I spent many days thereafter. I remember it, 
looking back, as a particularly joyful time of my life. All cares seemed to vanish as the great 
forest swallowed us up. Every day, one after another, was a steady progression along a 
narrow and winding trail. Above, the canopy of the trees shielded all direct sunlight. 
Everything was bathed with a dim green glow, which periodically darkened as storms passed 
overhead. The foliage was so thick that the rainfall from the storms we could hear in the sky 
above never fell directly on the soil. Like so many umbrellas, the great trees diverted the 
water into a million trickles seeping down the great boles. 

At firstfueled, I have no doubt, by the grim reputation of the GrimwaldI found the 
forest oppressive, even fearful. But by the end of the first day, I had lost all sense of 
foreboding. In large part, that was due to Gwendolyn. She, who had heretofore appeared so 
stern and unyielding, seemed to lose her years and troubles the farther we penetrated into 
the legendary forest. Nothing was said throughout the course of that first days journey, but I 
am an artist, with an artists eye. It became obvious, watching the steady change in her 
posture as she strode ahead of me, the increasing ease of her movements, that she was more 
at ease with my company. 

Relaxed or not, she set a very rigorous pace. I suspected that she was deliberately trying to 
exhaust the effete Ozarine urbanite trailing behind her. Had I been a normal Ozarine, I 
would indeed have collapsed before half the day had past. But my uncles training stood me 
in good stead, and by the time she stopped to make camp for the night I was in good shape. 


She commented on it, as she put together the makings for a fire. 

You held up pretty well today. For a She stopped speaking, made a sour face. 

For an Ozarine? I asked, laughing. I grant you, most of my countrymen would be in 
sorry shape by now. But my uncles kept me in a stern regimen since I was a wee lad. 
I forgot your uncles. She grimaced. I suppose mercenaries would need to stay in decent 
physical condition. 

I laughed. In point of fact, my condottiere uncles tend to scorn regular exercise. They 
claim being in good shape produces cowardice. Your fat mans more likely to stay in the 
fight, they say, seeing as how theres no point in him trying to run. No, it was my artist 
uncles who insisted I exercise. The artists craft can be quite strenuous. 

She looked up at me from the kindling, surprised. 

Im serious. If you dont believe me, try lying on your back on a scaffolding painting the 
ceiling of a chapel for an entire week. 
Ive never thought about it. 
Most people dont. The world thinks artists function on pure inspiration, or some such. 
Lot of nonsense, that. Its a craft, like any other. At least, thats how I was brought up. 

What kind of art do you do? 

Anything. Painting, sculpture, whatever pays. My personal preference is wood carving, 
but theres not usually much money in it. 

She dug into her pack and drew out some dried meat. She handed me a small piece, along 
with some kind of crackers. The crackers were harder than the meat, and I could have carved 
wood easier than the meat. 

Well have to live on this while we travel through the forest, she explained, somewhat 
apologetically. I know it tastes lousy, and its more tiring to chew it than it is to walk. But we 
dont dare hunt anything in the Grimwald. If you see some berries, let me know. Its safe to 
eat berries. 

Are these dietary regulations due to the danger of snarls? I asked. She nodded her head. 
I havent seen any trace of the creatures. I was rather fearful of encountering them, at 
first, but after a few hours I decided they werent around. 

Theyre here, all right. Dont be fooled by not seeing any. Snarls have an uncanny ability 
to blend into their surroundings. But theyre here, never doubt it. And so saying, she lay 
down and rolled into her blanket. Within a minute, she was asleep. I found her last remark 
rather unsettling, but after a few more minutes I too fell asleep. 

In the days which followed, Gwendolyn and I began talking while we walked. At first, I 
was preoccupied with trying to figure out how to make a good impression on her. Difficult, 
that. I was not, if I may say so, inexperienced at what is sometimes called the art of 
seduction. But I wasnt such a fool, even then, as to think that the ploys and subtleties of 
Ozarine idle society would do more than irritate Gwendolyn. And I also realized (rather to 
my surprise) that as much as I lusted for her incredible body, I had begun to care even more 
for her good opinion. Eventually, I stopped worrying about it and just enjoyed the 
conversation. Now that she was more relaxed, I found that Gwendolyns generally fierce 
outlook on life was leavened by a dry wit. And while she was uneducated by formal 
standards, she possessed a keen mind and a sharp eye for observation. 

Yet, even though she seemed much friendlier than hitherto, she maintained the same 
relentless pace. I commented on it, after a week of travel, with a jocular remark to the effect 


that one would think she would have given up trying to wear me down. But she shook her 
head. 

Its not you Im thinking about. Ive got to get into the Mutt as soon as possible, so I can 
start warning the underground about the Rap Sheet. 

What is this Rap Sheet? I asked. And why are you so concerned about it? 

My question astonished her so much that she actually stopped and turned around. 

Youre an Ozarine! she exclaimed. You own all the Rap Sheets! Well, at least most of 
them. 

I threw up my hands with exasperation. 

Will you kindly relent with this Ozarine business? I demanded. Gwendolyn, I dont own 
anything except the clothes on my back and the few possessions in my pack. And my easel, I 
finished, pointing to it slung over my shoulder. As for the Rap Sheets, its true that every 
year the Senate organizes a great parade on Victory Day in which the Rap Sheets along with 
other great relics and magic artifacts are paraded around to awe the populace. But the truth 
is I never really paid much attention to the whole business. 

Can you really be such an innocent? Its hard to believe, even for an artist. She frowned. 
Oh, stop looking so aggrieved. Its not that I dont believe you, its just 

I started to say something, but she held up a hand to quiet me. 

Just give me a moment. Im trying to make a decision. Meanwhile, lets keep moving. 

A half hour later, without turning her head, she began to tell me about her life, a subject 
she had hitherto avoided completely. I listened, saying not a word, recognizing the 
acceptance. She spoke steadily for a long time, describing the life of a girl born into abject 
poverty in a province of Sfinctria, the most powerfuland venal, by all accountsof 
Grotums many realms. A father never known, a mother deadof exhaustion, essentiallyby 
the time she was six. Her only family a twin brother, her account of whom, as a boy, was 
filled with affection. Her world, as she grew up, was a fearsome place, full of perils and 
injustices. The coarse brutality of the Groutch past, increasingly overlaid by the callous 
rapacity of the Groutch future. 

Her incredible size and strengthmanifest at an early ageprotected her as a girl from 
the routine dangers of poverty. There was also, whenever needed, the aid of a brother who 
was an even more fearsome specimen than herself. And another waif, whom she and her 
brother more or less adopted, whose diminutive size was offset by the kind of ferocity 
sometimes found in small animals. The three orphans, as children, had formed themselves 
into a small family, relying on each other for everything and fending for themselves against 
as harsh a world as I could imagine. 

She said little about her brother and the other boy. It was clear enough, though I 
understood none of the particulars, that there was a great heartbreak lurking beneath her 
terse account. An estrangement of some sort, apparently, the nature of which she did not 
touch upon. 

By the time she was fourteen, Gwendolyn had come to realize that the evils of her 
immediate surroundings were but the manifestations of a vastly greater and more 
impersonal cruelty. By the time she was sixteen, she was a fully-fledged activist in the 
revolutionary movement of Grotum. 

Of this movement, I understood little of what she said. I gained the impression of a far-
flung, complex network of organizations, tendencies, individuals and currents, concentrated 
in the toiling classes, but not without friends in higher places. Wolfgang seemed to occupy 


some unique position in this movement, from what little she said about himnot really part 
of it, but held by all Groutch revolutionaries in a weird combination of awe and 
bemusement. 

Ideological as a Groutch is, of course, a well-known expression the world over. Listening 
to Gwendolyn talk, I began to gain some inkling of the reality captured in the old saw. Yet, 
despite the manifold and subtleand, to one of my temperament, utterly confusing 
disputes and divisions within the revolutionary movement, there were a few key points on 
which all were agreed. These can be summarized as: 

One, all the realms of Grotum (except, for reasons which were at the time unclear to me, 
the Mutt) were utterly decrepit and must be overthrown. 

Two, the Groutch were a single people and should be united (or, according to some, 
reunitedthe intricacies of this debate completely eluded me!). 

Three, neither of these tasks could be accomplished without defeating the imperialist 
ambitions of Ozarae, which were rapidly coming to dominate the entire sub-continent. This 
point, at least, I could readily understand. 

It was Gwendolyns assessmentand I gained here the distinct impression, without her 
saying anything specific, that she herself was a prominent figure in the undergroundthat 
the revolution was gaining steadily in strength, while the various regimes of the 
sundryGroutch realms were ebbingin their ability to repressthe movement. An importantelement in 
the growing strength of the revolution was the decrepitude and disarray of the ruling classes. 
Here, her words called to memory something my uncle Rodrigo had once said: If the rulers 
of Grotum were a tenth as competent as they are vicious, wed all be in deep shit. 

And that, she said, explained the importance of the Rap Sheet which Ozar was bringing to 
Grotum. 

You do know what a Rap Sheet is, dont you? she asked, stopping for a moment to catch 
her breath. 

I shrugged. Not precisely. A magic relic, supposedly, which somehow enhances the power 
of the police. Geographically, its powers are said to be limited, but within those limits, 
immense. Beyond that, I really dont know much. To tell you the truth, I always suspected 
the boasts of the Senate were much exaggerated. 

Would that they were! When the Senate of Ozarae sent a Rap Sheet into the Rellenos, the 
revolution which was developing there was crushed within two months. 

Yes, I remember that, vaguely. I was only fifteen at the time. 

Do you know what happened? 

Not really. 

The police and army of the Rellenoswhich had been as sorry a bunch of fumble-fingers 
as you can imaginesuddenly rounded up every single person who was even vaguely 
associated with the movement. Fifteen thousand, at least. They stuffed them all into a 
stadium and then butchered them. Two days it took, with the Rellenos army doing the dirty 
work and the Ozarines directing the operation. The Cruds. In fact, it was Inkman himself 
who was in charge. Chief of station for the Rellenos, he was then. One of Ozars top 
hatchetmen. Now hes here, and hes bringing a Rap Sheet. So, do you begin to understand 
why Im in such a hurry to spread the warning? 

She didnt wait for my reply before starting off again down the trail. I thought on her 
words for some time before asking: Do you think your movement can protect itself, with 
your advance warning? 


She shook her head. I dont know. Im not very optimistic, to tell the truth. The 
movement in the Rellenos had advance warning, and it didnt seem to do them much good. 
The problem is, the Rap Sheets magic. There arent all that many real sorcerers in Grotum, 
despite all the tales you may have heard. Plenty of fakes and frauds, of course, and even a 
fair number of witches and warlocks. But the Rap Sheets a Joe relic and thats the so-called 
Old Magic, whatever that means. The Arcanum, I think the scholars call it. I have a bad 
feeling itll take a sorcerer to deal with a Rap Sheet. But the few sorcerers that do exist are no 
friends of the common people, thats for sure. Reactionaries through and through, the lot of 
them, so far as I know. 

On that gloomy note, Gwendolyn fell silent, and remained silent the rest of the day. Nor 
did she speak that evening, around the fire. After she finished eating, she curled up in her 
blanket. But this night, she did not immediately fall asleep. After a few minutes, she rolled 
over and looked at me. 

Why are you watching me? she asked. It was a simple question, without unfriendliness, 
and I decided to answer honestly. 

I watch you every night for a few minutes, before I fall asleep. 

Why? 

I dont know, really. You fascinate me. Ive never met anyone like you, and I took a 
breath. I find I am very attracted to you. 
As a woman? 
Yes. After a moments silence: I do not mean to offend you. 
Im not offended. Puzzled, more like. Outside of a few in the movement, who understand 

me, Ive always found that I intimidate men. Or, whats worse, they see me as some sort of 
bizarre challenge. 

She sat up and stirred the fire into life. She motioned to me and I moved over beside her. 

I dont understand your loyalties, she said. 

Thats because they are so different from yours, I replied. You dont really understand, I 
think, how little being an Ozarine means to me. Just as I dont understand, I think, how you 
can be so devoted to your cause. I hesitated, groping for words. My whole life has been 
how can I put it? I think only in terms of individuals, specific people. People in general are 
an abstraction to me. 

That seems kind of narrow. 

It probably is. Im not boasting about it, its just the way I am. When I think about it, I 
actually admire the way you look at things. But I cant feel it myself. 
So why did you agree to help me escape from Goimr? 
Because it was you. 
She fell silent for a moment, then started weeping. I was utterly astonished. She was such 

a formidable person, that I had never imagined her crying. And even her crying had a kind of 
basal agony to it. These were not dainty tears dabbed up with a handkerchief, the kind I had 
seen shed by many a lady. Her sobs were a deep racking, which echoed ancient pain. 

Im sorry, I said, after she regained control. I didnt mean to 

You dont have to apologize. Its justwhen you said, because of you, it reminded me. 
My brother said that to me, once. After I threw him out Her face grew suddenly stiff and 
hard. Never mind that. I didnt see him for several years. Refused to see him. But then I was 
captured by the policestupid, really, but I was so tired Id fallen asleep because Id been 
Never mind. Anyway, they had me chained up and were drooling over the prospect of 


interrogating me. Interrogation, thats what they call it. We lowlifes call it rape and torture. 
Anyway, thats when my brother came into the police station. 

She smiled. I didnt know whether to be happy or mad! But at the time, I was mostly just 
laughing to watch the porkers. I think two of them died of fright before my brother even got 
his hands on them. And, by the smell, all of them had crapped their pants. Her smile 
became utterly wicked. Ill say this, their fear was short-lived. 

Seeing my frown of puzzlement, she said: Obviously, youve never met my brother. 

No. Not so far as Im aware, at least. Suddenly a thought came to me. I suspect my jaw 
fell. Wait a minute. Wolfgang called you Gwendolyn Greyboar. 

Its my last nameGreyboar. 

Your brother isntthe Greyboar? 

Youve heard of him? 

Who hasnt? The worlds greatest strangler, my uncles say. Theyre quite the fans of him, 
actually. Theres some Ozarine strangler whos all the rage in Ozar nowadays, but my uncles 
sneer at him. All your great historic chokesters have been Groutch, they say, and 
Greyboars as good as the legends. They also say that 

I dont want to hear about it! she snarled. The iron mask was back on her face. But after 
a few seconds, her expression softened. 

I just dont want to talk about it. I hate this mystique about stranglers. No different from 
cheap thugs, as far as Im concerned, except theyre not cheap. Oh, no! Only work for top 
dollar, stranglers. Exclusive clientele. Professional murderers, thats all they are, with a shiny 
respectable gloss. 

She took a deep breath. So anyway, heres my brother, gets me out of there. And 
afterward I told himTheres people being murdered, raped and tortured by porkers all 
over Grotum, and you never gave a damn. So whyd you come here? 

She looked at me. Because it was you, he said. 

I see. I reminded you of him. 

Yes. And no. Youre a lot alike, actually, in some ways. 

She stirred the fire again. But then, youve chosen to do something else with your hands. 
She took my hand and looked at it. Good hands, youve got. I noticed that the first day we 
met. 
She looked up at me. Theres a kind of shiny patina all over you, very smooth and 
polished. But I think theres something else inside. 

I reached out with my other hand, but she gently fended it aside. 

Please, Benvenuti, dont. 

I withdrew the hand, but she kept my other hand in hers. Then she lay on her back and 
drew me down next to her. After a long silence, she laughed. 
Its not that Im a shy virgin, you understand? And I admit I find you attractive. Youre so 
impossibly handsome! Its that were so different, and our lives go in such different ways. 

She raised herself up on one elbow and looked down at me. 

I dont think wed really manage a casual fling of it, she said softly. And as for anything 
elseI dont think thered be anything but heartbreak in it. 

I tried to argue with her, but she was a difficult person to argue with. The more so as my 
conscious intellect thought she was probably righteven if my body was crying out 
otherwise. I did manage one kiss, and for a brief moment I felt a hint of passion that sent a 
hot spike through me. But I didnt try to push the matter. Some instinct told me to let it go, 


for the moment. 

* * * 

When I awoke, the green glow of the sunlight filtering through the trees, I looked up and 
found Gwendolyn staring down at me. Her expression was unreadable. Then, without 
warning, she leaned over and gave me a quick kiss. Before I could respond, she rose, took my 
hand, and, with the fluid grace of a giant cat, hauled me to my feet with one effortless 
motion. God, the woman was strong! 

Lets go, she said. Weve got a lot of distance to make today. If we push it, we can be out 
of the forest by tomorrow morning. 

The last sentence wasnt said with any great enthusiasm. I would have thought 

She chuckled harshly, and set off. The Grimwald isnt so bad, despite its reputation. And 
once were out of the forest, Benvenuti, well be in the Baronieswhich are just as bad as 
their reputation. 
I reviewed in my mind what I knew of the reputation of the Baronies. Eeek, I muttered. 


PART V 


In Which We Return 
to Korzeniowskis Superlative 
Account of the Misdeeds of the Sorcerer 
and his Loyal But Stupid Apprentice as the 
Desperate Twain Continue their Attempts to Evade 
the Forces of Justice; Indeed, Now Compound 
Their Crimes with Further Acts of Malice 
and Chicanery. Herewith, the Conclusion 
of Korzeniowskis tale. 


The Last of the Line 

By Korzeniowski Laebmauntsforscynneweld 
(concluding portion) 

Going up that road, continued Barley, was like entering a vegetarians nightmare, a 
semi-insane cacophony of ferns and cycads and mosses and vines andmost of allthe 
trees; endless trees! Huge, but numberlesslike an army of leafy kings looming over us in 
judgment. Impenetrable, silentbut not the silence of peace, no, it was the stillness of an 
implacable force brooding over the vengeful aspect of its inscrutable intention to prosecute 
enigmatic purposes aimed at unknowable ends. 

Trees, trees, trees, trees, treesat their foot, hugging the narrow path, crept the little 
coach, timid, tentative, a fearful mouse creeping about the catacombs of the Templeno, not 
even!rather, a sightless worm slithering under the shadows cast by the sarcophagi of 
mummified emperors. It made you feel very small, very alone, very lostbut glad to be lost; 
hoping not to be noticed by anythingvery insignificant, completely insignificant; 
insignificance defined as never beforeand glad of itwanting to be insignificant!yearning 
for microscopic status!very 

Will you get on with it, Barley? growled the Director. Pretty soon youll be babbling 
about the heart of darkness and God knows what else. 

Well, yes,but! In any event. Around midday a roll of drumsfear! prehistoric the fear 
and the cause of itdid it mean war?or peace?prayer?well!we could not tell; but the 
drum roll passed, fell behind; became distant; more hours passed. 

Just then it happened. It must have been four in the afternoon; the suns rays filtered 


through the forest at a pronounced angle, although it was still daylight. The dwarf had been 
staring out the window all day; long after the rest of us had turned away from the 
overpowering stillness, he continued to peer into the gloom. Several times he tugged at the 
wizards sleeve to point out some feature of the forest that the gnome found of especial 
interesthe alone of us seemed enraptured, oblivious to the looming sense of disaster. Now 
again the dwarf tugged at his masters sleeve; nothing to notebut perhaps it was the look in 
his eyes, impossible to recapture. Whatever it was, I was moved to peer out the window. For 
a moment I saw nothing; nothinga gloom; massed trees; immensity of forest. Thena hint 
of motion; vaguenessI thought, an animal disturbed by the passing coach; but then, just 
thensuddenlylike the veil of fog stripped for an instant from the unremarked wave just 
when it crests; an empty casket just then mysteriously filledI peered right through the 
dimness and the shrouding branches, became stillwhat was it? My blood congealed in my 
veins. 

The coach came to a sudden halt. The passengers were thrown about in confusion; before 
we could untangle ourselves the doors were flung wide; the driver and the guard piled in; 
slammed the doors behind; scrambled into the baggage racks above the seats; cowered 
behind the luggage. And nowthis very momentit was as if a wind swept away the gloom 
and for the first time we saw the forest clearly, saw it for what it was. Screams of horror rent 
the still arboreal air; the passengers swarmed with panicSir Carayne shouting at the guard 
and driver, ordering them to their duty; but they just burrowed deeper into the baggage. 
There was nothing to be donewe stared at one another with frozen eyes; immobilized 
lost, doomedgripped in terror. 

Just then the wizard looked up from his parchment and peered out the window. Forest 
snarls! he exclaimed. And most magnificent specimens of the breed! To our astonishment, 
he opened the door and stepped down. Come, dwarf, this opportunity cannot be lost. It is 
extraordinarily rare that one has the opportunity to examine the forest snarl in his natural 
state; and there is no other, for the beasts cannot be kept in captivity. The dwarf, normally 
so timid, immediately followed his master, almostI would have saideagerly. Hastily we 
slammed the door behind them. The monsters beyond drew near; just then, from the forest, 
moved a wild and gorgeous apparition of a woman. 

She walked with measured steps, draped in striped and fringed cloths, treading the earth 
proudly, with a slight jingle and flap of barbarous ornaments, carrying her head highher 
hair in the shape of a helmether breasts highher buttocks higheverything high! She 
had brass leggings, brass gauntlets, brass breastplates, brass bellyband, brass buttplatesa 
tawny flush on her dusky cheek; a set of six necklaces of beads and cowry shells on her sultry 
neckcharms, bizarre things hanging from every part of her voluptuous bodyyoud hardly 
think she could walkbut what a body!did I mention that?she was savage and superb 
and wild-eyed and magnificent and unblushing and brazen-faced and immodest and 

 What a piece! cried Sir Carayne. A vast and guttural roar rose from the great throats of 
every snarl lurking in the forest. The knight blanched and fell back; all concupiscence fled 
from his facemine toothensuddenly; she opened her arms and threw them rigid over 
her head, as though in an uncontrollable desire to touch the sky; the swift shadows darted 
out from the trees, onto the path, gathering the coach in their embrace. Then, staring 
directly at the wizard, she askedWhat do you seek? 

 I myself, madame, we heard the wizard speak, wish to advance my knowledge of the 
lore of snarls. There is a great mystery which surrounds these beasts, which I have not yet 


fathomed. It emerges even in the most ancient texts. 

Silence; thenastonishing! The monsters suddenly circled the dwarf, sat back on their 
huge haunches, gazed down at the gnome with an intensity impossible to describe. They 
whined softly in their throats, as if puzzled and confused. For his part, the little runt stared 
back, completely unafraidor so it seemed. Then, the woman spoke again. If you would 
know about the snarls, ask them, she said to the wizard; a motion of her handthe largest of 
the monsters left the circle around the dwarf and padded over to stand, like a statue, before 
the sorcerer. 

The giant creature spoke, the voice issuing with a strange timbrehoarse, bestial, yet not 
without a palpable strength, an immensity, like the forest itself. Soyou would know about 
snarls? 

Certes! spoke the sorcerer. From whence do you come? 

We have always lived in the forest. 

The wizard cleared his throat. Sirrah snarl 

 Forest snarl, growled the beast. I am a forest snarlnot a desert snarl, not a mountain 
snarl, not a swamp snarla forest snarl; my gorge rises when the distinction is lost. 

 Most certainly! spoke the mage. As it happens, the sharp distinction between greater 
and lesser breeds of snarls has long been one of my philosophys principal tenets. He cleared 
his throat again. Sirrah forest snarl, I have learned in my studies that there can be more 
than one meaning to the same word, a different purport poured into the same verbal vessel, 
if you willnevertheless, it is possible 

Cut to the chase, growled the snarl. A hideous purple tongue licked its immense jaws. If 
you will pardon the expression. 

Another clearing of the wizards throat. Quite so. Then, let me askhow long is 
always? 

Wizard, we were here in the time of Joe. 

 Blasphemy! cried out the cleric, who suddenly lunged from the seat where he had been 
cowering and leaned out the window. O gross animism! Idolatry! Jnay, I cannot speak his 
namethis creature is a concoction of heathen fantasies! The legend is an abhorrence before 
God! He stretched forth a hand to the woman. Repent, urchin of the forest! Repent! For 
while an anarchist beast has no soul and may utter abominations with wild abandon, you 
stand in mortal perilnay, immortal peril! Take heed! For the wrath of; a snarl glided to 
the coach and rose up before the parson; two gruesome paws seized the door. The monster 
was mute; but its gaze was enough to send the parson reeling back, ashen-faced. Shut up, 
you fool, hissed La Contessa. 

The wizard made to continue his questioning, but the woman cut him short. Begone, 
sirrah. The snarls grow restless; of all human flesh, my friends find that of clerics sweetest 
they say the sanctimony adds flavor to the meat. She turned slowly away and passed into the 
forest; once only her eyes gleamed back. Then all was silence; the snarls vanished as if by 
magicbut I saw the huge one stop for a moment in front of the dwarf, and lick his face with 
that horrid purple tongue. 

 Come, dwarf, spoke the wizard. We shall pursue our investigations upon some other 
occasion. The two returned to the coach. Meanwhile Sir Carayne, his courage of a sudden 
regained, roared at the driver and the guard. Get out, you dogs! He yanked the shivering 
fellows out of the baggage rack and booted them out the door. Back to your posts! Knaves! 
Deserters! They made no protest; clear enough it was their only thought to depart the area 


at once. In a moment the coach was clattering down the path at a reckless pace. 

Most of usyou can imaginewere overjoyed to see the incident past; not so the mage. 
You, sirrah, he stormed at the cleric, have by your folly impeded the progress of 
science! The cleric, who had been blubbering in terror since hearing of the dietary 
preference of snarls, burst forth in replyMy God-given duty it is to forestall paganry! The 
very mention of Jnay, that cursed name!uttered, the very name alone is grounds 
sufficient for inquisition! 

Bah! oathed the wizard. Maunderings of a puerile fool! How can one avoid discussion of 
Joe? Is not every noteworthy geographic feature twixt land and sea named after him? Do we 
not refer to that great ocean around whose vast expanse almost all civilized lands exist by the 
name of Joes Sea? Are not the very mountains which form the spine of Grotumand upon 
whose crest, I might mention, perches the Temple of the Ecclesiarchsnamed Joes 
Mountains? 

 Not by the Ecclesiarchs! cried the parson. Those mountains are properly named the 
Prominences of Holinessand the sea is named the Ocean of Devotion. So hath the church 
decreed! 

 Bah! oathed the wizard. None but superstitious mummers use those preposterous 
names! Joes Sea and Joes Mountainssuch are the names used by illuminati and common 
folk alike. He turned to Il Conde and his wife. You are gentle folk. I ask youwhat do you 
call the aforementioned geographic items? 

 Joes Sea and Joes Mountains, replied La Contessa promptly. Everybody doesbut I 
always thought they were just names; do you mean that they are actually named after 
somebodyI mean, somebody real? 

 Milady! wailed the cleric, aghast. Think upon your soul! Think upon the gates of 
Paradise closed before your beseeching pleas! Think 

 Oh, shut up, you old bore! I want to hear about Joe. Tell me!This last to the wizard; 
the parson lapsed into a pained silence; his hands covered his ears. 

In reply to your query, madame, spoke the wizard, it is difficult to speak with precision. 
Of all legends and myths, none is so fascinating as that of Joenone so full of weird portent; 
none so pregnant with veiled surmise. 

He paused for a moment; then continued. By my studies, I have deduced that he was the 
first of the Grotum People, that long-since-vanished race of primevals believed to have 
inhabited this land at the dawn of time. For years, the opinion advanced by Leakey 
Laebmauntsforscynneweldthat the Grotum People were an offshoot of the human family 
which died out without issuewas accepted by all students of paleoanthropology without 
question. In recent years, however, Leakeys cousin Johanson Laebmauntsforscynneweld 
has argued that the Grotum People were, in fact, the direct ancestors of modern humanity, 
and has even advanced a handful of fossil remains to substantiate his claims. 

 I myself accept neither of these views, for I tend rather to agree with the more ancient 
view of the venerable F. Mayer Laebmauntsforscynneweld that all these purported 
vanished species and extinct races are confused myths of deformed, but human, 
personages. Thus even the existence of this legendary race of proto-humans, these Grotum 
People, remains, to my mind, unproved. But this is not the sole mystery surrounding the 
matterby no means! For, if the Grotum People did exist, they disappeared most strangely 
overnight, it would seem; with no apparent reason. Other than Johansons questionable 
fossils, the only record exists in the folklore of primitive savagesand in the shorter tales 


told by night round gypsy campfires, in the darkness of troglodyte caves, in the tenement 
cellars of dwarves; and, of course, in the ravings of revolutionists and such-like heteroclites; 
even there, little is said, for little is known. 

 On one point all legends agreethe Grotum People were giants, much larger than 
modern folk; though given, it would appear, to great hairiness and frightful deformities. 
Beyond that, the stories are obscure, apocryphal, fragmented, contradictoryopaque in all 
aspects. Only a single substantive scrap of verse remains extant concerning the life of Joe 
himself; this, a chant sung by the wild men of the Sssuj at the initiation rites of puberty. 

Oh, Mrs. Lang whispered the Director of Companies; Barley coughedhurried on 
Would milady care to hear this chant? asked the wizard. Certes! came her answer. 
 I have had my apprentice commit it to memoryno small feat, I assure you!though 

less so on this occasion than usual, I will grant the dolt that. Dwarf, recite Joes Chant! The 
gnome sat up straight on the edge of the seat, his legs dangling. His beady little eyes glazed 
with effort; then, in a shrill voice, the following 

One day Joe was loping along 
and all the people came up to him. 
All this loping along is killing us, 
We need something to keep us going, 


they said. 
So Joe invented food. 


But one day Joe was loping along 
and all the people came up to him. 
All this loping along is boring, 
There must be something else to do, 


they said. 
So Joe invented fucking. 


But one day Joe was loping along 
and all the people came up to him. 
Ever since you invented food and fucking, 
theres too many people and not enough food, 


they said. 
So Joe invented work. 


But one day Joe was loping along 
and all the people came up to him. 
Ever since you invented work, 
everythings too hard to keep straight, 


they said. 
So Joe invented bosses. 


But one day Joe was loping along 
and all the bosses came up to him. 
The people wont listen to our bossing, 
and they tell us were full of shit, 



they said. 
So Joe invented cops. 


But one day Joe was loping along 


and the bosses and cops came up to him. 

Weve got to have some cover, 

So the peoplell stop calling us hogs, 

they said. 

So Joe invented priests. 

But one day Joe was loping along, 

and all the priests came up to him. 

Weve almost got everything perfect, 

But we still need that last big push, 

they said. 

So Joe invented God. 

But one day Joe was loping along, 

and God came up to him. 

Ever since you invented Me, 

youre nothing but a dangerous nuisance, 

He said. 

So God froze Joe in a flash ice age. 

 How fascinating! exclaimed La Contessa. A crude verse, grumbled Il Conde, utterly 
lacking in rhyme or cultured meter. The wizard shrugged. As to that, milord, tis true 
enough. But what would you? The savages of the Sssuj are well known to be bestial. Think of 
the ingratitude with which they have greeted all attempts to bring the benefits of civilization 
into their midstmerchants and traders broiled and bakedentire armies tossed into the 
stew pot! And what of the fate of Father Cosmo?too horrid to contemplate! 

Oh, Mrs. Lang whispered the Director of Companies; Barley coughedhurried on 

Silence followed; the coach clattered and battered down the paththe natural darkness 
of the forest deepened; twilight drew near; then, just as the last rays of the sun flickered out 
like emblems of hope snuffed by an immutable fate, we burst out of the forest gloom; a great 
interminable plain stretched before usbarren beyond belief, but it was a welcome relief 
from the Grimwalda cheer went up. 

The coach continued its mad pace down the road, which seemed now to have 
straightened to an unswerving line, as if drawn by a great rule for an obscure purpose. 
Suddenlyit was dark nowwe stopped; no inn was to be seen. Perhaps, I thought, it is a 
ways off down the roadit was impossible now to see more than a few feet. But it wasnt so; 
the driver clambered down, came to the window; mights well get some sleep, he said. 
Theres no hostel in these partsnot till we get to the Caravanserai tomorrow; youll have to 
sleep in the coach. 

 What about our evening repast? demanded the knight. Dunno, replied the driver 
indifferently. Brought mown. He vanished into the darkness. Insolence! bellowed Sir 


Carayne; he turned fiercely on the messenger. You, sirrah! You are an agent of this 
companywhat is the meaning of this outrage? 

The messenger looked up from his case, now open on his knees; a small 
sandwich in his handsclearly he had traveled this route before! The GGNESW 
etc. is in no way at fault, he sneered. You have no grounds for complaint. Shelter is 
provided by the stout walls of this coachnot without humor, this man, I now perceived 
and, as for food, you should have thought upon it earlier and brought your own, as I have 
done; failing that, nothing prevents you from foragingthough, I should tell you, they do not 
call this region the Drear for nothing. 

The messenger ate his meal in silence; the rest of us, grumbling, settled down to sleep. 
There was nothing to be gained by blundering about a pitch-black wilderness hunting for 
rabbitsso much was clear. 

We set out at dawn the next morning. There was still a long days journey before us if we 
were to reach the Caravanserai by nightfall. As the sun rose, we gazed over this new stretch 
of territory. 

What a cursed wasteland! I still shiver to think of it; behind, on the horizon, the dark 
mass of the Grimwald could be seen for some little whileugly as it was, I was almost sorry 
to see it slip out of sight. Now nothing surrounded us but the Drear. The Drear! Never, I 
think, have I seen a place so aptly named! Nothing; nothing-nessthats it! It was the most 
barren desert conceivable, inscrutable in its immensity, but without the searing heat that 
makes most deserts such a reassuringly palpable experience. Parallels everywhere, the land 
and the sky, the four points of the compassa sameness!to all points and every place 
between stretched this flatutterly flat!spread of naked soil. Hard, crusted dirt; nothing 
elsequite literally, nothing else; and gray!not brown; can you imagine that? Gray soil, not 
brown soilinscrutable, unknowableof course, no trees!but neither was there vegetation 
of any kind; not a bush, not a shrub, not a flower, not a weed, not a blade of grass. Even the 
soil itself was of that same opaque uniformity; upon that vast plain not a rock stood higher 
than a clot of earth. 

 A pleasing symmetry, is it not? commented the wizard; but his apprentice averted his 
gaze. No one respondedsilence; so it went for several hours. Then, shortly after noon, the 
first break in the monotony appeared; Sir Carayne, leaning out the windowsuddenly he 
criedLook! Up ahead!a boulder! We rushed to the window. Sure enough!ahead, barely 
on the horizon, a boulder stood by the roadside. Not an especially large boulder, mind you 
rather small, totally unremarkable, in fact; but in the midst of that wasteland it was a beacon 
in the darknessan oasisa work of art! We sat back in our seats, laughing a bitso great 
the despondency of that place! The coach rolled on; then, suddenly 

Stand and deliver! 

The coach screeched to a halt. We rushed to the windowswho had cried out?we 
wondered; but nothing; nothing was to be seen but the boulder, next to which the coach was 
drawnand it was far too small for a man to hide behind. Except for that, the Drear 
stretched away in its awful solitude, unbroken in every direction. 

The messenger sighed and resumed his seat. It is Rascogne de Sevigneois, he said 
gloomily. Who? we demanded. Rascogne de Sevigneois, the highwayman; it can be no 
other. But there is no one to be seen! protested Sir Carayne. He is a master of disguises, 
replied the messenger. 

In confirmation, at that very moment the mysterious voice was heard again. It is I, 


Rascogne de Sevigneois, cunningly disguised as a small boulder! We rushed to the window 
anewsure enough; imagine our astonishment! Therewhere we had thought to see a small 
gray boulderstood instead a horsemanbrightly caparisoned in scarlet cloak, emerald 
breeches, ruffled shirt, floppy feathered hat; a rapier scabbarded to his side. The fellow was 
short, very muscular; swarthy of complexion; his face adorned by an aquiline nose and 
dazzling white teeth, grinning at us from beneath a monstrous pair of waxed mustachios. He 
sprang from his horse and bounded over to the coach. Doffing his hat with a flourish, he 
opened the door. 

Alight, my good people! Commerce awaits us! 

The driver and the guardthe latter dropping his crossbow as if it were a hot poker 
climbed down from the coach and stood to one side; they seemed not overly arousedplain 
as day, they had no intention of resisting the brute. Knaves! roared the knight, shaking his 
fist at the two. Then, glaring fiercely at the highwaymanhe flung himself out of the coach, 
his broadsword clutched in a meaty fist. Know, footpad, he bellowed at Rascognethe 
rascals grin growing more impudent by the second as he bounded about, from level soil to 
coach top to saddle to groundthat here you deal not with a brace of scurvy coachmen, but 
with a belted knight of the realm! And with that, Sir Carayne swung a terrific blow at the 
robber. But he misjudged the character of the foefor in a movement too quick for the eye to 
follow, the highwayman drew his rapier and deflected the broadsword with the greatest of 
ease. 

Aha! cried the rogue. A duel! A merry duel! He bounded from the ground to the saddle 
to the top of the coach to the ground to the top of Sir Caraynes head to the ground to the 
saddle and back to the ground again; his dark eyes gleamed with amusement. You seek to 
undo Rascogne de Sevigneois! Take, then, varlet, this! His rapier blurredin a trice Sir 
Carayne was disarmed; his belt sliced in two, causing his trousers to fall; andimagine his chagrin
there, carved upon his chain mail tunic, the wordsRascogne de Sevigneois finds 
thee an ill-bred lout. 

Discretion overcoming the point of honor, Sir Carayne desisted from further combat. 
Retrieving his sword, he scabbarded it; thenwas forced to clutch his trousers to his waist. 
The highwayman stretched out his palm; angrily, the flower of the Crapaude tossed over his 
purse; thenstalked off a ways and glowered at the horizon. Rascogne bounded over to the 
coach. Come, come! he cried, Rascogne awaits! He held the door open courteously. 

There being nothing else to do, we descended from the coach. The messenger was the 
first one out, followed by the parson; the wizard and his apprentice came next, the latter 
toting his gigantic sack; then myself, followed by Il Conde and La Contessa. The latter, 
however, had no chance to set foot on ground. For, no sooner had her voluptuous figure 
filled the doorway of the coach than the highwaymans dark features reddened with passion. 
His eyes gleamed; his teeth sparkled like diamonds. Such beauty has not been seen on the 
Drear in many a day! exclaimed the villain. La Contessa blushed under his admiring regard. 
Uttering no further words, Rascogne drew forth a bottle of champagne and two glasses from 
beneath his cloak; sprang into the coachthe door slammed shut. A boisterous laugh; some 
murmured words; the popping of a cork; the clink of glasses; some murmured words; a 
baritone and a soprano voice mingling in gay reparteethensuddenly the coach was 
rocking madly on its springs; Aha! Furious passion! came the robbers voice from within. 

At this further outrage, Sir Carayne exploded with rage anew. Villain, wouldst do so? 
Again he drew his sword andclutching his pants with the other handhobbled to the 


coach. Rascognes insolent face appeared above the windowsill. Aha! he cried. The gallant 
knight seeks to throw Rascogne off his stroke! A futile endeavor, clod of a swordsman, I 
assure youboth my blades are unmatched in their skill! 

It could not be gainsaid; the coach continued its furious rocking even as the knave 
effortlessly disarmed Sir Carayne once again, this time carving on the steel of the knights 
blade the wordsThis rusted kitchen knife is of the same mettle as its owners member. Sir 
Carayne flung himself to the ground, gnawing the earth in bitter humiliation; La Contessas 
cries grew louder from within. I say, grumbled Il Conde peevishly, I believe that rascal is 
seducing my wife. His rheumy eyes squinted suspiciously at the coach, whose bounces now 
took it quite off the ground. Suddenly a great sigh came from within; all motion ceased; 
then, a moment later, the highwaymans voiceAh, sweet aftermath of love; the clink of 
glasses; murmuring voices; then, La Contessas voicePerhaps? Aha!this the villainlet 
it not be said that Rascogne de Sevigneois left such a fair lady in distress! A moment later 
the coach was back at its rocking. 

Disgusting! bellowed the Director. Praise God Mrs. Lang wasnt there to witness it! Her 
pure soulperhaps she herself!her alabaster bodyravishedoh God! His face filled with 
horror; though it was difficult to discern his features in the tropical nightfall. Yes, well, 
said Barley, theyre a passionate lot, the Groutch. In any event, this escapade went on for 
quite some timethere seemed no end to the energy of the twain. Actually, I became quite 
concerned for the state of the coach, for that dilapidated vehicle was taking a beating which 
made the rigors of the past days journey pale in comparison. At length, however, all was 
done; the coach remained intact. Stroking his mustachios complacently, the highwayman 
appeared in the doorway; he sprang to the groundbounded over to us. And what have you 
to offer me? he purred. From the window of the coach La Contessas hand emerged, holding 
a bejeweled purse. Here, dear robber. But the knave would have none of itNay! Nay! 
Sweet lady, the pleasure of your smile is quite reward enough! At this, Sir Carayne could 
contain himself no longer. Once again he hurled himself upon the dastard, hacking and 
hewing most vigorously with his swordbut in vain; for the scoundrel, leaping and capering 
about, voicing scurrilous taunts and gibes, committed the greatest indignities with his rapier 
upon the person of the knight. Again Sir Carayne flung himself to the ground, resuming his 
trenchwork. 

Rascogne bounded over to me. Without a word, I handed over my purse. The rascal 
sprang over to the messenger. Ah, my good messengerwe meet again! Your purse, if you 
please. I never carry one, as you well know, responded the gloomy voice. Your satchel, 
then! It is empty, as you well know, responded the gloomy voice, showing the bare contents 
of the case cuffed to his wrist. I have afflicted you so much, then? asked the rogue, grinning 
from ear to ear. For the moment, responded the messenger, a bit of heat entering his voice. 
But soon you will be apprehended by the Consortium Constabulary! 

 Ah, yes, jeered Rascogne. The famed and feared Agent Grimstalk! But, tell me, how 
long have he and his dreaded cohorts been hot on my trail? The messenger scowled; said no 
more. 

Rascogne then leapt to the cleric. And you, sir? The parson spread his hands, smiling in 
the manner of one weary of the world and its wicked ways. Good sir, he said, I am, as you 
can see, a man of the cloth. Therefore have I taken a vow of poverty; my sole earthly wealth, 
the poor clothes you see on my back. You may, if your faith be little, search my pockets to 
verify the truth. The highwayman snorted. For the first time, his face clouded with anger. 


Ah, villain, wouldst trifle with me? Deceiver of the poor, meddler with their superstitions, 
well do I know the wealth you have garnered like the faithful reiver your raiment names 
you! His sword flicked out; sliced the collar from the clerics necka small torrent of gems 
spilled out from hidden pouches. Be glad, priestly buzzard, that I dispatch you not to that 
very place you preach of! The cleric quailed, but Rascogne turned away and sprang over to 
the wizard and his apprentice. 

And you, sir? 

The wizard coughed apologetically. I have a small purse, sirrah, of great value to me 
not, as it happens, for its intrinsic worth, the which is small, but for its value relative to my 
present state of wealth, the which is meager. This, however, I cede to youfor, in truth, I am 
a philosophe, and as such my desire for worldly possessions is faint at all times and subject, 
moreover, to sudden change; such a change, I might add, as the one which has this very 
moment oertaken me. He handed over his purse. You may also, he continued, placing his 
hand upon the dwarfs quivering brow, take my apprentice to be your servantand I will 
aver, sirrah, that though he is stupid and malformed, my apprentice is capable of carrying 
great burdens and suffering much deprivation as well, docilely and without excessive 
complaint. Again, the apologetic cough; a slight straightening of the shoulders. Do not, 
however, I pray thee, take these my scrolls and tablets, nor these my tomes and talismans, 
nor these my artifacts and relics; for these are my very life and soul, without which I should 
be as a man lost on a chip in an endless ocean. 

The highwayman spat fiercely upon the ground. A pox on your sheepskins and toys, 
pedantproducts of an unenlightened age! And as for this, your supposed servantthough 
more likely, judging from his appearance, some evil imp retrieved from a dank and moldy 
placeI am more moved to skewer him with my rapier, thereby cleansing the earth of one of 
the many blots upon its surface. But, I will satisfy myself with your purse; he snatched said 
object from the wizards grasp. 

But thenmost unexpected! The wretched gnome hopped forward and kicked the 
robbers shin. Thenkicked it again, and yet again! Just you try it! he shrilled. You just try 
and stick me with that big knife! I have friends! Snarls, they areand big onesand one of 
thems huge! Theyll eat you right up when they find out! 

I was absolutely astonishedfirst, at the dwarfs unlikely humor; but thenand more 
soat the robbers response; for though Rascogne had drawn his blade, and I imagined the 
apprentice already buried, he stopped; frownedfor the first time a look of something other 
than utter surety on his face; thenSnarls? he demanded. Youa snarl-friend? Well, I 
am, too! insisted the dwarf. Tell him, master! 

 Most strange, muttered the highwayman. He snapped his fingers at the wizardIs this 
true, what he says? 

As to that, responded the mage, the snarls did seem preoccupied with him 

The big one licked my face! cried the dwarf. 

but I do not think, at least, judging by the literature 

 Enough! interrupted Rascogne. I did not ask for a lecture. Still, tis odd, most odd. He 
inspected the dwarf closely, frowning all the while; thenI shall have to think on this, he announced. 
Suddenly, his face cleared. Ahbut I forget me! Business first! And my business 
is not finished. And with that he turned and sprang over to the side of Il Conde, hand 
outstretched again. 

Il Conde peered up at him, leaning his frail weight upon his cane. You are a scoundrel, I 


believe, he whined. People think I am nothing but an old fool, who cant see his nose in 
front of his face; but I have been watching you, sirrah, watching you carefully, and it is my 
firm conviction that you have, very recently in fact, taken liberties with my wife. Five times, 
if I am not mistaken. The highwayman grinned impudently. Alas, here Il Conde shook his 
ancient head, I am an old man, feeble in my limbs; I can assure you, sirrah, were I but fifty 
years younger you would be in a fine kettle of fishbe sure of it! But, as it is 

Grumbling, Il Conde brought forth his purse with a trembling hand, veined and liver-
spotted with age. The purse was quite large; Rascogne smiled broadly as he emptied its 
contents into his hand. Quite a catch, here! he cried. Doubloons! Dinars! Drachmas! 
Shekels! Every manner and variety of fine coin! Andbut whats this? He gazed with 
puzzlement at a small coin, whose worn and shabby surface contrasted sharply with its 
gleaming fellows. Il Conde peered more closely; suddenlyhis entire body became rigid; his 
rheumy eyes gaped wide. My Ruiz! he gasped, reaching forth to retrieve it from the robbers 
hand. Rascogne laughed and sprang backward. Aha! The octogenarian seeks to regain his 
lost treasure! Nay, nay, not so, graybeard! Paltry though it is, this little coin as well must join 
my booty! 

 Monster! Fiend! wailed Il Conde. Unhand that coin! The ancient threw himself upon 
the ruffian, belaboring wildly with his cane. My Ruiz! My Ruiz! 

Thenimagine this! Naturally enough, we thought to see Rascogne deal with the old fool 
as easily as he had done earlier with Sir Carayne; but it was not so, not at all!so 
overwrought was Il Conde at the loss of his prized Ruiz that he wielded his cane with a 
maddened frenzy that should soon have maimed any but the greatest of swordsmen. 
Rascognes grin was soon replaced with astonishment, then, as he gave ground before Il 
Condes onslaught, to that intent concentration which is the hallmark of all masters of the 
fencing art. 

 O doughty dotard! he exclaimed, parrying the whirling cane, O grim gaffer! Well 
struckoh, well struck! And yet again! The highwayman leapt back and forth, his rapier 
flashing in complex twirls and sweeps; Il Condes implacable advance continued on tottering 
legs. My Ruiz, my Ruiz, he wheezed. Never have I seen such a duel! Only Rascognes genius 
with a blade sufficed to stave off the oldsters assault; sweat poured down his swarthy, 
corded neck. He was hard-pressedmore, he was in desperate straits! And now!Il Conde 
had him pinned against the side of the coachthere was nowhere to retreat! Now were 
Rascognes advantages of sound legs and functioning lungs of little availit was sword 
against cane at close quarters! Slashstrokelungeparry! We were gripped in an intense 
excitement; the robber was lost!it was plain to seethe end near, his strength failing at last 
under the inexorable rain of blows from Il Condes cane. But then!I had heard tell of it 
dismissed it as a ridiculous fableRascogne executed the dgage sixte-carte du droite 
arriere  la potage de St. Germain! Il Conde was disarmedthe highwaymans swordpoint 
at his throat! The old nobleman wept bitter tears. My Ruiz, my lost Ruiz, he sobbed. 

Rascogne gasped a breath; sheathed his rapier. O valiant vieillard! he cried, clasping the 
ancient to his breast. Never have I had such a match! Never such an opponent! Never 
crossed sword with such a cane! He released Il Conde and drew forth the contested coin. 
Such art deserves its reward!here, sirrah, take your coin in token of my esteem. My Ruiz, 
cried the nobleman, snatching the coin. He tottered off, clutching the piece. My Ruiz, my 
Ruiz, we heard his faint whisper. 

Just at that moment a distant cry was heard. It is Rascogne de Sevigneois! Hold, villain! 


Turning, we saw a large body of horsemen, some twenty in number, appear on the western 
horizon. They drew their swords; galloped hotly toward us. Aha! cried Rascogne. A chase! 
A merry chase! With a laugh and a shout, the rogue sprang on his horse and galloped off, 
flourishing his hat at his pursuers. These worthies pounded past the coach a moment later. 
Grim of face, stern of demeanor, garbed all in black, their capes streamed behind them as 
they thundered off in the hunt. In a moment, highwayman and pursuers alike had 
disappeared over the eastern horizon. 

 Its the Marchal du Boeuf and the Kings Men! exclaimed the messenger, excitement 
tingeing his voice. Which King? asked the cleric. Nobody remembers, came the gloomy 
reply. 

Before long we were on our way. There was no conversation in the coach; the only sound, 
Il Condes murmurs and chuckles as he fondled his precious Ruiz. La Contessa slept in 
contented exhaustion; while Sir Carayne glowered at her the whole way, picking dirt from 
his teeth. The messengers gloomy countenance was as alwaysbut matched now by the 
cleric and the wizard; the former, raining down heavenly cursesthe latter, sorcerous 
hexesupon the highwayman. The dwarf, on the other hand, seemed rather cheerful. 

We reached the Caravanserai with the setting sun. Its lingering rays lit up the white stone 
walls of the oasis. The minarets gleamed for a moment; then, twilight overtook them as well. 
The gates of the Caravanserai swung wide; before long we had pulled up into the courtyard 
of the depotand debarked. The last I saw of the Rebel and his companion was the wizards 
back and the dwarfs little legs, twinkling under his great sack, as they vanished into the 
darkness. 

Barley ceased, and sat apart, silent and indistinct, with the poise of a mystic. For a time, 
no one moved, or spoke; then 
We have lost the flow of ambition, said the Director of Companies. We are caught 
within the tides. Another silencethen: Curse the Rebel. 
I raised my head; the tranquil lagoon at the uttermost end of the earth lapped somber 
under an overcast nights sky; the future was barred by a black bank of clouds. 
Suddenly the native boy put his insolent head up through the hatch, and said in a tone of 
scathing contempt Missus Langshe alive. He held up a letter. 

Whats that? demanded the Director, leaping to his feet. Give me that, you savage! He 
seized the envelope; tore it open. A light! A light! The accountant hastily lit a lamp; held it 
by the Directors sidehe began reading the letter. 

Its from Mrs. Lang! Never have I heard such joy in a human voice. Shes alive. She 
shes coming back to me! She was in Ozar, found out where I amshes coming to see me! 
He read on, as in a frenzysuddenly, a great groan of anguish. Oh God, no! Never have I 
heard such despair in a human voice. 

What is it? asked the lawyer. Sheshes remarried, whispered the Director. Shes 
taken a new husbandhow could she?all these years I waitedthe money I spent Then, 
a moment later, another great cry. A mate! Shes taken a mate!a great horrid savage from 
the Sssuj! Never have I heard such outrage in a human voice. And children! And 
grandchildren! Shes bringing the whole filthy brood here! Oh God! 

He tore the letter in half, clutching a piece in each hand; his eyes rolled wildlyhis face 
gleamed in the lamplight, contorted like a demon. No! No! I cannot!insteadyes, I will! 
Never have I heard such resolve in a human voice; he ate the letter; thenhe was always a 
man of actionhe flung himself headlong into the lagoon; the dark waters roiled for a 


moment beneath the Tremolinos stern. 

Stop! I shoutedrushed to the rail; made ready to dive after himBarleys hand held me 
back. Let him go, he said softly; its better so. He was rightI looked to the others; all 
nodded. Slowly we resumed our seats. 

Some silent moments laterit was now pitch-black, moonless nightI heard the lawyer 
say, Quite a little tale there; by the way, whatever happened to that wizard? By the dimness 
of the lamplight, I could barely make out Barleys shrug. 


 
PART VI 


In Which We 
Resume Our Account of 
the Adventures of the Artist 
and his Insurrectionary Companion 
as They Continue Their 
Journey Through 
the Baronies. 


The Autobiography of Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini, 
Episode 4: Fields, Forts, Form and Function 

So it was on such a note of trepidation that we emerged from the Grimwald and set foot in 
the Baronies. 

At first glance, the terrain seemed unremarkable. Very hilly, was my first thought. 
Innumerable hills stretched toward the horizon, each of them surmounted by a weathered 
rocky tor. Here and there a small wooded copse or a pasture with a stone croft. Beyond that, 
I had no impression other than the rather barren and rocky nature of the region. Each little 
peasants field seemed to be surrounded by stone walls. And I was puzzled by the apparent 
absence of any dwellings. 

When I remarked on the latter, Gwendolyn pointed a finger at what appeared to be, in the 
distance, some sort of huge gopher hole. The peasants in the Baronies cant afford huts. 
They live in holes in the ground. 

I made a face. The rapacity of the Groutch Barons was a byword even in Ozar. Then 
where do the Barons live? 

Gwendolyn looked at me as if I were a dimwit. In their castles, where else? 

What cas I broke off, staring at the top of one of the hills. Realizing, for the first time, 
that what I had first taken to be a crumbling mass of rock was actually . . . had been at one 
time, at least, an edifice. 

Thats a castle? I croaked. 

What passes for one, in the southern Baronies. In some parts of the northern Baronies, 
the nobilitys more sophisticated. She smiled thinly. This is not, as you may imagine, an 
area which attracts the worlds finest architects. 


I stared at the castle, my eyes probably widening by the second. Actually, I heard 
Gwendolyn murmur, Ive been told Gropius Laebmauntsforscynneweld once passed 
through here. Rumor has it he was inspired to design something based on one of the Barony 
castles. Cant imagine what. 

Ive seen it, I croaked. Its in the Imperial Zoo at Ozar. The baboon exhibit. I tore my 
eyes away from the grotesque pile of rubble masquerading as a castle. Supposed to have 
been, anyway. The baboons refuse to use it. When I left, they were talking about turning it 
into a scorpion exhibit, if they could figure out any way to let people close enough to see the 
venomous creatures. 

Venomous creatures is right. Gwendolyn pursed her lips and nodded toward the 
nearest castle. Well have to be careful here, Benvenuti. Very careful. Each one of those 
Baronsthe best of themmakes a scorpion seem like a house pet. 

We were standing in plain sight, on open groundand easily visible because the sun had 
risen above the horizon. My feet twitched a little, as if they sought the relative security of the 
forest. 

Relax. Were safe enough. In the Baronies, you always travel during the period just before 
dawn and through the morning. Then, although its a bit risky, you can travel again after the 
suns down. During most of the day, you find a place to get out of sight. Again, she nodded 
at the not-too-distant castle. The Barons dont do a lick of work, you know. Exploit the 
peasants in the afternoon and carouse all through the evening and night. No respectable 
Groutch Baron rises before noon. Nor do their armed retainers. 

My eyes went to the gopher hole she had pointed out earlier. Wont the peasants report 
us? 
You must be joking, she said, shaking her head. Then, set off at her usual brisk pace. 

The biggest hurdle to our progressand it was a big one, indeedwas clambering over the 
rock walls which separated each of the fields. The walls were neither high nor difficult to 
climb, but there were so many of them that the sheer number eventually became quite 
fatiguing. 

Too dangerous for us to take the road, I assume, I commented at one point, after 
negotiating yet another wall. 

Gwendolyn was straddling the same wall. I spent a moment envying her leather trousers, 
which were withstanding the rigors of the wall-climbing far better than my own. I spent 
rather more time admiring the contents of the trousers. 

What road? snorted Gwendolyn. Its just a leg, Benvenuti. The second sentence was 
spoken half crossly, half . . . not. 

I grinned. Im an artist. Cant separate my appreciation of form from function. 

She finished clambering over the wall. Oh, what a lot of crap. If thats an aesthetic ogle 
youre giving me, Ill eat these trousers. She set off slogging across another field; over her 
shoulder: And if you follow up that train of thought, youre a dead man. 
I responded with an innocent smile. I also, I confess, squelched the riposte which had 
been on my lipssince it did, indeed, follow up that train of thought. 

I saw no reason, however, to refrain from continuing my admiration of the form and 
function swaying across the field ahead of me. I was by no means a fetishist, but by then I 
admit to have become quite an enthusiast for leather trousers. Those, at least, which had 
Gwendolyn in them. Although I will also readily admit that I would probably have felt the 


same way about any apparel which had Gwendolyn in them. Now that I had spent enough 
time with the woman to have gotten past the initial impression of herah, call it 
fearsomenessI was finding it quite impossible to ignore the rest. Part of that fascination 
was simply due to her truly incredible body. Most of it was simply due to Gwendolyn. 

This is stupid, I told myself firmly. A ridiculoushopelessinfatuation. Myself cheerfully 
ignored me. 

In an attempt to bring my thoughts onto more practical ground, I spoke again. 

Are you saying there are no roads in the Baronies? 

Nothing more than rutted trails. The Barons cherish their independence, dont you 
know? Since a real road might imply the eventual possibility of a central authority to build 
and maintain them . . . they keep them as primitive as possible. 

Id think theyd at least want to be able to charge tolls, I protested. 

Gwendolyn snorted. They do charge tolls. If youre lucky. 

The logic of all this escaped me. When I said as much, Gwendolyns reply was a vigorous 
shake of the head followed by: The logic escapes everybody except the Barons. See if they 
care. 

I spent a bit of time admiring the results produced by that vigorous shake of the head. Her 
hair was every bit as flamboyantly exuberant as her figure. Then: Id think some kingdom of 
Grotum would long since have put paid to this nonsense. 

Seeing the frown beginning to form, I added hastily: Not that Im advocating 
imperialism, you understand. 

Gwendolyns frown turned into a somewhat rueful expression. The Kings of Prygg tried, 
twice. Those of New Sfinctr, twice also. None of the attempts came to much. There are a lot 
of barons, and the one thing they are willing to do is fight. And there isnt much here worth 
conquering anyway. A bunch of surly peasants digging potatoes. About it. 

The rueful look stayed on her face. I was a bit puzzled by it. Although I didnt understand 
that much of Gwendolyns ideology, I couldnt imagine her feeling much chagrin at Grouch 
royalty being thwarted. 

Something of my curiosity must have been apparent. Gwendolyn paused for a moment, 
planted her hands on her hips, and swiveled her head to stare off somewhere into the 
distance to the north. A heavy sigh followed. 

Were not that far away, actually, she said softly. She pointed to the north. Just two hills 
over. Youd find the castle where the Comte de lAbbatoir and his Knights Companion met 
their end. 

My eyes widened. Gwendolyn sighed again. Youre familiar with the incident, I take it? 

I hesitated, finally understanding her odd mix of sentiments. Um. Yes, of course. Itsah, 
please dont take offenseconsidered the masterwork of the profession. When the report 
came to Ozar, my uncles spent an entire evening enthusing over the accounts. 

Gwendolyns lips were tight. Accounts? she said, emphasizing the plural. 

Oh, yes. A multitude of them, there were. The Ozarean Times even ran an article on the 
front page. Although my uncles spent most of their time engrossed in a much more scholarly 
version which had been rushed into print by the Annals of Asphyxiation. 

Her lips were now very tight. I hesitated for a moment; then, shrugging: 
Gwendolyn, you can hardly object to your brother strangling the Comte de lAbbatoir and 
his entire pack of thugs. Even if he did do it for money. 
She burst into sudden laughter. Object? When the news came, my comrades and I spent 


an entire night in wild celebration. The Comte was easily the most vicious baron in the whole 
of the Baroniesand theyre all vicious to begin with. The laugh ended soon enough. Still . 
. . 

She gave her head another sharp shake and stalked off. A moment later, we were 
clambering over another wall and my thoughts were drawn back to more artistic concerns. 

I decided to title the painting Form and Function, a study in leather. 

We stopped at midday when we came upon a dense hedge. I didnt recognize the shrubs, 
but they were thick enough to make an excellent place to stay out of sight. 
Well sleep here, Gwendolyn announced, after studying the thicket. Itll be tight, but 
theres room for both of us. She gave me an eye which was half cold, half . . . not. 

Sometime later, in the half darkness under the thick shrubs, we were more or less falling 
asleep in each others arms. There really wasnt much room in that dense shrubbery for two 
people. 

I say more or less because I was finding sleep difficult. I trust the reason is obvious. 

Gwendolyn started chuckling. The various motions which that process brought in its train 
made me despair of ever finding sleep. Insofar as the term despair, in context, isnt 
completely absurd. 

Think artistic thoughts, Gwendolyn murmured in my ear. Plan a painting or a 
sculpture. 

Im trying, I grumbled. 

She chuckled again. But I warn you. If the words leather or form and function appear 
anywhere in the title, Ill hunt you down. I swear I will. 


PART VII 


In Which We Return to 
My Ancestors Chronicle, of Which, 
Joyful to Relate, Remains Extant All Portions 
Retelling of the Sorcerers Adventures in the Famed 
Oasis, But in Which, Due to Sad Circumstances 
Soon To Be Related, those Portions Recounting the 
Journey From the Famed Oasis to Prygg 
Exist Only in Truncated and 
Misshapen Form. 


CHAPTER VII. 

A Difficult Decision MadeYet Failure Withal. The Dwarfs Quandary. The 

Serendipitous Results Thereof. The Wizards Praise. The Wizards Reproof. Our 

Heroes Fortune Restored! 

As the coach for Prygg did not depart the Caravanserai for two more days, twas necessary 
for wizard and apprentice to obtain lodgings. Fortunately, in the cursed highwaymans 
bemusement at Shelyids unexpected tale, he had not thought to inspect the gnomes person. 
Thus did Shelyid retain the shilling in his waistband, this being the annual allowance 
permitted to him by his master. The coin proved just sufficient to cover the cost of a small 
room at the inn for two nights. 

Exhausted by the journey, Shelyid curled up on his pallet and promptly fell asleep. Not so 
the thaumaturge, who wasany fool could see it!engulfed in a humor both sour and bleak. 
He paced to and fro until the wee hours of the morn, muttering loud imprecations at the 
foibles of happenstance, and bringing down many fell oaths, curses, and contumely upon the 
absent head of a certain Rascogne de Sevigneois. At length, however, this amusement palled, 
and the wizard fell into silence. Clear it was that he pondered over his present worldly state. 
As the first light of dawn appeared, he sighed deeply. 

Alas, there is no other way. Shelyidarise! Arise, I say! 

Grumbling and mumbling, the dwarf rolled over and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his 


eyes. 

What is it, master? 

Get up, dwarf. We must discuss our present circumstances, eschewing all pusillanimous 
melancholy. 

Yes, master! exclaimed Shelyid, astonishment writ plain upon his face. Rare indeed were 
the occasions upon which Zulkeh deigned to discuss their common situation with his 
apprentice. Unheard of, in fact. 

The dwarf now awake and attentive, the mage began his exposition of the problem. 
Shelyid, we find ourselves in dire straitsthis, the result of our recent calamity. I refer, of 
course, to the reiving of our funds by that insufferable rogue, that leprous villain, that 
feculent dastard, that heinous rapscallion, that irremissible scapegrace, that 

Rascogne de Sevigneois. 

I shall thank you not to interrupt me!caitiff miscreant, thatwell, in any event. We 
have not a copper to our name, not a sou, not a farthing. True, our passage to Prygg is 
already paid for, but we shall require further monies to obtain provenderfood, drink, and 
suchthe which is necessary even for a thaumaturge of my talents and abilities. Do you find 
yourself in agreement with my diagnosis of our plight? 

Oh yes, master! cried Shelyid, pleased beyond compare at his masters confidence. 

The problem which thus presents itself to us, in all its indignity, is the acquisition of 
pecuniary resources. This follows, does it not? 
As night from day, master! cried Shelyid. Would wonders never cease? 
Fortunately, all is not lost. The Caravanserai is, as you may be aware, notorious not only 

for its many criminals, prostitutes, and suchlike ethical wantons, but for its enormous traffic 
in slavery, as well. Indeed, it is the chief slave market of Grotum. The conclusion, I am sure 
you will agree, is both obvious and inescapable. 

Oh yes, master! cried Shelyid, overcome with pleasure at his masters bonhomie. 

Excellent! spoke Zulkeh. It is settled, then. I shall sell you into slavery at the first 
opportunitythis very day, in fact. 
Slavery? shrieked the dwarf. Butbutno! You cant, master! I wont! 
Zulkeh sighed and patted his apprentices head. No, no, good Shelyid, do not quail now at 

the force of logic. I appreciate your loyalty and can only commend you for your selfless 
desire to share my perils and travails, ill-equipped though you are for the task. But noa 
slave you must be. 

Of the disgraceful scene which followed these stern but stoic words, we shall exercise our 
narrative responsibility and draw over it a discretionary veil. For in truth, the gnome Shelyid 
did comport himself in a most unseemly manner, refusing, in flagrant violation of all custom 
and reason, to accede to his masters command, even after the forbearant mage had 
chastised him most soundly. So great, indeed, did Shelyids intemperance become, that the 
wizard was required to bring forth from his sack that fearsome instrument which he 
employed on those (fortunately, quite rare) occasions in which routine thrashings were of no 
avail. 

We refer here, of course, to the Apt Malediction for the Reprovement of Sullen 
Stableboys, Impudent Domestics, and Other Artless Imps, the which, as the gentle reader is 
perhaps aware, has been the subject of great dispute among the savants. For though D.I. 
Laebmauntsforscynneweld argued in his definitive On the Use of False Scrolls that Zulkehs 
application was conditioned by the scrolls thaumaturgic deficiencies, the which rendered it 


useless for any purpose save the chastisement of drub-deserving dwarf-dolts, to this opinion 
did Torquemada Sfondrati-Piccolomini take sharp exception in his ground-breaking 
Flagellation: The Romantic Face of Gods Terror, claiming instead that the mage opted for 
said instrument from a keen sense of poetic justice, only to call forth in so saying the 
intervention of his half brother Draco, this latter advancing in his controversial Two Jerks 
Jerking Off yet the third view that the wizards use of the scroll was determined neither by 
goety nor poesy, but by the material substratum of both, in that the scroll was actually not a 
scroll, but a carved inscription upon an oaken rod. 

Be that as it may, the instrument availed its purpose. Thus was propriety restored, 
following which, wizard and his sullen-but-subdued servant set forth for the great slave 
market of the Caravanserai. Yet, as the day wore on, it became apparent that the dispute 
between our protagonists had been needless as well as undignified. For, try as Zulkeh might, 
he simply could not sell his apprentice. Scrofulous though the average slave was, Shelyid was 
so grotesque even in this company that no slave merchant would so much as discuss the 
possibility of purchase. 

The closest approach which the wizard enjoyed to success was also the most ignominious. 
All other establishments on the Boulevard of Bounteous Labor having spurned his offer, 
Zulkeh advanced upon the very last edifice on that noisome streetthe term edifice being 
used very delicately. The ramshackle buildingsay better, disintegrating hutwas 
conspicuous for any apparent volume of trade. The only customer in sight was a large animal 
urinating against the rear wall, as if expressing its opinion on the architecture. It might have 
been a hog, it was difficult to tell. 

Above the half-open doorhalf-open of necessity, since two of the three hinges had fallen 
loosewas a sign which read: 

RIGHT TO WORK INSTITUTE 
Herbert & Gertrude Sophist, proprietors 


Youve got a right to work! 
So well sell it to you. 
Cheap. 


Zulkeh strode within, Shelyid in tow. In the gloom beyond, an elderly couple so slender 
they seemed almost skeletal were lounging on an ancient divan. The male half of the pair 
was snoring. His female counterpart, eyes widening at the appearance of an actual customer, 
jabbed him fiercely in the ribs. Given the sharpness of the elbow involved, it was a bit 
astonishing that no flow of blood ensued. 

The man jerked awake. Then, seeing Zulkeh and Shelyid, sprang to his feet. Using, again, 
the term sprang with considerable delicacy. 
Yessair, yessair, he chortled, rubbing his bony hands together with a sound not 
dissimilar to that made by certain insects. Yessair, yessairIve got just what you need! 

He gestured grandly toward the far corner of the shack, where his wife was now occupied 
hauling forth what appeared to be the only merchandise the establishment had in stock at 
the momenta woman whose age was impossible to determine, clad in rags, festooned with 
chains and shackles, and so skeletal she made the owners seem obese. 

Premium quality house servant! the man pronounced solemnly. Not quite suitable fer 
yproper carnal abuseIll be the first tadmit it, Im no huckster tryin to pass off cut-rate 


merchandise as anythin more than tisbut Ill knock twenty percent off yprice. 

Alas, the intended sale turned out to be a skeleton in actual fact. After being dragged 
halfway across the earthen floor, the arm in the wifes hand came loose at the shoulder and 
the rest of the body flopped to the ground. 

Vile slave! the woman snarled. Wretchit thief! Try and steal from me, would yer? She 
proceeded to thrash the corpse with the limb in her hand. Alas, after a single thrash the 
elbow joint gave way as well, leaving the wife disarmed as well as dispossessed. 

I told ye we ad to feed er more often, Gertrude, hissed her husband. Onct a week jest 
wont 
Zulkeh cleared his throat noisily. Sirrah, you misunderstand. I have come here to make a 
sale, not a purchase. 
The mage grasped Shelyid by the shoulder and shoved him forward. My apprentice. A 
stout lad, if stupid, and well inured to labor. I warn you I shall not be cheated. 

The manHerbert Sophist, presumablyeyed Shelyid with skepticism. But, unlike all the 
other slave dealers they had approached that day, he began to examine the prospective 
merchandise. And if his bony fingers poked Shelyids ribs with no great vigor, and pried 
open his lips to inspect the teeth with even less, still and all twas at least a semblance of 
proper slave-dealer custom. 

After Sophist was finished he stepped back, planted hands on hips, and announced firmly: 
Ill take im off yer hands. Nay a problem, sair. Be my pleasure. He eyed Zulkeh for a 
moment, gauging the possibilities, and then added (not quite as firmly): Twenty quid. And 
dont think ye can talk me down, sirrah! Im being generous as tis. 

Zulkeh frowned. I have no intention of talking you down! Your offer is absurd. Thirty 
quid and not a penny less. 

Sophists eyes widened. Thirty? he choked. 

Before he could say another word his wife shuffled forwardly eagerly and hissed: Done! Thirty 
quid it is! Her handstretched forth,palmup, likethe petal of a Venus flytrap. Cash now. No credit. 
Zulkehs frown deepened. He stared at the womans clawlike hand. There seems to be 
some confusion here . . . he muttered. 
No confusion! snapped Gertrude. As tis, even at thirty quid well like as not lose 
money. 

Her husband nodded solemnly. Indeed so! A dwarf? Scrofulous as thissun? Thfeed 
alonell mos like bankrupt us afore we kin find some idiotah, customer wholl take im off 
our hands. 

It was Zulkehs turn to choke. And choke. Eventually he managed: Insane! Do I 
understand you aright? You expect me to pay you forfor selling my own merchandise? 

Hearing these words, Gertrude Sophist began to spittle. Ocourse! Tis the law! 

Sairtainly is! snapped her husband. In the singsong tone of one reciting memorized 
words: No dwarven slave may be purchased without payment from the seller, lest the foul 
notion be established that dwarves are worth anything. In a less stilted manner: Sorry, 
sair. No point arguin thmatter. Thazza direct quote from ye Honorable Judge Greased 
Hands decision in th case o The Dreaded Scot vs. the Pewling Dwarf-Lovers Association. 
He lifted his nose. The Dreaded Scot bein, as Im sairtain yer aware, reckinized cross 
Grotum as thslave traders slave trader. 

In the Hall of Fame, e is, snapped Gertrude. Made it on thfirst ballot, too. 

These words spoken, the mage proceeded to open up to the understanding of Sophists, 


man and wife, the preposterous and pernicious nature of their logic, reason, rationale, 
sanity 

But he had barely warmed to the subject before the distaff member of the couple, 
displaying a vigor quite out of keeping with her anorexic appearance, threw him bodily out 
of the establishments doorway. Dislodging, alas, the final hinge in the process, the which 
produced a shrieking promise from Gertrude Sophist that she intended to sue the mage for 
every penny he owned in damages. 

Shelyid scuttled out of the building, nimbly evading a savage blow from Gertrude on the 
way outso nimbly, indeed, that the hapless woman overbalanced and injured herself on the 
doorframe, the which mishap produced yet another shrieking promise that she intended to 
sue the mage for every penny he might ever own in damages. 

But, by then, Shelyid had hoisted the mage back onto his feet. Master and apprentice 
hastened from the scene, followed by the shrill curses and imprecations of the Sophists, man 
and wife, until the cadaverous pair apparently ran out of breath altogether. Which, in truth, 
did not take long. 

Midafternoon, therefore, found Zulkeh and Shelyid trudging back to the inn. Once arrived 
in their room, the wizard turned to his apprentice and spoke. 

Shelyid, I command you to remain here. You are forbidden to leave this room under any 
circumstances, no matter how dire or urgent they may seem to you. I now depart, to 
rendezvous with a certain individual who, such is my hope, may be interested in purchasing 
your person. 

But we already went to every slave dealer in town, master, protested Shelyid. 

You are too pessimistic, Shelyid. The individual of whom I speak is not a slaver. He owns 
a circus, and has, I am led to understand, a sizable collection of freaks and sports of nature, 
to which he may wish to add another specimen. And so saying, the wizard departed, locking 
the door behind him. 

Following the wizards departure, Shelyid huddled on his pallet, misery writ plain upon 
his face. Now that his feeble mind was no longer distracted by the sights and sounds of the 
Caravanserai, it was plain as day that the wretched dwarfs thoughts were focused with 
undivided attention upon his plight. 

A circus freak, he muttered. A slave was bad enough, but a circus freak! Many long 
minutes of silence followed; thenPeoplell laugh at me. Point fingers. Throw food. 
Probably get better food thrown at you than they give you to eat regular, anyway. Many 
more long minutes of silence. And what about upward social mobility? he called out 
suddenly, into the gathering twilight. 

Many more long minutes passed. Then did a look of discomfort come to sit upon his face. 
Alas, the dwarfs fears had produced the inevitable biological concomitant. 
Gotta shit, said he. And so saying, rose and minced toward the door, which opened into 
the corridor where the water closet was located. But at the door he halted, muttering. 
Cant leave the room, master said. Under any circumstances, he said. Besides, doors 
locked. He turned away, mounting agony writ plain upon his face. 

But I gotta shit. He stared at the floora wild surmisebut then: Cripes no, dummy. 
Issa Consortium floorprobbly gut ya fthat. Suddenly his legs coiled about each other like 
vines. 

Gotta shit bad! he wailed. Then did understanding and wisdom come and sit upon his 


brow. Ocourse! he cried. The old scroll! Sno good anyway. 

And so saying, the dwarf hopped across the room, limbs still entwined. He flung himself 
upon the wizards sack, feverishly scrabbling through its contents. At length he emerged, 
clutching in his hand an old and much-worn scroll entitled On the Transmutation of Base 
Elements Into Gold. 

Masterll never misststried it dozens a times, snever worked. And not a moment too 
soon did the apprentice spread the scroll upon the floor and attend to his urgent business. 

There did Shelyid squat for a time, staring placidly at the opposite wall. Eventually 
finished with his work, the dwarf rose and buckled his breeches. Then, turning and stooping 
over, he prepared to pick up the scroll and its contents and hurl them through the window 
onto the street below, this method of waste disposal being de riguer throughout Grotum. But 
he was of a sudden transfixed. For imagine his astonishment when he perceived that, where 
should have lain certain objects the precise nature of which we will delicately leave to the 
gentle readers understanding, lay insteadmirabile dictu!several large and oddly shaped 
ingots of gold. 

And it was at this very moment that the wizard returned to the room. It required a full ten 
minutes for Zulkeh to decipher Shelyids ensuing babble, following which he smiled 
approvingly and patted the dwarfs head. 

You have done well, Shelyid. I perceive now my past error concerning this scroll. My 
mistake lay in assuming that by base elements were meant the common metals, whereas in 
fact were meant base elements, of which, as is well known, there is none baser than dwarf 
excrement. And there is a lesson to be learned from this, my stupid but loyal apprentice, in 
that subtlety of mind can be, on occasion, its own undoing. 

Indeed, this stroke of fortune comes at a most opportune moment, for the individual I 
went to see expressed a total lack of interest in buying you for his circus. All this, however, is 
now behind us. Armed with this newfound wealth, we are funded not only for our present 
needs but for some considerable portion of the future as well. 

Shelyids ugly little face crinkled with pleasure. Not so the wizardsfor Zulkehs benign 
smile turned in a instant to a fearsome scowl. 

I note also, however, spoke the mage in a stern voice, that you have grossly defiled one 
of my scrolls, the which I had faithfully entrusted to your care. And the sorcerer thrashed 
his apprentice soundly. 


 
CHAPTER VIII. 

A Commercial Philosophy Elaborated. The Wizard Demurs. An Interview With a 

Subordinate of the Law. The Sheriffs Return. The Unsatisfactory Results 

Therefrom. The Wizard Seeks Counsel! 

The next morning, with Shelyid in tow, the wizard set out for the depot of the GGNESWC& 
etc., desiring, before making further plans, to assure himself that the coach to Prygg would 
depart on schedule the following day. Arriving at the depot, he made his way to the ticket 
vendors window. No sooner had the wizard identified himself than the ticket vendor 
exclaimed: So! You chose to surrender yourself, did you? 

I beg your pardon? queried the mage. 

Sirrah, it has been brought to my attention that you were among the passengers who 
arrived in the last coach from Goimr. 

Indeed so. 

It has also been brought to my attention that the aforementioned coach was robbed 
whilst you were aboard. 

Indeed soa scabrous event! The light of understanding dawned in the wizards eye. 
Ah, good sir, it pleases me no end to see the concern with which your company views its 
customers woes. An excellent policy, this, to offer recompense to those of your passengers 
who have suffered indignities while enjoying the hospitality of your firm! Know, my good 
man, that you are fortunate indeed to find yourself employed by so progressive a 

You suffer from a gross misapprehension. It is not you, but we, who are the injured party 
in this affair, and thus the recipients of restitution. 

I beg your pardon? 

As a passenger on a vehicle owned and operated by the Great Grotum etc., etc., & etc., 
you are liable for any damage (physical, financial, mental, moral, emotional, spiritual, 
natural, supernatural, or immaterial) inflicted upon said vehicle and its contents (animate or 
inanimate, sentient or senseless) and, by extension, upon the Great Grotum etc., etc., & etc. 
As the wizard stared on, in a rare speechless moment, the ticket vendor picked up a scroll 
and began droning: 

For permitting a coach of the GGNESWC& etc. to be robbed, you are hereby fined one 
hundred and fifty ducats. 

For allowing 

Preposterous! cried the mage, his wits returned. Gesticulating wildly, the thaumaturge 
thrust his face at the ticket vendor. 


This is absurd! Utterly absurd! You have lost your corporate senses! I am in no fashion 
responsible for your miserable coach! 

That statement is not merely incorrect, sniffed the ticket vendor, it is positively 
grotesque. You are, in fact, legally responsible in this matter, having made of your own free 
will a contract to that effect with the Great Grotum etc., etc., & etc. 

Art mad! I made no such contractI merely purchased a ticket! 

I see. Obviously you are ignorant of the fact that the moment one consummates any 
transaction with any subsidiary of the Consortium, one automatically agreesat that very 
instantto the full provisions of the Consortium Cosmological Contract. 

I was not informed of any such provision! 
To be sure. This point, however, is hardly germane. The ticket vendor resumed his 
reading of the scroll. 
For allowing a messenger of the GGNESWC& etc. to be interrupted in the performance of 
his duties, you are hereby fined seventy-five ducats. 
For allowing a servant of the Lord to be slandered and his piety subjected to denigration, 
you are fined fifty ducats. 
For allowing a belted knight of the realm to have his manhood and noble reputation 
subjected to gross indignities, you are fined sixty ducats. 

For allowing a female passenger on a vehicle operated by the GGNESWC& etc. to be 
seduced by a non-paying individual, you are fined forty ducats, per seductiona total of two 
hundred ducats. 

For allowing other passengers on the GGNESWC& etc. to be robbed, you are fined thirty-
five ducats per passengera total of two hundred and ten ducats. 

For 

I protest! Why should I be held responsible for other passengers? Why should they not be 
held responsible for their own mishapsand mine, for that matter? 

They have, replied the ticket vendor, and have been fined accordingly. I might add that 
two of the passengers, Il Conde de la Manteca and his wife La Contessaridiculous titles! 
refused to pay the fines, and have accordingly been incarcerated. 

But shes a nice lady! cried Shelyid. 

The ticket vendor sniffed. Finally, you are fined fifty ducats for allowing yourself to be 
robbed while traveling on a vehicle operated by the GGNESWC& etc. He laid down the 
scroll and stared stonily at the mage, palm outstretched. The total fine amounts to seven 
hundred and ninety-five ducats, payable in the legal tender of the region, which, in this 
instance, is the Consortium Ducat. 

I refuse! bellowed the wizard, beside himself with fury. O monstrous! O monstrous! 

Sir, stated the ticket vendor in a voice devoid of inflection or discernible tone, am I to 
understand that you are calling into question the philosophy and commercial 
weltanschauung of the GGNESWC& etc., a subsidiary 

A pox on your philosophy, sirrah! I shall take this arrant thievery to the law! 

And so saying, the mage strode forth into the street, casting his eyes about for the location 
of the forces of law and order. Almost immediately, his attention caught by faint wails of 
agony, he spotted nearby a large gray building built of heavy stone, windows barred, steps 
blood-stained. 

The Hall of Justice! he cried, and hastened thence. Come, Shelyid, he spoke over his 
shoulder. You are shortly to witness the manner in which base curs of low degree are called 


to order! 

Entering the building, Zulkeh saw to his left an old wooden door, upon whose peeling 
surface was crudely lettered the words: SHERIFFS OFFICE. He strode within, there to espy a 
man before him, seated at a large and much-carved desk, belly overhanging belt, booted feet 
propped up, visage totally obscured by an enormous hat slanted sharply forward. 

Are you the Sheriff? demanded Zulkeh. The man behind the desk looked up. Faded blue 
eyes peered at the mage from a face whose every feature was masked by a complex maze of 
wrinkles, crows-feet, creases, and the like. A luxurious mustache adorned his upper lip. 

That I am, drawled this worthy. Sheriff Pike. Then, in a tone which belied the words: 
At your service. 

Excellent! spoke Zulkeh. I have a complaint which I wish to register with the Law. 

The Sheriff spat with unerring accuracy into a nearby spittoon. He sighed wearily. 

All right, all right, he grumbled. What is it? 

An abomination! An insolent offense! An outrageous calumny! 

Pike grimaced, or so, at least, one could interpret the heavings of his mustache. I 
assumed that. Why else would anyone complain to the Sheriff? Which abomination? What 
offense? Whose calumny? These are the questions that need to be answered before modern 
police investigation can get off the ground. 

Zulkeh brought himself under control. I wish to register a complaint against the 
Consortium. These scoundrels, these 

Shove it. 

I beg your pardon? 

I said shove it! bellowed the Sheriff fiercely. I havent got the time or energy to be 
bothered by lunatics who want to file a complaint against the Consortium. 

Zulkeh gazed coldly at the agent of the Law. I now perceive the truth. You have been 
suborned by the Consortium. 

Pikes face turned beet-red with outrage. 

Why, damn your insolence! he roared. I am a sworn servant of the Law doing my duty! 

This office as well as the jail which appertains to it is a bona fide subsidiary of the 
Consortium and I am carrying out my responsibilities as a faithful employee of the firm! 
Zulkeh was silent for a moment. The law in the Caravanserai, do I understand you to say, 
is owned outright by the Consortium? 
Lock, stock, and barrel, stated the Sheriff. Quite a profitable concern, too, he added 
with some pride. 

Clearly, then, spoke the wizard, I can expect no justice from these quarters. 

Ruled out right from the start, agreed the Sheriff. 

I must then seek redress elsewhere, mused Zulkeh. The rot has sunk deeper than I had 
perceived. He glared at the Sheriff. Where may I find an attorney-at-law? 
A what? 
A lawyer! 
Oh. The Sheriff shook his head slowly. Couldnt tell you. There isnt any need for a 

lawyer in this town. You can say what you like about big city police efficiency, but in my 
opinion weve brought the science of criminology in this little town to a state of perfection 
that would be envied in Ozar itself. If anybody has a complaint against the Consortium, 
theyre automatically wrong. If anybody has a complaint against anybody else, he yawned, 
who gives a shit? 


The Sheriff rubbed his belly, apparently in an effort to stimulate thought. You might try 
the hotel down the street, he suggested. All sorts of riffraff traveling through the 
Caravanserai can be found there. 

With no further word, Zulkeh stormed out of the Sheriffs office, Shelyids little legs 
scurrying to keep pace. Down the street, the mage espied a ramshackle building bearing a 
much-abused sign on which only the letters ONTHLY RAT S could still be seen. In but a trice, 
the agitated sorcerer arrived at the hotel and strode within. 

Peering about the Stygian gloom of the lobby, the wizard saw, arranged in a manner which 
defied all geometry and logic, a multitude of couches and divans. These items of furniture 
ranged, in their degree of corrosion and disrepair, from shabby and soiled to filthy beyond 
belief and downright dangerous. Despite their, at best, disreputable appearance, each of the 
couches was occupied by an individual, none of whom, judging from their slouches, seemed 
to find any great joy in life. 

Across the lobby, Zulkeh made out a jury-rigged little counter which he took to be the 
reception desk. Seated behind the desk, in a posture which matched the decor, was a sallow-
faced individual whose thinning gray hair was adorned by a little cap bearing the letters ESK 
LERK. Advancing upon this fellow, the mage questioned the desk clerk as to the possibility 
that an attorney-at-law could be found among the hotels current clientele. 

The desk clerk, alas, proved to be an ignorant, slothful, and insolent wight. Ignorant, in 
that he claimed no knowledge of any characteristic of any of the hotels residents beyond the 
adequacy of their purse. Slothful, in that he proclaimed an utter lack of interest in correcting 
this appalling state of ignorance. Insolent, in that he responded to the mages vigorous 
insistence that he do so with a series of exclamations the which ranged from uncouth to 
downright scurrilous. 

No doubt the surly fellow would have been smitten by the mages wizardrous fury at that 
point, had not one of the individuals lounging on a nearby divan spoken up. Croaked up, it 
might be better to say: 

Theres a lawyer in the saloon, rasped he, in what seemed to be his last breath. 

Gee, whispered Shelyid, I thought he was dead. And, indeed, the fellow expired that 
very moment. 

The urgency of his task overriding his urge to chasten the desk clerk, the irate 
thaumaturge immediately stalked to the saloon adjoining the lobby, guided by the sign 
appended over the swinging doors: needless to say, ALOON. 

Thence did the mage take himself, entering a low-ceilinged room whose atmosphere was 
most vilely polluted by smoke and the miasma of sundry alcoholic distillations. 

I need an attorney! he spoke into the murky gloom. 

A long-torsoed individual, thin as a rail, perked up at a table in the far corner. I am here! 
he cried, rising to greet the wizard. 
Mustelids the name, solicitors the trade. The whiskers beneath his long and pointed 
nose quivered with the scent of fee. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A Barristers Informed Opinion. Sundry Cases of Great Legal Moment 

Encapsulated. A Youth Intervenes, Hot of Temper and Mien. The Wizard 

Adjudicates. A Youth Denounces, Hot of Temper and Mien. The Consortium is 

Recompensed! 

And thus you have it, concluded the mage. He sat stiffly in his chair, Shelyid standing 
behind. And now, sirrah, I will appreciate it if you would unfold before me the manner in 
which I may obtain full satisfaction from these miscreants, not excluding the extraction of 
punitive damages for the affront they have committed to my dignity. 

Across the table, the lawyer slumped in his chair, utter discouragement evident in both 
posture and expression. He shook his head mournfully. 

I cant see whats to be done. Theres no legal case to be madeyou havent a leg to stand 
on. The Consortiumits subsidiary, I should sayacted within its legal rights at all times. 

Preposterous! oathed Zulkeh. By what legalistic legerdemain am I held responsible for 
this so-called Consortium Cosmological Contract by the mere act of buying a ticket? 

There is no statutory prestidigitation involved, differed the lawyer, shaking his head 
with some vehemence. Thats the law. I refer you to the famous case of The Consortium vs. 
Grandmother Hapless, in which the decision was written by that most respected jurist, the 
Honorable Judge Learned Hound. In his opinion, Judge Hound wrotewait a minute, I 
have it here in my valise Mustelid rummaged around in a briefcase by his feet and 
brought forth a huge leather-bound book. He laid the tome on the table and rapidly flicked 
through the pages. 

Here it is. I will quote verbatim: 

 Foolishness twould be to demand of any established commercial firm that it limit its 
transactions with its divers customers merely to the immediate purchase involved at any 
specific moment in time. For none but reactionary pedants, who fail to grasp the nature of 
modern industrys rise and growth, can think that any single instance of commercial 
exchange is but a fleeting node in the complex matrix of modern economic intercourse. Of 
necessity, both material and moral, all such transactions must be covered by legal bonds 
which encompass in their implicit nature the whole of modern societys inescapable 
interdependence. 

Zulkeh was silent for many long moments, as he examined this logic in his mind. At 
length, he nodded his head slowly. The argument is irrefutable, I must admit. However, it 
remains the case that it cannot be applied to myself, for I was never informed of this 


provision when I purchased my ticket. Surely the Consortium is under the obligation of 
informing its customers of the full ramifications of buying a ticket from them! 

By no means! countered Mustelid. The Consortiums long-standing policy of Silence is 
Consent has been upheld in court. I refer you, in this regard, to that well-known case in the 
annals of Groutch jurisprudence, The Consortium vs. Little Johnny Waif. This case was 
decided by that other most eminent of Groutch jurists, the Honorable Judge Greased Hand. 
His opinion concluded with the following impeccable reasoning Another quick searching 
of the pages. 

 No legally constituted firm of good reputation and proven stability can be held 
responsible for the time-consuming dissemination of all the picayune details and minutia of 
its manifold implicit contracts to other parties who may be involved in the endless 
permutations of such inherent contractual obligations. For, should such a slavishly legalistic 
doctrine be allowed to prevail, no concern operating along sound commercial lines could 
long endure, so burdened would it become by foolish and unnecessary paperwork. 

Again Zulkeh was silent for some time, as he pondered the problem. Again he nodded his 
head slowly. 

The logic cannot be faulted. It appears, then, that I have behaved precipitously. I shall 
have to recompense the Consortium. 

Nay, sir, do not so! interrupted a voice suddenly. Turning in his seat, the mage beheld a 
youth seated at a nearby table. 

You addressed me, sirrah? 

I did! responded the youth, rising and advancing upon Zulkehs table. I made my voice 
known! 

What else is new? sneered Mustelid. Know, good sir,this by way of an aside to the 
wizardthat this inflammatory stripling is a well-known malcontent, whose irresponsible 
frothings have plagued fair Grotum since he left the domain of his prominent familys 
estates. 

Favoring the lawyer with fleering nostrils and a gaze in which scorn and contempt 
commingled in his feverish eyes, the youth spoke again to the wizard. 

Know, citizen, that my name is Holdabrand, and that I hold the Banner of Justice aloft! 

Such is commendable, spoke Zulkeh, but what has it to do with me? 

Forgive, citizen, my intrusion! But I could not help but overhear the poisoned words of 

this lackey of the moneyed interests! Thus do I hasten to counter his oily filth with the 
Right! 
The lawyer sputtered, but Zulkeh stilled him with a gesture. Turning back to the youth, he 
spoke. Counter it, then, since you have made so bold your claim. 

Holdabrand took a chair and spoke in an urgent voice. 

Citizen, you cannot help but have seen with your own eyes how in recent years the fair 
land of Grotum, once known the world over for its happy and contented people, its stern but 
fair-minded rulers, its harmony of classes and masses, its simple but righteous ways, its 
noble customs and traditions 

How many more clauses, dyou think? sneered Mustelid. Twenty? Thirty? 

The youth glared but drove on: has become overrun by this foreign monstrosity, this 
alien arachnid, this avaricious octopoid, this slimy parasite, this 
Forty? Fifty? 
this Consortiumwhose lust for wealth has led it to corrupt and bring down the most 


ancient and pure mores of our land, whose insatiable rapacity has led it to plunder even the 

smallest of Grotums treasures, to exploit even the feeblest of our resources 

Sixty? Seventy? 

whose lust for domination has led it to suborn all but a handful of Grotums most 
venerable institutions, whose unbridled thirst 

Enough! cried out the lawyer. Were being claused to death! Its all rotbilge and rot. 
Tis rather by dint of the Consortiums mighty effortsmotivated by self-interest, to be sure, 
but nonetheless admirable and beneficialthat these backward nations of Grotum stand fair 
to enter the world of modern industry and progress, to take their rightful place beside all 
other respected and puissant lands! 

Mustelid thrust his face at Zulkeh and continued in an earnest voice. Do not allow the 
ravings of this romantic reactionary to sway your logical faculties, good sir. Fine for him 
the scion of a great landownerto preach airily of the joys of simple Groutch life, he who 
never labored from dawn to dusk in his fathers fields, he whose dronelike existence is made 
possible by the unceasing toil of his fathers serfs, he whose 

Damn you, knave! shrilled the youth. Have I not shortened my title, renounced certain 
excessive portions of my inheritance, urged liberalism in our dealings with the peons, even 
quarreled with my fatherwhy, even in his own drawing room before guests? Have I not 
devoted my life to the uplifting of that selfsame squalid peasantry whose plight so suddenly 
grips your heart? Fraud! Impostor! These paeans to so-called progress spring dishonestly 
from your lips! Fear, greed, and envythose are your true idols! 

The lawyer leaned back in his chair. I am not abashed by your fantasies, he sneered. I 
have no truck with dreaming fools who spout nonsense to the march of progress without 
accepting the necessary, if unfortunate, concomitants of that selfsame course of national 
betterment. And as for fear, greed, and envy, certainly I do not deny them their rightful 
place in societys onward advance. Was it not the Honorable Judge Learned Hound himself 
who upheld, in the case of The Consortium vs. the Maimed and Injured Wretch, the legal 
and moral propriety ofand here I quote his exact and immortal phraseFear, Greed, and 
Envy, the requisite economic waters upon whose lapping waves the Ship of State serenely 
sails? 

And well should you mention that corruption in human flesh! shrilled Holdabrand. 
Aye, indeed! That same Judge Learned Hound whose legalistic machinations made possible 
the devastation of Pryggias stalwart yeomanry! 

And glad I am, responded the lawyer with equal heat, that you have raised this matter! 
Let us put it to this fine gentleman seated here, to see on which side of this dispute lies 
reason and the higher justice! 

Turning then to Zulkeh, Mustelid spoke in soft tones filled with great conviction. Look 
you, sirrah, the case to which this insolent youth refers is one of the most luminous in the annals
not simply of Groutch jurisprudencebut of Law throughout the civilized world. 
The decision, jointly written by Judges Hound and Hand, has gained such repute that it is 
regularly assigned for study at the great School of Law at the University of Ozarae, that most 
prestigious of all academies. In this most complex and critical case, The Consortium vs. the 
Hayseed Malcontents, ere then murky and confused in the mind of gentility and plebeian 
alike, the two brilliant jurists charted a course unswayed by any interests save the upholding 
of Law, Reason, Truth and Justice. 

In essence, the case involved the claim of the Pryggian peasantry that, inasmuch as they 


had already given over one quarter of their crop to the noble landlords by way of rent, one 
quarter to the King by way of taxes, and one quarter to the Ecclesiarchs by way of tithe, they 
should not be required to cede the remaining one quarter to the Consortium by way of 
interest, as they would then surely starve. In their opinion, Judges Hound and Hand upheld 
the counterclaim of the Consortium, saying thatI will cite their very words A lightning-
like flick through the pages. Then: 

 The legal position of the Consortium is, strictly and constitutionally speaking, 
unassailable. And, though this will undoubtedly produce mass famine and a peasantry 
driven into a life of vagabondage, prostitution and cannibalisma state of misery which, 
needless to say, we personally deplore and condemn, but also note is illegal and can thus 
serve as the basis for a profitable new prison industryit is nonetheless crucial that the 
State not intrude in this matter, for such intervention would surely become but the first and 
irremediable step on what the great scholar Hayek Laebmauntsforscynneweld has rightly 
called the Road to Serfdom. 

Silence filled the room as the wizard considered the question at great length. Indeed, so 
long stretched his silence that the dwarf Shelyid made so bold as to tug at Holdabrands 
sleeve. 

Thats awful about the poor peasants, he said. 
Holdabrand jerked his sleeve from the gnomes grasp. Ill thank you to keep your hands 
off my shirt! he snapped. 
Shelyid drew back, hurt and abashed. But then, his normal timidity apparently overridden 
by some strong emotion, he tugged once again at Holdabrands sleeve. 

How much land does your family own, anyway? he asked the youth. 

Holdabrand jerked his sleeve away again, brushing it off. Thats silk! he snarled. Not 
that Id expect you to recognize it. And its none of your business how much land we own. 
Besides, who keeps track of such details? Ask my fathers accountantsnot that theyd speak 
to a scrofulous gnome! 

Im sorry about the shirt, whispered Shelyid. Its justwell, I was thinking about all 
those starving people andwell, since you must own an awful lot of land, maybe you could 
talk to your father about giving some of itmaybe only half of itto those people, so they 
wouldnt have to eat each other and horrible stuff like that. I mean, you dont really probably 
need 

What is thissocial philosophy from a subhuman? sneered the youth. 

But The dwarf got no further, for at that very moment his master finally spoke. 

The question is, of course, transparent from the epistemological standpoint. The entire 
problem lies rather in the ontological ramifications of the case. But here as well, upon 
reflection, tis clear as a mountain stream that both Reason and the Higher Justice lies with 
the Consortium. For look you, if 

Holdabrand lunged to his feet. Then you too are a Georgia of darkness! I spit upon your 
Reason and your so-called Higher Justice! Soon enough will the true justice fall down upon 
your head! And with that he charged out of the saloon, cuffing Shelyid from his path. 

Impudent youth! oathed the wizard. 
What would you? asked the lawyer, spreading his arms.  Tis the inevitable behavior of 
these pampered nobles when they are at last confronted with the dictates of progress. 
Zulkeh nodded his agreement. Oft have I noted the parlous state of the modern 
aristocracy. Most unfortunate. And now, sirrah, he rose to his feet, I must be off and finish 


my business with the GGNESWC& Etc. I thank you for your assistance in clarifying these 

matters, and I bid you a good day. 

The lawyer coughed discreetly. Good sir, you have overlooked the matter of my fee. 

What fee? 

Why, the fee for my professional services. 

Nonsense! spoke the mage. I merely asked you for some advice. No mention was made 
of any fee! 

But my good sir, said the lawyer, smiling like a pool of oil, have you forgotten so soon 
my exposition of the Honorable Judge Greased Hands enunciation of the principle that 
ignorance of 

Are you a subsidiary of the Consortium? interrupted Shelyid. 

Why, no, responded Mustelid, nonplussed both by the query and its source. 

Well, then, said Shelyid, I dont see how you could collect anyway because didnt the 
Sheriff himself say he didnt care about anybodys problems except the Consortium? Didnt 
he, master? Didnt he? 

Why yes, mused Zulkeh, so he did. Then, to the lawyer: Odd as it may seem, good sir, 
my stupid but loyal apprentice has for once stumbled upon a truth. I fear you must forget 
any receipt of payments for your services, if such they may be called. 

The lawyer quivered in indignation, his long whiskers and pointed nose thrusting and 
twitching about. 

But its your moral obligation! 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. What boots this sudden philosophical cowardice? Was it not you 
yourself who so recently demolished the arguments of that foolish stripling, demonstrating 
with sureness and clarity that no modern society worthy of the name can tolerate the 
intrusion of haphazard ethical gestures into the workings of its commercial order? He 
shook his head sadly. Fie upon this apostasy! Again, sir, I bid you good day! And so 
speaking, the mage strode out of the room. 

But Shelyid hung back, and timidly approached the vibrating chord of outrage that was 
the lawyer. Maybe, he ventured, you should get a job working for the Consortium. Im 
sure they must hire a lota really, really lotof lawyers, he piped cheerfully. And sure, 
probably they wouldnt let you hang out in saloons, and youd probably have to work in a big 
room somewhere filled with thousands of other lawyers, hunched over a desk, and sure, 
probably theyd make you work a lot of hours and youd get all stooped over and such, but 
your postures lousy anyway and besides, you probably wouldnt have time to worry about 
your health anyway because youd be worrying all the time about getting fired, and all. But at 
least you wouldnt 

He got no further, for Mustelid squeaked in fury and lunged from his chair, aiming a blow 
at the dwarf. 

Shelyid ducked. I was only trying to help, he whined, and scurried from the room. 

Outside the hotel, he espied his masters figure striding toward the travel depot, and 
hastened to catch up. Once they arrived, Zulkeh thrust his pile of misshapen ingots at the 
ticket vendor. Here is the gold to pay the fine you have levied upon me. 

The ticket vendor glanced coldly at the pile of ungeometric gold bars. 

I regret to inform you, sir, stated the ticket vendor in a voice devoid of inflection or 
discernible tone, that this is unacceptable. The GGNESWC& etc. can only accept payment in 
the recognized legal tender of the region, which, in this instance, is the Consortium Ducat. 


I see. And where may I acquire such specie? 

You may exchange your gold for ducats at the Caravanserai Moneylenders Association, 
located two doors down the street. 

Arriving at the specified location but a few moments later, Zulkeh and Shelyid passed 
through a door over which was suspended the traditional and time-honored emblem of the 
moneylender, an iron fist squeezing blood from a stone. Within, the wizard approached the 
tellers window and laid his eccentric bullion upon the counter. 

I should like to exchange these for Consortium Ducats. 

Certainly, sir, said the teller, flicking the idiosyncratic nuggets onto a scale with a 
splayed and callused thumb. That comes to twenty-four hundred ducats. He laid six stacks 
of coins upon the counter. But just as Zulkeh reached out to pick up the coins, the tellers 
removed one of the stacks. 

What do you do there? demanded the mage. That is my money! 

You are grotesquely in error, replied the cashier. There is a sixteen point six seven 
percent service charge for processing gold which is not tendered in the form of the officially 
established Consortium Ingot. 

Zulkeh opened his mouth to protest, reconsidered, and stormed out. 

Later that night, as our heroes retired to their pallets, the dwarf Shelyid was heard to 
grumble, Ill be glad to get out of this place, master. 

Well spoken, gnome. And now to sleep. 


 
PART VIII 


In Which, With 
Great Horror, We Relate 
the Despicable Doings of the 
Desperado Sfondrati-Piccolomini 
As He Takes It Upon Himself 
To Stand Against Custom 
in the Baronies. 


The Autobiography of Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini, 
Episode 5: Dirt, Darkness, Droits and Decisions 

So it was in such cramped quarters that I awoke later that day. For a momentquite a long 
moment, truth be toldI luxuriated in the feel of Gwendolyns body pressed against my own. 
Beyond the thicket in which we were hidden, the sun was setting. The reddish glow within 
the dimness of the thick shrubbery bathed her in soft and glorious color. 

I became so engrossed in the artistic possibilities, in addition to the purely sensual aspects 
of the experience, that I was quite oblivious when Gwendolyn herself awoke. Her head was 
nestled on my shoulder, her face turned toward me, and I suspect she studied me under 
lowered lids for some time before she finally spoke. 

Im not sure whether to be flattered, annoyed, amusedor all three, she murmured. 
Ive been ogled before, but . . . never like this. 

I froze for an instant. But then, feeling the gentle pressure of her hand on my chest and 
realizing that she was not really offended, I smiled. My apologies, I suppose. But you are 
both beautiful in your own right and I groped for words. It would make such a 
magnificent portrait. 

Her initial response was a slight stiffness. But then I felt her hand slide down from my 
chest and come to rest on my ribs, as if instinct was urging her to caress. The sensation that 
little movement produced in me was . . . call it intense. 

I believe it was for her, also. At least, the chuckle which she emitted seemed strained and 
forced. So. Whats the title? And I warn you againno leather or form and function 
allowed. 

My own response was a bit forced, I suspect. I was thinking more along the lines of 
Tranquility Where Not Expected. 


Her hand on my ribs seemed to tighten a moment, and not with anger. Again, the 
sensation that movement produced was . . . intense. Then, she sighed. 

Its too bad, it really is. But it still wouldnt work. 

A moment later, with the tigerish energy of which she was capable, Gwendolyn was up and 

wriggling her way out of the thicket. Come onweve got to get moving. 
I followed, as quickly and obediently as anyone could ask. I admit, the sight of her 
posterior wriggling its way through the bushes ahead of me was a powerful incentive. 
Once in the open, Gwendolyn cast a quick and wary eye over the area. The sun was over 
the horizon now, but there was still enough light to see by. 

Safe enough, she murmured. Id rather wait until midnight, but time is a priority. 

A moment later, she was trotting off down a path which could only be called a country 
lane by the most generous definition. Rutted dirt road captures more of the reality, 
understanding that the ruts looked to have been made by something other than wheels. 
Small skids, I imagined. 

After a while, once darkness had fallen completely, the little irregularities in the road 
caused me to trip and stumble several times. The pack I was carrying was not particularly 
heavyour food was almost entirely gone, by nowbut my special easel was, as always, an 
awkward thing to carry. 

I must have been cursing not entirely under my breath, because I heard Gwendolyns 
husky whisper urging me to silence. Then, in a hiss: Nobody asked you to bring the stupid 
thing. 

Which was true, of course, but still uncharitable. I believed I muttered as much. 
Gwendolyns only response was a low chuckle. 

We traveled through the night, our progress greatly slowed by the absence of any moon 
beyond a sliver and the rough terrain. The same darkness, of course, provided us with a 
certain measure of safety. Near dawn, Gwendolyn found another suitable thicket and we 
made our daytime lair. These quarters were, if anything, even more cramped than the last 
had been. 

What? murmured Gwendolyn, with another little low chuckle. No complaints? 

Feeling her pressed against me down the entire length of my bodyamazing how thin 
leather can seemI believe I managed to choke out a negative reply. 

The next two days passed in a similar manner. On the evening of the fourth day, a 
complication arose. 

Just as we were preparing to crawl out of our thicket at sundown, we heard the drumming 
of horse hooves. We shrank back into the thickness of the shrubbery, holding ourselves 
utterly still. Despite the lush foliage, we were able to see enough of the barren ground 
beyond to study ensuing events. 

Two children burst onto the scene, clambering over a distant stone wall. They were both 
girlsalthough it was hard for me to be certain at first, between their filthy garments and the 
fact that they were so young. Perhaps fourteen and fifteen years old. The long hair and a 
certain delicacy of the features were the principal determinants of my judgement. 

One of the girls spotted our thicket. She grabbed the other by the shoulder and pointed at 
it. The two of them began racing toward us. Next to me, I heard Gwendolyn hiss softly. 

Long before the girls could reach our shelter, however, they were intercepted by a man on 


horseback coming from somewhere behind and to the left of the thicket we were hidden in. 
The man atop the beast was even mangier looking than the horse itself, dressed in what 
seemed to be a pastiche of filthy furs and bits of armor. His head was covered by a helmet 
which would have given my uncle Giotto apoplexy had he seen the design. A horned 
helmet it was, just like the staple of barbarian imageryexcept the horns were actually 
some kind of (mangy, what else?) antlers, and the helmet itself was not a single piece but 
several poorly-beaten flanges of iron tied together (not well) by rawhide. One of the antlers 
had come loose, and was flopping around on the mans right shoulder. 

The girls veered off and tried to make their escape over another stone wall. But before they 
could get to the wall, one of themthe youngerhad been snared by a noose thrown by the 
horseman. The other girl made a frantic attempt to pry the noose off her companion. But, 
whatever the captors other failings, he was clearly an expert at this endeavor. He had his 
end of the rope snug to the pommel of his saddle, and was backing up his horse in such a 
way as to keep the noose tight. 

Two more horsemen appeared, leaping their mounts over the same low wall from which 
the girls had first burst onto the scene. I was surprised to see the relative grace with which 
the horses managed that leap. But then, reflected that in this terrain the ability to leap low 
walls of stone was probably the single most prized feature in a warhorse. 

The older girl still at liberty took one look at them and gave up her attempts to free her 
companion. She began running toward the other stone wall. But, after taking not more than 
seven or eight steps, she desisted. It was obvious enough that the two new horsemen would 
reach the wall long before she did. 

Disconsolately, she turned back and rejoined her trapped companion. Younger sister, I 
assumed. They were close enough by then that a certain familial resemblance could be seen. 

The man who had lassoed the girl was now on the ground. He was making his way along 
the rope to the captured girl, expertly maintaining the tension. I recognized the skill, of 
course. I was a maestro in the use of a whip (if I say so myselfmore to the point, my uncle 
Larue says so). And while a whip and a lasso are not the same, the two devices are similar 
enough that my uncle Larue had spent some time acquainting me with the art of lassoing. In 
which art, of course, he was superbas he was with the use of a bola, or, indeed, any weapon 
involving the same general principles. 

As the man drew near the captured girl, her companion began cursing bitterly. Given the 
surroundings, I was not surprised to hear such brilliant invective and profanity issuing from 
the lips of a fifteen-year-old girl. 

Eventually, the profanity ceased and the girl lapsed into standard language. Taint right! 
she shrilled. Its not my birthdayLanas neither! And its not a saints day! 

The other two horsemen had reached the scene, and were dismounting. One of them, 
hearing the girls protest, laughed harshly. The Baron decides whats right, girl. Advised by 
his soothsayer, o course. He pointed to the new moon, whose dim silhouette could be seen 
above the horizon. The sun had set, by now, but the area was still half-illuminated by its 
dying glow. Th Baron says tis only right that droit dseigneur applies at new moon too, 
seein as how the whole business is tied to the lunar cycle and sech. 

Taint fair! shrilled the girl. Taintt! echoed her younger sister. 

The man who had spoken advanced and took the older one by the scruff of her tunic. 
Then, shrugged. Whas fair got to do with anytin? Th Baron decides whats fair, not you. 
And hes horny. 


So re we, chortled the man who had lassoed the younger. He ruffled her hair. Wont be 
but a couple o days, lass. An ymay as well get used to it anyhow. 

Within seconds, the two girls were bundled across two of the saddles and the little party 
now remountedwas moseying its way toward a distant hill. Atop the hill, as on all the hills, 
a castle could be seen. Mangy, of course, insofar as the term mangy could be applied to a 
pile of stone. Until I saw the Baronies, I would have sworn it couldnt. 

Once they were out of sight, Gwendolyn nudged me. Lets go, she hissed. At least we 
wont have to be worried about being spotted in this Barony tonight. Theyll be busy with the 
girls. 

I had been frozen with shock. The casual callousness of her words jolted me out of my 
paralysis. 

Theyre but children! I snarled. Bad enough, even if they werentbut this! 

She gave me a cold look. Her eyes were black even in daylight. In dusk, in the gloom of the 
thicket, they were pools of eternal night. 

What? she snarled back. Has the precious Ozarine suddenly discovered that 
oppression is not an abstraction? Not something to be captured in oils? She gestured 
angrily at the distant castle. You think anything which is going to happen there tonight 
hasnt happened ten thousand times? Isnt happening this very night, for that matter, in 
other castles? Thatand worse? 

She shrugged her big shoulders, like a tigress shrugging off a fly. It happens, she 
continued, her voice filled less with anger now than simple contempt. Theres nothing we 
can do about it. And even if there wereso what? Save two children out of how many? You 
cant solve these things one at a time, Benvenuti. And meanwhile, your damn Ozar is coming 
with the Rap Sheet. I have got to get the word out. 

She muscled her way past me and crawled out of the thicket. Once in the open, she stood 
up and glared back down at me. Move, she commanded. We can make good time tonight. 

I obeyed. But somehow, somewhere, in the short time it took for me to gather up my stuff 
and make my way out of the thicket, my own decision crystallized. Decision is hardly the 
word. Some things do not have to be weighed in judgement. 

You go, I said, turning on my heels and heading off toward the castle. 

What are you doing, you idiot? 

I turned and grinned at her. I suspected the expression was murderous. I certainly hoped 
so. 
Providing you with a distraction. 
She stared at me. I sighed heavily. Go, Gwendolyn. We part ways, here. Youre the most 

magnificent woman I ever metIm at least half in love with you, and thats easily the most 
foolish damn thing Ive ever done in my life, not that I regret itbut we part ways here. Our 
loyalties are too different, just as you say. Oppression as such I can ignore, where you 
cannot. But 

I made a vague gesture. I could never paint a girl again. And Im fond of portraying girls. 

I turned away again. Then, a thought came to me, and I twisted my head back to look at 
her. How many was it, that your brother strangled alongside the Comte de lAbbatoir? 
Twelve knights, as I recall? 

She nodded mutely. Im quite sure my responding grin was murderous. I certainly hope 
so. 
Well, I cant hope to match such a feat, of course. But Ill do my best. 


A moment later I was striding off, the distant castle serving as my beacon. By now, with 
the sunset at an end, the castle was nothing more than a jagged shape of darkness against a 
starry night sky. But twas enough, twas enough. 

Approaching the castle unobserved was childs play, since the Baron had left no one on 
watch. And a good thing that was, too, as much noise as I was making trying to clamber 
silently over a stony hill in almost complete darkness. Restraining my curses was even 
more difficult. By the time I reached the ramparts, my legs were bruised and I was 
bleeding from several small cuts. My once-fine Ozarine trousers, never designed for such 
travel at all, were now not much more than tatters. 

Long before I reached the ramparts, however, I was assured by the noise coming from the 
castle that silence was a moot point. As much of a racket as the Baron and his retainers 
were making, they couldnt have heard a bull hammering down a barn door. 

I was relieved, as I drew near, that I was not hearing any girlish screams mixed in with the 
lot. The noise was that of buffoons at their buffoonery, not atrocities in mid-event. I had 
little doubt, of course, that such noises would soon be occurring. But I had made good 
enough time that I was almost certain the festivities were still just getting under way. 
There was this much to be said for the wretched terrain of the Baroniesa man on foot could 
travel almost as fast as a mounted one. 

Once at the outer wall of the castle, I paused and studied it as best I could in the absence 
of moonlight. I found it difficult not to burst into laughter. I was no soldier myself, but 
having been raised by a pack of condottiere uncles I was quite familiar with the methods of 
Ozarine fortification. These were quite absent here. The curtain wall was a rickety pile of 
stones, not too carefully fitted. Mortar was, of course, completely absent. Here and there, a 
desultory attempt to construct something which might be called a battlement could 
vaguely be seen, outlined against the starblaze. But, for the most part, the wall posed no 
more challenge to an attacker than climbing a piles of stones. 

Of course, the ragged nature of the construction did pose a challengea hopeless oneto 
what was left of my trousers. And my fancy Ozarine shoes were about the worst possible 
footwear to use in such a project, even if I hadnt been encumbered by my pack and easel. I 
was tempted to leave the pack and easel at the foot of the wall. But, after a bit of reflection, I 
decided that the pack and easel made a better way to carry my rapier and whip than 
anything else would. I could hardly climb a wall holding them in my hands, after all. 

Needless to say, I picked up several more bruises and cuts on my way up the wall, but the 
climb itself went quickly enough. By the time I reached the top, my principal struggle was 
mental, not physical. Of the many lessons my uncles had drummed into me when it came to 
the matter of mayhem, the first and foremost was: never lose your temper. 

So, I paused for a whilenot longatop the wall, taking the time to regain my composure. 
By the sounds coming from within the castle, the festivities were still at an early enough 
stage that I felt no compulsion to rush in. I could hear the girls voices now, but they seemed 
raised more in sullen protest than anguish. Clearly enough, abuse was such a normal part of 
their lives that they simply viewed this latest outrage as something to be endured. 

I used that last thought to steady my nerves and achieve that state of detached 
murderousness which was one more product of my uncles rigorous training. Ludovigos, in 
particular. Kill as savagely as you can, boy, as long as your blood stays cold. 

Eventually, I decided it was cold enough. I slid off the wall and entered the nearest 


aperture. Id call it a door except the term would be an insult to doors. 

As I made my way through the dank corridors of the castle, I kept a wary eye out for 
servants. By now, Id seen enough of the Baronies to realize that the Baron himself and his 
armed retainers would be entirely engrossed with their entertainment. Gwendolyn had never 
made any mention of a servant class in the Baronies, but I assumed such creatures must 
exist. 

As it happens, I ran across only one. A stooped and furtive fellow, clad in rags, rushing 
from somewherethe kitchen, I presumecarrying a wooden platter laden with meat. I 
shrank back into a dark alcove in the rough wall and let him pass. He did not notice me; 
indeed, he never so much as raised his head from the platter. Servants in the Baronies, I had 
no doubt, soon enough had any sense of alertness beaten out of them. 

His passage did provide me with directions, however. As soon as he was out of sight, I 
followed him, after depositing the sack and easel in the alcove. I dare say my treads were 
those of a predator. I certainly hope so. By now, I was pleased to note, my inner soul had 
achieved my uncles much-vaunted state of mind. I felt as cold-blooded and deadly as a 
viper. 

The noise increased with every step I took. Soon enough, light began to appear in the 
corridorhitherto illuminated by nothing more than an occasional taper in a sconce. The 
light was spilling around a bend up ahead, along with the sounds of carousal. The flickering 
nature of it led me to believe that it emanated from nothing more elaborate than a huge 
fireplace. 

I peeked around the corner andsure enough. Below me, down a short flight of stone 
steps, was the baronial feasting hall. Insofar as that term can be applied to something 
which bore a closer resemblance to a bears den. Off to my left, set into the stone wall, was a 
very large fireplace. Logs within it were burning lustily. 

The Baron himself, clearly enough, was the man seated in a large wooden chair at the base 
of the steps. I deduced he was the Baron because his chair was at the head of the table and 
was the largest of the eight chairs gathered about. It bore a vague resemblancevery vague 
to something you might call a throne. The fact that the servant had stopped by his chair 
first to proffer the platter of meat added further evidence to my surmise. 

Table I said, but the arrangement was actually more complex. Two tablesheavy, 
clumsy wooden thingshad been abutted in an inverted T shape. The shorter of the tables 
made the base of the T, and it was at the foot of that table that the Baron sat. On either side 
of that table sat one of his retainers. His chief lieutenants, I assumed. I recognized the man 
sitting to the Barons right. He was the one who had led the party which captured the two 
girls. 

The table which formed the crosspiece of the T was longer. Five chairs were positioned 
at that table, each of them occupied by one of the ruffians who passed as feudal retainers in 
the Baronies. One man sat at each end of the table, the other three positioned along its 
length facing the Baron. 

As for the girls themselves, the older one was standing in the middle of the long table at 
the end, engaged in what you might call a striptease if the term werent too repulsive for 
the event. She was practically nude by now, her face tight with fear and resentment, being 
rowdily encouraged by the men at her table. 

The younger sisters state of disapparel I could not determine. She was perched on the 


Barons lap, most of her form hidden from me by the back of the chair and the Barons own 
figure. 

I couldnt see the Barons face, a fact which mattered to me not in the least. I was far too 
busy gauging the position of the Baron himself, his armed retainers, and their state of 
inebriation. One man against eight called for a battle plan of some sort. 

In my favor were three things: the fact that the men in the feasting hall were not expecting 
to be attacked, were seated and thus not in good position to resist an attack, and were 
obviously well on their way toward a drunken stupor. So far along, in fact, that I was sorely 
tempted to wait until they were comatose from liquor. But . . . before they reached that state, 
the girls would have been badly abused. 

Against me were also three facts: first, that the men were all armed; second, that however 
crude they might be, they were accustomed to physical mayhem; and, finally, that I was not 
too well armed myself and had no armor of any kind. 

By the time I finished my assessment, the servant had placed the platter of meat on the 
table and was returning toward the hallway in which I lay waiting. I decided to 
begin with that happy circumstance, and moved silently back along the stone 
corridor and into the alcove. There I waited, in full shadow. 

The servant scuttled past, his head down and paying little attention. As soon as he moved 
around the next bend in the hallway, I emerged from the alcove and hoisted the sack and 
easel back onto my shoulders. Then, I followed him around the bend in the hallway. I would 
call it a corner except that the term would be somewhat ridiculous. Whoever had designed 
and built that castle, centuries earlier, had obviously never heard of either a plumb bob or a 
level, much less a T square. 

He was not hard to follow. His crude footworkwooden clogs held onto his feet with 
leather stripsmade quite a racket clumping along the rough stone floor. 

Soon enough, I found myself looking into the castles kitchen. The servant was there, 
digging some more meat out of a great kettle on a crude stove while a heavyset female cook 
clucked at him to hurry up. There was no one else in the room. 

I examined the kettle and decided I was strong enough to carry it fairly easily. I thought a 
big pot full of boiling hot water would even the odds quite a bit. The decision made, I 
reached over my shoulder, drew the rapier from its hidden sheath in the easel, and strode 
into the kitchen. 

The servant and the cook, as dull-witted as grinding menial labor usually makes people, 
didnt even notice me until the point of the rapier was at the mans throat. 

Silence, I commanded. 

The servants face grew pale, that of the cook grew red. 

Es come to kill thBaron, croaked the servant. 

Kin I watch? asked the woman eagerly. 

Well. That settled one questionwhether the Barons servants would attempt to protect 
their lord and master. Settled it, at least, so far as the woman was concerned. The mans face 
seemed to grow even paler, almost ashen, as if the prospect of the Barons death brought him 
no pleasure at all. 

Stupid woman, he hissed. Well be blamed, wife! 
His words immediately erased the glee in the cooks expression. Her face became as pale 
as the mans. 
I had not foreseen that complication. Why would they blame you? I asked. 


The servant swallowed, his eyes riveted on the rapier. I withdrew the blade a few inches 
from his throat. After swallowing, he croaked: Allus blame thservants, when somethin goes 
wrong. Thother Baronsll say wes done it. Kill us both. Kill half thpeasants on the Barony, 
too. 

Damnation. 

Something of my chagrin must have shown. The cook examined me more closely. Yer not 
from thBaronies, sir, she whispered. Me husbands got thright of it. 

My mind raced, trying to find a way out of the impasse. A thought came to me. 

What happened when Greyboar the Strangler did for the Comte de lAbbatoir and his 
Knights Companion? I demanded. Were the Comtes servants and peasants slain 
afterward? 

The servant and his wife ogled me as if I were an imbecile. 

Well, o course not! choked the servant. The great Greyuh, the vile stranglerslew 
em all, you know, most flamboyant like. Couldna possibly been done by no servants. Nor no 
peasants, neither. 

Tied they necks into knots, e did! gurgled his wife, glee returning to her face. 

I thought on the problem a moment more. This time, with the mind of an artist rather 
than a swordsman. The solution came almost at once. 

Flamboyance, is it? I said gaily. I dare say I can manage that. 

I lowered the rapier. Clearly enough, there was no longer any need to threaten them. I 
glanced around the kitchen, seeing several large and crudely made cabinets. Do you have 
flour? I asked the cook. 

She nodded mutely. Lots of it? Again, she nodded. 

Excellent. Get it out. I eased the sack off my shoulders and rummaged in it for a 
moment, before withdrawing the bullwhip. Then, I began removing my blouse. 
The husband was gaping at me. I assume the Baron had enemies, I stated confidently. 
The servant seemed to have been struck dumb. But his wife, returning from a cabinet with 
a barrel in her arms, chuckled harshly. Plenty! 

Did he kill any of them? Especially, any that were of approximately my height and build? 

She set the barrel of flour down on a nearby bench, straightened, and examined me 
closely. None so purty as you. But Sieur Henri de Pouilleux were as tall, iffn no so broad-shouldered. 


Hell do. How did the Baron kill him? 

Stabt im inna back, ow else? Thsword went clean trough im. 

How else, indeed, I agreed cheerfully. Clean through him, you say? Better and better! 

By now I was bare from the waist up. I seized the husband by the scruff of the neck and 
shook him a bit, to clear his head. Come to your senses, damn you! I mean you no harm. I 
motioned toward the barrel with my hand. Start smearing that flour all over me. Everything 
except my hair. 

His jaw snapped shut. A moment later, he hastened to obey. While he did so, I turned 
back to the cook. 

Some meat paste. Coldlukewarm at leastnot hot. Fortunately, she was either 
quicker-witted than her husband or less confused, so I was not forced to shake her as well. 
By the time her husband was halfway through the process of coating me with flour, the cook 
had returned with some greasy meat paste on a wooden spatula. 

By then, my plans were made. Smear it here, and here, I commanded, pointing to a spot 


just above my kidney and on the corresponding side of my stomach, just opposite. I rather 
doubt thats exactly where the Baron stabbed the Sieur, but it hardly matters. I dare say the 
surviving eyewitness will not remember the fine details. 

She smeared the meat paste over the spots indicated. I couldnt see the result on my back, 
but the one on my belly made quite a gruesome-looking imitation of a wound. In dim 
lighting, at leastwhich was all there was in that misbegotten castle. 

And thats it! I exclaimed softly. The scene is set. 

The cook and the servant were back to ogling me. I gave them a cheerful smileit must 
have looked ghastly, my face covered with flourand dug into my pack again. This time, 
retrieving a poignard in a sheath which I thrust into my belt. 

I gestured at my sack and easel, lying on the floor. Do watch over them, would you? And 
Id suggest you clean up the evidence while Im gone. This shouldnt take long. 

I spun and bounded into the hallway leading back to the feasting hall. I saw no reason for 
any further delay. 

I paused briefly, at the entrance to the feasting, simply to assure myself that no great 
change had taken place. The girl doing the striptease on the table was now completely nude; 
the sister in the Barons lap seemed even more unhappy than ever; the retainers drunker. 
But other than that, the scene remained essentially the same. 

All of which, I was delighted to see, came together quite perfectly. I took but a moment to 
assess the rest of the enterprise, and was then bounding down the stairs. I would say 
gleefully, but I assure you I maintained my cold blood throughout. Even my uncles would 
have approved. 

Revenge! I bellowed. Face me, Baron! The Sieur Henri has returned! 

Bullfighting is, of course, a popular sport in Ozarae. And while my uncles disapprove of 
the pastime, they did not fail to train me a bit in that art as well. I dare say my rapier went 
right through the back of the Barons neck and severed his spine as neatly as any matador 
could have done. 

That splendid enterprise having been achieved, I moved on to the next. Being as I am 
right-handed, the choice was obvious. Two quick steps brought me past the Barons 
skewered form, gushing blood onto his platter. I now stood on open floor to his left. The girl, 
I was pleased to note, sprang off his lap immediately. The lieutenant seated just in front of 
me was gaping drunkenly at the Barons throat, from which a good foot of my blade 
protruded. The man across from himthe girls original captorwas staring at me as if he 
was looking at a ghost. 

Which, of course, he was. 

And you as well! I bellowed. Vengeance is mine! I had no idea, of course, if the 
lieutenant had played any part in the Sieur de Pouilleuxs demise. But it hardly seemed to 
matter. In the Baronies, I was quite certain, revenge was a sloppy affair. 

The lieutenants mouth opened and he began to squall in terror. The squall was cut short 
by the tip of my whip, coiling around his neck like a boa. I seized the handle with both hands 
and, with a great and titanic heave, jerked him right out of his chair and sprawled both him 
and the table onto the man seated before me. The whole lot ended up in a very nice and tidy 
jumble. 

I am quite a powerful man, as I believe Ive mentioned. As the captor more or less sailed 
across the table, I heard his neck break as cleanly as even my uncle Larue could have asked. 
Three downtwo, at least, and the third was tangled upfive to go. The problem now, of 


course, was disentangling the whip. Normally I can accomplish that with a flick of the wrist, 
but in this instance the whip was enmeshed with two bodies, one of which was writhing on 
the floor with a corpse and a table on top of him. 

I gave a quick glance at the five men at the other table and decided I had time to kill two 
birds with one stone. As it were. All five retainers at the far table were still seated, like so 
many statues. Their eyes were wide, their mouths agape, their faces pale. Clearly enough, 
they had no doubt at all that the ghost of the Sieur was present. If they even noticed the fine 
spray of flour I was shedding all about, they were too dull-witted to understand what it 
signified. Or mistook the flour mist, in the flickering light from the fireplace, as a ghostly 
aura. 

I dropped the handle of the whip, knelt, and smote the other lieutenant a mighty blow of 
my fist. I suspect I broke his jaw. Even if I hadnt, hed play no role in the ensuing events 
other than being a witness when the servants needed one. 

That done, it was the work of only a few seconds to retrieve the whip. By the time I 
advanced upon the remaining five men, they were finally scrambling to their feet. As I had 
counted on, their state of drunkenness was impeding their reactions as well as compounding 
their superstitious horror. One of them, I saw with delightno, two!had urinated in their 
trousers. 

There seemed no purpose to varying a successful tune. Revenge is mine! I cried, 
springing toward them. The Sieur Henri! 

The one closest to me, at my end of the long table, spilled his chair in rising. Have 
mercy! he shrieked, fumbling at his sword. 

By then, I had the whip handle in my left hand and the poignard in my rightheld by the 
blade, ready for throwing. For an instant, I hesitated. The mans throat was unprotected, but 
made a chancy target. The chest 

I decided that his mangy armorlacquered leather strips, with only a scrap of iron here 
and therewould pose no obstacle to my heavy and finely-made poignard. Neither would 
the sternum beyond. Not for someone like me, trained by my uncles. 

Nor did it. The poignards blade went right through the lot as neatly as you could ask, 
piercing the heart and not stopping until the hilt struck what was left of the armor. The 
impact knocked the man flat on his posterior. He sat there, staring at me in shock for a 
moment. Then, coughed a great deal of blood and collapsed altogether. 

Four down, four to go. From here, of course, the enterprise ascended in difficulty. The four 
survivors were now on their feet, swords in hand. All of them were bellowing with fear, true, 
but men such as those will react with violence to almost anything. I was counting on their 
superstitious terror to lessen the odds, and the liquor theyd consumed to dull their 
alertnesswhich, judging from the large amounts of said liquids spilling all over the table 
and floor from upended flagons, was none too alert. 

Still, there were four of them, one of me, and they were armed and armored. Two of them 
even had the presence of mind to seize the table and upend it, clearing an open space in 
which to fight. The girl atop the table leapt off nimbly just as it went over, landing on her feet 
and scampering aside. I heard her shouting something at her younger sister, but didnt catch 
the words. 

The first thing to do, needless to say, was to break up the rough formation which the 
four men were taking. As drunk and terrified as they were, they had enough fighting instinct 
to form a line. 


A maneuver! I shouted. Against de Pouilleux? Useless! Revenge is mine! 

To be successful, maneuvers presuppose a certain amount of celerity and nimbleness. 
Neither of which was a strong suit of such fellowsand both of which were a strong suit of 
mine. (Again, you will recognize, the result of my uncles rigorous regimen.) 

So it was no great feat to scamper around them to the left, double up the whip, and then 
use it two-handed as something of a flexible club to hammer the man closest to me into a 
state which approximated senselessness. Turning their flank, as it were. 

My victim seemed a bit shocked by my tactics. Hard to tell, of course. I suspect the man 
was so stupid that the tactics of a tortoise would have shocked him. In any event, his 
sentiments were short-lived. A doubled-up bullwhip lashing a mans arms and face 
knocking his sorry excuse for a helmet askew in the processwill daze even a genius. His 
neck then exposed, I danced back two steps, unfurled the full length of the whip, and cracked 
it once. The armored tip of the weapon opened his jugular vein as well as a razor could have 
done it. 

From there I was expecting the affair to turn desperate. A whip is a dazzling weapon, true 
enough, but not really very practical in a melee facing determined opponents. It simply 
requires too much room, either on a battlefield ormore to the pointin a feasting hall. So I 
abandoned it, but not before one final lash coiled around one of the retainers legs and, with 
a jerk, upended him on the floor. 

Two left, now, and a third out of the action for at least a moment or so. That left me, 
wearing nothing but tattered clothes and a coating of flour, unarmed, facing two armored 
and sword-wielding opponents. As I said, a desperate affair. 

Except 

Facing determined opponents proved to be a misnomer. The two surviving retainers, as 
brutal as they might be, were not the stuff of heroes. They ogled me, ogled the carnage 
blood and wine and ale and shattered furniture everywhereogled their cursing fellow 
rolling around on the floor frantically trying to disentangle the whip from his knees . . . 

Then dropped their swords and raced for the entrance to the feasting hall, shrieking with 
terror. I stared after them, too astonished to react immediately. 

Along the way, the ruffians passed the two sisters huddled against the wall. The older girl 
stuck out her leg. A little leg, it was, but it was enough to send the first of them sprawling 
onto the stone steps. His companion trampled him under on his way up the stairs. 

That callous disregard for comradeship proved to be fruitless. When the man reached the 
stop of the stairs there was a sudden flurry of motion in the darkness of the corridor bend 
beyond. I saw him stiffen, his head jerking, and heard what sounded like a little gasp. Then 
he turned and staggered back down, clutching his throat. Blood gushed from between his 
fingers. 

Again, when he reached his still-prostrate fellow trying to rise, he trampled him under. 
That effort seemed to use up his strength, however, and he collapsed in a heap. His fellow 
was just getting to his knees, shaking his head to clear the daze, when Gwendolyn came 
down the stairs and used that great cleaver of hers to sever his spine with one blow. She then 
stalked over to the man still trying to disentangle the whip from his legs, dropped to one 
knee, jerked his head back, and practically cut his throat to the bone. All this, somehow, 
without getting a drop of blood on her. 

I stared at her. She stared at me. Then she burst into laughter. 

God, you look ridiculous! 


I spread my arms and studied myself ruefully. I dont suppose thered be a laundry 
anywhere in this castle? I complained. Whats left of my clothes looks like a butchers 
apron. Between the flour and the blood . . . 

Gwendolyn began cleaning her blade on the corpses clothing. A laundry? she chuckled. 
Not likely. 

She sheathed the cleaver, rose, and pointed to the corpse. Youll have to make do with 
odds and ends of their clothing. Your owns pretty well ruined. 

I studied the garments in question with considerable distaste, foreseeing a problem with 
lice. Im not giving up my shoes, I grumbled. Not for those things. 

Again, she chuckled. The sound seemed oddly forced. When I looked at her, she was 
shaking her head and her eyes seemed even darker than usual. 

You are absolutely insane, Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini, she whispered. Also 
magnificent. 

I moved toward her, wanting an embrace. And so, I think, did she. But she placed a hand 
on my chest and held me off. Please, she whispered. Not now. I think Im half in love with 
you myselfmore than half, to tell the truthbut its still insane. Besides, my leather would 
look silly with flour all over it. 

Abruptly she turned away and studied the two girls. The sisters had not left the hall, but 
they were standing on their feet now. Standing and staring at us, their eyes as wide as 
saucers. 

Warn your families, commanded Gwendolyn. Youll have to stay hidden for a while. 
They nodded jerkily. Gwendolyn strode over and studied the one surviving retainer 
closely. Then turned away, apparently satisfied. 

He wont recover consciousness for hours. Plenty of time to finish setting the scene. She 
studied me again, this time very approvingly. I wouldnt have thought you could be such a 
clever bastard. Its almost scary. 

She jerked her head toward the entrance. I assume you made arrangements with the 
servants? Thats the reason for your weird appearance? 
I nodded. By then, the two girls had advanced and were standing not far from Gwendolyn. 
But both of them still had their eyes fixed upon me. 
Whyd you do it? asked the older. 

Gwendolyn explained. When she was finished, the two sisters were practically hopping up 
and down in fury. 
You were on a critical mission for The Cause and thisthis The youngest girl was 
pointing a finger of outrage and accusation at me. 

JAccuse! shrilled the older, pointing an identical finger. 

Rampant petty-boojoy individualism! hollered the younger. 

Sabotaging the class struggle for the sake of romantic sentimentalism! hollered the 
older. 
The two little fingers never wavered in their condemnation. I gaped at them. Gwendolyn 
burst into laughter. 
Welcome to Grotum, Benvenuti, she gasped. Whereahwe take our ideology 
seriously. 

The two sisters lowered their fingers. Certainly do, they muttered fiercely. 

I fear I was still gaping. The youngest sister squinted at me. Whats his problem? Is he a 


halfwit or something? 

Hes from Ozar. 

Again, the two fingers. Imperialist stooge! shrilled the younger. The imperialist 
himself! countered her older and wiser sister. In the flesh! 

Gwendolyn cleared her throat. He did rescue the two of you, you might remember. 

The two fingers lowered; then, wiped little noses. Well, said the younger. Thats true. A 
moment later, grudgingly: Thanks. 

The older was made of sterner stuff. Still an outrage, she muttered. Id call it treason to 
the revolution exceptshe eyed me suspiciouslyyou probably never was part of it 
nohow. 

Certainly not, said Gwendolyn firmly. Enough of this, girls. Benvenuti meant well, and 
thats enough. Youre too damn young to be making ideological pronouncements anyway. 

The two sisters transferred their suspicious squints to her. 

Is that so? demanded the younger. 

And just who exactly are you? echoed her sister crossly. 

Im Gwendolyn Greyboar. Which is a name Id just as soon you forgot because 

She got no further. The suspicious looks had vanished, replaced byI will swear to it!the 
saucer-wide eyes of sheer adulation. Then came the squeals of hero worship. 
Heroine worship, I should say. None of those girlish peals of enthusiasm were directed my 
way. 

Gwendolyn Greyboar! I cant BELIEVE it! 

Right HERE! In the FLESH! 

On and on and on. They even managed to rouse the unconscious retainer. Not for long, of 
course. I was in quite a foul enough mood by then to have broken a horses jaw. 

And so it was, in the hours that passed thereafter, after we left the castle and the peasants 
in the area heard the news, that Gwendolyn was surrounded by a mob at all times. Pestering 
her with questions about the latest news of the revolution; asking her to clarify fine points of 
doctrine; and, as often as not, just staring at her as if she were an icon come to life. 

As for myself, I was largely ignored. Save, of course, for never-ending suspicious squints 
and the occasional pointing finger of warning and accusation. 

About noon the next day, the servant and the cook were seen carrying the surviving 
retainer in a mule-drawn cart toward the nearest Baron in the area. The retainer had 
regained his senses, more or less, but his jaw was swathed in a crude bandage. 

The servant and cook were playing their part to perfection, according to the peasant who 
brought the news. Repercussions were not to be feared. Clearly enough, no one in the 
Baronies not privy to the truth would have any doubt that the spirit of the Sieur de Pouilleux 
had committed the massacre. Superstition was as common to the area as potatoes. 

None of this, of course, allayed the peasantrys hostile attitude toward me. As Gwendolyn 
and I made to leave the area, the parting words of the common folk were spoken more or less 
in a chorus. 

Dump the imperialist, Gwendolyn! Beware the Ozarine snake! And so on, and so forth. 
Quite tedious, it was. 

Once we were finally out of sight, I gave vent to my spleen. At some length, as I recall. 
When I was done, Gwendolyn smiled. Then, stopped me in my tracks with a hand on my 


shoulders. Dont pout. For whatever its worth, I dont think youre an imperialist snake. A 
dinosaur, maybe, but not a snake. 

Well, thats something, I muttered. Progress of sorts, I guess. 

I started to say something else but was cut off by a fierce kiss. A quick one, true, but fierce. 
The sensation which went down my spine was equally fierce. 
Be quiet, she whispered. Lets just get to the Mutt. Then . . . well see what happens. 
As usual, the damn woman was decisive and quick-moving. I hadnt time to recover from 

that incredible kiss before she was striding off. Now, move! No time for your sluggard 
Ozarine ways, Benvenuti the Gallant! Youve just made the Baronies even more dangerous 
than usual. 

That night, as we lay together in another thicket, Gwendolyns hands upon me were softer 
than they had been before. Almost caressing, now; and my own, the same. The touches were 
not those of lovemaking. The tight quarters would have made that quite impossible, leaving 
aside anything else. But if sheand I, for that matterstill thought our feelings for each 
other were well-nigh insane, neither of us would any longer pretend they didnt exist. 

When we emerged from the thicket at sundown the next day, Gwendolyn studied me for a 
moment. The furs and assorted leather rags I was now clad in seemed to meet her approval. 
But when her eyes fell upon my feet, she chuckled and shook her head. 

When we reach the Mutt, we really have to get you a decent pair of boots. Those 
thingsyoure wearing are almost worn out, and besides, Id be too embarrassed to be seen 
with you. Me, Gwendolyn Greyboar, cozy with an Ozarine down to his pointed patent leather 
shoes! No, it just wont do. 


 
PART IX 


In Which, Sad 
to Relate, Our Narration 
of the Further Adventures of 
the Wizard and His Loyal But Stupid 
Apprentice is Cast Into Disarray 
By a Truly Unfortunate 
Chroniclers Mishap. 


CHAPTER X. 

The Dwarfs Question. The Wizards Reproof. The Dwarfs Question. The Wizards 

Reproof. The Dwarfs Question. The Wizards Bemusement. The Dwarf Is 

Dispatched On a Perilous JourneyInto the Very Darkest Interior of the Sack! 

Adventures Too Overwhelming to Relate In Detail! Alas! Suffice It To Say 

Why did he say that, master? queried Shelyid, as the coach lurched into motion. His 
question was in regard to the drivers announcement that passengers should bring their own 
provisions for the first two days of the journey, as no roadway inn could be constructed in the 
Drear. 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. More to the point, gnome, is the question: Why did he say that 
three seconds before departure, thus ensuring that no time would be available for the 
acquisition of said necessities? An outrage! He fell into a brooding silence, which lasted the 
length of the coachs voyage through the gates of the Caravanserai and out into the Drear 
beyond. 

Then did the dwarf speak again. 

But why did he say that, master? 

What? demanded Zulkeh, frowning fiercely at the runt. Why did he say that? Because he is a 
churl, dolt, employed by a churlish firm! 

But why, master? persisted Shelyid. 

Why? Why? Why? cried Zulkeh, his wrath now steeping to the surface. Wherefore am I 
plagued by these imbecile inquiries? I have already explained why, diminutive cretin! 

B-but, stammered the dwarf, why cant they build a roadway inn in the Drear, master? 


Zulkeh leaned back in his seat, clearly taken aback. Why, because A moments silence. 
Quite amazing. I dont know the answer to that question. Most amazing. He stroked his 
beard thoughtfully, gazing out the window onto the barren vastness of the Drear. 

For many long minutes did the wizard muse after this fashion, until the Caravanserai had 
long since disappeared below the southern horizon. At length, Shelyid became so bold as to 
make a whispered suggestion to his master. 

Maybe you could ask one of these people on the coach, master. Theyve probably lived 
here for years. 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Am I to waddle about in the swamp of empiricism, like a child in 
his sandbox? No, dwarf, the truth is found in books. The question iswhich book? 

More long moments of silence. Then did the gleam of understanding come into the 
wizards eyes. 

Of course! he spoke. Shelyid, fetch me the Chronicle of Edward the Confusor. 

Shelyid blanched. B-but . . . but. He gulped. Do I have to, master? This last in a 
piteous wail. 

A frown gathered on Zulkehs brow as quickly as the storm clouds of the north amass 
themselves about the awesome granite slabs of Mount Pud. Do you question my command, 
gnome? he demanded. 

N-no, butbut stammered Shelyid. 

Silence! stormed Zulkeh. Perform your duty as I bade you! 

Realizing that all resistance was useless, and quite obviously regretting the innocent 
question which had led him to such a pass, Shelyid sighed, gathered up his courage, and 
went to seek out the appointed tome in the wizards sack. 

Now, the gentle reader is no doubt perplexed by this attitude on the part of the dwarf. Of 
course, it will have become transparent to the gentle reader through his perusal of the 
preceding pages of this chronicle that the dwarf Shelyid was not, shall we say, blessed with 
leonine audacity. Nonetheless, it must appear bizarre that Shelyid should exhibit such 
cravenness when faced with the routine task of extracting a volume from a sack. 

Ah, dear reader, do not so malign the poor dwarf! His fear was well-founded. For 
remember, this was no ordinary sack! No, no. Any comparison between the wizard Zulkehs 
sack and the traveling pack of any common voyager would be mistaken in the extreme. 

For this pack was a wizards pack, and that of a well-traveled and prodigiously learned 
wizard to boot. Thus not only was it voluminousnay, hugenay, elephantinein its 
proportions, containing as it did every single item of every bizarre description which the 
mage had accumulated in his long and varied lifetime; not only was the internal ordering 
and arrangement of that multitude of sorcerous materials mazelike in its dimensions; not 
only was it filled with many a noisome specimen, many a sharp instrument, and many a 
perilous artifact; not only was all this true, but Shelyid must have known as well, dim-witted 
though he was, that the many days of arduous and jostling travel would inevitably have 
rearranged the objects of the interior into a new kaleidoscope in which he stood a fair chance 
of losing his way for days, and would as well have brought to sullen life the divers 
intelligences (not all of them animate) which lurked therein. 

Mind you, in most instances no problem was posed in extracting the object of Zulkehs 
desire from the pack. For the wizard, like all professional menthough he would have 
bitterly challenged this statementrelied for the most part upon only a small portion of his 
accumulated treasures. For just as a scholar may have shelf after shelf in his library lined 


with the most obscure tomes, journals and scrolls, yet does he still rely for the most part on a 
handful of essential works: the encyclopedias, the classics, and so forth. So it was also with 
the wizard, and when Shelyid had packed up the sack, he had taken great care to place these 
items of common usage at or near its surface. But now, it seemed, his preparations had been 
in vain. Into the heart of the interior must he go! 

And so it was that Shelyid went into the sack, in that bouncing coach on its way to Prygg, 
and did not emerge for many hours. Alas, dear reader, our tale lengthens overmuch already, 
and so we cannot chronicle Shelyids adventures that day. Alas! For verily those adventures 
were epic in their scale! 

Suffice it to say that many a time did Shelyid lose his way and tremble in fear lest he starve 
before finding the book and blessed egress. Suffice it to say that the rearrangement of the 
interior of the sack would have provided more than ample evidence for Shelyid to have from 
its study, had he the wits, derived brilliant treatises on heretofore unknown aspects of 
Brownian motion and entropy. Suffice it to say that he nearly became asphyxiated on the 
fumes of the noxious ragweed specimen with which the wizard bribed the lower classes of 
demons whom he conjured up on occasion. Suffice it to say that for many terrifying 
moments was he locked in mortal combat with the normally lethargic Great Newt of Obpont, 
now risen from its torpor and filled with the venomous rage which is that beasts 
distinguishing characteristica combat made more difficult for the gnome by his knowledge 
that the wizard prized the monster highly and would thus overfill with spleen should 
Shelyid, in his frenzied efforts to prevent his devourment by the amphibious carnivore, cause 
the creature to come to harm. Suffice it to say that at length the dwarf succeeded in bottling 
the vicious predator in an unused vial, only then to fall into a pool of that unnamed and 
unnameable fluid whose presence in various pockets and folds of the sack was made 
necessary for the sustenance of that very amphibian horror of which I have just spokenand 
of that fluid itself, of its nature and its effects upon the human much less the dwarf body, I 
will say nothing, lest the gentle reader discontinue in his nausea the further perusal of our 
tale. Suffice it to say that at length the dwarf found the book in question, seized it by frontal 
assault, and escaped at length the maddened pursuit of the band of club-wielding imps for 
whom, alas, the tome was their tribal totem. Suffice it to say that as the sun began its descent 
over the western horizon, Shelyid emerged from the sack, book in hand, and handed it over 
to his master. Surfeit it to say that that that that that that that 


CHAPTER XI. 

In Which the Wizard Acquaints Himself With His New Traveling Companions, the 
Florid and Well-Dressed Man of Some Middle Years, the Imperious Dowager La 
Madame, and the Warden and His Young Prisoner, Newly Convicted of Stealing 
Bread From Mother Ednas Bakery (a Subsidiary of the Consortium). A Dialogue 
Between Zulkeh and the Youth, With Our Heros Remonstrances Concerning Law 
and Reason Countered by the Unrepentant Miscreants Discourse on Poverty and 
Its Effects. A Visit From the Forces of Law Themselves, and Their Representatives 
Unfortunate Experience With La Madames Dog. A Villain Strikes Again! Pursuit. 
A Villain Strikes Again! 

It is with great regret that I must now inform the gentle reader of a most unfortunate 
episode in the history of my ancestors compilation of their chronicle. Or rather, two 
unfortunate episodes. 

The gentle reader will perhaps have noticed two recent oddments in our chronicle, to wit, 
that the preceding chapter ended in a somewhat peculiar manner, and that the chapter 
heading above is unwontedly fulsome and verbose. This results from the fact that the 
chapter heading was not written by Alfred CCLVI, but by his successor, the notorious Alfred 

CCLVII. For know, gentle reader, that Shelyids odyssey in the wizards sack, recounted in 
the previous chapter, had as one of its unforeseen effects the untimely demise of the great 
Alfred CCLVI. For though my ancestor faithfully mentioned the dire effects of the unnamed 
and unnameable fluid which filled various niches of that sack upon the human and dwarf 
body, he neglected to consider the possible effects upon the louse body. And, as it happens, 
these effects are most disastrous in their effects and most precipitous in their onset. 
Shortly after the encounter with the unnamed and unnameable fluid, Alfred CCLVI was 
smitten by a most terrible seizure, the which not only caused his mandibles to vibrate like a 
tuning fork and his appendages to quiver like stalks in the breeze, but also made it quite 
impossible for him to continue in his duties, inasmuch as his every heroic attempt to do so 
and there were many!led to so much nonsensical gibberish. 

Thereafter, though his mandibles and appendages ceased their disorderly motion, Alfred 
CCLVI fell into a deep lassitude. Try as he might, and despite the exhortations of the many 
members of our lousely clan which gathered about, he was unable to take pen in foreleg until 
the excitement which ensued following the reappearance of the villain Rascogne de 
Sevigneois. Then, most nobly, did Alfred CCLVI rise and scribble the accounts of that 
episode, upon the completion of which he dropped dead. 


The chapter heading was thus written by his successor, Alfred CCLVII, of whose 
eccentricities we will become all too shortly acquainted. But before I take up that regrettable 
piece of my clans history, I will present the final pages of the illustrious Alfred CCLVIs 
career, that his name might shine forth in history. Only this portion of the chapter exists. 

Halt! 

The coach screeched to a halt. The occupants peered out the window, there to perceive a 
body of horsemen. 

Its Sheriff Pike and the Posse! exclaimed the florid and well-dressed man of some 
middle years. 

And who are they? demanded the imperious dowager La Madame. 

The local law enforcement agency, Madame, explained Zulkeh, if such they can be 
called. 

And what do they wish? demanded the imperious dowager La Madame. 

Her answer was provided by the Sheriff himself. Were looking for Rascogne de 
Sevigneois, the notorious highwayman! Do not move until Ive inspected the coach! The 
Sheriff trotted his horse over to the coach window in order to search the interior. Pushing 
down the peak of his pique hat to cover his widows peak and peeking through the window, 
Pikes pique peaked as La Madames peke bit him on his peak of a nose. 

How piquant! exclaimed the imperious dowager La Madame. 

[Chroniclers note: These last sentencesgrotesque and baroquewere, of course, the 
penultimate symptom of Alfred CCLVIs fatal condition, which even now approached its 
sad end.] 

Vicious beast, growled the Sheriff, but he forbore further quarrel. 

The highwaymans not here! he announced to the Posse. Then, to the driver: You may 
be off! 
But, just as the coach began to move, a new voice cried out. 
Stand and deliver! 
The coach stopped again. The passengers leaned out the window. Imagine their 

astonishment when they perceived that where had seemed to stand the Sheriff and the 
Posse, stood instead, none other than Rascogne de Sevigneois himself. 
It is I, Rascogne de Sevigneois, cleverly disguised as the Sheriff and the Posse! Descend 

and be robbed! 

The driver, guard, and all the passengers climbed down from the coach. 

Why is the youth so illy treated? demanded the highwayman, seeing the prisoner 
shackled to the warden. Upon hearing the explanation, Rascogne smiled at the youth and 
said, Fear not! I shall not permit such injustice to continue! 

It took but a moment for the rascal to strip the passengers of their wealth. Upon seeing the 
wizard and Shelyid, he said, So! We meet again! Here the impudent rogue seized Shelyid 
by the nape and suspended him in midair, turning the gnome this way and that. The dwarf 
did protest this treatmentindeed, he swung his little fists most energetically at the 
highwayman, but all to no avail. 

A snarl-friend, eh? mused Rascogne, inspecting the dwarf from every angle. Most 
strange, most strange. 
He deposited Shelyid back on the ground. Then, looking about at the other passengers, he 
demanded: But where is La Contessa and her decrepit but doughty spouse? He stroked his 


mustachios. I confess I was much taken by the fair lady. 

Shelyid, his indignation replaced by concern, cried out, Oh, its horrible! They threw her 
in prisonher and Il Conde both, because he wouldnt pay the Consortiums fine! 

What? demanded Rascogne. O infamous deed! And where are they held? In the 
Caravanserai gaol? 

Shelyid nodded. 

Rascognes face flushed with anger. A most ferocious smile, like unto a wolfs, spread 
across his features. He stroked his mustachios vigorously. 

Well! he exclaimed. We shall have to deal with thismost certainly! 

Just then a cry was heard. Its Rascogne de Sevigneois! After him, men! Turning, all saw 
that a sizable body of men had appeared on the eastern horizon. 

Its the Hue and Cry! exclaimed the driver. 

Rascogne bounded onto his horse. A chase! A merry chase! he cried gaily, and galloped 
away over the western horizon. A moment later his pursuers pounded past the coach, a 
motley horde of ruffianly bounty hunters seeking the reward for the highwaymans head. 

Ah, malediction, spoke Zulkeh. The villain has struck again! 

Suddenly the florid and well-dressed man of some middle years pointed to the northern 
horizon. Look! 

Turning, all saw Rascogne de Sevigneois furiously galloping toward the coach, pursued 
now not only by the Hue and Cry but also by the Lynch Mob and the Band of Outraged 
Fathers and Husbands. The highwayman pounded up to the coach, cleaved the manacles 
binding the youth with one blow of his sword, swept the erstwhile prisoner onto his saddle, 
and galloped away over the southern horizon. A moment later his pursuers mounted past the 
coach, leaving the dust of a small army in their wake. 

Ah, malediction, spoke Zulkeh. The villain has struck again! 

Such were the last words penned by the illustrious Alfred CCLVI, to whom we bid a sad 
adieu. Sad, first, for the untimely passing of this great chronicler in the prime of his powers. 
Sadder still, for his demise led to the succession of Alfred CCLVII. 

Every great line has blots on its escutcheon, and Alfred CCLVII is one of the greater ones 
on the noble clan of the Alfredae. To begin with, Alfred CCLVII was a mere apprentice at the 
time of his ascension to the inkwell. Heretofore, under the tutelage of Alfred CCLVIwho 
was known not to be overly admiring of his studenthe had been restricted to the writing of 
chapter headings. This necessary, but of course not sufficient, aspect of the chroniclers 
trade, was known by all Alfredae to be his sole skill, in which, truth be told, he was not 
skillful. 

And here lay the first of his two great faults. Of the second of these, his grotesque 
egomania, I will speak in a moment. But the first of his faults was perhaps even worse. For 
Alfred CCLVII was given, even in the writing of chapter headings, to verbosity. 

Know, gentle reader, and I speak here as an experienced and accomplished chronicler in 
my own right (as the gentle reader has already had occasion to judge, from his perusal of 
these preceding pages of our tale), that of all the sins and foibles which afflict the writerbe 
that writer a scribe or a scribbler, a diarist or a dramatist, a narrator or a notarythere is 
none so foul, so odious, so disreputable, so arrant, so untoward, so deplorable, so infamous 
and so peccant as verbosity, yes, I say again, verbosity, that malignant cancer of the 
narrators craft, which, under its many nameswhether those be the names preferred by the 


educated gentility: wordiness, long-windedness, prolixity, superfluity or garrulity; or yet 
those more exact and fine-focused terms which are the natural optation of the scholar, the 
rigor of whose training in the necessity of precise meaning naturally leads them to such 
labels as: longiloquence, largiloquence, grandiloquence, multiloquence, polylogy and 
rodomontade, not to mention the yet-more-technical terms of the specialist: nimiety, 
pleonasm and amphigory (or amphigouri, as the purists insist); or those euphemisms which 
are, not surprisingly, the terms of choice of the verbose themselves, I speak here of: 
circumlocution, loquacity and eloquence; or even, for we should not in natural pride of our 
intellect and refinement ignore their cultural contributions, meager and crude though these 
be, the coarse epithets which are oft heard from the lips of the uneducated and unwashed: 
chatter, jabber, prattle, gabble, babble, blabber and blatherwreaks the greatest havoc of all 
the literary vices upon the heart of literature and narrative itself, that heart being, although 
most (even exceptionally well-read) literates are unconscioussay rather, not fully 
consciouseven of its existence, much less its centrality, the fundamental bond of trust 
which develops twixt writer and reader as these twain intersect, though indirectly and at a 
distance (a distance measured not simply in space but in time), without which education 
itself becomes an impossibility, for the reader becomes wearied and overtaxed, and thus 
loses his concentration, indeed, even his interest, whilewhat is worse!the writer loses all 
sense of the purpose of his craft, the which is not to aggrandize himself, in a frivolous display 
of empty virtuosity, but to impart to the reader the pith and the meat of the tale which he 
tells, and in so doing, loses all grasp on reality and reason, falling thus further and further 
into the fell sway of those psychologic disorders which we know as solipsism and egomania. 

Even so was Alfred CCLVII struck down by his vice. For not only did this callow youth 
know nothing of his trade save the writing of chapter headings, but once come to the 
Alfredship, he proclaimed his very vice a virtue! It was astonishing! This crazy little louse 
began strutting about, telling one and all that chapter headings were the essence of 
narrative, indeed, all of narration that was significant! 

And sohere I come to the heart of the matterit is with great regret that I must inform 
the gentle reader that the next few chapters of my ancestors chronicle exist, alas, only in the 
form of chapter headings. But do not despair! For the Alfredae were and are a stern breed. 
Once it became apparent that the newly-penned Alfred was a madlouse, the clan did meet in 
full assembly and with no further ceremony did seize the apostate and maroon him on a 
passing peddler. And so was Alfred CCLVII succeeded by Alfred CCLVIII, of whose narrative 
skills nothing but praise can be said, as the gentle reader will soon learn for himself. 

In the meantime, however, I must ask the gentle readers indulgence. Glean what can be 
gleaned from the chapter headings and then, in the next portion of our tale, glean what can 
be gleaned from an extraneous source, the which was most cleverly obtained by my 
ancestors through mechanisms which remain, to this day, a deep secret of my clan. 


CHAPTER XII. 

In Which Our Heroes Continue Their Journey Through the Drear, Heading North 
by North-West, to the Still Distant City of Prygg. Zulkeh Denounces the 
Highwayman. Further Broodings of the Mage, and Shelyids Fears and 
Remembrances Thereof. A Quarrel Between the Imperious Dowager La Madame 
and the Florid and Well-Dressed Man of Some Middle Years. The Wizard 
Adjudicates. A Quarrel Between the Wizard and the Imperious Dowager La 
Madame. A Quarrel Between the Wizard and the Florid and Well-Dressed Man of 
Some Middle Years. Arrival at Sigh of Relief (a Subsidiary of the Consortium), the 
Roadway Inn Located on the Northern Edge of the Drear. The Consortium Levies 
a Heavy Fine on Our Heroes For Allowing a Coach Operated by the GGNESWC& 
Etc. to be Robbed (Second Offense). The Wizard Instructs the Dwarf to Utilize the 
Gold-Making Scroll Anew. The Dwarf Demurs, the Rascal Impudently 
Recounting a Past Beating For This Selfsame Deed. The Mage Explains to his 
Stupid but Loyal Apprentice the Philosophical Distinction Between Essence and 
Appearance, in the Course of Which Sublime Lecture Many Ethical Subtleties Are 
Developed. The Dwarf, Reassured, Utilizes the Gold-Making Scroll. Our Heroes 
Fortunes Are Restored! The Dwarf is Praised For The Deed. The Dwarf Is Soundly 
Thrashed For Rebellious Impertinence in Doing the Deed. 


 
CHAPTER XIII. 

 A Journey Resumed. The Coach is Halted by a Band of Armed Horsemen. They 
are the Noble Royal Commandos of Goimr, Seeking the Subversive Sorcerer Who 
Has Driven the Former King to Madness. Zulkeh and Shelyid Are Arrested! 
Shackled, Chained and Gagged, Our Heroes are Dragged Through the Drear 
Toward Goimr. En Route, the Company Arrives Upon a Gibbet, From Which 
Swings the Grotesque and Decayed Corpse of a Hanged Man. Our Heroes are 
Taunted by Their Captors, Who Predict a Like Fate for Them! The Company 
Makes To Depart, But Are Halted by A Voice in the Wilderness. Stand and 
Deliver! All Are Astonished To See That, Where Had Seemed to Swing the 
Grotesque and Decayed Corpse of a Hanged Man, Swung Instead a Much Alive 
and Gaily Dressed Highwayman, Clutching his Horse Between His Legs! It is I, 
Rascogne de Sevigneois, Cleverly Disguised As a Hanged Man! Release Your 
Prisoners! The Commandos Demur, Scoffing at This Demand From a Lone Man. 
The Lone Highwayman Demurs, Announcing That He Has Confederates. Sure 
Enough, Where Had Seemed to Stand a Gibbet From Which Depended a Rope, 
Stand Instead, Il Conde and La Contessa. A Fierce Melee Ensues. Rascogne 
Skewers Multiple Commandos With the Greatest of Ease. Il Conde Bludgeons 
Several More With His Cane, Feverishly Searching For Rare Coins. La Contessa 
Proves Astonishingly Adept As a Cutthroat, Flaunting Her Magnificent Cleavage 
All The While. A Massacre Most Foul! The Noble Company of Commandos 
Butchered To the Last Man! Our Heroes Are Freed and Flee Into the Mountains 
With the Villainous Highwayman and His Accomplices. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

 A Bandit Camp in the Mountains. The Wizard Admonishes His Rescuers With 
Subtle and Intricate Lessons on Ethics and Legality. Rude Replies. Shelyid Learns 
From La Contessa of Rascognes Bold Rescue of Her and Il Conde From the 
Caravanserai Jail. She and Her Husband Have Decided to Join the Highwayman 
in a Life of CrimeShe, From Love of the Scoundrel, Her Husband, From Love of 
the Rare Coins Which the Rogues Trade Brings In Such Great Profusion. A Visit 
From the Big Banjo, Old Friend of Rascogne de Sevigneois. He is Seeking Material 
For a New Opera. The Big Banjo is Delighted With Rascognes New mnage a 
trois, Finding in This Peculiar Arrangement Most Fertile Ground For a Popular 
Tragedy Filled With Great Emotion and the Littering of Many Corpses About the 
Stage At the Final Curtain. Rascogne Scoffs at the Big Banjos Sublime Artistic 
Proposal, Advocating Instead the Dull Maintenance of a Most Pleasant 
Arrangement Satisfactory To All Parties Involved. The Big Banjo Approaches Il 
Conde With the Selfsame Libretto. Il Conde Demurs, Allowing That If He Were 
But Fifty Years Younger He Would Cheerfully Satisfy the Composers Desires, For 
He Suspects the Highwayman of Taking Liberties With His Wife, Several Times a 
Day, In Fact, If He is Not Mistaken. Alas, At His Age A Man Has Energy For But 
One Passion. And There Is No Denying the Scoundrel Rascogne de Sevigneois 
Amasses Coins At a Prodigious Rate, Of Which All Those Of Value to the 
Numismatist Are Immediately Handed Over to Il Conde, Who Stands Fair to 
Become the Worlds Recognized Numismatist Supreme As a Result. Disgruntled 
At This Uniform Disrespect for the Necessities of Art, the Big Banjo Departs, 
Seeking More Tragic Sensibilities Elsewhere. 


CHAPTER XV. 

The Wizard Determines to Leave the Camp of Rascogne de Sevigneois, Explaining 
to Shelyid the Continuing Necessity To Consult the Witch Magrit That He Might 
Determine the Identity of His Enemies, the Uncovering of These Dastards Being 
Essential to the Thwarting of Their Scheme to Thwart the Thaumaturge in His 
Efforts to Uncover the True Meaning of the Dream of the (Now Deceased) King of 
Goimr, the Discovery of This True Meaning, In Its Turn, Being Essential to the 
Mages Determination to Forestall the Catastrophe Which Even Now Looms Over 
All of Civilization, Even as the Mighty and Forward Rushing Tidal Wave Looms 
Over the Sleeping and Unaware Inhabitants of the Island Paradise. The Dwarf 
Argues With the Wizard, Announcing That He Has Discovered in His Runtish 
Soul the Burning Desire to Become a Highwayman. Indeed, the Gnome Cavorts 
About in a Most Unseemly and Ridiculous Manner, Displaying With a Small 
Poignard the Novices Skill He Has Learned in Swordplay From the Rascally 
Rascogne, Who Has, The Mage Now Discovers To His Great Displeasure, Been 
Usurping the Wizards Monopoly Over the Dwarfs Education. After a Most 
Disgraceful Scene, the Proper Relation Between Master and Servant is Restored. 
Our Heroes Depart, Shelyid Blubbering Great Tears at His Parting From the 
Highwayman and La Contessa. An Adventurous Trek Through the Mountains, 
Northward Toward the Still Distant City of Prygg. Several Days Into Their 
Journey, They Rest For the Night in a Great Cave. Alas, the Cave is Inhabited By 
Trolls, Which Pounce on the Dwarf Whilst the Wizard Is Absent, Searching for 
Fell Herbs on the Mountainside Below. Hearing the Alarum, Zulkeh Races to the 
Scene. He Is Trampled By Trolls Fleeing the Cave in Utter Terror. Entering the 
Cave, Zulkeh is Presented With a Mystery. Nothing is Within the Cave to Have 
Caused This Unwonted Troll Stampede Save the Swooned Form of Shelyid, 
Clutching in His Little Hand the Dagger Given Him by Rascogne. The Wizard 
Revives His Apprentice and Discusses the Paradox. Shelyid Proudly Proclaims the 
Trolls Fled From the Most Fearsome Manner In Which He Displayed His 
Poignard. The Mage Disputes This Absurd Claim, Recounting for the Gnomes 
Edification The Slavering Fury Of Trolls And These Monsters Utter Disregard 
For Pain and Wounds. The Wizard Ponders on This New Paradox Long Into the 
Night, Taking the Opportunity to Educate the Dwarf Not Only On Trolls But On 
All Other Manner of Fearsome and Unnatural Monsters, Among Which He 
Touches Upon, If Only In Passing, Such Creatures As Vampires, Ghouls, Ghasts, 
Goblins, Hobgoblins, Orcs, Wargs, Werewolves, Ettins, Not To Mention the Divers 
and Sundry Breeds of Demons, Daemons, Devils and Demodands. Shelyid, Most 


Unlike Himself, Cannot Sleep. The Next Morning, the Journey Continues. The 
Crest of the Mountains is Reached. Below Lies the Land of Pryggia, Upon Whose 
Northern Coast Lies the Less Distant Than Before City of Prygg Itself. Atop the 
Mountain, Our Heroes Encounter the Legendary Sage of the Mountains. He 
Summons Shelyid to His Cave. Shelyid Approaches the Entrance. From Within, 
Unseen in the Darkness, the Sage Whispers the Secret of Life. So Eager Is the 
Dwarf to Impart This Secret To His Master That In His Haste He Slips On the 
Rocks and Falls On His Head. Shelyid Cannot Remember the Secret of Life! The 
Wizard Is Most Displeased. He Rebukes the Dwarf Soundly, Indeed, Very 
Soundly, Indeed, Not To Put a Gloss On the Matter, Supremely SoundlyAlas, To 
No Avail. Our Heroes Begin Their Descent From the Mountains Into Pryggia. 
Along the Way They 

It was even at this moment that the lunatick Alfred CCLVII was seized and deported. A crash 
program to train his young successor was immediately set under way, but this youth, valiant 
though his efforts and great though his innate talents, was not deemed capable of taking the 
Pen of Pens in foreleg until the arrival of our heroes in Prygg itself. 

To that narrative we will turn in due time, but first we will seek to supplement our 
knowledge of the preceding portion of our tale through the introduction of material hitherto 
most secret, obtained only, as I said before, by hidden methods which remain to this day the 
closely-guarded privilege of my clan. 


 
PART X 


In Which the Persons and Activities 
of Our Heroes Come to the Attention of 
Those Authorities Of Puissant and Mighty 
Ozar Upon Whose Shoulders Rests the Grave and 
High Task of Defending Ozarae And Its Interests 
Against Subversion and Insurrection. Taken From the 
Minutes of the Senate Committee Armed and Brevetted 
to Investigate Odious Unconscionable Sedition, 
Obtained by the Alfredae Through Means Which 
Remain To This Day the Well-Hidden Secret 
of Our Noble Clan of Chroniclers. 


Minutes of the Monthly Session of the Ozarean Senate Committee Armed and Brevetted to 
Investigate Odious Unconscionable Sedition. Convened on the 28th day of October, Year of 
the Jackal. Chairman of the Committee: His Puissance the Senator Whelm, Imperial 
Republican Party. Meeting in Full and Open Session, All Members Present. His Puissance 
the Senator Whelm pounds his gavel. 

Chairman Whelm: I hereby declare this session of the Committee open. All persons will 
come to order. Puissant colleagues, distinguished guests, this session of the Committee will 
concentrate its attention upon the nefarious activities and schemes of a newly discovered 
plotter against the well-being of Ozarae and its interests. (Murmurs in the chamber. 
Chairman Whelm raps his gavel.) Order! (Order is restored.) A new threat to our peace and 
prosperity has been brought to my attention. So grave did the menace posed by this 
heretofore unknown subversive seem to me, that I determined at once to bring the attention 
of the entire Committee to bear upon him. Let me begin my remarks by informing the 
Committee that the great and long-standing friend of the Imperial Republic of Ozar, King 
Roy of Goimr, is no longer of this world. (Great hubbub erupts in the chamber. Chairman 
Whelm raps his gavel.) Order! Order! (Order is restored.) Yes, sad to say, that peace-loving 
monarch, trusted friend of our nation, who was always ready to assist our commercial and 
industrial enterprises in their endeavors to uplift his backward country, has been most foully 
undone. He was driven to madness by the schemes of a sorcerer of his own capital, one 
Zulkeh of Goimr by name. But rather than tell the story myself, I would like to call to the 
stand one of our distinguished guests. (A man of easy grace leaves his place in the visitors 


gallery and takes a seat at the witness table.) This gentleman, yclept Gerard, was formerly 
the Chief Counselor to the Throne of Goimr. Upon the Kings descent into insanity, Gerard 
was one of the notables of the realm who took matters into their capable hands and 
established a new provisional government. May I introduce the new head of the state of 
Goimr, First Clerk Gerard. (Polite applause.) 

First Clerk Gerard: Thank you. May I extend to the honorable Committee the greetings of 
the new provisional government of Goimr, of which I have the honor to be its First Clerk. Let 
me say here that the new government of Goimr intends to continue the enlightened policies 
of the former government with regard to cooperation with Ozars legitimate interests. 
Indeed, we are determined to go further than the late lamented King in this respect. We are 
firmly determined to bring the now-Republic of Goimr fully into the modern world. 

Senator Bourse: Senator Whelm, I would like the floor. 

Chairman Whelm: The chair recognizes Senator Bourse, of the Imperial Democratic Party. 

Senator Bourse: First Clerk Gerard, I would like to say that your initial remarks have been 
most gratifying. In these times of turmoil, we are naturally concerned upon hearing of the 
collapse of yet another government, especially one of such long-standing stability and 
servilamitywith the legitimate needs and interests of the Imperial Republic of Ozar. In 
this regard, do I understand that the Kingdom of Goimr is now replaced by a Republic? 

First Clerk Gerard: That is so, Senator. 

Senator Bourse: I see. Naturally, I myself advocate the republican system. Indeed, I yield to 
none in the depths of my love, my adoration, for democracy. YetI must speak franklyit is 
a fact, albeit regrettable, that the replacement of monarchies by republics has frequently 
been accompanied by great disorder and tumult. For all too often the lowlifes of a new 
Republic confuse freedom with license, especially as the economic dictates of modern society 
gain their full sway, unhampered by now-discarded feudal impediments. 

First Clerk Gerard: Puissant senator, I believe that you need have no fears in this regard 
regarding the new provisional government of Goimr. To begin with, let me assure you that 
the ascension of the new government did not take place through disreputable riot and 
revolution, but through the most precisely legal and legitimate means. The King of Goimr 
having been determined an insane man, the Council of State declared him unfit for regnancy 
and placed him in an asylum, where, I regret to say, the poor man hanged himself in his 
sleep. We then examined his heirs, down through all collateral lines to three generations, 
both male and female, to find an heir who would satisfy the basic requirement of rulership 
according to the ancient laws of the Kingdom of Goimr. Regretfully, not one of them could 
satisfy this basic requirement. 

Senator Bourse: And what is that requirement? 

First Clerk Gerard: Being able to count your fingers. 


Senator Bourse: Not one of them could count their fingers? 

First Clerk Gerard: Im afraid not. The Heir Apparent failed the examination completely. In 
fact, he dropped dead from the strain. We sought to test the other boys of the royal family, 
but the little rascals had all burned to death in the great fire which destroyed the royal palace 
because they were playing with matches. We had hopes for the distaff members of the 
family, but the clumsy girls had apparently cut off their fingers in a series of kitchen 
accidents just before the fire. An unfortunate coincidence, since its possible that one of them 
might have been able to count her fingers, if theyd had any left. In fact, it seems certain that 
at least one of the princesses would have passed the test. For would you believe that, after we 
placed the girls in the care of the Abbess of the Convent of the Ladies in Peace, the clever 
little hoydens managedeven without fingers!to hang themselves. 

Senator Bourse: All of them? 

First Clerk Gerard: Every last one. Distressed, no doubt, at the untimely death of their 
brothers. It was at that point that the Council decided we had no choice but to replace the 
kingdom with a new provisional government. At each step of the process, I should like to 
say, we consulted closely with the leaders of the Armed Forces and the Ecclesiarchy, as well, 
it goes without saying, as the Ozarean Consul and the Regional Vice-President of the 
Consortium. I might also mention that we were greatly assisted in this difficult time by the 
energetic efforts of yourahrepresentative, Rupert Inkman. 

Senator Bourse: Well, this is certainly encouraging. And what is the name of your new 
government? 

First Clerk Gerard: Attila the Junta. 

Senator Bourse: Most reassuring, most reassuring! I believe I speak for every member of the 
Committee here. (Cries of Quite right and Hear, Hear!) Indeed, if I may 

Chairman Whelm: Pardon my interruption, esteemed colleague, but I would like to get on 
with the business at hand, which is the investigation of the knavish sorcerer Zulkeh. I believe 
that First Clerk Gerard has more than satisfied the Committees concern regarding 
his reliability as a witness? (Cries of Quite right! and Hear, hear!) 

Senator Bourse: I stand corrected and yield the floor. Will the Puissant Chairman continue 
the investigation? 

Senator Whelm: I thank the esteemed Senator from the Imperial Democratic Party. First 
Clerk Gerard, as I understand it, the unfortunate train of events which led to the demise of 
the Kingdom of Goimr was set in motion by this sorcerer, Zulkeh of Goimr? 

First Clerk Gerard: Quite so, Honorable Chairman. The wizard Zulkeh was summoned to 
the palace at the request of the King, whose peace of mind had been disturbed by a 
ridiculous dream. I instructed this so-called wizard, in no uncertain terms, to quiet the 


Kings fears. Instead this fiend, seeing in the Kings unstable frame of mind a chance to 
strike a mortal blow at the tranquility of the Realm, chose to interpret the Kings dream in 
such a way as to inflame His Majestys morbid temperament to the point of madness. 

Chairman Whelm: What did he say to the King? 

First Clerk Gerard: The villain told the King that his dream foretold the utter and complete 
destruction of his kingdom, his palace, his dynasty and his Royal Person, this ruination to 
encompass the entire male line of the Royal Family down to three generations, and 
possiblyon this point the scoundrel feigned uncertaintythe entire female line as well. 

(Great hubbub fills the chamber. Cries of O foul deed! and Damnable Treason! 
Chairman Whelm pounds his gavel many times.) 

Chairman Whelm: Order! Order! Order! (Order is restored.) I believe the Committee can 
now see for themselves the danger which this sorcerer presents. In one stroke, he overthrows 
the government of one of our most long-standing and reliable allies on the all-too-often 
unsettled sub-continent of Grotum. Nor was this the lastnor even the greatest!crime 
committed by this demon in human flesh. Nay, esteemed colleagues, prepare yourselves for 
a long and weary session. For I assure you, we have only begun our investigation. Many witnesses are 
still to be called. But for the moment, I would like to extend my thanks, and that of the 
Committee, to our distinguished guest. First Clerk Gerard, I thank you again, and you may 
resume your seat in the gallery. (Vigorous applause fills the chamber. First Clerk Gerard 
takes his seat in the gallery.) And now I would like to call to the witness stand the esteemed 
Director of the Ozarean Republics Commission to Repel Unbridled Disruption, the Angel 
Jimmy Jesus. (Vigorous applause fills the chamber. The Angel Jimmy Jesus takes his seat 
at the witness table.) 

Chairman Whelm: For the official recordalthough its hardly necessary in your case!will 
the witness please identify himself? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Certainly. I am the Angel Jimmy Jesus, Director of, assigned to 
all work involving. 

Chairman Whelm: Thank you. And will you now inform the Committee as to the nature of 
the work you have been co-coordinating for the past period? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus. Yes, sir. At the request of the Chairman of this Committee, and 
pursuant to all regulations governing the activities of the, I have launched an 
investigation into the history of the individual known as. 

Senator Patellarasa: Puissant Chairman, may I have the floor? 

Chairman Whelm: The floor is given to Senator Patellarasa of the Liberal Party (Hand-
Wringing Faction). 

Senator Patellarasa: The Angel Jimmy Jesus, I wish to assure myself that the suspects right 


to privacy and freedom from inquisitory harassment were respected in the course of your 
investigation, as laid out in the Citizens Privacy Code. 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Senator Patellarasa, the investigation into the person ofwas 
conducted at all times within the guidelines of the Citizens Privacy Code, as well as, I might 
add, the specific regulations governing my organization, the, even though, I might add, 
the subject is not actually a citizen of. In proof of my assertion, I present the following 
documentation. (The Angel Jimmy Jesus hands a folder to the secretary of the Committee, 
who presents it to Chairman Whelm.) 

Chairman Whelm: After examining the contents of this folder, I inform the Committee that 
it contains documentary proof that an anonymous message warning the suspect that he was 
under investigation by Ozarine authorities was scrawled on the underside of a manhole 
cover within a fifteen mile radius of the suspects last known residence. I believe, and I am 
sure the Committee will concur, that this more than satisfies the provisions of the Citizens 
Privacy Code. 

Senator Patellarasa: One moment, please. I would like to know the exact content of the 
message. 

Chairman Whelm: The message reads: Were watching you. As this message clearly 
identifies both a subject and an object, as well as specifying the precise relationship between 
the two, I believe that it more than satisfies the Code. Senator Patellarasa, do you not agree? 

Senator Patellarasa: Not entirely. I (The chamber erupts in jeers and catcalls.) 

Chairman Whelm, pounding his gavel: Order! Order! Order! (Order is restored.) 

Senator Arbeitmachtfrei: Puissant Chairman! I demand the floor! 

Chairman Whelm: I recognize the Senator from the Sons of Ozar. 

Senator Arbeitmachtfrei: I denounce this interference with the sword of justice! I denounce 
this attempt on the part of the Liberal Party (Hand-Wringing Faction) to handcuff the 
authorities! I denounce the Citizens Privacy Code as a stain on the Ozarean spirit! 

Senator Patellarasa: And for my part, I whine in protest at (The chamber erupts with 
insults directed at Senator Patellarasas ancestry and manhood.) 

Chairman Whelm, pounding his gavel many times. Order! Order! Order! (Order is 
restored.) Senator Patellarasa, you are out of order! And let me say for the record that while 
the Senator from the Sons of Ozar at times advances his opinion in somewhat more rigorous 
terms than would most others 

Senator Arbeitmachtfrei: To the ovens! To the ovens! 


Chairman Whelm:that many of us, indeed, I will say most of us here, share his concern 
with the weight of pettifoggery and red tape which has come to overburden our finest 
investigatory agencies. With that in mind, let us proceed with the report of the Angel Jimmy 
Jesus. (Cries of Quite right! and Hear, Hear!) The Angel Jimmy Jesus, you have the 
floor. 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: The principal purpose of our investigation has been to establish the 
history of the, with particular regard to any of his associations with. I am pleased to 
say that our investigation has turned up much information. This information, as will 
become apparent, fully justifies the great concern which the Committee and my 
own organization thehas taken in the activities of the. As the Committee has already 
heard the testimony of, which recounts the criminal actions ofin the city of, I 
would like to concentrate my testimony on the actions offollowing his escape from 
justice in the city which I have not mentioned. 

Chairman Whelm: Certainly, certainly. 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Thank you, sir. As will become clear, the suspecthas in a short 
time compiled a truly impressive record of criminal wrongdoing. Indeed, both my own 
organization, the, as well as such other investigatory agencies as,,, 
andhave been hot on the trail of the miscreant and his confederates 

Chairman Whelm: Confederates? Do I understand you to say that the villain is part of a 
cabal? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Yes, sir. He has been associated for some years with a dwarf of 
unknown and suspicious origin (Cries of A dwarf! and How disgusting!) and has in 
the more recent period been acting in league with a notorious highwayman and that latters 
own criminal gang, which consists of two renegade nobles from Malata. The offenses of this 
subversiveI leave out of consideration the suspects crimes in Goimr, which have already 
been recountedare positively legion: 1) calling into question the commercial philosophy 
and weltanschauung of a subsidiary of the Consortium; 2) ridiculing a man of the cloth; 3) 
proselytizing Joesy; 4) associating with a notorious highwayman under the guise of being 
robbed; 5) calling again into question the commercial philosophy and weltanschauung of a 
subsidiary of the Consortium; 6) exhibiting disrespect for the legal profession; 7) 
participating in the escape of a felon under the guise of being robbed; 8) calling into 
question yet again the commercial philosophy and weltanschauung of a subsidiary of the 
Consortium; 9) participating in his own escape from lawful capture by representatives of the 
provisional government of Goimr with the assistance of a notorious highwayman; 10) 
participating in the slaughter of said legal representatives of the provisional government of 
Goimr with the aid of (The Angel Jimmy Jesus is interrupted by a cry from the visitors 
gallery.) 

First Clerk Gerard: Whats this? Whats this? Are you saying the fiend has murdered our 
noble commandos? (Great hubbub erupts in the chamber. Chairman Whelm pounds his 
gavel vigorously.) 


Chairman Whelm: Order! Order! Order! (Order is restored.) First Clerk Gerard, I must 
reprimand you for disrupting the session! Guests in the visitors gallery are not permitted to 
speak! 

First Clerk Gerard: My apologies, Puissant Chairman. Its justthe sudden shock 

Chairman Whelm: Yes, yes, I understand. Nevertheless, the formalities must be observed. I 
take it from your reaction that this is the first you have heard of the fate of your 
commandos? Go on, man, you may speak. 

First Clerk Gerard: Thank you, sir. Yes, yes, its true that our commandos were long 
overdue, but we had thought they had deseruh, well, that is to say, the salary of our 
soldiery is perhaps notwe are a poor countryfor that very reason, in fact, do I require the 
assistance of thewell, I will speak of that laterThe Angel Jimmy Jesus, do I understand 
you that our noble commandos were slain? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Butchered like sheep. 

First Clerk Gerard: All of them? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Does a pack of wolves spare the littlest lamb of the flock? 

First Clerk Gerard: O horror! O murder most foul! (Hubbub and uproar. Chairman Whelm 
gavels ferociously. Order is restored.) 

Chairman Whelm: First Clerk Gerard, the entire Committee is in deepest sympathy with 
your distress. At the same time, it is essential that we press on, precisely in order to bring 
this criminal to justice in the swiftest manner. With that in mind, I would like the Angel 
Jimmy Jesus to continue his testimony. 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Certainly, sir. In the interests of that selfsame swift justice, let me 
wrap up this well-nigh endless list of crimes with the latest and most heinous depredation of 
the suspectnothing less than debasement of the currency. (Tremendous uproar in the 
chamber. Chairman Whelm pounds his gavel many, many, many times. Order is restored.) 

Chairman Whelm: Do I understand you to say that the suspect is guilty of counterfeiting? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: With all due respect, Puissant Chairman, it is difficult to give a 
precise answer to your question. We find ourselves here in a gray area of the law. I did not 
state, you will perhaps notice, that the suspect has engaged in counterfeiting. I stated that he 
was guilty of debasing the currency. Our legal experts are even now working night and day to 
determine if actual counterfeiting, as covered by the various statutes of Ozarae or any of the 
countries of Grotum, can be charged as well. The matter remains unclear. 

Chairman Whelm: I admit to being a bit confused. Did, or did not, the suspect pass bad 
money? 


The Angel Jimmy Jesus: The question cannot be answered so simply, sir. The suspect 
purchased a number of services and goods from various subsidiaries of the Consortium, 
which he paid for by presenting gold tender. Our suspicions became aroused after we 
noticed that, on every occasion, this gold tender was presented in the form of oddly-shaped 
ingots. The gold was then subjected to careful examination by our best experts. 

Chairman Whelm: And the result? Was it real gold? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: In its content, the gold proved on every occasion to consist of pure, 
twenty-four-carat gold. 

Chairman Whelm: Wherein, then, lies the debasement of the currency? I must say, the 
Angel Jimmy Jesus, it seems to me that, in your admirable efforts to apprehend this rogue, 
you are here adding a rather flimsy charge to what is already a long list of capital crimes. 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: I understand your point, sir, but as I hope to make clear, it is our 
suspicion that the suspect is in fact engaged in a crime of monstrous proportions, so 
monstrous that it has as yet no name in the statute books. For our experts pursued the 
matter further and examined the external form of the ingots, with a particular eye to 
determining the method of casting involved. As you may know, the Consortium retains a 
legal monopoly throughout Grotum on all casting, smelting or forging of gold bullion. It was 
thus our thought that the suspect might be guilty of illegal gold-casting, if not of actual 
counterfeiting. 

Chairman Whelm: I see! And your investigation showed that the suspect is running an 
illegal gold-casting operation? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: I regret to say that it is not so simple, sir. The statutes specifically 
forbid the unauthorized casting, smelting or forging of gold. The gold distributed by the 
suspect, however, was procured by a hitherto unknown method, which, I am sorry to say, is 
not forbidden by any statute. 

Chairman Whelm: A new method of making gold? What is it? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Transmutation, sir. Transmutation. (Stupendous hubbub explodes 
in the chamber. Chairman Whelm pounds his gavel innumerable times. Order is restored.) 

Chairman Whelm: Indeed! Well, I must say this is most irregular. I can assure you that my 
colleagues and I will see to it that statutes are passed which regulate this new method of 
gold-making, placing it in authorized and responsible hands. But until such statutes are on 
the books, I must tell you that with the best will in the world I cannot see the validity of your 
charge that the suspect is debasing the currency. After all, gold is gold. As the old saying 
goes, gold has neither lineage nor need of one. It is purity itself. 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Precisely, sir! And there lies the villains depravity! For he has 
struck at the very linchpin of modern civilizationthe purity of gold. 


Senator Sahib: Mr. Chairman! Mr. Chairman! It is imperative that I be given the floor! 
Chairman Whelm: The Chair recognizes the Senator from the No-Bullshit Imperialist Party. 
Senator Sahib: Thank you. Puissant Chairman, I must insist that the Committee go into 

closed session. All guests and visitors must be removed, with the exception, of course, of our 

witnesses. (Senator Bourse seconds the motion.) 
Chairman Whelm: All in favor? (The Committee votes overwhelmingly for the motion.) 
Sergeant-at-arms, clear the room. (The room is cleared.) 


Senator Sahib: Let me explain to the august Senators of our Committee that I insisted on 
closing this session in order to forestall public panic. I believe I have grasped the essence of 
the Angel Jimmy Jesus testimony. And if my surmise is correct, then I agree completely 
with the esteemed Director that we are faced with an unprecedented threat to the security 
and well-being of our glorious empire. With your permission, Mr. Chairman, may I conduct 
the further questioning of the witness? 

Chairman Whelm: Certainly. 
Senator Sahib: Thank you. The Angel Jimmy Jesus, a question has remained unasked. You 


have stated that the suspect has created gold through transmutationthat is to say, by the 
magical transformation of something else into the noblest of Gods substances. 
The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Yes, sir. 
Senator Sahib: And what was that something else out of which the gold was transformed? 
The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Dwarf shit. 
Senator Sahib: I beg your pardon? 
The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Dwarf shit. 
Senator Bourse: Not regular shit? I mean, normal people shit? 
The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Dwarf shit. (Stupefying hubbub erupts in the chamber. Chairman 


Whelm pounds his gavel an innumerable number of times.) 

Chairman Whelm: Order! Order! Order! Order! (Order is restored.). Senator Sahib, I give 
you back the floor. 
Senator Sahib: Thank you, Mr. Chairman. The Angel Jimmy Jesus, I now require the answer 

to several questions. First, how much of thistaintedgold has been placed into circulation? 
The Angel Jimmy Jesus: It is difficult to say, Senator. We first became aware of the situation 


but recently. Over a considerable period, the suspect has remained at large, along with his 
dwarf accomplice, and has pursued activities which do not appear to have been restricted in 
any way by lack of funds. Given that dwarves shit quite regularly, once, sometimes twice a 
day, we can only conclude that a large amount of this, as you aptly put it, tainted gold is now 
in general circulation. I might also add that, given the velocity of modern currency exchange, 
it is well-nigh certain that at least some of this gold has long since departed Grotum and is to 
be found here in the Ozarine heartland as well. 

Senator Sahib: My second question, then: Is there any way to distinguish this horrid dwarf 
gold from normal gold, once it has been turned into coinage and has entered the global 
monetary system? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: No, Senator, there is not. 

Senator Sahib: I feared as much. My third question: Has either your Commission or the 
Consortium managed to discover the exact process whereby this dwarf gold is produced? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: No, Senator, we have not. 

Senator Sahib: Have you attempted to do so? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Certainly. In fact, weve given it top priority. We have established a 
special secret laboratoryfar removed from any population centers, needless to saywhich 
is working night and day to discover the technique. Pursuant to that end, we have obtained a 
sizable number of dwarves and have subjected their defecatory products to exhaustive and 
rigorous scientific examination. 

Senator Sahib: And the result? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Weve got a lot of dwarf shit on our hands. 

Senator Sahib: My fears deepen by the minute. I assume, since you have been unable to 
determine the method by which this dwarf gold is produced, that you have also been unable 
to determine anything else about its properties. 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: That is correct, sir. 

Senator Sahib: I tremble for the State. My last question: How long will this dwarf gold 
remain in that form? Do we have any reason to believe, based on solid scientific data, that 
this dwarf gold will not, at some uncertain future date, suddenly transform itself back into 
dwarf shit? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: No, Senator, we do not. (Indescribable chaos erupts in the 
chamber. Chairman Whelm pounds his gavel a multitude of times. Order is at length 
restored.) 


Senator Sahib: Esteemed colleagues, you now grasp the full extent of the crisis. It would be 
bad enough if the loyal citizenry of Ozarae were to discover that some of the gold in 
circulation resided once in the bowels of a cruddy little dwarf. But this! At any moment, the 
most delicate financial transactions, the most pivotal commercial exchangesall of domestic 
and foreign trade alike!could be suddenly brought to ruin by the emergence of dozens, 
hundreds, thousands, of little piles of dwarf shit everywherein the bank vaults, in the cash 
registers, whyeven in the pockets of the very Senators sitting around this room! (Great 
hubbub erupts.) 

Chairman Whelm, wielding his gavel. Order! Order! 

Senator Vichyssoise: Mr. Chairman! I require the floor! 

Chairman Whelm: The Chair recognizes Senator Vichyssoise of the League Larvaliste. 

Senator Vichyssoise: Esteemed colleagues, I submit that we now have no option but to 
collaborate with the proposal which has often been placed on the floor by Senator 
Arbeitmachtfrei with respect to the dwarf menace. All dwarves must be immediately 
exterminated. 

Senator Patellarasa: Mr. Chairman, I whimper for the floor. 

Chairman Whelm: The Chair faintly discerns the wavering figure of Senator Patellarasa. 

Senator Patellarasa: Esteemed colleagues, I must take exception to Senator Vichyssoises 
proposal. We are confronted here with a moral quandary. Does the good of civilization as a 
whole outweigh the drama and pathos of the mass slaughter of millions of dwarvesall but 
one of them innocent of any wrongdoing? (Jeers and gibes erupt in the chamber.) 

Chairman Whelm: Order! (He pounds his gavel.) Senator Patellarasa, I warn you that the 
Committee, famed though it is for its tolerance and willingness to examine all sides of an 
issue, is rapidly losing patience with your usual pussyfooting drivel. 

Senator Patellarasa: Mr. Chairman, the Liberal Party (Hand-Wringing Faction) cannot in 
good conscience acquiesce without protest in the prospective massacre of multitudes of law-
abiding citizens, even if they are a lot of cruddy little dwarves. I must warn you that if 
Senator Vichyssoises proposal is adopted we shall certainly organize a candlelight vigilin 
which we will undoubtedly be joined by the Well-Meaning, Bleeding-Heart and Knee-Jerk 
factions of the Liberal Party, as well as the Sociable Democrats. (Taunts and jibes fill the 
chamber.) 

Chairman Whelm: Order! Order! (He bangs his gavel. Order is restored.) Senator 
Patellarasa, you may resume the floorbut I warn you, get to the point! 

Senator Patellarasa: I shall do so, Mr. Chairman. But I say again, I cannot let pass the 
opportunity to dwell on the savagery of the action under consideration. You must 


understand the full ramifications! Wed have to chop up the whole lot of them, even the little 
baby dwarves. For they all shit quite regularly, you know, once, sometimes twice a day. It is 
this ethical (Jeers and taunts erupt in the chamber.) 

Chairman Whelm: Order! Order! (He bangs his gavel. Order is restored.) Senator 
Patellarasa, thats about enough. The time of this Committee is valuable and not to be 
wasted with a lot of puling nonsense about widdle-biddle itsy-bitsy eeny-weeny dwarf 
babies. I mean, who gives a fuck? You are no longer recog 

Senator Patellarasa: But Mr. Chairman, theres big money to be made here! (For the first 
time in living memory, total silence erupts in the chamber.) 

Chairman Whelm: The Senator from the Liberal Party (Hand-Wringing Faction) is 
commanded to explain his last remark. 

Senator Patellarasa: Puissant Chairman, esteemed colleagues, in your haste you haveas is 
so often the case with conservative attempts to deal with symptoms rather than causes 
overlooked the obvious. We do not know, as yet, that this new method of producing gold is 
temporary. For all we know, it may well be permanent. Before taking any precipitous action, 
we must find out! For if this new method of gold-making results in permanent gold, think of 
the prosperity for the manyand the fortunes for the few! Think of the countryside dotted 
with hundreds, even thousands, of little gold factories, inhabited by thousands, even 
millions, of little dwarves crapping away for the enrichment of all society! Of course, theyd 
have to be regulated and such, but 

Senator Arbeitmachtfrei: Treason! Treason! If you think for a minute well put up with gold 
made out of dwarf shit, youre 

Senator Sahib: Shut up, you clown! When we need you, moron, well call on you. You stupid 
jackass, gold already comes from dwarf shit, or the nearest thing to it. Everybody knows that 
all the gold mines are already worked by dwarves. Never let the scummy little bastards up 
after theyre sent down, of course, theyd steal you blind if you did. So theyre already down 
there digging up the gold and crapping all over the place. They shit quite regularly, you 
know, once, sometimes twice a day. So what? Thats why we have processing plants. 
Personally, I think Senator Patellarasas hit on something here. (Cries of Quite right! and 
Hear, hear!) Esteemed colleagues, I move we adopt a multipartisan solution to the 
problem. Our policy: First, underwrite a top-priority crash program to discover the secret of 
dwarf-gold production. Second, shackle the lazy little crappers to the toilet bowls! 

Chairman Whelm: Colleagues, what is your pleasure? (Senator Arbeitmachtfrei votes 
against the motion; all others vote in favor.) Colleagues of the Committee, I have but one 
thing to add to the motion which we just adopted. I believe it goes without saying that, in 
addition to the steps adopted, we must place a top priority on the quickest possible 
apprehension of the suspect Zulkeh and his dwarven accomplice. (Cries of Quite right! and 
Hear, hear!) All in favor? (The motion passes unanimously.) Excellent! The 
Angel Jimmy Jesus, you are hereby invested by this Committee with the fullest 


authorization to deepen and expand your manhunt for the selfsame miscreant and all 
who might aid or abet him. 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: At your service, sir. 

Chairman Whelm: Well, then! Esteemed colleagues, I believe weve done another good days 
work. I hereby declare this session of the Committee 

Senator Bourse: One moment, please! Puissant Chairman, there is one last item of business 
I would like to take up. 

Chairman Whelm: And what is that? 

Senator Bourse: I believe the Committee is entitled to hear a report from the Angel Jimmy 
Jesus concerning the current situation with the Rap Sheet in Grotum. (Many cries of Quite 
right! and Hear! Hear!) 

Chairman Whelm: Well, Im not sureimperial security 

Senator Bourse: Puissant Chairman, I must insist! The decision to send the Rap Sheet to 
Grotum was hotly debated in this very chamber. The final vote was not unanimous, even 
despite the great pressure from the Nabobs. Indeed, had the Director of Companies not been 
so insistent I would have voted against the proposal myself. At the very least, therefore, I 
believe this Committee is entitled to a report as to the current status of the project. 

Chairman Whelm: Very well. The Angel Jimmy Jesus, can you inform the Committee with 
regard to the point raised by Senator Bourse? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: Certainly, sir. Pursuant to the authorization given by this body, I 
immediately organized the dispatch of our third Rap Sheet to Prygg, under the direct 
supervision of one of my most capable and trusted lieutenants, Rupert Inkman. (Cries of O 
fell and mighty operative! and The savior of the Rellenos! fill the chamber.) Agent 
Inkman reports that the Rap Sheet is in position and we are on the verge of launching our 
final campaign to destroy the revolutionary movement throughout Grotum. Indeed, the 
announcement of the campaign will be made very soon, at the culmination of the festivities 
surrounding the upcoming wedding of the Princess Snuffy and the Honorable Anthwerp 
Freckenrizzle III. It seemed to Agent Inkman and myself that this social occasion, 
embodying as it does the unity in action of Ozarae and Prygg, was the perfect occasion for 
making public our plans. Needless to say, all police and military forces throughout Grotum 
are now on full alert status and will throw themselves into action at the stroke of midnight, 
October 31, simultaneously with the public announcement of the campaign. (Cries of 
Bravo! and O shrewd stroke!) I might add that the fact that our campaign will begin on 
Halloween has the additional advantage of making full use of the well-known superstitious 
proclivities of the Groutch masses. 

Senator Bourse: Excellent! My principal concern, however, is not with the actual plan of 


operation. I would not presume to interfere with your expertise in these matters. And I am 
certainly gratified to hear that our noble Agent Inkman is in direct charge. Why, the mans 
name alone strikes fear into the heart of subversives the world over. (Cries of Ozars finest! 
and The iron heel!) My concern is rather with the security of the Rap Sheet itself. Should, 
by some mischance, the Rap Sheet bewell! Its loss would be irreparable. Our other two are 
already committed, the one to the Rellenos and the other to Ozar itself. We will not be able 
to replace the Rap Sheet now in Grotum, should it be lost. That was always my great 
concern, and the reason I agreed with such reluctance to this project. 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: I believe you may rest easy here, Senator. I assure you that the 
security for the Rap Sheet is insurmountable. I cannot, of course, go into the details. But let 
me simply say that the security for the Rap Sheet could only be overcome by a combination 
of brains and brawn whichcertainly the brains!is far beyond the capacity of the Groutch 
rabble. Finally, even if by some impossible stroke of blind luck the Rap Sheet were to be 
taken from us, its loss would only be temporary. I hesitate to say the following, but I will 
trust the discretion of the Committee. Know, Senators, that despite his own great misgivings 
regarding our project, that Gods Own Tooth consented to apply his immense magical 
powers and has incorporated Rupert Inkmans soul into the Rap Sheet. (Cries of O mystic 
power! and Ozars grandeur swells!) 

Senator Bourse: I confess I am not quite sure what that means. 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: What it means, Senator, is that so long as Rupert Inkman exists, he 
can call the Rap Sheet to his presence, whatever it is. 

Senator Bourse: But what if hes killed? 

The Angel Jimmy Jesus: I said, so long as he exists, Senator. Rupert Inkman can be killed, 
but his body will be revivified by the power of the Rap Sheet. Indeed, any part of his body 
will serve. So you can see the trap which lies here for our opponents. Should they, by some 
unimaginable means, obtain the Rap Sheet, we will simply get it backwith their names 
emblazoned on it! Even if our opponents should kill Inkman in the process. So long as 
Rupert Inkman exists, the Rap Sheet is oursso long as even a finger bone remains. (Cries 
of Bravo! and incomparable cunning!) 

Chairman Whelm: Senator, are you satisfied? (Senator Bourse nods his head.) I then 
declare this session of our Committee meeting at a close. (Chairman Whelm bangs his 
gavel. The members of the Committee file from the chamber.) 


PART XI 


In Which the 
Artist Arrives in That 
Disreputable Realm Called 
the Mutt And, Though Discovering 
For Himself the Nature of That Disrepute 
is Given Neither to Reproof Nor 
Demurral, Thereby Confirming 
His Own Most Odious and 
Disreputable Nature. 


The Autobiography of Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini, 
Episode 6: Boots, Beer, Banners and Beds 

So it was on such a wretched pair of patent leather shoes that I arrived in the Mutt. 

Indeed, my first action upon reaching the Doghousefor such is the curious name of the 
Mutts capital, insofar as the term capital can be applied to the chief town of that country 
was to locate the shop of a bootmaker and limp therein. 

Entering the shop, I approached the bootmaker at his bench. He looked up at the sound of 
my approach. A huge grin split his wizened old face. I began to smile myself, pleased at this 
amicability toward a customer, an attitude sadly lacking in all too many Ozarine 
establishments. 

I soon discovered my error. 

Gwendolyn! yelped the oldster. He charged past without so much as a glance in my 
direction and flung himself into Gwendolyns arms. She picked him up, for all the world like 
a wrinkled babe, and planted a big kiss on his bald head. 

Hello, Mishka. Long time. 

Much too long. Now back on his feet, he looked up at her with a hurt expression. 

The word is you came through here three months ago. Is it true? And why didnt you stop 
by for a visit? Distressed, I was, at the news. 
Gwendolyn shook her head. I had no time for visits, Mishka. I was on a mission from 
The old man held up his hand abruptly.  Nough said! I dont want to know the details. 

What you dont know, the porkers cant screw out of you, as they say. He laughed. Not 
that Ive had to worry much about porkers since I retired and moved to the Mutt! But still, 


you never know. 

I looked around his shop, which had about it all the signs of a busy establishment. 

Doesnt look like much of a retirement, I said. 

The old man peered at me, scowling. Im afraid my Ozarine accent was just as thick as 
ever, even though Id been speaking nothing but Groutch for weeks. Im good at learning 
languages, and Id become quite fluent in Groutch, but I just dont have the ear for speaking 
without an accent. 

Still scowling, Mishka darted a sharp look toward Gwendolyn. 

Relax, Mishka, she said. Ill vouch for him. 

Hes a sympathizer? he asked. 

Gwendolyn shrugged. Yes and no. Hes not really involved in politics. Hes an artist. 

Mishka was still scowling. Gwendolyn scowled back. 

Impossible old man! I told you Ill vouch for him. 

Mishka looked away. Well, your words as good as gold, of course. But still, I just dont 
understand why youve got him around. 

Its personal, Mishka. 

The old man suddenly grinned. 

Well! Well! Thats all different, then! The next thing I knew, Mishka was vigorously 
pumping my hand. 

Wonderful, wonderful, he prattled, Ive always said you were too intent on the cause, 
Gwendolyn. Its not good for the soul, you know, never taking the time out to smell the roses 
and such, and shouldnt I know? 

He continued his vigorous handshake. 

Pleased to meet you, young man. Very pleased, even if you are an Ozarine oppressor. My 
names Mishka, by the way. Mishka the bootmaker. 
Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini. 
Gwendolyn interrupted. He needs a new pair of shoes, Mishka. Proper Groutch boots, if 
you would. 

Mishka looked down at my feet, still shaking my hand. 

And will you look at those monstrosities! he cried. A wonder the mans not a cripple! All 
the way from Goimr, you say youve come? In those things? 
I nodded. Mishka released my hand and began busying himself in stacks of leather, 
muttering about mad dogs and Ozarines. 
I cleared my throat. Uh, Sirrah Mishka, before you get started, Im afraid I have very little 
money left. So if 
I stopped, struck dumb by the ferocious glare the old man was bestowing on me. I looked 
to Gwendolyn for assistance. 

Moneys not the custom in the Mutt, she said. Quite disapprove of money, people here. 
She looked at Mishka. Oh, stop glaring, Mishka! The mans new herehows he supposed to 
know? I assure you, hes not a Consortium agent. 

The old man was still glaring. A Consortium provocateur came through here not long ago, 
you know? Tried to give money to children, he did, the scurvy knave! Proper boys and girls, 
though, well brought up, so they turned him in and the General called out his dogs. A 
wicked laugh followed. Squealed like a pig, the rotten collaborator, when Fangwulf pulled 
him down. Didnt get more than half a mile, he didnt, even with the Generals usual 
generous head start. 


Youll have to make allowances for Mishka, Benvenuti, said Gwendolyn. When he said 
earlier that he was retired, he meant from the struggle. Old habits die hard, especially his. 

Mishkas glare eased. Well, I suppose so. Have to make allowances, I guess, for honest 
strangers, even plundering Ozarines. His glare briefly returned. But no more talk of 
money, dyou hear? I wont have it! This is a respectable establishment! 

By no means! I exclaimed, fending off his glare with my hands. But how Again, I 
looked to Gwendolyn for assistance. 

See if you can do him some service or other, she said. How about the sign over his 
door? Things so weathered you can hardly read it. Can you make him a new one? 

I went outside, looked at the sign, came back. 

Certainly. But Ill need some fresh wood. 

Mishka disappeared into the back of his shop. A moment later he reemerged, carrying a 
nice slab of oak. 

How about this? he asked. Ingemar the cabinetmaker gave it to me a few months ago. 
Ive been meaning to use it for a new sign, but I never got around to it. Ive even got some 
paint, but Im not much of a painter, actually. Are you? 

I managed to make some modest but reassuring noises, while digging in my pack for my 
woodcarving tools. And so did the time pass pleasantly, with me carving and painting 
Mishka a new sign, while he busied himself with my boots. As he worked, Gwendolyn told 
him of our adventures, leaving out, I noticed, any mention of Wolfgang. This odd reticence 
left great holes in the narrative, but Mishka didnt notice them, so upset was he when he 
heard of the imminent arrival of a Rap Sheet in Grotum. 

Were doomed! he cried, over and again. Doomed! Itll be the Rellenos all over again! 
The streets awash in blood! The executioners collapsing from exhaustion! The racks 
splintering from overuse! The whips worn to a nubbin! The dungeons bursting at the seams! 
Even here! Even the Mutt! 

But he only stopped working once, looking up at Gwendolyn intently. 

Youve got to tell the General right away. Everyone else, too, of course. If you get the word 
out at the Free Lunch itll spread quick enough, sure, but youve still got to tell the General 
right away. Maybe he can think of something. 

First the Free Lunch, responded Gwendolyn. Then Ill talk to the General. 

Mishka made as if to argue, but then went back to his work. He finished with my boots at 
almost the same time I was done with his sign. 

Mutual admiration followed. 

What a sign! What a sign! exclaimed the old man, as I tried on my new boots. A perfect 
fit, they were, and very comfortable. Not fashionable, I admit. I noticed the old man was 
rummaging around again in his stacks of leather. 

Just give me a little time, he muttered, Ill have another pair of boots ready. 

What for? I asked. These are perfect. 

Mishka looked up, surprised. Of course theyre perfect. Am I not Mishka? But a sign like 
that! Itll be the best sign in town! Calls for two pair of boots, at the least. 
I waved him off. Nonsense. The sign was a trifle, I assure you. 
Mishka wrung his hands. Well. Well. 
Relax, Mishka, laughed Gwendolyn. Benvenutis an artist, doesnt have any proper 

sense of value. Leave it be. Hes happy with the deal, and besides, weve got to be off to the 
Free Lunch. 


Oh, yes! I forgot. Well, then, at least let me obtain a cab for you. I insist! he cried. Such 
a great sign! He rushed out into the street and began a fierce whistling. 

A minute later he reentered the shop, a burly man in tow. 

Look whos here, Gwendolyn! 

Mario! 

The beefy newcomer swept his cap off his bushy head and stretched out his arms. Big as 
he was, he was almost dwarfed in Gwendolyns embrace. 

Take us to the Free Lunch, if you would, Mario. Oh, let me introduce you to Benvenuti 
Sfondrati-Piccolomini. 

Mario and I shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. He did not, I was relieved to note, 
seem to take offense at my Ozarine accent. 

A minute later, Gwendolyn and I piled into the back seat of the cab, stowing our packs and 
my easel in the back. Mario eyed the easel with curiosity, but refrained from comment. He 
slapped his horses rump with a short whip and we jolted out into the streets of the 
Doghouse. 

Within a few blocks, I had come to the conclusion that this was the oddest town I had ever 
seen. There seemed no rhyme or reason to anything about itneither the layout of the 
streets, nor the mixture of the buildings scattered about. Despite its relatively small size, the 
town positively shrieked polyglot in a way in which even the great and cosmopolitan 
imperial city of Ozar didnt. Still, the relations of the numerous inhabitants seemed quite 
cordial. 

The Doghouse is not a big town, however, so it was not long before Mario reined in and 
wheeled the cab through a narrow gateway into a large walled courtyard. 

Along one wall was a livery tending to the needs of the horses. On the opposite wall, under 
a well-weathered colonnade, stood a stout door, much abused by time and circumstances. 
The doors green paint was peeling off. Numerous cuts, gashes and nicks in the wood of both 
door and frame gave evidence that the customers were not a particularly sober and upright 
sort. 

Above the colonnade stoodor rather, leaned slightly askewa sign (very badly lettered) 
which proclaimed: 

THERE AIN,T NO SUCH THING AS A 

FREE LUNCH 


Gwendolyn and I grabbed our belongings and followed Mario inside. The place, to all 
appearances, was a classic provincial alehouse: numerous tables and chairs, a long, long bar, 
a few small windows high in a back wall, and several curtained alcoves or private rooms. 
Behind the bar was a small kitchen from which emanated a variety of amazing smells. The 
air was thick with tobacco and cooking smoke, not to mention alcohol vapors. A subdued 
hubbub filled the room, which soon changed to cries of loud greeting when the customers 
spotted Gwendolyn. We took our places at the bar. The tapster, a fat and placid-looking man, 
made a slow but inevitable progress up the long bar, like a stout ship moving through a 
canal, propelled by ritual wipes of the counter with a towel. 

Lo, Mario. Lo, Gwendolyn. Long time. And whos your friend? 


Gwendolyn introduced me. And this is the Tapster, Benvenuti. Whats the free lunch, 
today? Arsters? Arsters and beer? 

 Course it is, snapped the Tapster. Just like its been for the past twenty years and 
more. 

Ill have some, said Gwendolyn. The Tapster eyed me. 

Ill have oysters and beer, also. The gathering fury on his face warned me. Arsters, I 
mean! Arsters! 

He waddled off, wiping the bar, then passed through a curtain into the kitchen. 

What is it about shellfish, I complained to Gwendolyn, that people will commit 
mayhem over pronunciation? 

She and Mario frowned at me, like bishops regarding a heretic. 

A quahog is a quahog, a clam is a clam, and an arster is an arster, came their joint 
pronunciamento. I sighed, but let it go. Im bold, but Im not crazy. 

The Tapster returned, bearing great pots of ale and a platter full of mollusks. 

Famished, I started to dig in, then hesitated. 

Uh, tapster, a question. What about? I avoided the obscenity. What I mean is, the 
sign above says there is no free lunch. 

Well, of course there isnt! What are wewitless nihilists? 

Hes new, said Gwendolyn, devouring her arsters. 

Oh. Well, then, young man, let me explain the customs of the Mutt. In this happy and 
prosperous little place, we handle the exchange of goods and services rather differently from 
those benighted lands groaning under the yoke ofhere, a tight jaw, a grim lip, jowls 
quivering with contemptmoney. Keeps the Consortium off our backs, you understand? 
Not to mention the usurers and the rest of the worlds drones. So its like this. You come in 
here looking for something to eat and drink, but naturally I cant sell it to you because if I 
did, before you know it Id be a subsidiary of the Consortiumwhether I wanted it or not 
and the next thing you know all of my customers would boycott the place and the next thing 
you know Id be run out of town on a rail, if I was lucky and the Generals dogs were in need 
of a rest. So we cant have that. So instead I give everybody a free lunch. Booze is on the 
house too, of course. 

He proceeded to give the counter a solemn wipe of his cloth. 

Now, of course if people didnt help me out, Id soon be starving on the street. And then 
theyd miss out on their free lunch. So out of the goodness of their hearts they provide me 
with the various services which I require. Everything make sense? 

I thought it over. Yes, I think so. Your system reminds me a bit of a book written by one 
of my relatives. Proudhon Sfrondrati-Piccolimini, you may have heard of him? If I recall, he 
argues 

The mans an idiot! cried the Tapster. All that nonsense about the peoples bank and 
such! No, no, young man, youre quite mistaken in all this! 

There followed a lengthy discourse on the competing theories which guided, or failed to 
guide, the daily life of the Mutt. It all went over my head, other than a general sense that 
people here seemed well enough pleased with their arrangements. And the beer and oysters 
were excellent. 

When we were finished, Gwendolyn asked if there were some service she could provide for 
the Tapster, but he waved it off. He seemed rather offended, in fact. 

What? he demanded. Am I an ignoramus? A provincial cloddy, doesnt know a use 


value from an exchange value? He sucked in his paunch, more or less, and assumed a pose 

of stern wisdom. 

I assume youre here on movement business? 

Gwendolyn nodded. 

Well, then, thats settled! Is there any greater use value for ones labor that to strive for 
the overthrow of the established order? Course not! So I feel the beer and arsters have been 
made good already. 

The look of stern wisdom was now bestowed upon me. 

Dont know about him, though. Is he here on movement business, too? 

Gwendolyn started to explain my role in our escape from Goimr, but I interrupted. 

Nothing that could match this fine brew andarsters. Ive a bit of a knack for signs, 
however. I believe yours could use some improvement? 

A bit of friendly haggling ensuedalthough Im not sure the word haggling fits a 
discussion in which the perverted concept of money never reared its head. At the end, it was 
agreed that I would fix up various unsightly aspects of the Free Lunch. Beer and arsters, 
needless to say, remained on the house. 

There was one awkward moment. 

And will you be needing one room, or two? asked the Tapster, his face bland and 
unreadable. 
A moments silence followed. 
Two rooms, I said quickly. Gwendolyn took a deep draught of ale. We sat side by side for 
several minutes, saying nothing. 

Ill be going, announced Mario. Ill spread the word youre here, Gwendolyn. From what 
little Mishka told me, I gather youll need to be talking to people. 
Thank you, Mario. And can you get word to the General? Ill need to see him soon. 
Certainly. Ill warn you, however, that you probably wont get many people here this 

afternoon. Theres a new civil war scheduled for four oclock, and the bettings been pretty 
fierce. Not many peoplell want to miss it. 

Really? Gwendolyns interest was aroused. What are the odds? 

The Oligarchys favored. The Republics considered a serious contender, though I dont 
for the life of me understand why. The Aristocracy of the Robe is thought to have a good 
chance. The Aristocracy of the Swords weak. And the Democracys a joke, of course. 

How about the Monarchy? 

Mario smiled, rubbed his nose. Well, now, theres whats interesting. Ive a feelinglets 
just say Im betting on the Monarchy, and leave it at that. 
You know something? 
Just a feeling, just a feeling. 
Gwendolyn frowned, then smiled. What the hell? Life cant be all business. Lets go! Like 

to watch a proper civil war, Benvenuti? 

Actually, the prospect of fratricidal slaughter didnt seem too attractive on such a fine 
afternoon, but I noticed that the patrons of the tavern were already streaming out, gabbling 
with excitement. Odd place, the Mutt. 

Not much later, Mario pulled his cab over to the side of a street near what seemed to be 
the center of the Doghouse, if such a strange town could be said to have a center to it. At 
least, there was a very large square, around which a multitude had gathered, lining the 


sidewalks and perched on the surrounding rooftops. 

Not more than a minute after we arrived, a disordered and shabby-looking mob entered 
the square from the north, chanting the praises of freedom and democracy. They were 
greeted by shouts of derision from the onlookers. 

Derision which was well deserved, let me say, for it was not a moment later that a much 
more prosperous-looking and well-ordered mob poured in from the east and rapidly set the 
Democracy to flight with a few well-delivered curses and blows. 

This isnt a democracy, its a republic! was the battle cry of these newcomers. 

But the victory of the Republic was short-lived, for it was but a minute or so later that four 
more columns of combatants entered the fray, and the advocates of the Republic were soon 
set into flight no less undignified than that of their scruffier cousins of the Democracy. 

From the south marched two columns, one consisting of men dressed in aristocratic 
finery, the other of men in robes. Above the first column floated a banner depicting an eagle 
clutching a sword. Above the second, a banner depicting an owl clutching a quill pen. 

The two columns fell to blows before they even reached the square. 
Power to the pure of blood! cried the eagle-bannered ones, whom I deduced to be the 
Aristocracy of the Sword. 
Power to the keen of mind! came the response, from those I took to be the Aristocracy of 
the Robe. 

It was quite the affray. Evenly matched, at first, polo mallets against heavy ledgers, but 
then the Aristocracy of the Robe unleashed their secret weapon. Bottles of ink were hurled at 
the Aristocracy of the Sword, who soon fled in a panic, screeching in dismay at the ruin of 
their finery. 

The crowd of spectators roared their approval of this cunning stratagem. The Aristocrats 
of the Robe, now in possession of the Square, strutted about, proclaiming the enactment into 
law of a multitude of measures, none of which I could comprehend because of the 
complexity of the language involved. 

I thought my Groutch was good, I whispered to Gwendolyn, but I cant understand 
anything of what theyre saying. 

Who can? Lawyers and bureaucrats, the lot of them. Boring sods, the Aristocrats of the 
Robe. Although I admit the ink bottles were a stroke of genius. Wont work againstand 
here they come! The Doges! 

Sure enough, into the square from the west came a small body of menhardly a column, 
so few in number they were. Their garments were luxurious. Rings glittered on every finger. 
The Aristocracy of the Robe cried out their displeasure and swarmed toward them, waving 
their staplers and quills in a most martial manner. But the Doges stood their ground. 

Oligarchy! they bellowed. Money rules the world! And so saying, they hauled forth 
large sacks and began strewing gold coin about with great vigor. More than a few Aristocrats 
of the Robe broke ranks, then, scooping up handfuls of coins and taking their side by the 
Doges, bowing and scraping. Several Aristocrats of the Sword came charging back into the 
square and did likewise. Then, but moments later, a veritable horde of people came pouring 
into the square, among whom I recognized many Democrats and Republicans. These, too, 
collected their coins and flocked to the rapidly growing forces of the Oligarchy. The 
remaining Aristocrats of the Robe croaked in despair and retreated. 

Well, I said, it looks as if the Doges are going to carry the day. 

Gwendolyn and Mario looked at me like I was a cretin. 


Nonsense! snorted Mario. Always looks that way, early in a civil war. Moneyll collect a 
horde about, but theyve no discipline. No stomach for the long struggle. 

It could not be denied. For at that very moment enteredby surprise, leaping out of doors 
and windows from a large adjacent buildingthe resolute warriors of the Monarchy, led by 
the King himself. 

O noble stroke! cried Mario. Gwendolyn was clapping her hands with excitement. The 
crowd was roaring with vast approbation. 

A great howl of fear and fury rose from the motley ranks of the Oligarchy, as the 
champions of the Monarchy lay about them with rigorous blows of their scepters. Divine 
right! Divine right! bellowed the newcomers. 

But then, just as the forces of the Doges seemed on the verge of collapse before the 
disciplined onslaught of the Monarchy, another great roar from the crowd indicated the 
advance of yet another party into the fray. The Rabble! The Rabble! came the cry from 
many voices. 

A disorganized but energetic crowd poured into the square, brandishing torches and 
nooses, hallooing various war cries, of which Anarchy! and Chaos and Confusion! figured 
prominently. These new arrivals attacked everyone else indiscriminately. 

From that point on, I lost all sense of the ebbs and flows of the civil war. It was too 
confusing for a novice, the more so as the square was soon invaded by a multitude of small 
columns, who did not seem to have much effect on the action but who certainly made a 
disproportionate amount of noise. Among these new arrivals, I gathered from the knowing 
remarks made by my two companions, were included such forces as the Tyranny, the 
Theocracy (these fellows much divided amongst themselvesspent most of their time 
attacking each other with miters and censers), the Big Brotherhood, the Autocracy, the Red 
Terror, the White Terror, the Green Terror, the Pacifists (singularly ineffective, this bunch), 
the Militarists (only a few here), the Colonels (fewer), the Generals (fewer still), the General 
Staff (a handful), the Generalissimo (one onlya skeletal old man, his face creased with infinite 
corruption, roaring over and again: Unleash me! Unleash me!), and a host of 
other little groups whose names and ideologies meant absolutely nothing to me. One such 
group advocated government by mass drunkenness, which they promptly enacted on the 
spot, to the great approval of the crowd. Another group advocated government by mass orgy, 
which they promptly enacted on the spot, to the even greater approval of the crowd. 

My most vivid memory, however, was of a man painted all over his body with gold. He 
rode in a small cart, stiffly erect, vastly dignified. His two adherents alternated between 
pushing the cart and lying underneath its wheels, crying out: All abase themselves before 
the Reincarnated Emperor of the Grinding Hegemony! As the trio made their way around 
the square, the cries of the faithful got weaker with every passage of the cart over their 
bodies. In the end, the Reincarnated Emperor of the Grinding Hegemony was forced to 
dismount and haul the cart away himself, leaving the prostrate bodies of his loyal followers 
behind in the square. Judging from the expression on his gold face, he was exceedingly 
disgruntled. 

After I gave up trying to follow the progress of the civil war, I spent most of my time 
observing the onlookers. Clearly, this was a great social event for the inhabitants of the Mutt. 
Not only were the residents able to follow every nuance of the struggle, commenting on 
every twist and turn with that peculiar language which is shared by every devotee of a sport, 
and which is utterly incomprehensible to those ignorant of it, but they were enlivening their 


entertainment by a vast consumption of food and beverage as well. Across the square, I 
could discern the figure of the Tapster manning a portable refreshment cart, around which 
swirled at all times a small mob. Even across the great din, I could hear his voice: Beeeeer! 
Beeeeer! Beer and arsters! Free beer and arsters! 

Suddenly, a great cry drew my attention back to the civil war. In the center of the square, 
there was a sudden swirl of movement. In a moment, the confused mob of combatants 
resolved itself in its component parts, with various political trends fleeing in all directions. 

Treason! Treason! O foul treason! came the cry from many throats in the square, along 
with: O damnable King! O duplicitous royalty! 

From the spectators came an excited roar, as an understanding of the recent 
developments swept the crowd. Beside me, Mario was capering about in glee. 

I knew it! he howled. I knew it! Theres nothing like the Monarchy for a stab in the 
back! O cunning stroke! O shrewd stratagem! 

Whats happened? I asked Gwendolyn. She was almost as gleeful as Mario. She grinned 
at me, and put her arm around my waist. Not bashful, I followed suit. Then, for all the world 
like two teenagers enjoying an outing at the carnival, she filled me in on the developments of 
the civil war. 

The Kings betrayed his alliance with the Oligarchy and the Aristocracy of the Robe. 
Threw in his lot with the Rabble and whats left of the Republic. Caught his allies totally by 
surprise. Theyve been routedlook! 

Sure enough, even at that moment were the Doges and the Bureaucrats fleeing the square, 
not without belaboring each other in the process, each blaming the other for the disaster. 
Inkpots were tossed, coins flung. Fierce weapons, I discovered, doubloons hurled at close 
range. But all this was but aftermath. The civil war itself was over. 

The King now advanced to the center of the square. A tall man, he was, very regal looking. 
Arrived at the center of the square, the King summoned a herald, who blew a fanfare. The 
herald then bellowed, in a great voice which could be heard in every corner of the square, the 
following: 

Glory be to God and the Right! The legitimate King has triumphed in the field of battle! 
Let the word go forth to all the towns and villages! The Mutt is now declared a Monarchy! 

A great chorus of cheers came from the spectators. The herald continued. 

Let the word go forth to all the hills and dales! The King, in his graciousness, proclaims 
that his rule will be governed by the needs of the common folk! For he is not unmindful that, 
at his greatest hour of need, it was the Rabble which gave him victory! In this light, the 
Rabble is given leave to pillage the town! 

At these words, the Rabble advanced upon the crowd lining the square, nooses and 
torches held high. But as they neared the spectators, the nooses and torches were suddenly 
discarded. As if it were a signal, the distance between Rabble and crowd dissolved as the two 
groups greeted each other with much slapping of backs and general hilarity. A mad rush 
followed toward the Tapsters beer cart, as, for that matter, toward the many pubs and 
alehouses which lined the square. This rush was led by the Generalissimo, still crying, 
Unleash me! Unleash me! 

Within a minute, the various contenders for state power were reentering the square. 
Distinctions between Democrat and Republican, Doge and Aristocrat, were lost in a general 
wave of gaiety. The only exception to this universal good feeling came from one of the former 
cart-pullers. Next time, I heard him grumble as he rose to his feet, withdrawing a leather 


shield from under his shirt, I get to be the Emperor of the Grinding Hegemony. 

Its such a nice evening, lets walk back to the Free Lunch, suggested Gwendolyn. I 
readily agreed to her proposal, and so off we went, hand in hand. 

That was such fun, she chuckled. I havent been to a Mutt civil war in ages. 

Its not quite how I had envisioned a civil war. 

She smiled. Its a great place, the Mutt. Wolfgang calls it the one oasis of insanity in the 
whole of Grotum. Its been a refuge for centuries. What few revolutionaries make it to old 
age always retire here. 

I should think the other realms of Grotum would take offense and invade. 

Oh, they do. Try to, I should say. But no ones ever been able to defeat the Mutt in a war 
of invasion. Not with the people up in arms, and the dogs, and the Kutumoffs to lead them. 

I stopped and looked around. This is where General Kutumoff lives? Is he the General 
you keep talking about? 

Of course. He doesnt actually live in the Doghouse, although hes got a mansion in town. 
Mostly he stays in his shack in the woods, out on his estate. Youve heard of him? 

Heard of him? My uncles never stop talking about him! The worlds greatest general, they 
say. Rodrigo and Ludovigo even served under him. Brag about it all the time. I knew the 
General was Groutch, but I somehow thought he was the commandant of one of the major 
Groutch armies. 

Your uncles served with the General? she asked. I nodded. She pursed her lips 
thoughtfully. I never heard of Ozarines serving with the General. Plenty of them hang 
around, of course, but to actually serve with him! Well, anyway. Youll be meeting the 
General soon enough. I have to talk to him. If you want to come along, that is. 

Wouldnt miss it. My uncles would kill me if I did. 

When we got back to the Free Lunch, night had fallen. We enjoyed some more beer and 
arsters, and then made our way upstairs to our rooms. Both of us were very tired. There 
was another awkward moment in front of our respective doorways, where I felt like a 
fumbling schoolboy for the first time in years, not sure what to do. After a brief hesitation, 
Gwendolyn just smiled, said, Goodnight, and went into her room. I remained in the 
corridor for a minute, staring at her closed door, feeling immensely frustrated. Then I went 
into my own room and tried to get to sleep. Not with any great success. 


 
PART XII 


In Which We Present 
a Stirring Narration of the Exploits 
of Our Heroes in the City of Prygg, the Which 
Include Not Only a Daring Confrontation With the 
Foul Witch Magrit and Divers of Her Villainous 
Associates, But Other Impressive Deeds, 
As Well, Both Fair and Foul. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A Wizards Stealthy Cunning, Undone by a Clumsy Dwarf. A Wizards Subtle 
Subterfuge, Undone by a Witless Gnome. An Impudent and Motley Crews 
Disrespectful Ditty. A Mage in Foul Humor. A Gnomes Nature Dissected, A 
Dwarfs Character Denounced. But the Road Forward Gleaned! A Grim Resolve 
Made! 

Wizard and apprentice carefully picked their way through the streets of Prygg, hidden by the 
dark of night. Truly the mage listed among his many attributes the art of stealthery! For 
none livingno natural creature, at the very leastcould for an instant have discerned his shadowy 
form gliding soundlessly through the gloom. 

Alas, twas otherwise with his dwarfish companion. For the diminutive clod staggered to 
and fro beneath his enormous sack, raising both in voice and body the most horrendous din 
in the quiet streets of Prygg. 

Silence, dwarf! hissed Zulkeh. With your fatuitous clangor you shall arouse my 

enemies, ere now lulled into lassitude by the cunning of my trickery! 
But, master, whined Shelyid, I cant help it. The sacks heavy. And I cant see. 
Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Is the furtherance of science to be undone by the frailties of such 

as you? Again, I command you: desist from this vociferous conduct! 
But twas in vain. Threaten as he might, the wizard was unable to enforce furtiveness upon 
his ward. At length, he desisted in his efforts. 
Clearly, grumbled the mage, I shall have to adopt an alternate course. No hope of 


escaping the notice of my enemies in the streets, burdened as I am with this dwarven 
lummox. So be it! We shall establish quarters for the night, and begin anew by utilizing my 
powers of disguise and misdirection. And so saying, the wizard sought out a nearby hostel, 
Shelyid caroming behind. 

Later that night, after acquiring a room in the hostel, Zulkeh instructed his apprentice in 
the methods of disguise and misdirection. 

Know, dwarf, spoke the mage, that disguise and misdirection are but two faces of the 
same coin. The cunning of the one stands in profound dialectic with the craftiness of the 
other. With this truth foremost in our minds, we stand faireven this very night!to 
advance greatly in our quest. For look you, gnome, what transpires this very moment in the 
common room on the floor below? In an establishment, I might add, which I chose for our 
lodgings due to its very notoriety as a hotbed of carousal and debauchery. 

A lot of local folks are getting drunk, replied Shelyid promptly. 

Precisely so! And while this behavior is unseemly and disreputable, yet does it present us 
with the fulcrum with which to apply the lever of my subtlety. For look you, runt, what do 
plebes do when they become inebriated? 

Well, they do all kinds of things, master. They have a good time, they joke around, they 
play games, they urinate a lot, they getwell, I mean, theyat least they try to, you know, I 
mean with people usually of the opposite sex, although not always, and they 

Bah! oathed the mage. I did not request a catalog of all mortal and venal sins! The 
point, my stupid but loyal apprentice, is that they engage in discourse. 

Oh yes, master! They always talk a lot, I mean a really lot, and they usually repeat 
themselves all the time, especially after theyve had a lot 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. I did not request a demonstration! Suffice it to say that it is the 
inevitable characteristic of the lowlife in his cups to babble freely of all manner of things, the 
which include secrets which would normally be kept closely hidden. I trust that our course of 
action should now be clear in your mind, even given your limited intellect? 

Oh yes, master! Youre going to go down into the pub disguised like a common workman 
and get drunk and hang out with the people there and get slobbering drunk so you can worm 
your way into their confidence because theyll see youre just an ordinary guy, especially after 
they see you pissing about a gallon and falling down a few times and maybe even barfing 
once or twice. O master, you are the cleverest and most cunning of wizards! 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Impudent dwarf! Cretinous midget! How could you conceive such 
a preposterous idea? To begin with, twould be utterly beneath my dignity to conduct myself 
in such a manner. And moreover, twould be futile as well. For not even the common souse 
could be so dim-witted as not to detect my superior characterthe lofty brow and piercing 
glance would alone give me away. No, Shelyid, twould be ridiculous for me to attempt to 
pose as a lowlife when I have the ultimate lowlife as my apprentice. 

Me? gasped Shelyid. You want me to go down to the pub and get drunk with the people 
there? 

Of course! The plan is ingenious! Meanwhile, utilizing my powers of disguise and 
misdirection, I will insinuate myself into an obscure corner of the common room, unnoticed 
by all, there to observe and overhear the loose words which your carousal with the plebes 
will cause them to guardlessly utter. 

Shelyid slumped to the floor. His ugly little face became more unsightly still, his features 


squeezed into a ball, great tears wending down his cheeks. 

Oh please, master, he sobbed, dont make me do it. 

Why ever not? And whence this grotesque display? I should have thought you delighted 
at the prospect! Many is the time I have espied you gazing longingly at the boisterous crowds 
in alehouses. 

But, master, snuffled Shelyid, wiping his nose with his sleeve, sure and Id like to have 
fun in the pubs like real people do, but thats the thing. Im not a real people. Im a dwarf. 
Im a really ugly, hairy little dwarf. Theyll be mean to me. Real people are always mean to 
me. Real mean. They kick me, they hit me, and even when they dont, they curse at me or 
they make fun of me. They always do. Well, La Contessa was nice to me. And Rascogne 
wasnt so bad after a whileactually, he was really nice, too, except I wish he would have 
stopped picking me up all the time by the scruff of the neck and turning me this way and that 
and looking at me over and sayinghere the gnomes voice dropped to a baritone a 
snarl-friend, eh? Most strange, most strangebut theyre the only ones. The dwarf 
snuffled again. For that matter, youre not usually very nice to me, and youve known me all 
my life. 

Bah! oathed the wizard. I have no time for this puling drivel! Do as I command you, 
unworthy gnomeand be quick about it. For even as I speak, time wanes! 

And thus it came to pass that our heroes descended into the common room. The cunning 
wizard allowed some moments to transpire, following the first tentative steps of the dwarf 
into the boisterous environs of the pub. Then made he his own entrance, passing beneath a 
placard which announced the name of the tavern: The Swill As You Will. Shoulders hunched, 
his cloak drawn about him, hat pulled low over his lofty forehead, the mage quickly but 
unobtrusively found himself a seat in a dim and unoccupied corner of the tavern. 

Meanwhile, Shelyid advanced to the center of the room, his mincing gait bespeaking his 
unease and trepidation. There did he stand for some few moments, peering about. The room 
was quite full of carousers, but his attention was almost immediately drawn to the big table 
along one side. For there sat the very epicenter of the carousalsix lowlifes, well into their 
cups, noisy and boisterous in the extreme. From their garments, rough-knit and soiled; from 
their hands, callused and scarred; from their faces, coarse-featured and weathered; from 
their voices, rude and profane; indeed, from every aspect of their personae, twas clear as day 
that here was the very archetype of the brutish proletariat. 

Well, muttered Shelyid, mights well get it over with. Big as they are, least itll be quick. 

And so muttering, the gnome advanced to the table, squared his shoulders, and piped up: 
Can I have a drink with you guys? 
The boistering ceased. Six pairs of bleary eyes focused on Shelyid. 
A very little man! cried one. 
Nay, said a second, peering closely at the dwarf, say rather a very little youth. 
Preposterous! cried a third. Theres no youth so hairy in all the world. 
Nor so homely, added a fourth. 
Before the fifth and sixth could add their opinions, Shelyid cut right to the quick. 
Actually, Im a dwarf. Im a very ugly dwarf, and the reason Im so hairy is because I 

suffer from that most dread of nervous conditions, hysteria follicularia, the uncontrolled 

growth and spread of hair upon the body. 

What? cried one. 

That old wives tale! bellowed a second. 


Tis true, then, interjected a third, the superstition lives on! 

And in these modern times! added a fourth. 

Infamous! and Disgraceful! came the voices of the fifth and sixth. 

Why do you think that? demanded the first. 

W-well, Shelyid stammered, its just true, thats all. Ive always had it. 

What nonsense! sputtered the second. He reached down a meaty hand and hauled 
Shelyid up to the bench. A pot of ale was thrust into the dwarfs hands. 

A very large finger, belonging to the third, wagged before the gnomes nose. See here, 
young man, pontificated this worthy, it may be true youre a dwarf 

Difficult to say, opined the fourth. 

Most difficult, agreed the fifth. For who is so wise as to distinguish, with unerring 
precision, between a little man, a dwarf, a gnome, a midget, a shrimp, a runt, a pygmy, a 
Lilliputian, a chit, a fingerling, a pigwidgeon, a mite, a dandiprat, a micromorph, an 
homunculus, a dapperling, a small fry or someone with bad posture, weighted down with the 
cares of the world? 

Not us, thats for sure, concluded the sixth, for are we not uneducated, untutored, 
unlettered and ignorant? 

Rude, crude, lewd and uncouth, thats us! cried the first. This was apparently in the 
nature of a yahooish toast, for the six rowdies guzzled their pots in unison, Shelyid timidly 
joining in. 

Now then, spoke the second, waving to the barkeep for more pots of ale, who told you 
that? 
It took a moment before Shelyid, his head swimming with the unaccustomed effects of the 
evil brew, grasped that the question was directed at him. 

Who told me what? he asked. 

That you were afflicted with that most dread of nervous conditions, hysteria follicularia, 
explained the third. 
Oh. Well, actually it wasI mean, well, I shouldnt really say. 
Must have been a wizard, opined the first. 
Goes without saying, agreed the second. 
Even old wives dont believe that fable any more, added the third. 
Even ancient wives, contributed the fourth. 
Even crones rotting in their graves. This from the fifth. 
Even old husbands, concluded the sixth. 
You mean it isnt true? queried Shelyid. 
Course not! bellowed the first. 
Bilge and rot! added the second. 
Snatural for some people to be extra hairy like, slurred the third. 
Sno crime, came the thick-tongued voice of the fourth. 
Was not Joe himself called Old Shaggy? commented the fifth. 
Heres to Joe! roared the sixth. This was apparently in the nature of a bumpkin toast, for 

the six rowdies guzzled their ale pots in unison, Shelyid joining in, with somewhat unseemly 
haste, if the truth be known. 

This ceremony concluded, the first wiped ale foam from his lips and asked: So, where are 
you from, short one? Goimr, I expect, judging from your accent, your clothes, and your 
hesitant and dispirited sense of self-worth. 


A dismal lot, your Goimrics, commented the second. 

Cant hardly blame em, remarked the third. 

True, said the fourth. 

Better yet than being Kankrese, countered the fifth. 

Being a trilobite on the ocean floors better than being Kankrese, added the sixth. 

But trilobitesre extinct, protested Shelyid. 

Exactly his point, said the first. And you havent answered my question, lad. 

Shelyid fumbled for words. Twas clear as day that the two pots of ale he had already 
consumed were taking effect upon the never-too-quick-witted gnome. Perhaps it was 
dawning on him that he was supposed to be obtaining information from lowlifes, not the 
other way around. Certain it is that this thought would have pierced through to his brain like 
a poker, had he caught a glimpse of the ferocious glare bestowed upon him from beneath the 
wizards floppy hat. In any event, the dwarf made a valiant attempt at turning the tables. 

Yes, Im from Goimr. Boring place, I agree, not worshworthtalking about. Pryggs a 
much more interesting place. Must be a lot of hidden secrets and such in a great city like 
this. You guys lived here all your life, I bet. Bet you know all the secrets there are in this 
town. 

Tis clear, said the second, that among this wee fellows strengths, subtlety does not find 
its rank. 

Most maladroit attempt to pry information out of drunken sots Ive ever seen, agreed 
the third. 

Not so! disputed the fourth. I am reminded of the occasion when we were blessed by a 
visit from Rupert Inkman. 

True, true, admitted the third, I had forgot me. Sorry, lad,this to Shelyidyoull 
have to take second place. 

Theres no comparison at all! roared the fifth. Why, I think this little chaps done quite 
decentlysbeen polite, sdrank two rounds already, snot snarled or yapped or threatened or 
done nothing cept fumble sfirst effort to pry information out of sodden louts like us. He 
slapped the dwarfs back in a comradely manner. 

 Strue! cried the sixth. Nothing at all like the cadaverous Crud. Let me remind you, 
fellow sods, that when Rupert Inkman paid us a visit he conducted hisself altogether 
different from this small not-yet-master spy. 

Cant be denied, concurred the first. 

Did the Crud share in our slops? demanded the second. 

Nary a drop! bellowed the third. 

Twas the thumbscrews gave him away, pointed out the fourth. 

Especially when he tried to apply em to us, howled the fifth. 

Heres to thick thumbs! boomed the sixth, rising to his feet, ale pot in left hand, right 
hand outstretched, thumb sticking up like a potato. His sodden compatriots lurched to their 
feet and assumed a similar pose, six thumbs standing forth. And then, staggering to his feet, 
Shelyid joined his little thumb to the cluster, a sapling among great oaks. 

Heres to thick thumbs! roared the motley crew. This was apparently in the nature of a 
yokel toast, for the disreputable half dozen guzzled their ale pots in unison, Shelyid joining 
in, with most untoward gusto, if the truth be known. 

And now, lad, demanded the first, who is it whats put you up to this foolish poking and 
prying? 


Speak up, now, urged the second, refilling Shelyids pot. Youre among friends. 

Shelyid stammered and stuttered. He glanced into the wizards corner, as if for assistance, 
only to look hurriedly away. For veritably the mages glare was now like unto the fiery 
furnace. 

Dont badger the poor little chap! protested the third. He hasnt even had time to drink 
his pot! 

An outrage, agreed the fourth. 

An abomination, concurred the fifth. 

Heres to drinking our pots! bellowed the sixth. This was apparently in the nature of a 
ragabash toast, for the six great brutes guzzled their ale pots in unison, Shelyid joining in, 
with positively disgraceful zest, if the truth be known. 

I have been rude to our tiny guest, admitted the first remorsefully, belching for 
emphasis. 

Unmannerly, added the second. 

And in a most disneedly fashion, reproved the third. 

For the answers plain as day! cried the fourth. 

Sno reason to pester the wee one, agreed the fifth. 

Sa wizard has put the poor boy in the pickle, concluded the sixth, shaking his head 
solemnly. 

At the mention of the word, Shelyids head popped up from the ale pot in which it was 
buried, worry writ plain upon his face. He glanced into the mages corner, as if for 
assistance, only to look immediately away. For veritably the mages glare was now like unto 
the volcano eruptant. 

Apologies having been properly extended to the injured party, stated the first, I believe 
the time has now come to ask the question which is uppermost in our minds. 

Here the six drunkards turned, as one man, and peered into the corner where sat the 
thaumaturge. 

I say, mates, boomed the second, who is that ridiculous fellow who has been sitting in 
the corner for some time now in a transparent attempt at disguise and misdirection? 

The one with hunched shoulders, said the third. 

His cloak drawn about him, his hat pulled low to conceal his lofty forehead, added the 
fourth. 

Though not his piercing glance, which flames at this very moment like the molten basalt 
of creation, specified the fifth. 

Heres to the molten basalt of creation! roared the sixth. This was apparently in the 
nature of a riffraff toast, for the six rowdies guzzled their pots in unison, Shelyid joining in, 
with a zeal which can, under the circumstances, only be described as a public scandal. 

A sorcerer, pronounced the first. 

From Goimr, tis clear, added the second. 

Most wretched wizards in all Grotum, commented the third. 

Not so! countered the fourth. Tis a truth beyond dispute that of all piss-poor 
prestidigitators, tis those of Kankr who excel all others in the fumble-witted scale of 
misbegotten magery. 

Preposterous! snorted the fifth. Tis true that your Kankrene conjuror is an incorrigible 
maladroit, this I admit. Tis true as well that your Goimric goetic is a bungling buffoon, this 
goes without saying. Yet still do these shine as veritable Magi in comparison to the feckless 


rattlepates who adorn the pantheon of Sfinctrian necromancy. 

What nonsense! bellowed the sixth. Tis a fact known to babes in swaddling clothes that 
the faculties of all Groutch incantators are of such base degree that tis impossible, as a 
practic art, to discern amongst them the lowest from the low. Easier to rank the art of a pile 
of fruit flies! 

Now spoke the first. In general, I would agree, yet there is one exception must be made. 

Most true! cried the second. For even here in Prygg itself does there reside a 
thaumaturge of undisputable acumen and merit! 
Aye, agreed the third. Our very own Magrit. 
Proper witch, she is, intoned the fourth piously. 
Heres to Magrit! roared the fifth. This was apparently in the nature of a scalawag toast, 

for the six scoundrels guzzled their pots in unison, Shelyid joining in, with a ravenous fervor 
which, it can hardly be doubted, caused the angels to ring the dome of heaven with a united 
peal of outrage. 

I grant you that single exception, admitted the sixth. Shes not one to stutter up her 
cantrips, maladminister her potions, bungle her exsufflations or muddle her 
demonography! He took a deep draught of ale. Nor, I might add, is she one to sneak about 
alehouses in a foolish attempt to inveigle privy information from a motley crew of drunken 
lowlifes such as usrude, crude, lewd and uncouth though we behere there took place a 
clinking together of ale pots, in which, grievous to relate, Shelyids pot was not found 
absentbut who are still, I estimate with my primitive brain untutored in the mathematic 
skills, approximately thirteen orders of magnitude more clever than yon wizard of Goimr. 
Taken together, that isalone, I reckon the slowest wit among us is not more than eight 
orders of magnitude smarter. He mused briefly; waved a huge magnanimous paw. I will 
give him seven. 

Then, like the stalking lion discarding all stealth and leaping forward in his fury, did the 
mage charge forth into the center of the room. His eyes glowed like coals, smoke and 
lightning issued from his ears. 

O infamy! he raged. O base impudence! 

Impudence, is it? roared the first, slamming his great fist onto the table. And who are 
you, sirrah, to call us impudent? 
I bear the dreaded name Zulkeh of 
Goimr, physician, concluded the lowborn in one voice. 
Author of Reasons Absolute Idea? asked the second. 
The Speculative Logic? queried the third. 
The Phenomenology of True Truth? This from the fourth. 
They number among my titles, spoke the wizard in a majestic tone. 
And are you not as well the originator of the Theoretical Theorem, that all facts derive 
from theory? boomed the fifth. 

That I am! 

Andthis last but not least, demanded the sixth, are you not also the author of The 
True Law of Gravity, Properly So-Named Only By Myself? 
Quite so! spoke Zulkeh. And may I say I am pleased, albeit surprised, to find that my 
fame has penetrated even into the 
But his speech was cut short, for even at that moment did the motley crew erupt into 
gargantuan laughter, slapping their backs and pounding their fists onto the table, rocking 


back and forth in mad abandon upon their chairs, several, indeed, collapsing onto the floor 
in most unseemly mirth. Grievous to relate, into this grotesque revelry did the now-utterlyinebriated 
Shelyid throw himself without a thought, behaving in a manner which, were there 
justice in the world, should have seen him burned at the stake. 

Ho! Ho! gasped the first, as his rollicking humor flung him to the floor, my graveness 
pulls me down! 

Ha! Ha! shrieked the second, his ale slopping across his noisome workhabit from the 
shaking of his shoulders, perceiving the True Truth, my brew unfolds likewise in 
accordance with the foamy logic of its essence! 

Hee! Hee! giggled yet the third, draining his mug in a single quaff, my own brew, closer 
to the speculation that is its proof, finds its Absolute Reason in the Idea of my gullet! 

Great was the mages wrath. This is an outrage! he cried, gesticulating wildly. 

An outrage, is it? demanded the fourth, clutching his heaving ribs. How so? he gasped. 
Have we not caught the germ of your thought, stripped it like a seed from its husk, and 
shown it to the world as its own true kernel? And at this latest uncouth witticism, the entire 
party of rogues exploded into a veritable hurricane of laughter. 

This most disreputable scene was now brought to a positively disastrous state of affairs. 
For twas at this very moment that the dwarf Shelyid, his normal lack of wits compounded by 
gross inebriety, chose to rise in defense of his mentor. 

Shouldt make fun a thmaster, protested the gnome. Hissa mighty mage, thmaster, an 
hissona great n dangerous kestquest. He took another draught from his pot, spilling a 
good half of it down his tunic. Me too! he added proudly. Im nis prentice. The 
diminutive numbskull peered owlishly at the party of louts. He placed a finger before his 
lips. Shhh! he hissed. Gotta keep kitequiet. We got enemies, ysee. N thass why 

Silence, cretin! spoke the mage, wroth with wrath. He waved his arms wildly. Be silent, 
I say! Enough harm have you done, you unspeakable dolt! 

Cretin, is he? roared the first. 

Unspeakable dolt, is he? bellowed the second. 

Tis a damnable lie! cried the third. 

Tis a decent little man! averred the fourth, clapping the dwarfs shoulder. 

A right and proper shorty! concurred the fifth. 

Heres to all shrimps! hallooed the sixth. This was apparently in the nature of a canaille 
toast, for the six vulgarians guzzled their pots in unison, Shelyid joining in, with a passionate 
ardor so utterly inappropriate to the situation that even the lambs of the field, should they 
have been witness, would have bleated for his blood. 

You seek the witch Magrit! boomed the first. 

A mystery has befuddled his mind! cried the second. 

But tis not for lack of his science! pronounced the third. 

Nayperish the thought! protested the fourth. 

Not henot such a prodigy among philosophes! concurred the fifth. 

Verily, the answer lies elsewhere! concluded the sixth. 

As one man, the roughnecks leapt to their feet and cried out in unison: 

He has enemies, dont you know! 

Then, spreading into a ragged line, the six hurly-burlies linked arms and elbows and 
began a most uncouth dance, accompanied by the following doggerel verse: 


Its enemies brought him low, dont you know, 
dont you know? 
Enemies whats brought him low, dont you know, 
dont you know? 
Hid the truth from his cunning, dont you know, 
dont you know? 
Hid theyselves from his cunning, dont you know, 
dont you know? 
And thats why hes here, dont you know, 
dont you know? 
A-looking up old Magrit, dont you know, 
dont you know? 


At any rate, this tiresome and disgraceful ditty went on for some little time, showing on 
the part of its authors neither couth nor urbanity. Even worse was the spectacle presented by 
the treasonous dwarf Shelyid, who not only attempted to join the dancein which enterprise 
he failed due to his by-now-total state of drunkennessbut even, sprawled on the floor, 
attempted to learn the words, and then!when he failed in this enterprise as well due to his 
sodden incapacity to form any words beyond mushstill managed to beat time to the tune 
with his ale pot. A sad and sorry sight, indeed! 

As for the wizard himself, it is not inaccurate to state that this proved to be one of the rare 
moments in his life when he was actually speechless, so great was his indignation. It goes 
without saying that this atypical speechlessness was all that saved the six lowlifes from the 
most gruesome of fates. For had the wizard been able to form coherent phrases, there is not 
the slightest doubt that the hexes and spells which would have issued from his lips should 
have brought down upon the half-dozen hooligans a termination so hideous as to have 
served generations of proletarian mothers in cautioning their children on the dangers of 
insulting a sorcerer. 

As it happens, howeverand in this we see that primitive cunning so often evidenced by 
the lower classestwas at this very moment that the gargoyle group announced, again as 
one man, that it was time to turn in for the night. No sooner said than done, the loathsome 
gang staggered out of the tavern into the darkness of the streets beyond. Yet did the sixth of 
the motley and disreputable crew pause upon the threshold, and, gazing back within, wave a 
thorny finger in the direction of the street to his left, announcing: Youll find the witch 
Magrit down this streettwo blocks, turn left a block, right three blocks, and there she is 
an old great gray house, tall and turreted about. You cant be missing it. And so saying, he 
followed his brethren. 

These events recounted, the gentle reader may imagine that it was in no great humor that 
the wizard returned to his rooms above, dragging his apprentice by the scruff of the neck. 
Therein he stormed about, casting down curses upon lowlifes in general, a half-dozen 
lowlifes in particular, and one specific dwarf. 

Especially, one specific dwarf. 

Indeed, indeed, he waxed most eloquently upon the subject of this one specific dwarf, 
cursing not only the fate which had saddled him with the witless and unworthy gnome, but 
every habit, attribute, characteristic, feature, foible, trait, earmark, peculiarity, particularity, 
singularity, lineament, quality, property, idiosyncrasy, mannerism, tendency, detail, aspect, 


streak, stripe, crasis, diathesis, disposition, affectation, temperament, bent, bias, warp, woof, 
twist, turn, leaning, inclination, propensitude as well as propensity, propendency, 
propension, proclivity, predilection, and predisposition, forgetting not humor, mood, 
temper, tone, vein, grain, cast, cue, heart, mettle, and spirit, the which, taken together, 
summarized the persona of this specific dwarf, even including in this condemnation certain 
descriptions of the gnome which, fairness requires me to say, were something of an 
exaggeration, of which cloven-hoofed was perhaps the least ill-tempered. 

No doubt this lecture would have greatly enlightened the wretched dwarf, opening up to 
his understanding many aspects of his character which the dull-minded runt had not 
hitherto grasped. But alas, the wizards efforts were in vain, for the dwarf Shelyid had long 
since fainted away, whether in awe and wonder at the wizards psychologic facility, or from 
the unaccustomed effects of many pots of ale, it is difficult to say. 


PART XIII 


In Which We Return to the 
Autobiography of the Malefactor 
Sfrondrati-Piccolomini, this Portion 
of Whose Story Consists of a Crude and 
Unscrupulous Attempt to Win the Favor 
of the Reader, by Means of Mawkish 
Romance and Melodrama. 


The Autobiography of Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini, 
Episode 7: Signs, Signals, Sighs and Sorrows 

So it was on such a note of frustration that I awoke the following day. Gwendolyn and I saw 
little of each other. She spent the whole day sitting at a table in a corner of the Free Lunch, 
talking to an endless stream of people who came in and out of the alehouse. All of them 
ambled in with a smile and left in a hurry, great frowns on their faces. I made it a point not 
to overhear her conversations, but it was plain enough even to one of my limited grasp of 
politics that she was energetically spreading the word through the revolutionary network. 
And I couldnt help but overhear some of the comments made by people as they left the 
alehouse, among which A Rap Sheet! and Were doomed! figured prominently. 

I couldnt help but overhear, I say, because I myself spent the morning perched on the 
colonnade in the front of the Free Lunch. As I had promised the Tapster, I repaired his sign. 
When I was done, if I may say so myself, I had turned the thing into a work of art. 

Then, partly because I had nothing else to do and partly because my artists instincts, once 
aroused, are difficult to control, I started working on the entire colonnade. The underlying 
construction of the colonnade was sound enough, but whoever had built it had absolutely no 
sense of decoration and what little they had was long since eroded by the elements. 

So there I was, happily painting and carving away, when I heard a loud voice below. 

Thats enough, Benvenuti! Enough! 

I looked down. It was the Tapster. 

Look at it! Its a work of art, now, for the lovegargoyles, even. He shook his head, jowls 
quivering. You couldnt eat and drink that much in a lifetime. 

I climbed down off the colonnade. A lengthy debate followed, at the conclusion of which I 
managed to convince the Tapster that since I myself considered his beer and arsters a form 


of art in their own right I considered us to have made a reasonable exchange of use values. 
The clinchera shrewd move, this, though it pained me deeplywas my insistence that I 
was deeply in his debt for correcting my pronunciation with respect to edible mollusks. 

Well, thats true, he mused, seeing as how I not only did you the great service in its own 
right but probably saved your life, in the bargain. Most people arent as tolerant as myself, 
you know, when it comes to the proper name for arsters. 

In the end, he was mollified. But he still insisted that Id done enough. And so there I was, 
it being only the early afternoon and with too much time on my hands. 
After enjoying an enormous lunchthe Tapster insisted on heaping my platter time and 
againI approached Gwendolyn at her table. 

Im sorry to interrupt, I saidand no sooner did these accented words issue forth from 
my lips than I was greeted with a sea of hostile and suspicious faces from the people 
gathered about the tablebut I just wanted to tell you Im going to wander about the town 
for the rest of the afternoon. Ill see you tonight. 

Gwendolyn smiled at me. Then, noticing the expression on the faces of the others at the 
table, she scowled. 
And whats your problem? she demanded of them. So hes an Ozarineso what? Hes 
with me. I vouch for him. 
The frowns eased, but did not vanish. Gwendolyn slammed her fist onto the table. 
Everyone jumped a foot in their seats. 

What is this? she roared. Bigotry? In the movement? I wont have it! 

I managed to keep from smiling. This, coming from Gwendolyn! 

The frowns were replaced by looks which combined shamefaced guilt and not a little 
trepidation. This latter was not surprising. Gwendolyn in a fury is not a thing to be taken 
lightheartedly. 

Ill probably be tied up most of the night, Benvenuti, growled Gwendolyn, her fierce gaze 
not on me but on her comrades. Theres still a lot of the comrades I have to talk to, and 
thenher voice here resembled a great felinestheres perhaps a little matter of political 
re-education to be dealt with. 

I left the room, then, trying not to laugh at the expressions I left behind. 

The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough. Its an odd place, the Doghouse, but not 
without its own charms. The artwork, I found, had a crude but strangely appealing quality to 
it. There was one figurine in particular that I found attractive. It was made of terra cotta, 
unpainted, depicting the bust of some very rough-looking man. More like an ogre than a 
man, really, with his beetling brows, great hook of a nose, and deep-set eyes. Some of that 
was due, I was sure, to the crudity of the craftsmanship, but I felt, without knowing why, that 
it was not unlike the original model. But what struck me about it was that, even despite the 
obvious lack of skill of the artisan, the figurine somehow managed to capture a hint of a 
great spirit lurking within that horrid exterior. It was really a fine piece. 

I noticed it in one shop, and then began seeing it in several others. Eventually, I found 
myself so taken by the thing that I determined to obtain one, so that I might make my own 
carving. I retraced my steps back to the first shop, whose figurine had been of the best 
quality, and effectuated an exchange of services with the proprietor. It was not difficult. My 
travels about the town had made it clear to me that if I should ever decide to become a sign-
maker I could easily set myself up in the Doghouse and enjoy all the simple bounties of its 
life. 


And so it was that I returned to the Free Lunch, gay as a lark, and walked into a most 
painful episode. 

By the time I got back it was very late. Gwendolyn was sitting at the same table, but the 
crowd of the day was gone. Only one person was sitting there with her. I did not pay much 
attention to him, so happy was I to see her again. A general impression of great height 
obvious even seatedand a luxuriant beard, was all that initially registered. Gwendolyn 
glanced at me as I approached, then looked back to the man. Something in the set of her 
shouldersa rigidity, perhapsstilled the affectionate greeting that I was about to utter. 

Have a seat, she said. Her voice seemed distant. She motioned back and forth. Roach, 
this is Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini. Benvenuti, meet The Roach. Hes an old friend of 
mine, just got here. I wasnt expecting him. 

The man stood up politely. A large, long-fingered hand reached out. I shook it. For the 
first time, I looked at him closely. Extraordinarily tall, he was. Middle-aged, rather slender, 
although obviously sinewy. His face was difficult to discern, so covered it was with an 
immense beard. His hair and beard were streaked with gray. I got an impression of a great 
prow of a chin buried somewhere beneath the hair, but I was more struck by his eyes. 
Somewhat deep-set, light-colored, and very hard to read. His clothes were those of a 
workman, very nondescript except for the most immense and striking set of boots that I ever 
saw in my life. The Boots, I was later to learn. 

Which branch? the man asked, after he resumed his seat. His voice was a pleasant tenor. 
I began to explain where my immediate family line fit on the complex hereditary tree of 
the Sfondrati-Piccolomini clan, but before I got very far into it he began nodding his head. 

Yes, yes, I know it. A look which combined amusement and a certain respect. An odd 
lot, not at all like most of those pedants. When I was in the Ozarine, I spent some pleasant 
afternoons quaffing ale with an Idomeneo Sfondrati-Piccolomini. A cousin of yours, he must 
be. 

Second cousin. Ive only met him once. My uncles sent me to bail him out of jail. 

The Roach emitted a great baying laugh. I can believe it! He never had the proper respect 
for his patrons, that lad. Rich slobs couldnt tell a work of art if it bit them on the arse, hed 
always say. 

My initial warmth toward the man, however, began ebbing as the night wore on. Soon 
enough, I came to view him with a great coldness. The fault was not his, actually. Indeed, it 
was part of the growing horror of the scene, that I knew him to be a man whose acquaintance 
I would have enjoyed, perhaps even cherished, under other circumstances. Under that rough 
and bristly exterior I could detect a great, somehow gentle, self-confidencea quiet dignity, 
a sense of his place in life that it is given to very few people to possess in this world. 

But the fact is, the circumstances were as they were. Nothing was said, neither by he nor 
by Gwendolyn, and they never so much as touched each other once. But I am not a fool. I 
will admit I stayed at the table well past the time I should have made a graceful exit. The 
Roach seemed oblivious to the situation. But I am an artist, with an artists eye, to whom the 
tension in Gwendolyns posture was obvious. So stay I did, trying to forestall the inevitable, 
until my stern upbringing came to my rescue. 

When it comes to romance and heartbreak and all that, my uncles had told me more 
than once, try not to be a complete jackass. 
And so I finally rose from the table, bid them goodnight, and made my way to my room. 
Sometime later, I heard Gwendolyn and The Roach moving through the corridor and into 


her room. The indistinct murmur of their voices came through the wall for a few minutes, 
followed by silence, followed, some minutes later, by sounds which I did my best to ignore. 
Eventually, I managed to fall asleep. 

When I awoke, my body feeling ill-used and my soul worse, I lay in my bed unmoving. 
After some time, I realized that I was hearing a conversation coming from Gwendolyns 
room. I could not hear the words, but I seemed to detect an undertone of anger in The 
Roachs voice and a coldness in Gwendolyns. For a moment, the temptation to press my ear 
against the wall and eavesdrop swept over me like a tidal wave. But I resisted it, springing to 
my feet and charging downstairs after hurriedly making my ablutions and throwing on some 
clothes. 

Good as they were, I was getting a bit tired of beer and arsters, so I wandered down the 
street and had breakfast at a nearby restaurant. When I got back to the Free Lunch, 
Gwendolyn and The Roach were finishing a platter of arsters at the table in the corner. After 
a moments hesitation, I decided that avoiding them would be undignified. So I made my 
way over and accepted The Roachs invitation to sit. 

A somewhat strained silence followed, which Gwendolyn broke by saying: I have to make 
arrangements to go visit the General. Ill be back shortly. 

After she left, the silence returned. I was trying to think of some pleasantry to break the 
awkwardness when The Roach suddenly exclaimed some meaningless noise. He stood up 
abruptly and glared around the room. His great beard bristled fury at the universe. 

Absurd situation! he exclaimed. Then, glancing down at me, he said: Come on, 
Benvenuti, lets go outside. 

I followed him out of the tavern, not sure what to make of things. He began pacing 
restlessly back and forth in the courtyard, staring down at the pavement. I soon gave up 
trying to match his immense strides, and stood unmoving. After a minute or so, he looked 
over at me and motioned with his head toward a bench against the wall. 

Once we were seated, he leaned back against the wall and emitted a great sigh. 

Had I realized the situation soon enough, he said suddenly, I would have gone 
elsewhere to spend the night. 

I dont see why, I said, very stiffly. I have no claim on Gwendolyn. 

Who does? he demanded. No man has any claim on any woman. Certainly not 
Gwendolyn. 

He looked over at me, and then burst into a barking laughter. 

Ah, and will you look at those square shoulders! A Sfondrati-Piccolomini of the old 
school! Face the ovens of hell with a stiff upper lip. 

My upper lip was stiff. I assure you, sirrah, that your concern is misplaced. I hold the lady 
in the highest esteem, but 

His laughter became positively canine. When the grotesque mirth ebbed, he shook his 
head and said: 

I dont think theres anyone in the world who can be such a jackass as a man trying not to 
be a jackass. 

I let this unseemly comment pass. My upper lip, I believe, now resembled the prow of a 
war galley. Suddenly, I broke. 

II just I stammered. Im only tryingwhat I mean I took a breath. It is true 
what I said. There has been nothingwell, nothing seriousbetween Gwendolyn and me. 
That is, well, of a physical nature. 


Again, that barking laughter. 

Think I give a damn where your peckers been? For some reason, this crudity was not 
offensive, coming from him. When I looked at him, he was gazing at me with a strange look 
in his eyes. But then, as Ive said, his eyes were hard to read. 

This is not about you and me, he said quietly. Nor, to be honest, do I care a fig about 
your relationship with Gwendolyn. 

He looked away for a moment, and then continued. 

Gwendolyn and I have known each other for many years. During those years, we have 
been friends and comrades-in-arms. And, whenever the occasion permitted, we have been 
lovers. It is a hard world we live in, she and I, with few enough of lifes joys and comforts. A 
hint of sorrow came into his voice. I have thought sometimes, ifwell, no point in that. His 
eyes grew distant, as if gazing at an unreachable horizon. 

During those years, he continued, neither of us has ever asked any questions of each 
other. The truth is, for all that I love the woman, and I believe she loves me, there is no great 
passion in it. 

He stared down at his long fingers, restlessly intertwining. Passion is not something that 
I can give her. Its the legacy of my own line. Goes all the way back to the first Roach, that. 
Bleakly, but with great pride: Our passion is directed elsewhere. 

He took a deep breath. You are something new to her. Quite new, and she doesnt know 
what to make of it. Im not certainwho knows, really, what moves another?but I think 
you stir up in her all the feelings of a young womanhood that she never had. She was thrown 
into the revolution at such an early age. Took to it, too, like a fish to water. Little enough 
chance, shes ever had, to enjoy her life. And most men are too intimidated by her to do more 
than stare from a distance. 

That brought a smile to my lips. Its a bit disconcerting, when it dawns on you the lady 
could bend you into a pretzel. 
The Roach shook his head. Its not even that. Its the fierceness in her soul. She could be a 
third her size, and shed still terrify most men. 

I thought about that, and nodded my head. 

The Roach scratched his beard. Even a hand his size almost disappeared in the great mass 
of hair. 

Anyway, the point Im trying to get to is this. It was not until this morning, after listening 
to her talk about you through most of the night, that I finally realized what was going on. Of 
course, then I was furious. His beard bristled. I dont like being used. 

How areoh. You think shes trying to make me jealous? I frowned. I dont thinkno, I 
dont believe that. It doesnt seem 

You idiot, he said. Of course shes not trying to make you jealous! What is she, some 
schoolgirl playing childrens games? No, shes trying to drive you off, thats what. Doesnt 
realize it, of course. But thats what it is, sure as Im sitting here. And she used me to do it, 
and I am not pleased. 

He stood up abruptly. Im not sure why Im talking to you about this, he said, looking 
away. Partly its because I refuse to be a part of it. Again, the bristling beard. Damn the 
woman! Let her solve her own problems! 

He looked down at me. You really dont understand, do you? Not surprising, youre so 
like her. I can tell, even on such short acquaintance. Well, lad, Ive done my duty by my own 
lights. I told Gwendolyn this morning that itd be pure and simple movement business 


between us until she straightens out the knots in her own love life. I am not a tool. If she 
wants to chase you off, fine. Let her do it. If she doesnt, thats fine also. I will tell you, for 
whatever its worth, that I think youre both foolsyou more than she. 

He bestowed a world-class glare on me. 

Damn all romantics, anyway! Do you really think youre prepared to give up all your 
dreams and ambitions? He laughed, not very pleasantly. Dont deny it. Your branch of the 
Sfondrati-Piccolominis all have that madness. Want to shape the worlds great art, you do. 
Statues in the park, paintings on the great cathedrals, only the finest gold filigree! Can you 
picture Gwendolyn in a nobles salon, arguing over the latest style? 

I avoided his eyes. 

Not likely, is it? And what about you? Are you ready to give that up? I dont mean the 
company of the richI know that doesnt mean anything to you. But if you want to muck 
around in fine art, youve no other choice, Benvenuti. Precious few patrons youll find, in 
Gwendolyns world. 

I was silent. 

Romantics! Stubborn and stupid, like no mule even dreams of being. 

At that moment, Gwendolyn came striding into the courtyard. When she saw us, she 
hesitated, then continued on into the tavern without a word or a glance. 
My eyes followed her all the way in. When I looked back at The Roach, his expressionless 
gaze had returned. 

What the hell, he said. Whoever said life was easy? He turned and followed Gwendolyn 
into the Free Lunch. I remained in the courtyard, seated on the bench. My thoughts were 
hard to describe. Stupid. Stubborn. 

Some time later, Gwendolyn reemerged into the courtyard. The Roach followed a few 
steps behind, then stopped. Gwendolyn turned back to face him. 

Youre sure you wont come? 

The Roach shook his head. Theres no need, Gwendolyn. You can fill the General in on 
the situation, and I need to get to Blain as soon as possible. Except for Prygg, the initial 
blows will land there the hardest. And the comrades in Blain have the best contacts with 
Pryggia. 

She hesitated. 

Go, he said gently. 


 
PART XIV 


In Which Our 
Heroes Complete the 
First of Their Self-Appointed 
Tasks, Falling Thereby Into the Most 
Unseemly and Questionable Company, 
At Great Peril To Their 
Good Reputation. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A Search for a Secret Door, Thwarted by a Clumsy Dwarf. A Surprising Entrance 

Found, Thanks to a Clumsy Dwarf. The Secret of Its Entry Sought By the Mages 

Lore, Undone By a Doltish Apprentice. A Stairway Leads Up! 

The following day, under cover of a heavy rainfall, wizard and apprentice set out on their 
mission. Guided by his cunning, Zulkeh quickly found the location of Magrits house. It was 
much as described the evening before: a gray, dilapidated building, four stories in height, 
surmounted by a profusion of turrets, crenelets, and whatnot architectural monstrosities. 
Even from a distance, the main entrance was plainly evident: a large wooden door, painted 
yellow, facing directly onto the street. 

Seek we now another entry, whispered Zulkeh to his apprentice. Quiet now, Shelyid! 
Enemies lurk all about! And so saying, the mage circled the block and came up to the rear 
wall surrounding Magrits domicile. 

Doubtless there is to be found a secret door in this wall, spoke the mage. Search now, 
dwarf, and be quick about it! 

Alas, the dwarfs efforts at finding the concealed entrance were sorely hampered by the 
overhang of his sack, the which prevented him from approaching the wall closer than two 
arm-lengths away. Shelyid began to whimper and complain. 

But master, I cant see anything and I cant even get close to the wall. 

Clumsy dwarf! oathed Zulkeh. Is the advance of science to be thwarted by the stubby 
limbs of such as you? Stretch your joints, dolt! Again, I command you: find the secret door! 

Grumbling but obedient, the dwarf made a valiant effort to reach the wall. But in his 


clumsiness he stepped upon a wooden storm drain grate, the which, overcome by the 
bantamweight gnome and the heavyweight sack, broke beneath his feet. 

Help, master! Save me! shrieked Shelyid, as he plummeted into the hole. In an instant 
he was gone. 

My sack! cried Zulkeh, and leapt after the gnome. 

The gentle reader may imagine the difficult moments which ensued, what with wizard and 
apprentice swept along down a storm drain torrential with rainfall. Fortunately, though 
much battered about, our heroes quickly came to rest upon a ledge within the sewer below. 
All was as dark as a cellar at midnight. But it was only a moment before Shelyid produced a 
taper from the sack, the which soon produced enough light to see a few feet. 

Diminutive clod! oathed Zulkeh. Did I not entrust you with the safekeeping of my 
thaumaturgic possessions? He cuffed the gnome soundly. 

Yet all was not in vain, continued the wizard. For look you, wretch of an apprentice! 
His finger pointed to a large gate in the wall next to Shelyid. Through the gate could be seen 
a passageway beyond, which was dry as a bone. No doubt yon passage leads direct to some 
hidden entry into the witchs quarters. Seek we now the trick of its opening. 

For long moments did the wizard remain poised in silent stillness, examining the iron gate 
with that degree of concentration which is the unique attribute of great sorcerers, a depth of 
perceptive focus which is as far beyond the understanding of common folk as is the eagles 
power of flight to frogs in the fen. Meanwhile, Shelyid shivered and hugged himself, looking 
both bedraggled and woebegone. 

At length the mage spoke. 

Know, my stupid but loyalI graciously leave aside the scandalous events of the evening 
pastapprentice, that the problem which presents itself to us at this moment is of the 
deepest intricacy. 

What problems that, master? queried Shelyid. 

What problem, you say? It is obvious, lummox! In what mannerand by what means? 
are we to open yon secret gate which leads to yon secret passageway which, in turn, leads to 
yon, not as yet seen, secret door? 

Why dont we 
Quiet, if you will! I must concentrate my full attention on the task, undisturbed by the 
idle ramblings of an ignorant gnome. Abashed, Shelyid fell silent. 

Of course, mused the mage, the obvious approach would be the utilization of either the 
Tomb Robbers Cantrip or the Grave Despoilers Cantation. But the first runs the risk of 
arousing the pharaohs from their necrotic sleep, and the second, as is well known, will 
summon every zombie within miles. The pharaohs, of course, can be encapsuled in a 
cartouche, and even a mage much less puissant than myself can thwart any number of 
zombies. But the use of the cartouche will release great goetic energies, which Magritthe 
noxious harridan!will be sure to detect. And, as all experience attests, thwarted zombies 
would raise so great a din of protestation as to awaken every deaf mute in the city. No, no, 
twill not do. And again the wizard fell to musing. 

But, master, whispered Shelyid timidly, I think if we 

Did I not bid you to be silent? demanded the mage. Then, seeing the hurt reproach on 
his apprentices face, the wizard sighed deeply. My loyal but stupid apprentice, you do not 
begin to grasp the difficulty. It is utterly pointless for you to fumble about in your feeble 
mind for the solution to the problem. 


Here the wizard wagged a solemn finger at the dwarf. Know, Shelyid, that for eons the 
greatest minds of mankind were united in the opinion that secret doors and passageways, 
buried entries and the like, were impenetrable to any not privy to their secrets. Twas only 
the supreme genius of Schliemann Laebmauntsforscynneweld which finally proved this 
universal belief incorrect, when he opened up to the worlds understanding the hidden 
treasures of the lost and fabled cities of antiquity. His example before them, other members 
of the clan have since followed in his footsteps, of whom the great Breasted 
Laebmauntsforcynneweld is perhaps the most notable. 

The mage settled himself comfortably, preparing, twas clear as day, for the pleasure of a 
learned lecture. It seemed, on the other handjudging, at least, from the furrow on his 
brow, the clutching of his shivering limbs to his body, the wrinkling of his nose at the 
noxious odors emanating from the proximate sewerthat his apprentice did not fully share 
the wizards anticipation of the didactic prospect. But the mage took no heed, being totally engrossed 
in the pressing subject at hand. 

Sad to say, however, the prodigious progress made by the descendants of Schliemann in 
advancing the lore of secret doors, buried treasures and such, were not matched by any 
comparable feats emanating from their rivals in the normally noble, but in this instance 
sadly remiss, clan of the Sfondrati-Piccolominis. This peculiar archaeologic imbalance twixt 
the great clanswell-known to the worlds cognoscentihas itself been the subject of much 
scholastic inquiry and debate. Indeed, twould be the proper subject of a profound 
dissertation on some future occasionremind me of this point, gnome!to examine this 
problem at our leisure. But now is not the momentfor even as I exposit, time wanes! Let 
me simply say here that it is my tentative opinion that the reticence of the Sfondrati-
Piccolominis is best explained as the result of their collective shame at the disrepute brought 
upon their scholarly traditions by the jackanape Houdini Sfondrati-Piccolomini, the which 
charlatan and rogue did so 

The mages discourse was interrupted by a loud clangor. Looking up in surprise, Zulkeh 
was even more astonished to discover that the large iron gate, the very item the complexities 
of whose secret of opening had been the proximate cause of his study, was even now, at that 
very moment, lying flat upon the ledge. The way to the passage beyond lay open and 
unhindered. 

Im sorry, master, said Shelyid. My hand must have slipped. 

Several times, it would appear, spoke the mage stonily. He eyed the many clasps and 
latches which were strewn about the ledge, the which had previously held shut the gate and 
had, or so the evidence indicated, been detached by the clumsy dwarf. 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. He glowered at his apprentice.  Tis fortunate for you, my stupid 
but loyal apprentice, that Magrit in her cunning has placed here a common and ordinary 
gate, cleverly disguised as a secret entry. He glowered further, then shrugged. 

But what boots it? Tis perhaps fitting that the debauched harridan should be undone by 
her excessive trickery. Follow me closely, Shelyid! 

This command given, the wizard strode through the gateway into the passage beyond. A 
few short steps were taken by our heroes to the end of this passageway, where, opening to 
their right, was unmistakable proof of the sorcerers prescience. For there, even before them, 
was a small and dingy room, empty of all furnishings. At the far end, but a few steps away, a 
narrow and winding staircase wended its way upward. 

Magrits basement, proclaimed Zulkeh, his voice filled with satisfaction. And there lies 


a staircase, the which, I have no doubt in my mind, leads to a secret entrance into the witchs 
very lair. Leave the sack behind, dwarf, for you are clumsy enough without it. And 
rememberthe utmost trickery and maneuver! 


 
CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Witch Encountered. Indignities and Introductions. The Dwarf Behaves Badly. 

His Conduct Reproved by a Reputable Agent. The Astonishing Sequel Thereto. 

Uncouth Merriment and Wagers. A Salamander Protests! 

The creaky stairs climbed up and up. The mage and his apprentice ascended, moving with 
utmost stealth and cunning. At length, they espied a landing above. Beyond the landing lay a 
door, standing slightly ajar. 

The utmost stealth and cunning, Shelyid! spoke the mage in a low voice. Even now do 
we approach the witchs lair. 
But, master, grumbled the dwarf, why do we have to creep around like this in your 
friend Magrits house? Im tired! Why dont we just go up and knock on the door? 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. What absurd proposal is this? The witch is not my friendand 
this, for two reasons. Imprimis, she is not my friend because she is a crass termagant, a 
loathsome virago, grotesque in both habit and mind. Secundus, and even were this not so, 
she is not my friend because I have long since eschewed friendship. For know, dwarf, that 
friends are as detrimental to the pursuit of science as enemies. I say this to caution you 
against your regrettable tendencyso sorrily evident in your recent conductto become 
ensnared by goodfellows, jovial sorts, and the like. 

The wizard raised an admonishing hand. But enough of this nonsense, hissed Zulkeh. 
We must hastenfor even as I whisper, time wanes! And so saying, the mage prepared to 
step onto the landing. 

But he was stilled in his purpose, for at that very moment the door above was flung wide 
with a great clatter. Startled, our heroes gazed upward and perceived, illuminated from 
behind, the figure of a woman dressed in an old robe and wearing slippers. She stood there 
in a most aggressive posture, arms akimbo, fists planted on stout hips, gazing down the 
steep stairs over a most intimidating bosom, her faceso much was evident even in the dim 
lightingdisfigured by a sneer of cold disdain. Atop her shoulder, peering down with tiny 
red eyes, squatted a salamander. 

Thought so! boomed the woman in a raucous voice. Its that old fart, Zulkeh. And the 
little one with himjust as Les Six described. Well, dotard, come on up and stop creeping 
aroundmakes me edgy! Come up, I say! Her figure disappeared from the doorway. 

Well, master, said Shelyid, we might as w But he was silenced by the wizards glare, 
like unto the fires of eternal damnation. 
Unspeakable gnome! oathed the mage. This disaster is entirely your responsibility! 


Look you at the result of your cretinous behavior the evening past! 

The dwarf pouted. It wasnt my idea, hanging out with those drunks. I didnt want to do 
it. Although, I had a real good time and they were actually real nice to me even though I 
dont remember a lot of it and today my head really hurts. But, Shelyid concluded, a 
preposterous tone of accusation in his voice, it was your idea in the first place, so if 
anybodys to bl 

No doubt the dwarfs impertinence would have resulted in a most severe and well-
deserved thrashing, judging, at least, from the gathering storm upon the wizards brow. But, 
in the event, the wretch was rescued by the intervention of an unforeseen savior. For, at that 
very moment, the witchs voice was heard to say: Greyboar! Fetch me these two clowns! 

A moment later, a gigantic form filled the doorway. And a frightful figure it was! Atop a 
pair of shoulders massive both in size and brutish slope, like unto the forequarters of a great 
bear, sat a most villainous headif villainy can be judged from a predatory beak of a nose, 
beady black eyes, a crop of kinky hair. Not a vestige of a neck separated the head from the 
shoulders below. 

But our heroes were given little time to examine the newcomer, for two hands the size of 
platters descended upon them, seizing each by the scruff of the neck. In a trice, wizard and 
apprentice were lofted from their perch on the steps and deposited within the room beyond. 
This seemed to have been done without effort, which was perhaps not surprising, given that 
the arms which connected the hands to the shoulders were of colossal proportions, being not 
only deinotherian in their circumference but possessed of a length which was altogether 
monstrous. 

Looking about, our heroes found themselves in a cavernous room, the which was revealed 
to be the domicile of the witch Magrit, combining, as it did, the multichambered functions of 
a sitting room, library, laboratory, museum and curio shop. Within the room, besides our 
heroes, rested three persons: the witch Magrit, the giant just recently described, and a third 
individual. This latter, a red-headed man so small as to border on dwarfdom, sat in a chair to 
one side, his little legs dangling several inches off the floor. Upon his freckled and pug-nosed 
face sat an expression which was composed, in strange combination, of equal portions of 
amusement and dyspepsia. 

But our heroes were given little time to examine their surroundings, for the witch spoke 
again, in an exceedingly discordant tone of voice: Whats the matter, you old fart? My place 
too messy for you? 

Zulkeh coughed apologetically. I meant not to offend, madame, norI assure you!is it 
the plenitude and disarray of objects which disturbs me, nor even the quaint deordination of 
chamber functions, for I know quite wellbeing myself, as you doubtless recall, a practicing 
thaumaturge of vast experience and plenary powers 

Whos the windbag, Magrit? interrupted the salamander, in a voice both sharp and 
unpleasant. Is he always like this, or is he just having a bad day? 

His names Zulkeh, responded the witch. Hes a wizard. And yeah, hes always been like 
this. I knew him when he was a little twerp of an apprentice at the University. Even then he 
was a windbag. I balled him once, just to win a bet, and I swear he was still talking in semicolons 
with my legs wrapped around his head. 

All eyes fixed on Zulkeh. His apprentices eyes were the size of saucers. Perhaps the gnome 
found the image just sketched difficult to reconcile with his masters august person and 
demeanor. 


As for the wizard himself, every fiber of his being, every nuance of his posture, every 
minute aspect of his expression, not excepting the scarlet color of his cheeks, bespoke with 
great eloquence his profound indignation. 

These are private matters, madame! he roared. I must demand that you respect my 
dignity! 

He glared at Magrit, then spoke again in a peremptory tone. Moreover, the event in 
question occurred long ago, when I was a callow youth subject to occasional japes and 
escapades. And may I remind you of the unfortunate end of the affair? I should think youof 
all persons!would seek to keep its history hidden. 

Fuck you, said the witch. Would you believe, she added, spreading her arms and 
taking in with her gaze the entirety of the rooms occupants, that no sooner did I screw the 
little cloddy than he runsthe next morning, mind you!to the Rector of Novitiates and 
babbles a confession of the sinfulness of his deeds. Course, he depicted himself as the 
innocent party, dragged to the coupling couch by a scarlet woman, pleading for mercy all the 
while, practically chained to the bed and beaten with whips, to hear him tell it. Never did get 
around to explaining how he got a hard on. Not, she added unkindly, that it was much of a 
hard on to begin with, now that I think about it. 

The wizard positively spluttered. But the strumpet was unabashed. 

Yeah, he got me thrown out of the University forand I quotegross and licentious 
behavior. Himself, of course, oh, and he was the darling of the deansan unfortunate 
lapse, they called it, but quickly rectified by the honest and timely confession of the 
fundamentally sound and sterling-charactered apprentice Zulkeh. She laughed. Yeah, but 
it was just as well. God knows what Id be like today if Id stayed in the University! 

She sneered. And as for you, Zulkeh, you ought to thank me! Probably the last time you 
got laid, am I right? 

The wizards answer to this horrendously indelicate question will forever remain 
unknown, for at that very moment did the salamander leap from Magrits shoulder, scurry 
across the room, and flash beneath Zulkehs robe. A moment later, the wizard was hopping 
wildly about, scrabbling in his garment. The salamander had, it appeared, attained to the 
mages private parts. 

Out! Out! Out, vile beast! cried Zulkeh. Out, I say! Out! 
In a flash, the salamander emerged and scurried back across the room, coming to rest by 
Magrits foot. 
Must be true, Magrit, announced the little monster. Hes got wizards whang. Most 
advanced case I ever saw. 
The witch snorted. Dont surprise me! As a kid, he had prentices pecker. Most advanced 
case I ever saw. 

Suddenly the tiny horror darted across the room again and disappeared up Shelyids 
trousers. And now it was the dwarf who hopped wildly about, scrabbling in his garment. The 
salamander had, it appeared, attained to the gnomes private parts. A moment later, the foul 
little beast reappeared and scurried back to Magrits foot. It peered at Shelyid quizzically, its 
head cocked. 

Well? This from Magrit. 

Kids in the wrong line of business, pronounced the creature. 

Fie upon this monstrous incivility! oathed Zulkeh. Madame, you abuse your guests in a 
most unseemly manner! 


Guests? demanded Magrit. What guests? The only guests here are Greyboar and 
Ignace. She looked to the giant and his tiny companion. Have you been abused? 

Not at all, rumbled the giant. 

Youve been a most gracious hostess, concurred the other. Of course, he added, we 
still have to do a job for you, youve made that clear often enough. 

The witch glared at the midget. I know, I know, he said hastily,  no freebies from 
Magrit. 

Not for you, thats for sure, snorted the witch. She turned back to Zulkeh. 

So much for that! Let me remind you, you old fart, that I didnt invite you here in the first 
place. You crashed the party. And you didnt even so much as come straight to the front 
door. Not the great wizard Zulkeh! Didnt the sixth give you perfectly clear directions last 
night? But no! The magnificent mage has to go crawling through sewers and creeping 
through cellars. 

She glared at the wizard. For his part, Zulkeh coughed in his throat, somewhat nonplussed 
by thisalas, it must be admittednot untruthful charge. 

Whats the matter, demanded the hellhag, cat got your tongue? She fixed Shelyid with 
her malevolent gaze. You tell us, shorty! Am I right, or not? Didnt the old fart waste half 
the day down there? Probably kept telling you here the obscene ogress dropped her voice 
an octave the utmost shrewdery and stealth! the utmost sagacity and cunning! the utmost 
trickery and maneuver!  

Shelyid coughed, somewhat nonplussed by thisalas, it must be admittednot altogether 
inaccurate description. 

Thought so! snorted the witch. And whats your name, anyway? 

Shelyid, maam, replied the dwarf timidly. 

Dont call me maam! barked Magrit. Silly title! Magrits the name. People wanting to 
be respectful call me the proper witch. If Im in a good mood you can call me the old bag, 
or the salacious crone, or the horrible harridan, oroh hell, any one of a thousand things 
Ive been called. She fixed Shelyid with a piercing eye. But I warn you, at the moment Im 
not in a good mood. 

Yes, muh, Magrit, stammered the dwarf. 

Well? demanded Magrit. Speak up, Shelyid! Am I right or what? 

The apprentice furrowed his brow. Well, pretty much. I mean, the master didnt 
actually 
Silence, dwarf! Zulkeh glowered at his apprentice. What means this craven toadying to 
the witchs impudent interrogation? Be silent, I command you! 

Discipline restored, the wizard turned back to Magrit. 

I shall graciously overlook the rude manner of your greeting, madame. Not to mention 
the impertinent behavior of your familiar! He bestowed a fierce look upon the salamander. 
For, I will admit, my method of entry was perhaps not altogether suave in its approach. 

With a conciliatory gesture, he forestalled the derisive remark even now foreseeable in 
Magrits expression. Let bygones be bygones, if you will. Soon enough, Magrit, you will 
learn the cause of my apparently outr behavior. But for the moment, may we begin anew? 
Perhaps with some common civilities! For I have not yet been properly introduced to your 
other guests. 

Then, observing the intemperate remark about to issue from the witchs lips: Say rather, 
your proper guests! Or, if you prefer, the other occupants of this room. 


With some effort, or so it seemed, the horrid hag restrained her natural inclinations. 
Taking a deep breath, she shrugged her shoulders. 

What the hell, why not? Zulkeh of Goimr, let me introduce you to Greyboar the strangler 
and his agent Ignace, lately of New Sfinctr. Theyre here at the moment due to a falling out 
with the authorities of that pesthole of a city. Not for the first time! 

The giant bowed politely. Im Greyboar. The little ones Ignace. My card, sir. And so 
saying, the mage was presented with an embossed calling card held between a thumb and 
forefinger the size of large sausages. The card read: 

GREYBOARStrangleur Extraordinaire 
Have Thumbs, Will Travel 
Customized Asphyxiations 
No Gullet Too Big, No Weasand Too Small 
My Motto: Satisfaction Garroteed, or 


The Chokes on Me! 

But I have heard of you, sir! exclaimed the mage. Are you not the same Greyboar who 
throttled the Marquis de Sangsue? 

The strangler nodded his head. I have that honor. 

Twas a masterly stuffocation, by all accounts! And are you not the author, as well, of the 
legendary strangulation of the Comte de lAbattoir and his entire party of Knights 
Companion, done at the very feasting table where they took their pleasure? 

Greyboar shrugged modestly. It cannot be denied. 

How foolish of me not to have recognized your name at once! My apologies, sirrah. 

The strangler dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. Zulkeh turned to his 
apprentice. 

You are most fortunate, Shelyid, to make the acquaintance of such a universally admired 
master of his profession. In point of fact, not simply a master, but, according to the vast 
majority of experts, the modern exemplar of the chokesters trade. Why, the Encyclopedia 
Ozarinica has gone so far as to state that Greyboar is the equal of any of the great 
asphyxiators of history, at least with regard to fingerwork, if not, perhaps, in force of 
contraction. 

Sheer tonnage of gullet overpressure is the aspect of the trade which always impresses 
the amateur, stated Greyboar. But all practitioners of the craft know the secret lies entirely 
in the fingerwork. 

I will certainly defer to your professional judgement on the matter, spoke the mage. As 
a philosophe, I am in any event more inclined to respect the aesthetic than the muscular 
aspects of your craft. And all connoisseurs of the art are agreed that the burking of de 
lAbattoir and company was a masterpiece, a masterpiecenot alone in the extreme 
elongation of the several throats, but in the delicacy of detail. As I recall, each of the chokees 
necks was tied in a different knot, am I not correct? 

I was particularly proud of the Blackwall hitch, admitted Greyboar. Sir Mordicus, that 
was. 
Zulkeh frowned. I should tell you, sirI speak now as one professional to anotherthat 


your reputation has been somewhat disparaged of late. An article appeared in a recent issue 
of The Journal of Contemporary Assassination, authored by none other than Dashiel 
Sfondrati-Piccolomini, in which he argues that your abilities, great though he admits them to 
be, have been cast in the shade by a rising Ozarine phenomenon by the name of Pythoneus. 

That twerp! cried a shrill voice. Turning, all saw that Ignace had left his chair and was 
hopping about in great agitation. That juvenile braggart! That pipsqueak posturer! That no-
thumbed puppy! He glared at Greyboar. I told you we should have squeezed his fanfaron 
gullet for him when the swaggering snot came through New Sfinctr! 

Greyboar did not, it seemed, share his agents concern. He shrugged his shoulders, like an 
avalanche. 

Why bother? Plenty of room in the trade. Besides, who cares what some pedant says in a 
scholarly journal? No offense, sirrahthis to Zulkehbut its precious few of my 
customers who ever say theyve been referred by the latest issue of the Journal of this or the 
Annals of that. 

To be sure, agreed the mage. We scholars tend to settle our disputes in aphysically, at 
leastless energetic manner. 

Still began Ignace, but he was interrupted by Shelyid. 

You mean you kill people for a living? Thats awful! 

Reactions to this unexpected comment varied. Magrit chuckled, the salamander smirked, 
Greyboar looked aggrieved. But the wizard and the agent Ignace were alike in the look of 
outrage and indignation which sat upon their respective faces. 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Wherefore am I plagued with such a dolt of an apprentice? 

Shut your mouth, you nasty little dwarf! was Ignaces less rhetorical comment. 

Know, Shelyid, spoke the mage sternly, wagging his finger in the gnomes face, that this 
upstanding gentleman is a respected practitioner of an honorable profession whose origins 
date back to the time of antiquity. How could you be such a lackwit as to confuse him for a 
common murderer? 

But he kills 

Bah! oathed the wizard. He does not killif I may use your crude expression for a 
momentanyone. He strangles them. Is this not so, sirrah?This latter to Greyboar. Have 
you ever once resorted to any method of termination other than the prescribed placement of 
thumbs and fingers about the weasand and the ensuing application of pressure? 

Nope, came Greyboars reply. Well, on occasion Ive used garroting toolsrope, cord, 
piano wire and such 
The wizard waved airily. Those are recognized the world over as legitimate extensions of 
the art. 

and, of course, Ive often found it necessary to break bones, shred limbs, mangle 
bodiesbut only with respect to secondary persons, bodyguards and the like, who interpose 
themselves between me and the completion of the job. The job itself is always done with 
legitimate fingerwork. Im quite a stickler on this point. 

The wizard nodded his approval. Precisely so! The maiming, mangling and mortification 
of secondary persons in the course of a stranglers assignment are, of course, hallowed by 
tradition. 

But the impudent dwarf was still not satisfied. I dont care how he does it! Hes still 
killing people for a living! They are dead when youre done with all this fancy choking and 
stuff, arent they? he asked the strangler. And a bizarre sight it was, the little gnome staring 


up at the person of the chokester, who loomed above him like a buffalo pondering a 

fieldmouse. 

Arent they? demanded Shelyid again. Dead, I mean? 

The strangler coughed delicately. Well, yes, he said. Actually, thats rather the point of 
the whole thing. 

Ignace came between the chokester and Shelyid. We dont have to take this crap, 
Greyboar! he shrilled. He shoved himself up against the dwarf, glaring down at Shelyid 
not, let it be said for the record, by such a great height, for the agent barely escaped being a 
dwarf in his own right. 

Look, shrimp, snarled Ignace, just shut your nasty little mouth! I warned you already! 
Whore you, anyway, to question the great Greyboar? A ridiculous dwarf! Ugly as sin, and 
hairier than a miniature musk ox! You need to learn some manners! 

And so saying, Ignace placed his hand on Shelyids face and with a shove sent the dwarf 
sprawling onto the floor. Not satisfied with this indignity, the peppery little agent scurried 
across the room and stood over Shelyid. He drew a knife and made a great show of testing its 
edge on his thumb. 

Ignace! came Greyboars voice. 

Ill take care of this, big guy! exclaimed Ignace, waving away the strangler, who was not, 
as it happens, moving to his assistance. 

See this knife, runt? demanded Ignace. Sharp as a razor! Any more crap out of you, and 
Ill cut off your tongue! 

I say! spoke Zulkeh. I must protest, most vigorously, this uncouth threat to the person 
of my apprentice! Desist, sirrah! I insist! I admit that Shelyid has behaved badly here, but 
there is no 

He spoke no further, for twas at this very moment that an extraordinary event came to 
pass. So extraordinary, in fact, that the entire Alfredae clan rushed as one louse to observe 
the scene. And so it was that the Alfredae, who were more knowledgeable upon the subject of 
Shelyid than any intelligences on earth (were we not, after all, blood of his blood?) observed, 
from divers perches and vantage points upon his brow, his scalp, his ears, and whatnot, what 
wasall were agreed on this pointthe most unexpected and astonishing behavior ever 
exhibited by the misbegotten gnome. 

For the first time in his life, Shelyid lost his temper. 

Lost it, moreover, not as one carelessly misplaces a glove, easily found after a moments 
thought. Lost it, not as one forgets a familiar name, and suffers a few minutes of minor 
embarrassment. Lost it, not as one loses ones way in an unfamiliar city, and spends an 
unpleasant hour retracing ones steps. Lost it, not as the shepherd loses the stray sheep, and 
spends an arduous day clambering about the hillside until the lamb is recovered. Lost it 
well, I could go on in this pleasant literary vein for some time, but let me just conclude by 
saying that the gnome Shelyid lost his temper much as Dispater, Archduke of Hell, lost the 
keys to Paradise and the hope of eternal salvation. 

He sprang to his feet before the astonished Ignace, who stepped back a pace. Then, 
garbling incoherently, the dwarf drew from some fold of his tunic the small poignard given 
him by Rascogne de Sevigneois. No sooner drawn than utilized! For the apprentice 
immediately attempted many maniacal gashings of the agents throat, stomach, chest, 
indeed, whatever portion of the rapidly receding Ignaces body was closest at hand. 

Shelyid! cried the wizard. Desist! Desist, I say! Desist at once! 


But the dwarf evidenced no inclination to obey his master. Such, at least, seemed the only 
reasonable interpretation of his replies, of which Ill drink his blood! was the least profane. 

Truth to tell, the agents predicament soon became extreme. Early in the contretemps, 
Ignace waved his own blade cunningly, demonstrating both by stance and surefooted poise 
his expertise in the skill of knifery. But to no avail! For the dwarf, responding at first with a 
clumsy attempt to exercise the lessons imparted by Rascognethe which succeeded only in 
causing him to trip over his own feeteschewed then and thereafter all subtlety and 
maneuver. Pitiful and wretched gnome, inept in this as in all things! Instead did he rely 
thenceforth entirely on the uncouth force of his fury, a wild and witless hacking, stabbing, 
chopping, hewing and suchlike incompetencies, the which rapidly succeeded in disarming (I 
should say, disblading, for Ignaces quick reflexes prevented the actual loss of his arm at the 
same moment as his knife went flying) the now-less-than-cocksure agent. 

Then, piling error upon error, the crazed dwarf advanced in utter confusion, while, for his 
part, Ignace retreated in a most clever and adept manner, interposing twixt his body and 
Shelyids blade all manner of chairs and footstools, the which adroitness, however, availed 
him but little, for the now-howling-like-a-banshee apprentice did rapidly transform these 
shields into so much firewood, mostly suitable only for kindling. 

Backed into a corner, the now-less-belligerent agent escaped by slithering like an eel 
between Shelyids legs. Abandoning all thought of armor and shields, Ignace now drew upon 
that deep reservoir of tactical subtlety which derives from a lifetime of experience in tavern 
set-tos and alehouse disputes, and essayed the time-honored tactic of fleeing like an 
antelope. 

Alas, it soon became clear that here as well the agents well-honed experience was moot, 
for the now-baying-like-Baalzebubs-hellhound apprentice tracked down Ignace and flushed 
him from every hiding hole with the same single-minded determination shown by the wolf in 
pursuit of the hare, not excepting the disgraceful exhibition of the gaping jaws and the lolling 
tongue. 

Yet the tricky little agent retained his capacity to think and plan, demonstrating yet again 
the qualitative difference between the experienced combatant and the emotion-ridden and 
easily-maddened amateur brawler, even in those rare instances where the professional finds 
himself at a momentary disadvantage. For the now-clearly-irresolute Ignace drew upon that 
selfsame cool professionalism and put to use his one remaining edge over Shelyid, I speak, of 
course, of his moderate advantage in height. 

The agent leapt into the rafters above. There, he perched beyond reach of the dwarfs 
blade, the which flashed back and forth below like the futile claws of the lion at the monkey. 

Grievous to relate, even this latest demonstration of his haplessness at the hands of a 
veteran did not dissuade the foolhardy Shelyid from continuing the one-sided struggle. For 
the witless gnome now flung himself upon the great stanchion which upheld the rafter, 
hacking and hewing like a miniature lumberjack, apparently intending by this primitive 
method to bring Ignace within reach of his now-like-the-shark-in-its-feeding-frenzy 
murderous resolve. Such, at least, seemed the only possible interpretation of the various 
stuttered declamations and doggerel verses which issued from his foam-flecked lips, of 
which the phrases the higher they are, the harder they fall! and hey ho! hey ho! its off to 
work we go! were the least incoherent. 

But it was even here, when the rapidly mounting pile of woodchips and sawdust seemed 
fair to result in the early demise of the now-wailing-like-a-lost-soul agent, that the sagacity 


of the experienced Ignace finally worked its way, much like the chessmaster coolly 
checkmates the novice who, in his amateurish enthusiasm, mistakes his trove of captured 
pieces for the harbinger of victory. For, of course, the dwarfs assault upon the foundations 
of Magrits house necessarily brought the intervention of powerful external forces. 

And where, I can hear the gentle reader asking, has Magrit been all this time? And 
Greyboar? And Zulkeh? 

As for the wizard, he had been nursing his wounds. For the outraged Zulkeh had, on 
several occasions during the brawl, majestically interposed himself between the dwarf and 
his prey, commanding the apprentice to cease and desist from his unseemly conduct. 
Grievous to relate, the maddened gnome had paid no more attention to his lawful masters 
clear and explicit instructions than a ravenous weasel obeys the admonitions of the farmboy 
to respect the person of the chicken in the yard. Thrice had the wizard been bowled over like 
tenpins by the dwarf in pursuit of the agent, until, reflecting upon his bruises, he made his 
way to comparative safety along the wall. From that vantage point, Zulkeh contributed no 
further to a resolution of the conflict. Instead, he devoted his prodigious intellect to the 
development and exposition of a lengthy peroration upon the subject of his apprentice which 
was, it must be admitted, sullen in the extreme. 

But at least it can be said of Zulkeh that he made an attempt to bring the light of reason to 
shine upon this dark and disgraceful episode. Not so Magrit and the strangler! The conduct 
of these twain was rather like that of arsonists heaving torches on the conflagration. For the 
two did roll about the floor throughout the fracas, howling with laughter and cackling like 
geese! 

Worst of all was the contribution of the horrid salamander! The evil little creature 
summoned forth all the mice from their holes, offering bets on the outcome of the melee. 
These wagers the rodents declined, even after the despicable amphibian offered ten to one 
odds on the apprentice. 

(Let me say here, by way of a narrators aside, that from this very episode stemmed that 
streak of misbehavior on the part of our lousely youth which, in the time to come, was to 
prove such a burden to the honored elders of the Alfredae. For not only did the disease of 
gambling henceforth raise its ugly head amongst the youth, but twas from this episode that 
there developed that noxious habit among the more ruffianly adolescents of chanting in 
unison: Shelyids our host! Hoo, hoo, hoo! Shelyid, thats who! Not to mention the thence-
common appearance on the forelimbs of outright juvenile delinquents of such obscene 
tattoos as Born To Raise Hell and Shelyids Slaves.) 

But now, at long last, did Magrit and Greyboar retrieve at least a small fragment of 
responsible behavior. 

Oh shit, Magrit cackled, the little barbarian-horde-in-ones gonna bring the whole 
house down! And this pathetic jest caused her and the strangler to howl anew, slapping 
each others backs with abandon. 

Yeah, sputtered Greyboar, but at least we finally know what really happened to the 
Great Wall of Grotumit pulled a knife on a dwarf! And this ridiculous quip caused him 
and the witch to howl yet again, rolling about the floor like lunatics in an asylum. 

But at length they recovered, and Magrit, holding her ribs, managed to gasp: Youd better 
stop him, Greyboar. I cant afford to rebuild the place, and besides, I dont want to have to 
mop up whatd be left of Ignace if the dwarf gets to him. 

And so it was, still laughing shamelessly, that the strangler staggered to his feet and seized 


Shelyid by the neck. Suspended in midair, the gnome turned his furious knifework upon 
Greyboar, but the huge chokester disarmed Shelyidrather gently, oddly enoughand 
tucked the apprentice under his left arm. Then, reaching up into the rafters with his right 
hand, he hauled down the agent and deposited him with a thump on the floor. He then said 
to Ignace: Next time, dummy, pick on someone your own size. 

And at this latest uncouth bon mot, he and Magrit again fell to hollering and 
backslapping. It appeared that Ignace did not share the humor, for after a moment the agent 
jumped to his feet and said to the strangler, in a tone of voice brooking no argument: 
Greyboar! Strangle that dwarf! 

Greyboar gazed at his agent, tears of laughter still rolling down his cheeks. 

Why would I do that? he asked. 

He insulted us, thats why! came the shrill reply. 

Us? demanded Greyboar. Whats with this us? He didnt insult me. Oh, and sure, I 
supposed you might feel insulted, being chased around like a cat by the Mouse From Hell 
again, he and the witch hooped and hollered disgracefullybut thats your problem. 

What do you mean he didnt insult you? shrilled Ignace. Thats how the whole thing 
started! I was just defending your honor! Didnt he call you a common killer? The outrage! 
The disrespect to your person! To your professional standing! Then, with the air of one 
playing a trump card: To your philosophy of life! 

The strangler snorted derisively. What a load of bullshit, he said. Youof all people 
lecturing me on philosophy! Ha! He glared at his agent. But Ill get back to that in a 
moment. First Ive got to calm down Midget the Terrible here. Another round of ridiculous 
gaiety. 

Greyboar held up Shelyid before him and shook him like a terrier shaking a rat. More 
accurately, like a dragon shaking a mouse. This treatment finally snapped the dwarf out of 
his madness. 

That hurts! complained Shelyid. 

Thats the idea, commented Greyboar placidly. Now look, midgetsorryShelyid, 
youve made your point, and made it quite thoroughly, but enoughs enough. Im going to let 
you down now, but I want no more chasing after Ignace, you hear? Hes been my agent for a 
long time, and hes the best in the business. Besides, I like the little hothead, even if 
sometimes he is a complete asshole. Greyboar ignored Ignaces squeal of outrage. Is it a 
deal? If you still want to fight, well, thats all right, too. But this time youll have to fight me, 
and I dont suggest it. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, I wouldnt even think about it. 

The light of reason now having returned, Shelyid carefully examined the figure of the 
chokester, and nodded his head. 

Sa deal. 

Good. Greyboar set him on the floor, then turned to Ignace. 

Now, lets get back to you, he growled. Philosophyha! From youha! First of all, my 
fair-weather little logician, the kid never insulted me once. Oh, and sure, he indicated 
reservations concerning the ethics of my trade. So what? Plenty of people have! My own 
sister Gwendolyns said more than onceright in front of you, too!that I wasnt nothing 
better than a thug and that I ought to mend my evil ways and go back to my honest job in the 
packinghouse. I didnt see you rise to my defense then, push her in the face and knock her 
down, stand over her waving a knife and threaten to cut out her tongue. How come? Speak 
up! 


Ignace coughed. Well, shes your sister and all. Got to make allowances for family, you 
know, and besides 

What a load of bullshit! interrupted Greyboar. A great sneer crossed his face. Naturally, 
it doesnt have nary to do with the fact that shes almost as strong as I am and used to gut 
steers at her job in the slaughterhouseeach one with a single stroke of the knife, if you call 
that great cleaver of hers a knife. 

Well, muttered Ignace. Well. 

Well, nothing! Ye olde sorcerer over therea massive thumb indicated Zulkehcan 
wax as eloquent as he pleases on the hoary traditions of my most honorable and prestigious 
profession, but you know as well as I do that the plebes we hang out with dont think 
chokings anything more than a fancy name for the same stuff what gets them pitched in the 
hoosegow at the drop of a hat. I get away with it for two reasons. He held up a pair of 
fingers like cucumbers. First, I only do it for money. That makes it a respectable profit-
making enterprise, rather than a hideous crime of vulgar passion. Second, and more 
important, I only choke rich people at the request of other rich people, which makes it classy 
and haut cuisine. 

Thats not true! denied Ignace. Youve burked lots of lowlifes! 

Most of em loan sharks or pimps. Or their bullies. 

Well. Well, even so! 

Loan sharks and pimps dont count. Or their bullies. Makes even the porkers yawn. 

I dont care! shrilled Ignace. The dyspeptic little agent began hopping up and down in 
fury. Forget the philosophy, then! That miserable dwarf pisses me off! Choke him, I say, 
choke him! Throttle the little runtas a personal favor to your old friend and faithful agent. 

Not a chance, replied Greyboar. Three reasons. He held up three fingers like a stack of 
logs. First, right now the favor I owes to the kid, on account of how he just got through 
providing me with more entertainment than Ive had in years. Another sorry round of 
merriment ensued. Second, I dont choke people as personal favors to anyone, you 
included. Professional ethics, you know. And finally, I dont choke shrimps. 

I dont care! shrilled Ignace. You 

Although, mused Greyboar, stooping over Ignace, theres always a first time. 

Silence fell over the agent. Ignace peered up past Greyboars great hook of a nose, his 
beady black eyes visible at a distance. So does the mouse examine the eagles beak just 
before lunch. 

Youd be without an agent, he squeaked. Businessd suffer. Youd go hungrystarve 
have to go back to work in the 

Nonsense! cried Greyboar. Soon as word got out I was throttling obnoxious little 
loudmouths thered be a line outside my door. A long, long line. Wouldnt need an agent! 
Just need to hire a few bouncers to keep the line orderly. Big, beefy lads, phlegmatic types, 
you know, the kind wont start fights for no reason. 

Pondering this line of logic, Ignace soon came to the conclusion that there was some truth 
in Greyboars argument. He was perhaps helped along in drawing this conclusion by the 
learned debate which promptly erupted between Magrit and Zulkeh over the precise length 
of the line of customers which would form to seek the asphyxiations of offensive twerps. 
Here the wizard leaned toward the conservative side, opting for a line no more than two 
miles long, while the witchexhibiting a more sanguine temperamentfirmly placed twelve 
miles as the lowest conceivable limit. 


The argument waxed hot and heavy. Zulkeh, in a rare lapse into empiricism, cited for 
authority his long experience with the aggravations caused him by his diminutive 
apprentice. For her part, Magrit ridiculed this selfsame hard-won expertise, advancing the 
to your narrators minddubious premise that the dwarf Shelyid was rather a fine and 
sprightly little chap. She went on to depict the sorcerer Zulkeh as a narrow-minded pedant 
whose cloistered existence had given him no concept of the true essence of the obnoxious 
little loudmouth, so well-known and despised by the common run of mankind, the which 
would eagerly scrape together their few coins to see the world rid of this plague. 

In the event, the question was settled by the grotesque little salamander. For once again, it 
rounded up the multitude of mice and put the question to them, asking the rodents what 
they would offer for the privilege of ringside seats at the apparently-soon-to-be-forthcoming 
throttling of Ignace at the hands of his client. This questionthough obviously framed in a 
weighted and unscientific mannersoon resolved the dispute, not to mention Ignaces mind. 
For twas but a moment later that the mice, having disappeared into their holes, came 
pouring forth in a great horde, chittering with glee, dressed in holiday finery, bearing in their 
tiny paws various crumbs, treasured trinkets, and bits of succulent cheese. One enthusiast 
went so far as to offer, in a squeaking little voice, the pelt off my back. 

Of course, the rodents were doomed to disappointment, for Ignace promptly announced 
himself satisfied and went to sit sullenly in his chair, pouting and sulking. A great uproar 
ensued, with much chittering and squeaking of indignant mice. The salamander was forced 
to flee onto a nearby table. Magrit, for her part, finally managed to quell the agitated mob of 
rodents with many pounds of cheese offered by way of a refund. 

Havent had so much fun in a long time, commented the witch, after the last mouse had 
disappeared. In a rare good humor, she smiled down at Shelyid and said: You can call me 
the old bag any time you want, lad. 

Oh, I wouldnt do that, maMagrit, protested Shelyid. 

Just as I said! proclaimed the witch. A fine and sprightly little chap. Well-mannered, 
too. 

Then, with noticeably less pleasure, she gazed upon Zulkeh. 

All right, you old fart. Now that the funs over, lets get to business. You do have business 
with me, I assume? Its not likely youre here for the pleasure of my company. Unless, she 
added, with a disgusting leer, you got horny again. 

The wizard chose to ignore this last remark. Instead, he drew himself up, in a most 
dignified manner, and spoke as follows: 

Yes, madame, I have come here on a matter of business. I findnot with any feeling of 
pleasure in the fact, mind you!that I have need of your assistance. For it has come to my 
attentionmost unexpectedly!that I have enemies. And so 

But he was interrupted by the salamander, who, from its perch atop Magrits shoulder, 
exclaimed shrilly: 
Oh shit, not another one! 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A Wizards Discourse. Rather, A Horrid Salamanders Prcis of Same. A Demand 

For Payment. An Offer of Payment. An Offer of Payment Rudely Refused. A 

Wizards Indignation. A Lunatic Appears! 

Whats your problem, Wittgenstein? 

Such was the question addressed by the witch to the salamander, in response to that 
latters vulgar outburst. The creature had a name! 

I told you this foety business was a bad move, Magrit, groused the salamander. It looked 
over to Greyboar and Ignace. I told her and told her! Would she listen to me? No! She never 
does! Its tiny red eyes glared. 

Now look at the situation! it continued. Thats all we ever get anymore. One sorry-ass 
so-called wizard after another. Its already-shrill little voice assumed a particularly irritating 
nasal tone. I cant do my spells because some unknownwhat a joke!enemies are 
attacking me in some unknownha!manner for some unknownha!reason. It 
stopped, glaring at Magrit. 

She shrugged. Its a living. 

Its a bore. 

May I continue? demanded Zulkeh. I must say, madame, these constant interruptions 
are an affront to the pursuit of sciencethe more so, coming as they do from this unnatural 
beast! 
Unnatural beast, is it? shrilled the salamander. Lets put it to the test! Lets see if this 
unnatural beast isnt capable of plumbing the so-called depths of your so-called science. 

The unnatural beast hopped from Magrits shoulder onto a nearby table. Then, assumed a 
most unnatural pose, the which, strange to say, uncannily mimicked the posture and mien of 
the wizard Zulkeh. It proceeded to speak in a raspy style of voice, the which, strange to say, 
uncannily imitated the wizard Zulkehs elocution. 

Madame, it began, a problem has astonished me in my mind. Yet, still more astonishing 
than the astonishment itself is the very fact of my astonishment! For, as you well know, I 
rank among the mightiest of the worlds wizards, and hence, by this selfsame nature of my 
dialectical cunning and metaphysical majuscularity, am incapable of being astonished in my 
mind. It follows then, as night from day, through the simple application of syllogistic logic, 
that this paradox can only result from the intervention ofenemies. 

Here the horrid little salamander began to pace back and forth, its head bowed in the 
manner of one deep in thought, gesticulating with short but sharply expressive motions of its 


forelimbsthat is to say, imitated in a most uncanny fashion the mannerisms of the wizard 
Zulkeh when this latter engaged in profound exposition. 

Alas, due to that selfsame scientific loftiness, I am not an expert on that arcane, uncouth, 
and obscure branch of the thaumaturgic discipline which goes by the name of foety. Hence 
I will speak franklyhave I come to your side, madame. 

The miserable little beast ceased its pacing and stood stiffly erect, peering forth intently, 
exhibiting in every angle of its posture that superlative dignity which was the hallmark of the 
mage Zulkeh when pronouncing an unpleasant but true truth. 

For you are the witch Magrit, the horrid harridan, the repulsive termagant, the fustigant 
fury, the lamia rampant, the execrable harpy, the verminous virago, the loathsome she-wolf. 
Hence are you known the world over as the unquestioned mistress of the lore and practice of 
foety, this expertise being explained, of course, not simply by its natural attraction to one of 
your demonic foulness, but, more simply still, by the demands of self-preservation. 

The vile little monster ceased and stared at Zulkeh. Well, it demanded, has the 
unnatural beast captured the essence of your thoughts? 

Zulkeh coughed. As to that, he spoke, in so far as you explicate the dimensions of my 
situation, I believe you have succeeded in capturing its focus, if not perhaps all aspects of its 
permutations. Then he frowned. But certainly must I take exception to the various 
descriptions of the witch Magrit which you placed in my mouth! For I can assure youand 
all present!that never once would such intemperate and demeaning characterizations of 
such a fine and respected sorceress as Magrit cross my lips! I am shocked! I am appalled! I 
am 

Oh no! interrupted Shelyid. The dwarf took a step toward Magrit, his hands 
outstretched. 
I can swear to it, maMagrit! The master didnt say those things! No, you shouldnt think 
that! 

The dwarf shook his finger fiercely at the salamander. You should be ashamed of 
yourself, Wittgenstein! Then, turning back to Magrit, Shelyid continued, in a most earnest 
tone: 

He never once called you a lamia or a harpy or a fury or a she-wolf, and 
You see! exclaimed Zulkeh. My stupid but honest apprentice vindicates me! And I can 
assure you all 
he didnt call you a repulsive termagant or a verminous virago, oh no!not at all! 
instead 

that Shelyid shares with many morons an uncanny accuracy of memory, the which 

he called you a crass termagant and a loathsome virago, and while its true that 

Shelyid! cried the wizard. Desist at 

he called you a horrid harridan, I dont think Wittgenstein should make such a big deal 
about that because he called you all kinds of harridan, not 
at once! Desist I say! 
just a horrid harridan but a vile harridan and a noxious harridan and a debauched 

harridan, too. So you can see 

Desist, I say! This last in a roar, following which Zulkeh smote the apprentice with his 
staff, knocking the gnome flat. There can be little doubt that this first well-deserved buffet 
should have been followed by quite the proper thrashing, but his staff was suddenly 
snatched from his hand. 


Turning with indignation, the mage beheld the staff firmly held in Greyboars giant fist. 

What is the meaning of this outrage! demanded Zulkeh. You, sir! Return my staff at 
once! 

Do you wish this staff in its most suitable place? inquired Greyboar, in a very mild tone. 

Certainly! And at once! The mage extended his hand. And furthermore He paused, 
considered. 

A moment! spoke the mage hastily. He pondered again. It occurs to me, in retrospect, 
that your inquiry was phrased somewhat oddly. I should 

Magrit, Ill need some chicken fat, rumbled the chokester. 

Got lots of the stuff! said Wittgenstein cheerfully. 

Just give me a minute! added Magrit, heading toward the pantry. 

One moment! One moment! spoke Zulkeh. There is no need 

He was interrupted by Shelyid, now risen to his feet. 

Why did you hit me, master? demanded the dwarf, in a most untoward tone of voice. I 
didnt do nothing wrong, I was just setting the record straight! 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. You 

Bah yourself! shrilled Shelyid. The wizards eyes goggled at this impudence. 

Im tired of you hitting me all the time, grumbled the dwarf, especially cause most of 
the time I dont deserve it, and even most of the time when I do, I dont deserve to be hit as 
hard and as often as you hit me, and even the few times I maybe deserve to be hit as hard 
and as often as you do, you still shouldnt do it because, well, because its mean. He ceased 
and stared up at his master, a preposterous look of aggrievement upon his semi-simian face. 

The wizard was still speechless, due, one suspects, to his bemusement at the gnomes 
unwonted impertinence. 

And especially this time it wasnt fair, continued the dwarf, because I was just telling 
the truth like it happened. I know Im real stupid, but you yourself said I have a good 
memory and I can tell you each time you said what you said about Magrit and where you 
said and when you said it. He paused, knitted his brow. Like the time you called her a vile 
harridan was when we were still in Goimr, just after you decided we had to come here. We 
were in the study where you had been sitting for days without movingand I was real good 
and I dusted you off and everything!and you had just gotten up and called me and I was 
sitting on the stool where I always sat when you were lecturing and 

Enough! spoke Zulkeh. Desist, I say! 

The dwarf stopped, pouted. Then said quietly: Its true. It happened just like I said. 

Zulkeh cleared his throat. Well, he said. Well, there is perhaps some modicum of 
accuracy in your accountin a vague and general 

Oh, shut up, you old fart! snapped Magrit. Im quite sure that you said everything about 
me that Shelyid says you did and Im sure he could tell me exactly where and when you said 
it. Who cares? Do you think I give a shit what you ever said about me? She snorted. Id lie 
awake at night worrying about the sex life of fungus before Id lose any sleep over what you 
think. She glowered at the mage for a moment, and then made a small gesture to the 
strangler. 

Oh, give the fool back his staff, Greyboar! He looks lost without it. The staff was handed 
back. Magrit then said, very softly: If you ever hit that kid again when Im around, youll 
find out why they call me the horrid harridan. And it was odd, this ridiculous threat from a 
blowsy, pudgy witch, how it brought such a feeling into the room, of an ancient, bitter wind, 


blowing across a field of ice. 

But the moment passed. Magrit turned away and dropped herself into a chair. 

All right, lets to it. Tell me what your problem is, Zulkeh, and why you think you have 
enemies. 

Then did the mage launch into a discourse anent the problem that loomed before him, 
eschewing not a full explication of the entire scope and dimension of the task. The clarity 
and precision of his elaboration of every aspect and nuance of the question were all the more 
admirable given that he was forced to proceed in the face of frequent interruptions by the 
salamander, in which the scurvy beast uttered many sour phrases extolling the virtues of 
brevity and succinct exposition. Yet at length, these uncouth interpositions notwithstanding, 
the wizard finished with his tale. 

How then, concluded Zulkeh, may I uncover these enemies? 

Magrit sneered. Just like that, huh? What do you think Im running herea charity? 

Most people offer to pay for her services, groused the salamander. 

I am no beggar! responded the mage hotly. I am quite willing to pay for services 
rendered me! And so saying, Zulkeh reached into his purse and brought forth a fistful of 
oddly-shaped gold nuggets, the which he flung onto the table in a manner both imperial and 
scornful. 

In a trice, the salamander scurried over and examined the pile of nuggets. This took but a 
moment. The miserable little beast cocked an eye at Shelyid. 

You ought to be ashamed of yourself, it said. Shelyid flushed. 

Dwarf shit, sneered Magrit. 

It was now Zulkehs turn to flush. Well, as to that, madame, gold is gold. Tis widely 
known that the essence of a substance resides in its properties, notfie on such witless 
notions!in its origins, these latter being oft murky and uncertain. Of no substance is this 
more true than gold! Did not Midas Laebmaunt 

Fuck you and your Midas! exclaimed Magrit. Save your breath. I wouldnt fool around 
with this stuff under any circumstances. And youd better watch your ass! The minute the 
Consortium finds out about this, therell be hell to pay. Pity the poor dwarves of the world! 
At this last remark Shelyid frowned, his ugly little face filled with puzzlement and 
apprehension. 

What would you then, Madame? demanded Zulkeh. I am a thaumaturge, not a 
merchant. Rich in intellect, logic and loreyet not, it must be said, overburdened by 
material wealth. 

No tickee, no washee, sneered the salamander. With great disdain, the loathsome little 
creature flicked the gold nuggets off the table with its tail. 

Suddenly, Magrit grinned. Never mind, she laughed, I just couldnt resist the needle. 
Not overburdened with material wealthhah! The fact is, Zulkeh, I knew you were coming. 
And I already know how youre going to pay me for my help. Youre going to do a job for me. 

What? demanded the mage. How did you know I was coming? And what is thisif I 
may use the uncouth expressionjob you are talking about? 

As to your first question, I found out you were coming yesterday. An old friend dropped 
by and told me. You may know himWolfgang Laebmauntsforscynneweld. 

The fraud! cried Zulkeh and Ignace in one voice. 

The philosopher! exclaimed Greyboar. 

Magrit sneered. Youre all full of shit. Hes no fraud, and, as for you, Greyboar, I dont 


suggest you call him a philosopher to his face. Professional fingerwork be damned, hes big 
enough hed probably tie you in knots. 

Quite a large individual, agreed Greyboar, not, or so it seemed, noticeably distraught at 
the implied threat. Eight feet tall, as I remember. 

Youve met him? asked Magrit, surprised. 

We were not properly introduced, explained Greyboar. But I attended one of his 
lectures in New Sfinctr some time ago. A most fascinating evening! The philouh, how does 
he respond to thinker? 

Prefers to be called a lunatic, said Magrit. 

And quite rightly! exclaimed Zulkeh. 

lunatic, then, continued Greyboar, clarified the powers of madness and amnesia, and 
their capacity for wreaking good and justice in the world. I enjoyed the exposition 
immensely! Although, I have to say, I didnt understand most of it, seeing as how it was 
delivered in a peculiar argot. 

The common, everyday babble of idiots, explained Magrit. Its his favorite language for 
public discourse. 

Ah! That explains it, then! Greyboar scratched his head. The question and answer 
period was not especially fruitful, I will admit. Wolfgang answered every question with the 
statement that he had forgotten the answer. 

Now did the wizard, who had been impatiently following this dialogue, interject himself 
forcefully. 

Madame, you cannot be serious in this project, whatever it is! To bring in the person of 
Wolfgang Laebmauntsforcynneweld! Well! Madame! The man is known the world over as a 
sciolist, a medicaster, a humbug, a hoaxster, a trepan, a 

Want me to get the chicken fat, Magrit? interrupted the slimy amphibian. Zulkeh 
clamped shut his jaws and glowered at the horrid beast. 

Much as I hate to be on the same side as the pedant, chipped in Ignace, Ive got to tell 
you I think hes right, Magrit. I was at that same lecture with Greyboar, and let me tell you it 
was pure and simple gibberish. I mean, that big clown probably couldnt 

Shut up! snarled Magrit. Both of you! The day I want your opinions, Ill ask for them. 
Ha! Eternity wont be long enough. Others may laugh at Wolfgangs twin powers of madness 
and amnesia, but Im not one of them. 

Besides, shes sweet on him, piped up the salamander. It scampered to the edge of the 
table, away from Magrits fierce look. Course, shes sweet on lots of It sprang to the floor, 
evading the witchs backhand. Once on the floor, it looked back at Zulkeh. 

Sorry, old boy, sneered the beast. I know the truth hurts, but you might as well know 
your ex-girlfriends a nymphom It darted into a nearby mousehole, one scuttle ahead of a 
hurled teacup. A moment later, its head popped back out. 

Missed, you slut! The head disappeared as a volley of teacups landed about the 
mousehole. 
Madame! exclaimed Zulkeh. If you might leave be this interchange with that horrid 
creature, let us please come back to the subject at hand! 
Magrit turned on him, teacup in hand. Zulkeh flinched. After a moment, she took a deep 
breath and slammed the teacup back on the table. 
Whyd I have to get a salamander for a familiar? she demanded to no one in particular. 
Sassy little slimeball! Should have settled for a cat like a sensible witcha cute little furball, 


sweet, dumb, playful 

Out popped the salamanders head. Whod do your books? it demanded. A stupid lazy 
feline? Ha! Think a cat could cover your accounts payable like an octopus with your accounts 
receivable like a clam? 

I know, I know, growled Magrit. Thats why you arent a wallet. 
The squabble apparently over, the creature slithered out of the mousehole and returned to 
the table. 

Zulkeh cleared his throat. Madame, let us leave aside for the moment our differing views 
on the capacities of Wolfgang Laebmauntsforscynneweld. The question of consulting with 
him remains moot in any event. For, do I not mistake me, he has been for some time now 
incarcerated in the world-famed asylum for the insane in Begfat. Under lock and key, so I am 
told. 

He escaped. 
Zulkeh gasped. Escaped? From the asylum at Begfat? Surely you jest! The institution is 
noted for its rigorous security, its 
Wolfgang escapes whenever he wants to, countered Magrit. Not hard for him. After all, 
he owns the place. 

What? 

You didnt know? Wolfgang founded the asylum. Said he needed a home of his own. Hes 
its main patient. She chuckled. Hes also the head psychiatrist, the chief tester as well as 
testee of experimental drugs, and the captain of the security guard. 

A loud knocking sounded from the floor below. 

Thatll be him, said Magrit. She headed toward the stairs, giving the wizard a sneer as 
she passed. Some people use the front door. 
Madame! exclaimed Zulkeh. This is preposterous! I have no time to fiddle away doing 
some job for youcertainly not a task which involves such a mountebank as 

The witch paused at the head of the stairs. Fuck you, she snarled. You came here 
looking for my help. You cant pay anything, except in that dwarf gold I wouldnt touch in a 
minute. Its like they say: no freebies from Magrit. If you want my help, youve got to do me 
a serviceand the service I need will require Wolfgang. So! There it isyou want my help 
finding your enemies, stay and wait. You dont need my help, after all? No problemget 
lost! 

When Magrit reappeared, climbing the stairs, the wizard was still protesting volubly. His 
voice was stilled by the sight of the figure who followed, a gigantic man who was only able to 
negotiate the staircase in a stoop. 

Hes even bigger than I remembered, muttered Greyboar. 

Disgusting, the way he drools like that, whispered Ignace. 

Once at the top of the landing, the giant straightened up slightly, rolling his eyes toward 
the ceiling. 

I do wish youd raise this ceiling a bit, dear, he said. Last time I was here I couldnt ever 
stand up straight. A grotesque leer came upon his face. Not that I spent much time in a 
vertical position. He reached out a huge hand and patted the witchs ample posterior. 
Magrit squawked with laughter and slapped the hand away. 

Still stooped, the giant turned to the wizard. 
Zulkeh! he boomed. Have you led me a merry chase! Been following you ever since you 
left Goimr! 


Following me? demanded the mage. For what reason? And by what right? 

The giant giggled. By the right of lunatics to do anything that crosses their silly minds, of 
course! As for the reason, youre about to hear it. 

Wolfgang spread his hands, still giggling. I now declare this council of war open! Then, 
slapping his head. Oh, but wait! Im so forgetful! The others! 

He leaned over the railing and emitted a piercing whistle. Come on up, boys! 

There came the tramp of heavy feet. Then, appearing in a row up the stairs, came six wide 
grins on six lumpy faces. 


PART XV 


In Which the Mage Agrees, 
Though With Profound Misgivings, 
to the Proposal of the Witch and Her 
Vile Accomplices, Producing Those Results 
Which Reverberate About the World To This Very Day, 
Not the Least of These Being the Earliest 
Manifestation of The Horror Henceforth 
Known, To Friend and Foe Alike, 
As The Rebel. 


CHAPTER XX. 

A Notorious Council Convenes. A Wizards Objections. A Theft Proposed. A 

Wizards Objections. Motives Revealed. A Wizards Objections. Particulars 

Explained. A Wizards Objections. A Plot Set Afoot! 

And so was convened the later-notorious First Magrite Council. The date: October 30, Year 
of the Jackal. 

Presiding over the Council was the witch Magrit herself. Also present were: Zulkeh and his 
apprentice Shelyid; Greyboar the strangler and his agent Ignace; Wolfgang 
Laebmauntsforscynneweld, the lunatic; and six lowlifes, these latter a disreputable crew 
known to friend and foe alike as Les Six. 

The meeting began badly. 

Insufferable! stormed the wizard Zulkeh. By what bizarre logic are thesethese 
proletarian jackanapes!present at this council? 

Six wide grins split six lumpy faces. 

The mage is affronted in his mind! exclaimed the first. 

Aghast, appalled and taken aback! added the second. 

And rightly so! cried the third. 

Tis a travesty to have present at such a learned gathering our lowly and loathsome like! 
concurred the fourth. 

For are we not uneducated, untutored, unlettered and ignorant? demanded the fifth. 


Rude, crude, lewd and uncouth, thats us! boomed the sixth. This was apparently 
something in the way of a ruffianly toast, for the six scalawags raised their teacups in unison, 
pinkies politely extended like so many small logs, and slurped noisily. 

Zulkehs expostulation, even now gathering like a storm, was cut short by Magrit. 
Shut up, you old fart! And you! YeahyouLes Six! Quit baiting the wizard! The six 
scoundrels looked aggrieved. 
Magrit glared around the room. Im running this meeting, dyou all understand that? 
None of your clowning around, any of you! 

She settled her ample body back into her chair. Then spoke again: 

All right, heres the deal. Theres something that needs to be carried out. Its a task which 
is almost impossible. But with the people weve got here in this room, I think it can be done. 
And if it can, each of us stands to gain in some way. What is it? SimpleI want to steal a Rap 
Sheet. 

A collective gasp swept the room. 

A Rap Sheet! exclaimed Ignace. 

But madame! protested Zulkeh. Theyre all in Ozarall known ones, that is. Except, 
perhaps, for the two reputed to be in the possession, respectively, of the Kaysar of All The 
Kushrau and the King of the Sundjhab. 

Magrit allowed the hubbub to quiet down before continuing. 

There are five Rap Sheets whose location is either known or surmised on good evidence, 
of the original six which Joe is supposed to have made for the cops at the beginning of time. 
As the wizard says, two of them are suspected to be in the hands of the Kushrau Kaysars and 
the Sundjhabi Kings. Although recent events cast some doubt on the latter, she mused. 
Didnt seem to have done the King of the Sundjhab much good. 

Greyboar coughed. Perhaps my guru left it behind on his recent sojourn to New Sfinctr, 
he opined. 
His recent, abruptly-ended sojourn to New Sfinctr, stated Magrit, pointedly staring at 
the strangler. Greyboar coughed again. 

Baloney! snorted Ignace. That old fruh, wise mandidnt leave nothing behind. Take 
it from meI was there! Luxuries like a sybarites dream, his suite at the hoteland him 
squawking about philosophy the whole time! 

Greyboar glared at his agent. 

Whats this? demanded Zulkeh. Has some unfortunate accident befallen the King of the 
Sundjhab? I certainly hope not! A most eminent sage, His Highnessthe preeminent 
expositor in our modern times of ethical entropism. Mind you, I myself do not share the 
Kings belief in the moral supremacy of the second law of thermodynamics, yet still there is 
no question 

The Kings dead, interrupted Magrit. No accident either, she snorted, nodding at 
Greyboar, unless you want to reckon him and his thumbs a genetic accident fallen on the 
unwitting human race. 

Greyboar flushed. It took a moment for her meaning to penetrate to the mages mind. 
Then did the sorcerer gasp, shock writ plain upon his face. 
What? Do I understand you to say that thisthis assassin has throttled the King of 
Sundjhab? 

And his heir, the Prince, said Magrit. 

Thats why were hiding out here in Prygg, complained Ignace. Itd been okay if hed 


just choked the Kingthe Prince hired us, and hed have gotten the porkers off our back. But 
no! he shrilled, Mr. Philosophy Student herean accusing finger was leveled at 
Greyboarhad to take exception to the Princesand I quotedisrespect for philosophy 
and go and squeeze his weasand for him, too! Not that the royal larva didnt deserve it, Ill 
admit, but stilltalk about poor business practices! 

He hired me to strangle my own guru, growled the strangler. Imagine! What else was I 
to do? 

Zulkeh frowned. Do I understand you to say, sirrah Greyboar, that you yourself are an 
acolyte of theformerKing of Sundjhabs teachings? 

I certainly am! boomed the strangler. A novice, I admitIm still working on my 
Languor. 

Then why did you strangle him? demanded the mage. 

Greyboar grimaced. Well, actually I wasnt a follower of my guru when I took on the job. 
The Kingbless himshowed me the Way right at the last moment. 
Greyboar had what you might call a deathbed conversion, chipped in Ignace. The Kings 
deathbed, that is. He looked innocently away from Greyboars fierce gaze. 

But still, protested Zulkeh, the truth once known to you, why did you finish the choke? 

Greyboar looked offended. Id already taken the money for the job. Professional ethics, 
you know. 
Zulkeh nodded his head. Of course, of course. Professional ethics, of course. Yes, quite 
so! 

May we get on with our business? asked Magrit. Or would you two rather turn this into 
a leisurely chat on the nature of ethics, morality, and whatnot neither of you knows squat 
about? 

Wizard and strangler glared at the witch, but fell silent. 

Anyway, continued Magrit, as I was saying, of the five Rap Sheets known to exist, the 
other threethis is a certaintyare in the possession of the Imperial Republic of Ozar. Have 
been for some time, in fact. Helps explain the historic success of the Ozarine 

in its rapacious gobbling up of the world, chimed in Les Six in unison. 
But whats not widely known, said Magrit, ignoring the interruption, is that one of 
Ozaraes Rap Sheets has been brought right here to Prygg. Only a few days ago. 
The Ozarine have brought such a precious relic here to Grotum? inquired the mage. 
Whatever for? 

Is he really that stupid? demanded the first. 

Before the usual round could beginor the wizard do more than sputterMagrit took 
command of the discussion again. 

Keep personalities out of it! she snapped. And hes not actually stupid, he just lives in 
the clouds, on his head, thinking the earth is vapor above. She forestalled Zulkehs 
indignation with a sharp gesture. 

In answer to your question, Zulkeh, the Ozarine have brought it to Grotum to aid them in 
their commercial, industrial, financial and you-can-practically-name-it conquest of our sub-continent. 
And it will be a big help to them, too, let me tell you. The biggest problem the 
Ozarines have is suppressing the revolutionary movement of Grotum. She sneered. Thats 
not from lack of cooperation from the Groutch regimes, of coursein Prygg especially, which 
over the past two years has become an Ozarean satrapy in all but name. The upper classes in 
Pryggia today arent but lackeys for their Ozarine masters. 


Never were much good at their best, stated the second. 

As sorry a lot of drones, churchmen and landlords as ever plagued a land, agreed the 
third. 

As rapacious as your Sfinctrian aristocrats, as incompetent as your Goimric nobility, 
concurred the fourth. 

Former worms, current tapeworms, added the fifth. 

Heres to the downfall of parasites! cried the sixth. This was apparently something in the 
way of a rabble toast, for the six malcontents raised their teacups in unison, pinkies politely 
extended like so much firewood, and slurped noisily. 

Magrit continued: 

The Rap Sheet rests in the care of the Ozarean sub-secretary to the third consul for 
agricultural affairs, one Rupert Inkman. Hes also the Groutch chief of station for the 
Ozarean Senates Commission to Repel Unbridled Disruption. 

A Crud! exclaimed Greyboar. 

That he is, agreed the first. 

One of your greater Cruds, in fact, commented the second. 

The Butcher of the Rellenos, added the third. 

Reports direct to the Angel Jimmy Jesus himself, elaborated the fourth. 

Hes also a subsidiary of the Consortium, embroidered the fifth. One of their most 

profitable concerns. 
Fortunately, the sixths contributionwhich should no doubt have led to another 
grotesque toastwas cut short by Zulkeh. 

One moment, madame! I wish to return to the beginning of your exposition. I fear my 
mind has been so distracted by the news of the sad death of the King of the Sundjhab and the 
appearance in Grotum of a Rap Sheet that I have let fall aside the chief point. Do I 
understand you to say that you wish my assistance in the theft of this Rap Sheet from its 
rightful owner? If so, you may rest assured that I will have no part in such a criminal 

Oh, shut up, you old fart! Since when is a Rap Sheet the rightful property of the Senate of 
Ozar? They stole all theirs from other empires, or took em by main forceyou know that as 
well as I do! Cut plenty of throats in the process, too. 

Zulkeh stroked his beard thoughtfully. Well, as to that, I admit there is much to what you 
say. Still, the Rap Sheets have been in the possession of the Ozarine for some time now, and 
tis a well-known jurisprudential principlewell-buttressed by numerous ontological 
axiomsthat possession is ninety-nine point astronomically large number of nines following 
the decimal parts of the law. 

Now did a new party, hitherto silent, enter the discussion. Since his introduction, the 
lunatic Wolfgang had sat in a corner, in a special chair designed for his gargantuan frame. 
He had closely observed all of the participants, reserving, strange to say, the most careful 
scrutiny for the least significant member of the groupI speak, of course, of the dwarf 
Shelyid. This latter had squatted on the floor throughout the proceedings, sitting a pace back 
from the main circle, as was his proper place. 

Now Wolfgang spoke, in a tenor voice which contrasted oddly with his size, addressing 
himselfastonishing to relateto the apprentice. 

What do you think, lad? he asked. 

Shelyid frowned, stammered, glanced to his master. 

Well, its not really my place to say. Thats for the master to decide. 


Yes, yes, no doubt, spoke the giant cheerfully, but I didnt ask you what you decidedI 
asked you what you thought. 

Shelyid glanced again at his master. The wizard made a permissive gesture. 

Well, Shelyid said, his brow knotted with thought, the master always explained that the 
Rap Sheets were made back in the beginning of time, back when the legends say Joe was 
froze up by the Old Geister. His face cleared. I remember now! There was a little poem the 
master had me memorizegoes like this: 

Joe made six Pink Slips for the bosses, 
to keep the bad in line. 
Then Joe made six Rap Sheets for the cops, 
to keep track of worse ones. 
Then Joe made six Switches for the priests, 
to make the worser wail. 
And finally Joe made one 


Shelyid stopped abruptly, looking guiltily at the mage. 

Im not supposed to say the last thing Joe made. But its real awful! He made it for the 
Old Geister, andwell, Im not supposed to say. The dwarf fell into a fearful silence. 

Excellent! boomed Wolfgang. The lunatic gazed benignly at the wizard. Im pleased to 
see that you havent neglected the boys education, Zulkeh. Most commendable, teaching 
him the old gypsy song. Not many sorcerers today even know it themselves. The wizard 
nodded graciously. 

But what do you think, boy? continued Wolfgang. Now that youve recited the song 
and, yes, we can skip the last partnot suitable in polite company, thats for sure!what do 
you think? Who rightfully owns the Rap Sheets? 

Oh! cried Shelyid. Thats easy. They belong to Joe, just like all his other inventions. 
Hes the one gave them to those other people, you know, the ones he invented in the first 
placethe cops and the bosses and the priests and the Old Geister. The dwarf paused, 
pondered a moment. Well, Im not actually sure the Old Geisters a people, but anyway, Joe 
just made them so that things would work right. But the cops and the priests and the bosses 
and the Old Geisterthey played him a dirty trick! They froze him right up, like they 
shouldnt have done! So the way I see it, the Rap Sheets and all really still belong to Joe. 
Anybody else who has them just has them, well, sort of on loan, I guess you could say. The 
dwarf pondered a moment more. Well, sort of more like a mugging kind of loan. 

Marvelous little chap! exclaimed the first. 

No lawyer long with pedigree could have put it better, agreed the second. 

Ridiculous! cried the third. 

No lawyer long with pedigree would have put it that way at all, snorted the fourth. 

Your lawyer long with pedigree would have explicated the situation with much the 
greater circumlocution and the use of fourteen orders of magnitude more the words, stated 
the fifth. 

And would have concluded, would your lawyer long with pedigree, that the items in 
dispute properly belonged with their present owners, what just coincidentally happen to be 
his meal ticket, and that this Joe fellow was no better than a criminal behind bars whats lost 
his rights, concluded the sixth. 


Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Shelyids opinionwhich is, I will admit, deft in its dialectic 
though crude in its presentationis beside the point. Joe doesnt exist, if he ever did, so 
wherein lies his right to property? 

No doubt this latest addition to the brew would have produced yet a further unending 
round of disputation, save for the intervention of the witch Magrit, who, crude termagant 
though she was, did possessit cannot be denieda talent for focusing the debate. 

Cut the crap! she exclaimed. Nobody but you, old fart, gives a screw about the Ozarines 
so-called right to the Rap Sheet. The Senate of Ozar grabbed it by force and has used it ever 
since to suck the worlds blood. And right now the leech is attached to Grotum itself. So 
were going to take it for ourselves! You want my help in your problem, you pitch inif you 
dont, theres the door! Get lost! She stopped, breathing hoarsely, glaring at the mage. 

Zulkeh hemmed and hawed for a few minutes more, but eventually he agreed as to how 
certain epistemological unclarities regarding the ownership of the Rap Sheet did, in all 
conscience, allow him to proceed as a participant in the exercise. 

But you have not yet explained, madame, he concluded, why you want this Rap Sheet in 
the first place. 

Thats simple! replied Magrit. I want it because itll improve my foety. Wolfgang wants 
it stolen because he thinks the whole ideas crazy and so naturally he cant resist. Les Six 
over there need to get it out of the hands of the Cruds, who are getting a wee bit too close to 
figuring out their hobby 

Which is? queried the mage. 

The abasement of Ozarine imperialism! cried the first. 

The overthrow of the decrepit Groutch regimes and all their gangrenous cohorts! added 
the second. 

The humbling of the haughty Ecclesiarchs! hallooed the third. 

Justice for the poor and downtrodden! came the fourth. 

The reunification of all the divided Groutch lands under the rule of a free people! 
exclaimed the fifth. 

A nation once again! boomed the sixth. This was apparently something in the way of a 
sansculottes toast, for the half dozen incendiaries rose to their feet as one man and slurped 
their tea noisily. 

Churlism! cried Zulkeh. Outright murkery! I will have no part in 

Oh, shut up, you old fart! snarled Magrit. They arent churlsnot proper ones, anyway, 
though Joe knows theyre on good enough terms with murks all over Grotum. Just a band of 
happy lads pursuing an innocent enough hobby. 

She cut short Zulkeh again. And you didnt let me finish, windbag! I was just going to add 
that you want to get your hands on the Rap Sheet because itll, like as not, tell you who your 
enemies are. 

Zulkeh frowned. I fail to follow your logic, madame. How can this Rap Sheet aid me in 
my quest? Oh, I admit, tis a puissant relic, a Rap Sheet, but still and all one of precise and 
limited powers. On this all tales and legends agree, that whosoever possesses a Rap Sheet 
will instantly know all evidence pertaining to felonious and subversive activities which is in 
the possession of any police agency anywhere within the range of the relics powers, which 
range is reputed to be great but not universal. But how does this aid me? Surely, were my 
enemies known to the authorities, they would already have been apprehended and their 
identity and crimes made known to me by these selfsame authorities! 


Is he really that stupid? demanded the second. 

Like I said, growled Magrit, he lives upside down. Zulkeh, how have you survived so 
long in this cold and cruel world? Enemies so powerful as yours are presumably great 
criminals, who have not yet been apprehended because the authorities are involved in some 
elaborate scheme to ferret out their grand design. 

Yes, yes, mused Zulkeh, this is sensible. 

Unfortunately, continued Magrit, you yourself are likely to be squashed in the course of 
this schemes unfolding, should you take no steps of your own, for it is well known that your 
authorities in todays world care less than a fig about the fate of ordinary citizens. 

I am hardly an ordinary citizen! protested Zulkeh. But yes, yes, I see your point. Oft 
have I noted the parlous state of the contemporary temporal powers. 

And finally, concluded the witch, do you really think that the authorities have the 
competence to foil this schemewhatever it ishatched by your unknown and potent 
enemies? 

Certainly not! exclaimed the mage. 

Well, then? The witch peered at Zulkeh intently. Are you in, or not? And can we 
proceed without these constant philosophical quibbles? 

Zulkeh considered, then nodded his head. I am with you, madame. 

Magrit now looked at Greyboar and Ignace. 

That leaves you two, she said. We wont be able to steal the Rap Sheet without your 
help, for reasons thatll become clear in a minute. However, Ill admit theres no real reason 
for you to do it. 

Greyboar scratched his chin. Well, we do owe you a job. 

Not one like this! cried Ignace. Choke one of your rivals, sure. Throttle a customer what 
owes you money, sure. But this? Steal a Rap Sheet from the Cruds? Take on the whole damn 
Imperial Republic of Ozarae? Get mixed up in Joe business? 

Its a bit much, agreed the witch. And if you dont want to do it, Ill understand. Im sure 
I can find some suitable little chore for you instead. 

Greyboar cracked his knuckles. The windows rattled. But you say you wont be able to 
steal the Rap Sheet without us? 

Magrit shrugged. No, probably not. Les Six have already agreed to try to fill in for you, if 
you dont come in. Butwell, theyre solid lads, but theyre not the worlds greatest 
strangler. 

Greyboar gazed at Ignace. My agent makes all the business decisions, he said mildly. 

All eyes turned to Ignace. After a second or so, the little agent looked away. His face grew 
red, his cheeks puffed out. For a full minute, while silence filled the room, Ignace subjected 
the various objects cluttered about to a fierce and glowering inspection. 

Suddenly, he threw up his hands, exhaling mightily. 

All right! All right! Well do it! 

For a split second, a strange expression crossed Magrits face. For just that moment, the 
horrid harridan seemedsoft? 

Are you sure? she asked. Ill say it again, this is a lot more than the favor you owe me. 

Ignace glared at her. 

Its got nothing to do with that, and you know it! Even if we didnt owe you a favor, wed 
go along. 

He now transferred his glare to the strangler. 


Greyboar shrugged. You know what chance shell have, with the Cruds bringing a Rap 
Sheet to Grotum. Theres never been much I could do for her, except that one time we got 
her out of the police station. 

And much thanks we got for it, too! shrilled the agent. His face was now beet red. 
Greyboar smiled ruefully. Gwendolyns always been hard to please. He looked at Magrit, 
nodding. Were in. 
Good. Now let me get to the practicalities of the thing. Youll understand why I needed all 
of you to get the job done. 

Then did the witch Magrit present to the assembled party the outlines of her scheme, the 
which your narrator will briefly summarize: 

The Rap Sheet was kept in a small room, deep in the bowels of the Ozarine Embassy. This 
Embassy was no modest edifice, but an ancient castle, perched high on a crag overlooking 
the city of Prygg and its harbor. The sole entrance to the castle was a drawbridge and 
portcullis, guarded by a large company of soldiery. 

Within the castle, the room wherein the Rap Sheet was kept was fiercely protected. Entry 
to the room required passing through, first, a guard room wherein rested at all times the 
elite of the Embassys troops; second, yet another chamber in which dwelt some unknown 
horror; and finally, the Rap Sheet itself, which relic was guarded by bizarre glyphs and 
wards, the which could only be dispelled by great magic. 

You now see, concluded Magrit, why we need all of you together. Greyboar can deal 
with the soldiers in the guardroom. Zulkeh can handle the magic guarding the Rap Sheet. 
And all of you together, lets hope, can handle whatever horror it is that dwells in the 
chamber between. Any questions? 

Greyboar spoke. I see a couple of problems. First, the soldiers. The ones in the 
guardroomwhat are we talking about here? A half dozen or so? 

Magrit nodded. 

Thats a piece of cake. But how about the soldiers at the main gate? Must be a couple of 
hundred at least, if its like every other Ozarine Embassy. Greyboar grimaced. Thats a wee 
much. And what about the drawbridge and the portcullis? Mind you, Ive got a way with 
opening doorsIgnace grinnedbut a whole drawbridge? I dont know. He flexed his 
enormous hands, gazed down at them. I dont know. 

Our job, this, stated the first. 

Youll not be needing to worry about the main entrance, added the second. 

Youll be taking a different route, explained the third. 

Coming up from below, elaborated the fourth. 

Through the artists tunnels, detailed the fifth. 

Paul Gauphins tunnels, specified the sixth. 

Gauphin? exclaimed Zulkeh. He lives yet? I had thought the man dead! 

No, hes still alive, said Magrit. He just travels around so much to so many exotic and 
far-off lands that everybody always thinks he must have died. Actually, hes been back in 
Prygg for several years now. Keeps himself exclusively to the tunnels hes dug all over the 
city. Says its primitive, inspires him. 

Known throughout Pryggia as the Underground Artist, added the first. 

But how can he help us? asked Ignace. 

The second coughed. Well, its a bit delicate, this, but you see Paulshow I shall I put 


it?well 

Hes a lecher, interrupted the third. 

A profligate, added the fourth. 

A satyr, chipped in the fifth. 

A two-legged goat, concluded the sixth. 

The point is, explained the first, that the Ozarine Ambassadors wife is a most attractive 
young lady 

As is the wife of the Consul, said the second. 

And the wife of the Charg dAffaires, added the third. 

And the wife of 

Stow it! bellowed Magrit. We dont need another of your laundry lists. The fact is, 
Zulkeh, that almost every Ozarine official anyones ever met has a gorgeous teenage wife 
barely pubescent, most of emcause theyre all a lot of lechers. Would-be lechers, I should 
say. Big difference between them and Paul Gauphin is that he can keep it up. 

You should know! piped up the salamander. A teacup went flying. The evil amphibian 
darted for a mousehole. 

A wallet! yelled Magrit. Then, turning back to her audience: 

The point is, that the Underground Artist has dug tunnels into every bedchamber in the 
castle, including that of Rupert Inkman himself, the chief of station. 

Wherein lounges his girlfriend, explained the second. 

No Ozarine lass, but a Pryggian minx. This from the third. 

Fair in form and limb, commented the fourth. 

But foul in mind and spirit, countered the fifth. 

A rotten collaborator, stated the sixth, providing comfort if not much aid to the Ozarine 
oppressor of the Groutch masses. 

This last bid fair to start another round of canaille toasts, but Magrit intervened. 

Can we keep to the subject? she demanded. Anyway, thats how youll get inPaulll 
lead you through his tunnels right into Inkmans bedroom, which abuts directly to the 
guardroom. 

Greyboar coughed. Still a bit of a problem here, Magrit. The girls likely to be there, along 
with this Inkman fellow. We are doing the job at night, I assume? Magrit nodded. Well, 
then, theyll both be there. And while I certainly dont mind throttling a Crud, the girl He 
fell silent, then spoke again, in a stony voice. I dont choke girls. 

Its true, confirmed Ignace. Its a sticking point with him. A lot of business its cost us, 
too, he groused. 

Who said anything about choking girls? asked Magrit. Or Rupert Inkman, for that 
matter. Theyll both be gone. Were doing the job tomorrow tonightduring the wedding 
reception for the Princess Snuffy and the Honorable Anthwerp Freckenrizzle III. 

Scion of Ozars fifth-wealthiest plutocrat! exclaimed the first. 

Soon to be married to the youngest daughter of the King of Pryggia! cried the second. 

Its the social event of the season! proclaimed the third. 

Precisely, said Magrit. Relax, Greyboar. Ive timed this escapade so that just about 
everybody in the Embassys going to be stinking drunk in the ballroom, all the way across 
the castle from where youre doing your business. Satisfied? 

But will this Gauphin fellow agree to help us? asked Ignace. I mean, I dont see why he 
should. Its a bit risky for him, and I dont see where he gets anything out of it. 


Nonsense! stated the fourth. Hell gain the respect and admiration of the toiling poor of 
Pryggia, wholl certainly pass word of his deed through every hovel and garret of the city. 

Though, tis true, this respect and admiration wont translate into purchases of his 
paintings, commented the fifth. 

Which are priced beyond the reach of the common folk, elaborated the sixth. 

But whose displeasure, should he fail in his patriotic duty, will certainly be felt in the 
galleries and salons where his paintings are bought by the stinking rich, developed the first. 

The which salons and galleries will, every one of em, be picketed by the irate plebeian 
citizenry, predicted the second. 
Not to mention torched to the ground, foresaw the third. 
Gauphins effigy burned in the public square, presaged the fourth. 
His name cursed by the masses, divined the fifth. 
Himself hunted like a dog through the 
Enough! bellowed Magrit. Youve made the point. Hell help us. Nowany other 
questions? If not, lets 

A moment, madame, spoke Zulkeh. I find myself distressed by an aspect of your plan. 

Whats that? 

The wizard frowned. As I understand it, the individuals now present who will actually 
participate in this enterprise consist solely of myself, my apprentice, Sirrah Greyboar and his 
agent. Am I correct? 

Right on the mark, agreed Magrit. 

Darker still grew the mages frown. Yet meseemeth that the individuals who stand most 
to gain from our adventure consist of yourself and thesethese half-dozen disreputes here. 
At least, in a proximate sense. 

Right again, said Magrit. 

Black as night was the sorcerers frown.  Tis most unseemly, madame!most unjust! 
Those who gain the most should not eschew the peril! Nay, fie on such witless notions! Did 
not the supreme philosophe Aristotle Sfondr 

Oh, shut up, you old fart! roared Magrit. I didnt say that we wouldnt be playing a role! 
We just wont be along on your part of the escapade. The four of you will need a diversion. 
Sure, and therell be a wedding reception going on, and the boozell be flowing like a river, 
but the Ozarine didnt get where it is by having stupid and careless officials. Weve got to 
make sure that the attention of every single Ozarine and Pryggian muckymucknot to 
mention their goons!is riveted to the reception floor. 

Were going to crash the party! hallooed Les Six in unison. 

I beg your pardon? queried Zulkeh. 

You heard em, said Magrit, grinning widely. Me and Les Sixand Wittgenstein, hes 
going to be the star of the show!are going to attend the reception, representing, so to 
speak, the little people. 

Whove been most rudely excluded from the event, complained the sixth. 

For fear their gaucheries will disturb the tranquility of high society, explained the first. 

A fear well-founded! cried the second. 

Indeed so! agreed the third. A most boorish lot, your unwashed toilers! 

Not up on the finer points of etiquette, sad to say, contributed the fourth. 

Certain, in their crude ignorance, to behave improperly, elaborated the fifth. 

Heres to bad manners! roared the sixth. This was apparently something in the way of a 


lowborn toast, for the six dregs of the earth raised their teacups in unison, pinkies politely 
extended like so many small cannons, and slurped noisily. 

I see, mused Zulkeh. His brow cleared. A cunning stratagem, madame! For if there exist 
any on the face of the earth most suited to the task of turning a royal wedding reception into 
a shamblesa public scandal!it is yourself and this canaille. 

Magrit and Les Six nodded in acknowledgement of what was, actually, not a compliment. 
Then did Zulkehs brow unclear, resuming its former furrowed darkness. 

And what of Sirrah Wolfgang, here? What is to be his part in the episode? demanded the 
mage. 

Well, actually, responded Wolfgang, Im not playing any part in the affairdirectly, that 
is to say. 

Then why are you here? The wizard appeared most aggrieved. 

Well, to begin with, Im the one who found out about the Rap Sheet. Just got here 
yesterday with the news. But thats a small thing. Whats more important is the key role I 
play now. Here the giant exuded a vast smugness. Im the consultant, you see. 

I beg your pardon? 

The consultantthe expert adviser. Then, seeing no comprehension on the wizards 
face, the lunatic elaborated. 

You need expert advice on something like this, man! I mean, the whole ideas crazy 
stealing a Rap Sheet from under the noses of the Cruds under cover of bashing a gala event! 
Who but a madwoman would come up with such a scheme? Who but madmen would agree 
to participate? And who then better to serve as your expert consultant, he concluded with 
pride, than a demented bedlamite escaped from an insane asylum. At your service! 

Here Wolfgang rose and took a bow, then said: And let me sayspeaking from a lifetime 
of applying my twin powers of madness and amnesiathat in my capacity as expert 
consultant I approve wholeheartedly of the plan. Its crackbrained! Nutty as a walnut grove! 
Deranged beyond belief! 

He resumed his seat. So its bound to come off swimmingly. 

The wizard did not seem entirely satisfied with this explanation. Indeed, to put it more 
accurately, Wolfgangs words appeared to reopen in his mind the entire question of 
participating in the exploit. But the witch Magrit was, as the gentle reader has perhaps 
already deduced, a fearsome bully, and she soon quelled the mages incipient revolt. Then 
did she command the various persons present to retire for rest and refreshment, for the 
adventure ahead promised great exertions for all concerned. 

The assembly dispersed, all going their separate ways. Yet, strangely enough, the lunatic 
Wolfgang arrested the dwarf as Shelyid was going out the door. 

A moment of your time, little one, said the giant. 

Shelyid frowned, glanced at the back of his master, even now receding down the stairs. 

Oh, but, sir, apologized the gnome, I cant talk nowI have to go get the masters sack 
from downstairs where we left it and 

Bother the sack! interrupted the lunatic. Youll have time enough. I just wanted to ask 
youhave you ever been on an adventure before? 

Oh no, sir! exclaimed Shelyid. Im just a dwarf, a miserable dwarf. Ive never Shelyid 
paused, gulped. Well, actually Im real scared, although not as scared as I would have been 
a few weeks ago, maybe, but still He paused, gulped again, then said softly: I just hope I 
dont let everybody else down. 


Youll do fine! boomed Wolfgang. Why, youve the makings of a daredevil, you do! 
You think so? asked Shelyid, not with any great conviction. Uh, sir. 
Dont call me sirabsurd, calling a certified psychotic a sir! And yes, I know youll take 


to adventuring like a fish to water. Just remember the two mottoes of all great crazy heroes. 
Whatre they? 
Wolfgang held up two fingers. 
One: Dont get even, go mad. Two: When the going gets tough, the tough go nuts. 
Ill try to remember. But I have to go! And so saying, the dwarf scurried away. 


 
PART XVI 


In Which We 
Return Once Again to 
the Autobiography of the 
Scoundrel Sfrondrati-Piccolomini, 
this Portion of Whose Story Consists, 
Yet Again, of a Crude and Unscrupulous Attempt 
to Win the Favor of the Reader, by Means 
of Mawkish Romance and Melodrama, 
Thereby ConfirmingYet Again! 
His Unscrupulous Character 
and Nature. 


The Autobiography of Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini, 
Episode 8: Horses, Hurts, Heroes and Halloween 

So it was in such a strained silence that Gwendolyn and I began our journey to the Generals 
estate. Two days, the trip would require, or so I had been told. Longer, I suspected, judging 
from the quality of the nags we were riding. 

The expression on Gwendolyns face was forbidding and withdrawn. At first, I thought it 
was hostility directed toward me. Then, I thought it was hostility toward The Roach. 
Eventuallysuch is human stupidityI realized that it was not hostility at all, but a deep 
grief kept under fierce control. 

My own hurt and anger vanished. 

Ive been such a petty fool! I exclaimed. Gwendolyn looked at me, puzzled. I reined in 
my horse. 
Whats this about? she asked, pulling up her own mount. 
Im sorry; Ive beenpreoccupied with my own problems. You dont expect youll ever see 

him again, do you? 
She stared at me for a moment, her face pale. No, she said quietly. Hell die in Blain. Or 
Prygg, more likely. 
She started her horse moving again. She said nothing for a long time. Just stared straight 
ahead, a trickle of tears wending down her cheeks. 

You cant be sure of that, I said eventually. He seems a singularly capable fellow. 

She shook her head. You dont understand, Benvenuti. With a Rap Sheet in their hands, 


and the Cruds to organize them, every police agency in Grotumand theres more of them 
than you can countwill be able to coordinate their efforts perfectly. The Roachs name will 
be at the top of their list. And he wont be that hard to find, anyway. Where the enemys 
blows are hardest, thats always where youll find The Roach. Its part of the tradition, you 
know. 

My face must have shown my puzzlement. 

Whats this? she demanded. A faint smile came on her face. Do you mean to tell me that 
the legend of The Roach isnt told to all Ozarine children, along with all the other legends? 

I shook my head. 

Not surprising. I dont actually believe the legend myself. I dont even know if The Roach 
does. Whenever I ask, he just smiles and changes the subject. 

What is the legend? 

Well, it goes like this. Supposedly, way back at the beginning of time, when Joe invented 
everything, he had one friendhis best friend Samwho tried to talk him out of it. Tried to 
tell Joe he was afraid these new inventions wouldnt work out all that well in the end. Joe 
wouldnt listen to him, saying he didnt see where he had any choice. But after his friend kept 
pestering him, Joe finally threw up his hands and invented The Boots. He gave them to his 
friend and said: All right, dammit, if my inventions dont work right, you can use these to 
kick em out. Then, after the inventions went bad, and Joe was frozen up, his friend took it 
on the lam and hes been kicking ass ever since. 

But thats impossible! I cried. The man cant be more than fifty years old. 

Gwendolyn grinned. Well, the legend has it that the original Roach finally realized it was 
going to take an awful long time to properly stamp out the inventions. So he founded a line 
a family line, he said, with a proper pedigreeto give the lowlifes something to match up 
against the pedigrees of the high and mighty. Every generation since, as far back as you can 
go in the history of Grotum, theres always been a Roach. It can be anybody, as long as 
theyre a bastard and they can wear The Boots. It was the first Roach who chose the name. 
He said that since the high and mighty went around naming themselves after predators 
eagles, lions, bears, and suchthat his line would be named after the most persistent and 
indestructible animal known to man. 

I laughed. 

Isnt it perfect? said Gwendolyn, chuckling. When I first heard the name, as a teenager, 
I was just mortified. The revolution was such a shiny thing to me then, like a crystal vase, 
and the name seemed soso undignified. But then I met The Roach himself, and I 
understood. 

She fought back tears. Dignitys not to be found in the word, lass he said to me. Look for 
it in the deed. Let the enemy have their eagle standards and their roaring lions, and their 
scepters and their thrones. Eagles and lions are endangered species, anyway. Much rather be 
a roach. Every time they think theyve exterminated us, they come back into the kitchen 
andthere we are! And boots are a much more useful heirloom than crowns. 

Anyway, thats the legend. Like I said, I dont actually believe it. I dont believe any of this 
Joe stuff. But its a comfort, sometimes, and when Im around The Roach I almost do believe 
it. Although 

I looked over, noticing the sudden pause. To my surprise, Gwendolyn wasblushing, I 
would have sworn, hard as that was to imagine. 

Although what? 


She shook her head. Nothing. 

My curiosity was aroused. Tell me! 

She looked at me, smiling oddly. All right, if you insist. One of the legends is that once 
The Roacheach new one, that isputs on The Boots, they never take them off again until 
they die. Not even in bed. She looked straight ahead. I happen to know that isnt true. 

I started laughing uproariously. Good God, I should hope it isnt true! Those monstrous 
hobnailed things? Youd be scarred for life! 

When we both stopped laughing, we were grinning at each other. 

Im sorry about last night, she said. I hadnt expected to meet The Roach in the Mutt. 
Then, when he showed upwell, anyway, Im sorry. 

Theres no need. 

No, I am. That must have caused you pain. 

I shrugged. Yes, it did. But Im actually not all that fragile. And, in any event, it wasnt 
how shall I put this? It wasnt the fact itself, it was that it seemed so 

Unfeeling. 

Yes, I suppose. I fumbled for words. Gwendolyn, I had no rightthat is, I had no claim 
or reason, or 

Of course you didnt. But thats all beside the point. This isnt about rights or claims or 
reasons. People are not property. But theyre still people, and pain hurts. And I hurt you, and 
I dont feel good about it. 

I sighed. Thank you. But now that I understand the situation, Imwell, Im not sure 
what else you could have done. 
Thats just what I told that insufferable self-righteous bastard this morning! she cried. 
Would you believe, that pig-headed puritan accused me of using him to put you off? 

I looked uncomfortable. Gwendolyn spotted it right away. 

Thats what he was talking to you about in the courtyard, wasnt it? she demanded. 

Well 

That slob! That peacock! Its just like him! 

It wasnt actually 

That puffed up baboon! I can just see it! The gentleman, His Roachness, informing the 
other gentleman that hell have no part of the scheming wenchs slatternly maneuvers. And 
you! Probably sat there, nodding sagely 

Will you let me get a word in? 

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and nodded. 

All right. Tell me what he said. 

As we resumed our journey, I conveyed to her the substance of The Roachs conversation. 
Actually, upon Gwendolyns insistence, I gave it to her word for word, as best as I 
remembered. 

When I was done, she shook her head. 

Hes flat wrong, she said forcefully. Benvenuti, if Iwhen Iwhatever, the day comes I 
dont want you around Ill let you know. Directly, mind, not through some scheme. 
And? 
And what? 
Confounded woman! Do you want me around? 
Iyes, I suppose. Yes. She sighed. When you left the table last night, I felt a great 

sadness. Well, thats that, I said to myself. 


A strange sound. I looked over, saw that Gwendolyn was trying to suppress laughter. 

Whats so funny? 

She started laughing aloud. A rich, deep laugh, she had, which warmed my heart even 
thoughI admitI was a bit irritated. 

Oh, you were such the proper gentleman about it all! The stiff lip, the straight back. God, 
what an upbringing you must have had! 

Her laughter was so infectious that I could not help joining in. My uncles have firm 
opinions on this matter, which they instilled in me at an early age. You cant get through life 
without playing the fool now and then, they say, but thats no reason to audition for the 
part. 

We started our horses up again and rode along in a companionable silence. 

You never speak of your father and mother, she said, some time later. 

My father is not known. My mother never disclosed his identity, and she died in 
childbirth. So I was raised by her brothers. The bar sinister figures frequently and 
prominently in my family treemy branch of the clan, that is, the most of the Sfondrati--
Piccolominis are quite the proper sortsso no issue was made of it. 

More silence followed, until I screwed up my courage. I reined in my horse again. 
Gwendolyn stopped. 

I need to say something, Gwendolyn. Ithat is, much of what The Roach said was true. 
We live in different worlds, andwell 

You find it hard to see either of us in each others life? 

I sighed. Yes. I cannot imagine you in the whirl of the artists life in the great citiesthe 
salons and the galleries. Though, it would be fun while it lasted! Half the lords and ladies of 
the land would die of mortification, the ones you didnt kill outright. And while I could see 
myself in your world, in some waysas I told you, I am not much given to political thoughts. 
My sympathies, insofar as I have ever considered the question, lie with you, I suspect. But 
still 

I heaved another sigh. The Roach was right, damn him. I do want to be an artist, just as 
he said. I do want to sculpt the statues and paint the cathedral ceilingsnot because theyre 
cathedrals, but because theyre the worlds greatest ceilings. 

Gwendolyn leaned over and stroked my cheek. 

And you should, Benvenuti, she said quietly. You will never be happy if you dont at 
least try it. I know that. 

Butthe fact remains. I love you, Gwendolyn. 

She looked away. I love you too, Benvenuti. Ive known that for some time. I dont really 
understand it, actually. Not that you arent a very attractive man, and all that. But I never 
would have thoughtme! Of all people! 

Her sense of humor rescued us. 

This is so grotesque! Its like a bad novelone of those Ozarine fantasies I hate! The star-
crossed lovers, doomed by fate! Its ridiculous. 

Laughing, we resumed our journey. In the few hours of daylight left, I asked Gwendolyn to 
tell me more about The Roach. Partly, that was done out of my own interest in the man. But 
more, it was because I knew she needed to grieve. And so she began to talk, and as the time 
wore on her tales grew lighter and more gay. My initial impression of the manof a great, 
quiet dignityfaded somewhat. True enough, in itself, it seemed. But there was also the 
immense irritability of the man, his famous temper, his rough sense of humor, his 


pigheadedness. 

Of them, she and he, I learned of a long and deep friendship, years in the making. 

The first time I met him, I was much too shy to say anything. The Roach himself! The 
second time, I was a year olderseventeen, I wasand I threw myself at him. She laughed. 
He was always such an righteous lot. Lass, I am much older than you, he said, and Ill not 
be taking advantage of youthful infatuation. And why not? I demanded. The infatuated 
youth is willing. Well, I was just as stubborn as he. It took me another year, but I finally 
brought him to my bed. And there hes been ever since, off and on. 

She said no more. Shortly after nightfall, we pulled into a roadside inn to spend the night. 
I saw to the horses, while Gwendolyn made our arrangements. I entered in time to hear her 
say to the innkeeper, very firmly: Well just need the one room. 

Once upstairs, in the room, we gazed into each others eyes, acknowledging the grief in the 
future. Of the rest, I will say nothing. It belongs to me alone. 

The next morning, awakening before Gwendolyn, I spent some time gazing upon her 
recumbent form. At first, with an artists eye. The Lioness Asleep, I thought I would call it. 
Oil on canvas. The artist fled, replaced by the man. She awoke, then. 

Much later, Gwendolyn gazed up at me, a quizzical look in her eyes. 

Youve got a funny expression on your face. Cheerful, like. 

And why shouldnt I be cheerful? I demanded. I dont know why I was so stupid about 
this yesterday. 

About what? 

All this silly moaning about star-crossed lovers and suchyou know, fate takes us down 
different trails, we shall never meet again, etc. 

She frowned. And what have you figured out thats supposed to change all that? Its still 
true. 

I stopped smiling. No, Gwendolyn, its not. I dont know your precise place in the Groutch 
revolutionary movement. But even someone as ignorant of political matters as I can figure 
out that you occupy a prominent position in the movement. 

Yes, I suppose. Whats your point? 

I should think it would be obvious. In all our talk yesterday about The Roachs poor 
prospects for a long life, you made no mention of your own likely fate. But it seems clear to 
me that the Ozarine and their Groutch accomplices will be coming after you as well. Near the 
top of their list, you must be. 

She frowned. Yes, thats true. She pursed her lips in thought. The Roach first, of course. 
After thatwell, Les Six and Les Cinq and Les Sept. The Mysterious Q, naturally. Then 
well, probably me. Among others. 

So thats that! I said, grinning. Our personal problems are solved by circumstances. 

She sat up straight, her back stiff. 

What the hell are you talking about? 

My love, surely you dont think Im going to head off to be an artist in New Sfinctr while 
youre running for your life? 

And just what do you propose to do instead? You dont know anything about the work of 
the revolution! Thats not a criticism, its just a fact. She stared at me a moment. The 
expression which then came upon her face captured the poets meaningwild surmise. 

I dont believe thisyou idiot! You romantic dunce! Youre going to stick with me just so 


you can go down swinging at the end? Defending the fair and helpless maiden from the 
ravening forces of reaction? 

Nonsense! Youre neither fair nor helpless nor, for that matter, a maiden. I cleared my 
throat. Other than that, well, yes. That is what I propose to do. 

I wont have it! Its a waste! And whats the point of it? 

The point of it, Gwendolyn, is that its the way I am. Theres no point in arguing about it. 
Im not going to change my mind, and youve got better things to do than to worry about how 
to get rid of me. I grinned. Look on the bright side. I can make your last days on earth 
more enjoyable. 

She snorted. Thats true enough. Then, grinning herself. Even though I wont get much 
sleep. 

She lay back on the bed, shaking her head. What a world, with such mad artists in it. I 
suppose my worthless brotherll come charging to my rescue next. Make perfect sense 
tonights Halloween. 

Later that morning, as we rode toward the estates of General Kutumoff, Gwendolyn 
laughed. Just like a bad novelthe romantic adventures of an Ozarine hero, gallivanting 
about the Groutch countryside. 

True, I said. But I doubt any proper adventurer ever rode on such a sorry nag. 


PART XVII 


In Which, It Is 
Our Sad Duty to Relate, 
Our Heroes Commit the Most 
Heinous and Horrific Crimes, Thereby 
Forfeiting For All Time the Title of Heroes, 
a Name Which We Shall Therefore 
Never Use Again Associated 
With Their Now Hopelessly 
Blackened Names 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A Cunning Diversion. Chaos and Confusion. Blood, Booze and Bamboozlement. 

Divers Family Tragedies Recounted. A Wedding Cake of Misfortune. An Escape 

Foiled. A Capture Foiled! 

And so it was the very next night that our heroes set forth to purloin the Rap Sheet. Before 
proceeding with our narration of the theft itself, however, tis necessary to summarize the 
events which transpired simultaneously in the Embassy ballroom. As Ithe Alfred of 
recordwas located on the person of the dwarf Shelyid, himself located in distant portions 
of the castle, the tale of the wedding partys disruption was pieced together from the 
rudimentary accounts of several of my apprentices. These latter had I dispatched onto the 
persons of Les Six, from which vantage points they observed the proceedings and took such 
notes as their student skills permitted. 

The affair began, as Wolfgang had predicted, swimmingly. The motley party gained 
entrance into the Embassy by posing as a maid and six servitors. Tis beyond comprehension 
how this ridiculous subterfuge succeeded, but no doubt Magrits large mop and pail of some 
substance which she claimed to be soap was of assistance in lulling the suspicions of the 
normally alert guards, ushers and majordomos. As for Les Six, twas perhaps the very 
absurdity of their presence which gave them their bonafides, for who but lowly servitors 
could such slovenly proletarians possibly be? 

In any event, ere long they made their way onto the ballroom floor, even as a lively gavotte 


was in progress. The seeds of confusion were quickly sown. Magrit announced loudly that 
she was here to clean the floor, and set about that task with great vigor, upsetting at once 
four pairs of dancers with great swipes of her mop. Then, as the substance which she had 
proclaimed to be soap spread its oily way across vast stretches of the ballroom surface, aided 
in this progress by the selfsame swipes of this selfsame mop, not to mention the profligacy 
with which she used the substance itself, it soon became clear that the soap was not soap at 
all but rather some foul product of the witchs alchemy, the which was not only malodorous 
in the extreme but possessed of the properties of a most efficacious lubricant. Then, as fierce 
argument erupted between her fishwife self and the irate majordomo come to put a stop to 
this unseemly swabbing in the midst of revelry, she managed, in the vehemence of her 
gesticulations, to upend the entire contents of the very large pail. The noxious fluid flooded 
the dance floor. 

Now did a multitude of couples join the initial four, sprawled on the floor, writhing about, 
howling at the stench, falling again and again as they tried to rise, one stalwart captain of the 
marines evensad to relatestabbing himself in the thigh with his sword, the which he 
foolishly attempted to use as a crutch; another dashing leftenant of the cavalrysadder to 
relatestabbing his comely partner in her thigh with the sword he had earlier drawn in a 
demonstration of the saber dance for which the hussars of Pryggia are justly famous; and 
saddest of all to relateyet another gallant officer, this a portly colonel of the artillery, 
disemboweling himself in his fall upon the sword let fall by his immediate superior, the yet 
more portly general of the artillery, the which august warrior had held this weapon high, just 
prior to his unfortunate encounter with the witch Magrits pseudo-soap, in a glorious gesture 
of praise for the happy couple in whose honor the festivities were taking place. 

The initial bloodletting was but prologue to massacre. For Les Six now heaped chaos onto 
confusion, charging about with rhinocerine ill grace, attempting to aid divers aristocrats in 
distress, only, through their oafish clumsiness, to drop half-risen barons onto prone 
magnates; to elbow still-standing matrons onto prostrate dames in their servile eagerness to 
aid crawling countesses to their feet, which latter subjects of their assistance invariably 
suffered mangled fingers, broken toes and bruised jaws in the process of rescue; to slip and 
fall themselves, time and time again, invariably in such a manner as to flatten what few 
shaky knots of notables had managed to rise ensemble to their feet, like wheat trampled by 
oxen. 

Thentragedy piled onto fiasco! A squad of soldiery summoned by officials charged onto 
the scene, halberds held ready to deal with disruption. Alas, no sooner did this energetic 
band of warriors charge onto the floor than their feet went flying out from under them. 
Reacting with natural instinct, the soldiers let go their halberds, which fearsome weapons 
went sailing into the large knot of eminent strugglers-to-their-feet in the very center of the 
ballroom floor. 

Many were the great inheritances come into that moment. Though even here disorder 
reigned, as exemplified by the fate of the oldest son of the Ozarean shipping magnate, who, 
even as he watched his father expire before him, run through by a halberd, had the delighted 
expression on his face as he contemplated his sudden fortune removed by yet another 
halberd, the which removed his head altogether, plopping it fortuitously into the hands of 
his brother, the next oldest son, who in turn soon lost his grin at his own unexpected turn of 
fortune when, cavorting about his fathers corpse and holding the severed head of his 
brother high, he slipped and fell bellyfirst onto the upended blade of yet a third halberd 


stuck to the floor, providing another nuance to the old saw: Easy come, easy go. 

The first phase of their plot a smashing success, Magrit and her accomplices immediately 
set about the implementation of the next. Now posing as a nurse and her assistants, the 
seven took advantage of the total confusion to guide a full score of dazed and bleeding 
notables into a portion of the dance floor which had been set aside for the use of the 
servants, and for that reason segregated from the ballroom proper by a large curtain. There 
did Magrit, in the tone of voice of the experienced nurse, a tone, as all know, which brooks 
no dispute, order the sexes separated by yet another curtain, quickly drawn by Les Six, 
following which she ordered all clothing removed that she might inspect the injuries of the 
eminent wounded. No sooner said than done, she collecting the clothing of the females, the 
first through the third of Les Six, that of the males in the adjoining alcove. The clothing now 
collected, the fourth through the six of Les Six slashed the ropes suspending the divers 
curtains, thereby exposing the naked bodies of a full score of the most prominent personages 
of Ozar and Prygg to the ogling stares of their brethren on the main floor of the ballroom. 

Great was the consternation which ensued, I speak not simply of the shrieks of outrage, 
the cries of embarrassment, nor even the peals of glee and laughter which, sad to relate, were 
heard to issue from the lips of the younger nobility gazing upon the scene. Nay, I speak of 
positive tragedy! For the Duchess de Trops died on the spot from terminal shame, only to be 
followed a moment later by her husband, his weak heart overcome by the sight of his nakedbut-
dead shrew of a wife and his naked-but-alive sister, the Madame Copieux, for whose 
voluptuous body he had long harbored incestuous passion, only to be followed into death by 
his sister herself, who promptly committed suicide with a carving knife due to her own 
distress at being denied the now-at-last-available body of that very same brother for whose 
stallion-like attentions she had long kept as her secret the identical unnatural lust. 

Nor was this the end of the familial catastrophe! For Madame Copieuxs own husband, 
owner of Ozars most profitable ironworks, no sooner beheld the corpse of his beautiful wife 
than he howled his glee at being rid of the adulterous slattern and proceeded to celebrate by 
guzzling such quantities of potent Pryggian whiskey as to cause him, within the hour, to 
expire from alcohol poisoning, thus leaving to his son the entire family fortune, the which 
largess the lad was unable to long enjoy for he himself expired within the next hour, 
overcome by the same excessive consumption of alcohol due to great joy at great fortune, 
thus further illustrating the old adage: Like father, like son. 

Nor was this yet the finale of the saga! For the Mademoiselle Copieux, who, in her capacity 
as daughter and sister was now the sole surviving member of the family, was so overcome by 
the contradictory emotions of joy at her newfound fortune and grief at the death of all three 
of her loversmother, father and brother, at one stroke!that she soon went mad and spent 
the rest of her short unhappy life in such a feverish frenzy of sexual excess as to illustrate 
anew the old saying: Keep it in the family. 

Stage Two of the plan a roaring triumph, Magrit and Les Six did not rest on their laurels 
but proceeded at once to Stage Three. Garbed in the stolen clothing of now-naked notables, 
the witch and her cohorts infiltrated the mob of hysterical ex-revelers and proceeded to 
spike the huge bowls of refreshment which stood about in profusion with an alcoholic 
substance whose potency derived, in equal portion, from the theoretical alchemy of the witch 
and the practical bathtub distilling of Les Six. 

The groundwork laid, the scoundrelous septet proceeded to encourage the distraught 
multitude to drown their sorrows and restore their gaiety with drink, Magrit utilizing for this 


purpose the soothing tones of the matriarch long experienced in handling misfortune, Les 
Six the more vigorous methods of vainglorious and successful bigwigs challenging the 
manhood of similar egoists. And cunning was the ploy! For Les Six, exhibiting a subtlety not 
looked for in such lowlifes, had divided themselves in the style of their garments, three 
posing as Pryggian aristocrats, three as Ozarine nabobs. Thus did the first through the third 
utter coarse comments on the effete incapacity of Ozarine financiers to handle manly drink 
as compared to the stalwart sons of Pryggian soil. Thus, for their part, did the fourth through 
the sixth burn into the brains of the selfsame Pryggian noblemen the nasal sneers of Ozarine 
captains of industry regarding the inability of rustic yokels to handle more than eight stiff 
drinks without rolling in the mud like the pigs who were not only the sole source of Pryggian 
wealthsuch as it was!but, judging from appearances, the models from which God in His 
Heaven had, for reasons of His own, formed the physiognomy of the Pryggian subspecies. 

Thus, onto chaos and confusion, was drunkenness laid. And more! For Les Six not only 
inveigled the assembled gentlemen of Pryggia and Ozar into a turbulent drinking contest, 
but then, drunkenness rampant, proceeded to embellish their respective insults with such 
rococo flourishes, such baroque ornamentation, as to produce in but two minutes such a 
brawl as would shame the lowest alehouses of the scurviest ports in the world. Swords were 
drawnand used! Knives, daggers, poignardsnot to mention cudgels and clubs of every 
shape and description! 

Chaos supreme! The soldiery overwhelmedeven themselves drawn into the frayfor Les 
Six had not failed to cast the necessary and necessarily cross-purposed insults on the 
respective merits of Ozarine Embassy guards versus Pryggian praetorians! 

Blood, booze and bamboozlement! For years to come, these were the three words always 
spoken together, the world over, whenever was told the tale of the Pryggian social event of 
the season, Year of the Jackal. 

But wait! A small knot of sanity remained! The eye of the storm! For there, at the very 
center of the ballroom, upon the dais, next to the huge wedding cake, stood the Princess 
Snuffy and her swain, the Honorable Anthwerp Freckenrizzle III. The newlyweds clutched 
each other, aghast at the shambles, the Ozarine heirs face pale as a ghost, the eyes of the 
Pryggian princess pouring tears. 

Oh, Anthwy! the Princess wailed. Our weddings ruined! 
Freckenrizzle III comforted his bride. There now, Snuffy, there now! Lets forget all this 
we still have each other, after all. Ill tell you whatlets cut the cake. 

And so saying, the scion of Ozars fifth-richest family drew his ceremonial swordnot too 
deftly, truth to tell, for the pear-shaped heirs talents and experience lay rather in counting 
money than the more vigorous of the upper-crust skillsand made to slice the cake. 

You can have the first piece! he said. The Princess clasped her pudgy hands. Oh, 
Anthwy, youre so sweet! 
Alas, twas at that very moment that the full dimensions of Magrits scheme were revealed. 
Stage Fourvoila! 

No sooner did the sword touch the cake than the cake collapsed, like a house riddled with 
termites. The cause? Obvious at a glance! For there, in the very center of the confectionary 
rubble, his green belly swollen like a pumpkin, squatted the salamander. 

Great cake, it burped. Try someI saved you a little. 

The Princess shrieked. Freckenrizzle dropped the sword. 

Then, eyeing theactually, quite dumpyfigure of the Princess, the salamander was 


heard to exclaim: What a babe! 

This gross remark made, the horrid beast sprang onto the shoulder of the Princess, 
wrapped itself around her neck, and began uttering foul and lecherous phrases, of which 
Dump this chump and lets party! was only the least obscene. 

Now squealing like a pig, Princess Snuffy began capering and leaping about, attempting to 
dislodge the perverse amphibian, who, for its part, clung the more tightly to her neck, its 
slimy snout buried in her ear, continuing to speak unspeakable words, of which Once youve 
had salamander, youll never go back was only the least sordid. 

Undignified though the figure of the Princess was, writhing and reeling in a manner which 
belied her sedentary form, twas only this unregal behavior which saved her life. For her 
spouse, whose wealth was now revealed to be the product of good luck rather than good 
sense, proceeded to retrieve his sword and hack wildly at the salamander. As the amphibian 
was still coiled about his brides neck, twas only the clumsiness of the Ozarine heir which 
made possible the heirs of the future. As it was, he managed to shave his wifes head clean of 
the long blond hair which was, truth to tell, her only attractive feature. He also inflicted 
numerous but thankfully minor flesh wounds upon divers portions of her anatomy, most of 
which, so I am told, left few visible scars to remind her, in later life, of the unpleasantness 
which attended her wedding. 

Alas, the scars on her royal soul did not fade as well. For it was noted, in the years to 
come, that the Freckenrizzles were not a happy couple. To her dying day, Madame 
Freckenrizzle, ne the Princess Snuffy, persisted on keeping her scalp shaved as bald as an 
egg, this peculiar habit being, or so it was supposed, a reproach to her husband. For his part, 
the Honorable Anthwerp Freckenrizzle III became obsessed with the hunting and trapping 
of all manner of reptiles and amphibians. By middle age, he was eccentric. He wore nothing 
but snakeskin clothing and lizardskin boots, refused to sit on any item of furniture not 
upholstered by salamander pelts, ate nothing but turtle soup and frog legs. By old age he was 
a certifiable paranoid. On one famous occasion, he burned down his mansion, claiming it 
was infested with toads in the woodwork. He ended his life a suicide, leaping one day into 
the crocodile pen at the Ozarian Zoo and attacking the prehistoric monsters therein with 
naught but a sword, in the use of which, all witnesses agreed, he had gained not a whit more 
skill than he possessed as a newlywed. 

For her part, his wife matched his increasing obsession with a similar one of her own. She 
became the worlds foremost amateur herpetologist, the benefactress of countless Reptile 
Houses and Frog Farms. Following her spouses arson of their mansion, she moved onto her 
own estate, from which her estranged husband was barred. There she built a bizarre palace, 
shaped like a frog. The well-tended gardens were transformed into a fetid swamp, into which 
she imported amphibians from all corners of the world. She also died a suicide, leaping into 
the pond at the center of her swamp and attempting to swim about like a tadpole with the 
aid of a canvas tail encasing her legs, the which soon became water-logged and dragged her 
to her doom. 

But these sad stories belong to the distant future. For the present, their purpose 
accomplished, the perpetrators of the dastardly deeds recounted above now sought to make 
their escape. For the salamander, the task proved simple. It soon enough leapt from the neck 
of the Princess and slithered its way to safety, although, it would later claim, the flight to 
freedom was made difficult by its bloated, cake-filled belly, the which interfered with the 
normally sinuous movement of its legs. 


Twas otherwise, however, for Magrit and Les Six. At first their flight from justice seemed 
assured, for they insinuated themselves, still in their finery, into the horde of notables 
seeking to flee from the Embassy. And so great was the confusion, that they quickly made 
their way toward the huge double doors which led from the ballroom into the foyer beyond, 
and thence to freedom. 

But at that very moment, cutting through the din of the maddened crowd, came a voice 
like unto the demi-divine heroes of yore, piercing, sharp as an ax-bladeat last, the voice of 
command and authority! 

Guards! Shut the doors! The guards, ere then confused and witless, sprang to the 
command. The great double doors slammed shut. The exit was barred to Magrit and her 
accomplices! Then, the voice spoke again: 

Everyone in the room will be still and silent, on pain of investigation! 

Everyone in the room became still and silent, like dogs brought to heel. 

Damn! swore Magrit under her breath. Its Inkman. 

Sure enoughtwas Rupert Inkman, Groutch chief of station of the famed and feared 
Commission to Repel Unbridled Disruption! There he stood, in the center of the ballroom 
floor, tall, gaunt as a skeleton, garbed all in black. His very posture bespoke one born to 
command. His icy blue eyes flashed with the look of eagleskeen intelligence combined with 
deep insight, these qualities in turn but a patina over the loftier aspects of his gaze, I speak, 
of course, of predation and bloodlust. 

Oh, Mr. Inkman, a majordomo was heard to utter, thank God youre here to put a stop 
to this madness! 

Arrant fool! came the reply, like a spear to the heart. There is no madness here! Nay, 
rather there is dark duplicityunbridled disruption, plotted aforehand and carried through 
with cunning skill! And in Prygg, there is but one handI should say, one mind and six pair 
of handscapable of the deed! Yes, yes! They are here! Even now, in this very room! I smell 
them, like the wolf smells his prey! 

Who, sir, who? came the confused cry from several throats. 
The chief enemies of the State in Prygg, you fools! Yes, yes! They are here! At last, I have 
them! 
Who, sir, who? came the cry again, this time from many throats, and the tone no longer 
confused but filled with rising fury. 

SHOW THEM TO US, SIR! came the roar from a multitude of throats, officers drawing 
their swords, magnates their bared pens, matrons holding broken lorgnettes like brawlers 
holding broken bottles. 

The situation seemed grim for Magrit and Les Sixthen grimmer still! For now Inkman 
espied them, even through their disguise, like the hawk espies the hares in the brambles. 

There! There! he cried. He stretched forth his arm, his bony finger about to pinpoint the 
exact location of the witch and her accomplices. Only a second remained before they would 
be swarmed by the maddened and murderous haut monde mob! 

But then! Inkmans finger froze in its track! For at that very moment a gigantic sound was 
heardor rather, two sounds, following in close succession. All eyes in the room turned, to 
behold a terrifying sight. 

At the far end of the room, a large door which led to the inner Embassy lay shattered, its 
splintered pieces lying on the ballroom floor. Such explained the first gigantic sound. And 
within the door, even now forcing its way through onto the ballroom floor, slouched an 


immense rock snarl, roaring all the while with demonic fury. Its eyes were fixed upon the 
person of Rupert Inkman with that flaming, intent, single-minded glare of rage and hatred 
which immediately reminded everyone present of nothing so much as, well, as the flaming, 
intent, single-minded glare of rage and hatred which rock snarls typically bestow upon those 
they intend to devour on the instant. 

Chaos and stampede erupted in the room in such proportions as to make the earlier 
confusion seem like the very balm of Heaven. But in that brief moment before all thought 
was drowned in mass and mindless fury, two voices were heard to speak, one in a loud cry of 
distress heard by all in the room, the other in a shocked whisper heard only by a louse. 

The loud cry of distress, it needs hardly be said, belonged to Rupert Inkman, whose 
posture was no longer that of one born to command. Twas brief and to the point: 

Oh, shit! 

The shocked whisper belonged to the witch Magrit. For she alone, of the multitude in the 
room, had immediately spotted the one aspect of the rock snarl which was unusual. All 
others present had, perhaps understandably, fixated on those features of the monster which 
were altogether normal for a rock snarl in the grip of murtherous rageI speak, of course, of 
the eyes blazing like the ovens of hell, the fangs like cutlasses, the talons like sabers, the 
lashing tail, the great haunches even now crouching for the death leap, and so on and so 
forth. 

But Magrit had at once seen the oddity, the little hairy face which peeked out through the 
great neck ruff of the monster. 

Ill be damned, she whispered, its Shelyid. 

And so it was! Shelyid the dwarf, perched atop the shoulders of the horrible beast like 
nothing so much as a child riding a hobby horse! How had such an event come to pass? 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Murals Examined. The Mages Critique Thereof. A Chamber Devoted to Love. A 

Dwarfs Inquiries. A Melee. A Pathetic Scene. A Reconciliation. An Historic Event! 

Greyboar was not a happy strangler. 

Couldnt you have made these tunnels wider? he grumbled. 

For what purpose? demanded the Underground Artist, Paul Gauphin. They were not 
intended for gorillas. 

A somewhat injudicious reply, thisso at least is your narrators opinion. I myself, were I 
a man rather than a louse, should have hesitated before labeling a man, to his face, a 
gorillaespecially a man who was, in actual fact, built like a gorilla. 

Fortunately for the future of Art, the strangler was of a phlegmatic disposition. He 
satisfied himself with cracking his knuckles, which act, be it said, caused Gauphin no little 
terror. 

My God! cried the artist. The tunnels collapsing! Well be buried alive! 

Its just the big goon cracking his knuckles, explained Ignace. Gauphin made a sour face, 
but eschewed comment. 

Greyboars disgruntlement was perhaps inevitable. The strangler had had a most 
miserable time of it, squeezing his great body through the labyrinth of tunnels below the 
Ozarine Embassy. The worst of it, he was to say later, was that his discomfort made it 
impossible for him to fully appreciate the art work which decorated every foot of Gauphins 
burrows. 

Of course, he would explain, I was only interested in the still lifesmarvelous!the 
flowers! the bowls of fruit! Pity you had to wade through such a lot of nudes to get to them. 

Ignace, on the other hand, due to his miniscule size, was better able to gain the proper 
perspective on the murals. One would not have thought, based on previously observed 
behavior, that the little agent was a devotee of the finer arts. But a connoisseur he proved to 
be, or such, at least, seems the only possible explanation of his reluctance to move at the 
rapid pace one would have thought more appropriate for daring adventurers on a perilous 
mission. Indeed, so slow and halting was his progress that his client finally resorted to 
dragging him forward by bodily force. 

Shelyid, whose dwarfish stature gave him an even better opportunity to study the 
pulchritudinous portraits, took no advantage of the fact. Instead, the gnome kept his eyes 
firmly on the ground ahead, blushing like a schoolgirl. Of course, he could claim as his 


excuse that he was bent double by the wizards sack. His master, on the other hand, 
scrutinized the murals carefully, and blessed his companions with a running commentary on 
the Mission of Art, replete with many citations from the ancients, the essential thrust of 
which was that Paul Gauphin was an arrant alphabetarian, a nugatory neophyte, a coarse 
catechumen, a posturing parvenu who thought to conceal his blatant ignorance of the classic 
methods of proportion, line, perspective and portraiture by his extravagant colorism, the 
which was nothing but a maneuver to dupe his patrons by passing off crudity as primitivism. 

His chief complaint, however, was that the nudes were not fat. 

 Tis the First Law of Nudistry! he exclaimed, many more times than once. Consider, if 
you will, the classic masters of the pastRubens Laebmauntsforscynneweld, to name just 
one! Did that great soul ever paint the nude portrait of even a single nubile? Nay, fie on such 
witless notions! Understood he well that the very essence of nudistry is the presentation of 
human flesh, and thus, it follows as the antithesis from the thesis, that the more copious the 
expanse of flesh portrayed, the greater the Art! 

Gauphin, oddly enough for a temperamental artist, seemed not at all irritated by this flood 
of criticism. 

Stuff sells like hotcakes, he remarked, and said no more. 

But at length, Zulkehs impromptu lecture on Art came to an end. Gauphin held up a 
warning hand. They had reached, or so it seemed, the end of the tunnel. Ahead of them was 
nought but a wall. 
Heres my secret entrance to Inkmans bedchamber, whispered the artist. He pointed 
out a latch which enabled the wall ahead to be swung aside. 

Thats it for my end of the deal, he said. Give me ten seconds to get clear. 

Thanks for the help, said Greyboar pleasantly. 

Gauphin snorted. Think I had a choice? Im not happy about this, let me tell youits 
probably going to sour my romance with Inkmans girlfriend. Then, shrugging: What the 
hell, falling out of favor with a lady beats falling out of favor with Les Six. Whats that old 
saying? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Ha! Try pissing off Les Six some time, if 
you really want a toasty taste of the underworld! Anyway, Im gone. If you make it out of 
there alive, be sure to tell the half-dozen homeboys from hell that I satisfied my end of the 
bargain. 

He disappeared in a flash. 

Zulkeh made to unlatch the wall, but Greyboar gently pulled him aside. 

Why dont you let me handle this part? Im rather good at breaking and entering. 

Of course, of course, agreed the wizard. 

Greyboar unlatched the wall and slowly swung it aside. He peered into the room beyond. 

The coast is clear, he whispered. Nobodys in the room. But keep it quietI can hear 
the guards in the room beyond. 
All four members of the party crept into the room. They inspected the furnishings 
carefully. 

Quite a love nest this guys got, remarked Ignace, pursing his lips. 

Shelyids face wrinkled in confusion. 

Master, he asked, why are there all those handcuffs and chains all over the bed? Seems 
like itd be uncomfortable, especially those spiked leather collars. I mean, you know, if you 
rolled over 
The wizard stilled his apprentice with a gesture. Tis not the time for a lecture, dwarf. He 


cleared his throat. Cleared his throat again. An aspect of your education, this, which I have 
neglected. At some future date, possibly, when you are older. Perhaps a glance at Kraft-
Ebbing Laebmauntsforcynnewelds monographs, or certain of the diaries of De Sade 
Sfondrati-Piccolominiexpurgated, of course! But not now, my loyal but stupid apprentice. 

Well, if you say so, master, agreed Shelyid uncertainly. But it all seems kind of peculiar. 
I mean, all these whips all over the floor, you could trip on them in the dark and hurt 
yourself. And 

Not now, gnome! 

Yes, master, grumbled the dwarf. Then: I still think the place is weirdwhy would you 
want to sleep on leather sheets? And, boy, this guy Inkman must crap a lot, theres gotta be 
eight or nine chamber pots lying around. One of thems on his pillow! Pretty vain, too, this 
guy, theres mirrors everywhere. And what are those funny long wooden things? Look like 
bananas except bananas dont 

Silence! hissed the wizard. I command you, wretch! 

Shelyid grimaced, but obeyed. And, in any event, even the dim-witted gnome must have 
realized that the time for questions and answers was over. For even at that moment 
Greyboar was standing before a door on the far wall, preparing to sally forth. Voices could be 
heard in the room beyond, raised in the coarse and uncouth jests of idle soldiery. 

How many, Ignace? asked the strangler. 

His agent listened intently, his ear flat to the door, then stepped back with a smile. 

Seven, maybe eight. 

Greyboar grunted, seized the doorframe in both hands. 

Are you ready, Ignace? The agent shrugged. The great muscles in Greyboars shoulders 
began to move, like breaking surf. 
A moment! hissed Zulkeh. Perhaps some shrewd stratagemthe disparity in 
numberstwould seem wise 

He got no further. Greyboar wrenched the door off its hinges and charged into the room. 
Three startled guards stood immediately before him, uttering cries of surprise. Greyboar 
swung the door high and brought it down directly upon them. The door splintered into a 
hundred pieces. So did they. 

Five soldiers remained. These had been seated at another table in a corner of the room 
some steps distant. They were now on their feet, their faces pale with shock, but sharp 
swords in their hands. Trained and experienced warriors, twas plain to see. 

Greyboar advanced upon them, flexing his hands. 
Meanwhile, Ignace leaned casually against the wall, placidly observing the scene. Shelyid 
nudged him fiercely. 
We gotta go help Greyboar! he cried. Hes way outnumbered! And they got swords and 
hes got nothing! 
Ignace laughed. Are you nuts, kid? For Greyboar, this kinda things a light workout. 
Knights in armor on horseback, now, hed of maybe done some warm-up exercises first. 

Yes, Shelyid, concurred Zulkeh sagely,  tis always wise to let professionals handle 
matters involving their trade. Best we stay out of the way, he added, matching deed to the 
word, lest 

But Shelyid would have none of it. Exhibiting yet again that cretinous mentality which the 
gentle reader has, by now, no doubt found excessively tiresome, the pathetic gnome 
launched himself into the center of the room, clenching his puny fists. 


You guys better watch it! he cried. Hes not alone, you know! 

Ill handle this one! shouted five soldiers in unison, each pointing at Shelyid. The rest of 
you take the big guy! 

And so saying, the five stalwarts hurled themselves as one man upon the dwarf. 

Two factors alone kept the apprentice from becoming chopped homunculus. The first, 
ironically enough, was his diminutive stature. For Shelyid, seeing doom advancing in the 
form of five descending sword blades, immediately threw himself through the legs of the 
soldier directly before him. This unexpected maneuver caused the soldier to stumble 
backward and fall upon the dwarf. Shelyids small arm appeared from below and locked 
itself around the soldiers neck. His four comrades stood around the interlocked bodies of 
the duo writhing on the floor, momentarily stymied by the fact that their target was covered 
by their fellow guard. 

This slight hesitation was enough to bring the second factor into play, which was, of 
course, Greyboar. 

As your narrator, let me take the occasion here to state for the record, that whatever slight 
skepticism I might have heretofore possessed concerning the reputation of the strangler, 
ended once and for all time within the next four seconds. 

Professional fingerwork, indeed. 

In the first second, Greyboar removed the spinal column from one soldier, as neatly as an 
angler filleting a trout. In the next second, he utilized this spinal column as a garrote to 
decapitate another. Then, in the third second, he deftly snared the falling head and used it 
upon the skull of a third soldier much in the manner of a gorilla using a stone to shatter a 
coconut, with much the same result. Finally, in the fourth second, he reverted to more classic 
form, seizing the last standing soldier by the throat with both hands, stretching his gullet to 
a truly preposterous length, and neatly finishing the job by tying the now-suitably-elongated 
weasand into a double bowline. 

There remained only to rescue Shelyid from his assailant, who was still lying upon the 
dwarf. Strangely, the soldier had ceased his thrashing. 

Take it easy, kid, said Greyboar. Ill handle this. The strangler reached down and 
seized the soldier, preparatory to committing mayhem upon his body. 

But he stopped. A look of puzzlement came upon his face. I might mention, by way of an 
aside, that Greyboars frown has to be seen to be believed. 

Hell, he muttered, this guys dead as a doornail. He lifted the soldiers body upright. 
The man was clearly dead, all could now see it. His head lolled at an impossible angle. 

Greyboar peeled Shelyids arm from around the soldiers neck, not, judging from the look 
of strain on his face, without some effort. He then separated the dwarf from the corpse, and 
held Shelyid up before him, dangling from the great fist wrapped around the gnomes skinny 
wrist. With the fingers of his other hand, Greyboar subjected the dead soldiers neck to a 
professional tactile investigation. 

As neat a throttle as Ive ever seen, he rumbled. Look at this, Ignace! Its a classic 
chokewindpipes like a tapeworm, Adams apples so much applesauce, necks broke in 
threeno, four!places The strangler looked back and forth between the chokee and the 
choker, the latter of whom was gasping from exertion, sweat pouring down his face. 

You okay, kid? he asked Shelyid. 

The dwarf gasped, gulped, swallowed, coughed. 

Yes, he squeaked. Im okay. I guess. Then, after some more gasping and gulping: Put 


me down, will you? Please. 

Greyboar set him on the floor. Shelyid tottered about, his face pinched and drawn. The 
dwarf looked up at the corpse of the soldier, still in Greyboars grasp. 
His face grew paler still. 
Is. Is. Is he dead? 
Like a mackerel on ice. And so saying, Greyboar dropped the corpse on the floor. 
Shelyid started to speak, then doubled up and vomited. Greyboar knelt down beside him, 

wrapping his immense arm around the dwarfs little shoulders. 

Take it easy, Shelyid, he said quietly. Go ahead, puke it all up. The wizard started to 
speak, fell silent at Greyboars stare. Silence was not natural to the mage. But the stranglers 
stare that moment would have silenced a babbling brook. 

A minute or so passed. Then Shelyid spoke softly. I dont think Ive ever killed anything 
before. Well, maybe a few bugs and such. Even then, its never on purpose. Never stepped on 
a bug on purpose. Dont harm nobody, bugs. Then he said only, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, and 
began to weep like a babe. Greyboar sat on the floor and drew Shelyid onto his lap. The 
strangler said nothing. His face seemed, if anything, even paler than the dwarfs. Odd, in 
such a man. 

And there the two of them remained, for several minutes. It was a truly ridiculous scene. 

The wizard apparently thought so. At length he cleared his throat, and spoke. 

I must sayperhapsthe urgency of the momentwell! That is to say, haste seemsfor 
even as we emote, time wanes! 

Shuddup, growled Ignace. The agent glared at the wizard, hunched his shoulders, glared 
around the room, crossed his arms, glared at the universe. 

Its a trade, he snarled, in his high-pitched voice. Pays good. Works steady. What more 
do you ever get in this world? 

But he went over and tapped the strangler on the shoulder. 

I hate to say it, Greyboar, but the professors right. We ought to be moving along. 

Greyboar nodded. Lets go, Shelyid, he said, and rose up. He placed the dwarf on his 
feet. 

Okay? he asked. Shelyid nodded. He even managed a feeble smile. 

Greyboar looked around the room. Except for the two tables and the chairs around them, 
the room was bare. There were three doors in the room. The first was the one they had burst 
through earlier, leading to Inkmans bedchamber. There was a second door on the opposite 
wall, normal in its appearance. The last door, on the other hand, was quite extraordinary. 
Located against a third wall, it was not only constructed of iron rather than wood, but was 
held shut by no less than four great metal bars. 

Check that door, will you, Ignace? said Greyboar, pointing to the normal-looking door. 
Pays to be careful. But unless I miss my guess, this great ugly iron doors the one where the 
business takes us. 

A moment later, his investigation completed, Ignace announced that the door led only to a 
corridor. 

Thought so, grunted Greyboar. Thats how the soldiers get in and out. He grinned. 
Cant have common troops parading around while the great Cruddys engaged in sexual 
outr-course. 

A more solemn expression then came upon him, as he inspected the iron door, very 
thoughtfully. The strangler pursed his lips and whistled. 


Dont much like the look of this. Youll have noticed, Ignace, that these great 
bars are all designed to keep whatevers on the other side of that door from getting to 
the warm little bodies of the people who hang out on this side of the door. 

I am not stupid, came the agents reply. 

No, no, youre not, agreed Greyboar. Irascible, yes. Dyspeptic, yes. Unpleasant, 
frequently. A pain in the ass, as often as not. But stupid, no. 

Mea pain in the ass? shrilled Ignace. You should talk! The agent glared at the door. 
The Old Geister only knows what kind of horrors lurking on the other side of that door. 

Yes, and were about to find out, responded Greyboar, placidly enough. Come on, lets 
get to it. And so saying, the strangler made short work of removing the bars from the door. 
A moment later, the door itself stood open. A dark passageway loomed beyond, its end not in 
sight. 

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, announced Greyboar, heading down the passageway. 
Zulkeh followed, with Shelyid close behind. But before the dwarf could pass through the 
door, Ignace stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Shelyid looked up at the agent, 
suspicion and wariness plain on his face. 

Look, kid, began Ignace, then, after a pause: Look, Shelyid, Im sorry about what I did 
back at Magrits place. I shouldnt have picked on you the way I did. I justwell, its like the 
big guy says, the truth is sometimes Im an asshole. He stopped, groped for words, found 
none. 

The frown on Shelyids face cleared, and he said: Its okay. I dont think probably 
anybody can get through life without once in a while being an asshole. He stuck out his little 
hand. Ignace took it and the two midgets shook hands. Acting for all the world like 
gentlemen! 

Wed better go, said Shelyid. He made to enter the passageway, then turned back. Im 
sorry I chased you around with a knife and tried to chop you into pieces, he said. Suddenly 
his face contorted, in a most astonishing manner. 

And a sight it was, too, to see dozens of the Alfredae rushing to the scene, chittering with 
excitement. Long hours were spent in the days thereafter, scribe consulting scribe, logs and 
records examined, notes and diaries subjected to the most detailed scrutiny. Throughout, I 
kept a dignified silence, as befitted the Alfred. Of course, I am the Alfred, and therefore I 
knew the answer from the beginning, long before the lesser notaries announced, in solemn 
clan gathering, the official recording of a hitherto unknown event. 

Shelyid had grinned. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A Horror Heard. A Wizards Uninterrupted Exposition. A Horror Seen. And a 

Horror It Is, Too! The Strangler Prepares. A Dwarfs Folly. The Unforeseen 

Results Therefrom. The Relic Found. The Mage is Disgruntled! 

The nature of the horror lurking at the end of the corridor was known to our heroes long 
before it was seen. There was no mistaking the source of the bloodcurdling roars and bellows 
echoing down the corridor from some place still ahead. 

A snarl, announced Zulkeh. A rock snarl, if I am not mistaken. The tone and timbre is 
similar, of course, to that of a mountain snarl. But that slight tremor at the upper registers 
no, tis a rock snarl, tis certain. 

How did the lousy Crud get himself a tame snarl? demanded Ignace. I thought the 
things couldnt be captured and tamed. 

They cannot be tamed, responded the wizard firmly. Indeed, tis this very impossibility 
of domesticating the snarlin any of its varietieswhich most clearly distinguishes the 
monster from all other manner of wild beasts. On this all scholars agree. 

As for the capture of snarls, he continued, here there is some confusion in the popular 
mind. Tis not true, as many of the common folk think, that snarls cannot be captured. The 
beasts are not, after all, supernatural! They can be, and have been, captured on occasion 
though very rarely, for the cost in life and limb is invariably immense. And the reward poor! 
For while snarls can be captured, they cannot be kept in captivity. All too often the creatures 
escape, for they are not only fearsome in size, strength and swiftness, but cunning beyond all 
other beasts. And when they do not escape, they invariably perish within a relatively short 
time, due, it would appear, to heartbreak. 

Twas clear as day, from the deliberate pacing which he now assumed in his progress down 
the corridor, that the sorcerer was well into his lecture mode. Under most circumstances, his 
not-academically-inclined companions would no doubt have interrupted him with rude and 
uncouth remarks. But on this occasion, they listened attentively. So does the prospect of 
encountering a snarl concentrate even the lowlife mind! 

In all recorded history, there is but one instance of a systematic attempt to entrap snarls. 
I refer, of course, to the reign of the legendary Panjandrum of the Voracious Regime, whose 
domain appears to have covered all of Grotum. As recounted by Herodotus 
Laebmauntsforcynneweld, this great monarch developed, in the first year of his reign, an 
obsession with snarl fur. Thus was his army commanded to go forth and hunt down the 
snarls of the land for their peltsprairie snarls, meadow snarls, mountain snarls, and the 


like. By his second year on the throne, the Panjandrum had enough pelts to carpet his throne 
room. Alas, he had no army. Then was his navy commanded to sail forth and hunt down the 
snarls of the coastal regionsdelta snarls, bayou snarls, mangrove snarls, and the like. By 
his third year on the throne, the Panjandrum had sufficient pelts to carpet his bedroom as 
well. Alas, he had no navy. Then were his officials, the whole of his great bureaucracy, sent 
forth to hunt down the snarls of the cities and townsstreet snarls, alley snarls, house 
snarls, and the like. Of course, there were no such snarls, for the beasts detested settled 
regionsas they do to this day. Displeased, the Panjandrum ordered the army to execute the 
officials. Of course, this mass execution did not take place, as he had no army. Displeased 
still further, the Panjandrum ordered the navy to execute the army. This mass execution 
likewise did not take place, as he had no navy. Now greatly displeased, the Panjandrum 
ordered the bureaucracy to execute the navy. Again he failed in his purpose, due, of course, 
to the absence of a navy to execute. Now displeased beyond measure, the Panjandrum 
ordered his lowly subjects to execute the bureaucracy. This they immediately did, with vigor 
and enthusiasm. Now again pleased, in his fourth year on the throne the Panjandrum 
ordered his subjects to sally forth and hunt down such snarls as they could find wherever 
they could find them. By his fifth year on the throne, he had but one additional pelt, enough 
to cover only his closet. Alas, he had no subjects. 

The wizard now stroked his beard, always a sign of deep thought. Then: 

To this point in the tale, all ancient chronicles agree. But here opens up the famed and 
furious dispute between Herodotus and his arch-rival in ancient historiography, I refer, of 
course, to Thucydides Sfondrati-Piccolomini. For where Herodotus would have it that the 
Panjandrum soon died from his inability to feed, clothe and bathe himselfnever having 
needed to learn these simple skillsThucydides claims, to the contrary, that his palace was 
invaded by a horde of snarls who tore him limb from limb. Tis difficult to choose between 
these two alternative accounts, for documentation is entirely lacking and the higher truth of 
Poetic Justice would seem to lie, with equal force, on either side of the dispute. I myself, 
however, am inclined to place more weight than most scholars on the point advanced by 
Thucydides cousin, Xenophon Sfondrati-Piccolomini, in his 

But there the lecture ended, for at that moment our heroes rounded a bend in the corridor 
and saw before them the very subject of discussion. A rock snarl twas indeed, a most large 
one to boot. And one which had, at the selfsame moment, espied our heroes. 

The adventurous foursome paled as one man, or rather, as three men and a gnome. The 
huge monster lunged at them, its maw gaping wide. But its charge was brought short 
suddenly. A great twang was heard, as of a giant bowstring. And now, looking closely, our 
heroes saw that the creature was held back by a chain which stretched from a collar on its 
neck to a winch-like contraption to one side. 

Most clever! spoke the mage. Note how shrewdly Inkman has designed this chamber 
wherein the ferocious snarl even now prowls, roaring, lashing its tail, eyeing us with 
frustrated predatory zeal. The chain is long enough that the beast can seize anyone who 
ventures into the chamber, but not so long as to devour those who remain in the corridor. 

Then how does Inkman get by it? asked Greyboar. 

See you the winch? demanded Zulkeh. No doubt there is some hidden device, located 
here in the corridor, which enables Inkman to haul back the monster far enough to allow 
him access to the room which lies beyond yonder doorhere the wizard pointed to a door at 
the opposite end of the chamberwherein rests, as certain as the sunrise, the very relic we 


seek. 

Then lets find the device! exclaimed Ignace, who immediately began a close 
investigation of the corridor. 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. What would be the point of this entire arrangement could such a 
device be found by any would-be reivers who came along? Desist, young man! You will not 
find it, I assure you. Even I, armed with a lifetimes theory and practical skill at the discovery 
of hidden mechanisms, caches, trapdoors and the like, have no hope of finding it. No, no, I 
fear we have no choice but to overcome the horror. 

You sure about that? asked Greyboar. 

I am positive. 

How about using some magic on the critter, then? queried Ignace. You know, cast a 
spell on it or something? 

Zulkeh shook his head. Twill avail but little. The snarl is notoriously resistant to all forms 
of magic and magery. I will do my best, I assure you, to utilize those few cantrips which have 
in the past proved to have some slight effect on the monsters. But, I warn you, the cantrips 
are unreliable and, even at their best, not very effective. At most, I can perhaps slightly dull 
the beasts normally lightning-quick reactions. I fear me that we have no choice but to rely 
on physical force. Which, he added quickly, taking a step back into the corridor, is neither 
my forte nor my area of expertise. 

Never fails, grumbled Greyboar. When the chips are down, everybody calls for the 
lowbrow. He examined the snarl, not, or so it seemed, filled with joyful anticipation of the 
future. 

A bit dicey, this, he muttered. I can whip five times my weight in crocodiles, twice my 
weight in bears. Even wrestled a walrus once in a circus, when I was hungry and down on my 
luck. Had him pinned, too, till he got cranky and tried to use his tusks. Had to throttle him, 
then, which irritated his owner no end. Cost me the job. He whistled soundlessly. Oh, boy. 
Well, best get to it. 

The strangler stripped off his leather jerkin. The musculature now exposed was, 
depending on ones perspective, an anatomists dream or an aesthetes nightmare. At once, 
Greyboar began a regimen of stretching and limbering up exercises which would have 
crippled your average athletic champion. 

Shelyid lowered the sack, his face creased by a puzzled frown. What are you doing? 
Then, as the light of comprehension dawned in his brain: Youre going to hurt the snarl! 
Greyboar looked up, startled. Youre worried about me hurting the snarl? He grimaced. 

My concern runs the other way around. Some friend you turn out to be! 

Shelyid looked around wildly, then appealed to his master. 

But, master! he cried. We shouldnt do this! I mean, the snarl didnt do us no harm! Its 
not his fault hes all chained up hereits that Mr. Inkman whos to blame! 

Zulkeh patted the gnomes head. Yes, yes, Shelyid, in the broader historical and ethical 
perspective there is much to what you say. Yet, look you, dwarf, we deal here in a more 
circumscribed and limited sphere. Tis legitimate for us to do so, I might mention. For he did 
not say himself, the great scholar 

What the great scholar saidindeed, the identity of the scholar himselfwill forever 
remain a mystery. For at that very moment did the dwarf Shelyid charge into the chamber, 
directly at the raging snarl, his little hands raised before him! 

Go back, go back! he called out to the snarl. Just go over to the side, out of the way, and 


youll be okay. Greyboar doesnt really want to hurt you, we just want to get into that door 
over there and what do you care anyway, I mean, its that Mr. Inkman what put you in th 

He got no further. With one monstrous swipe of its talon-tipped paw, the snarl smashed 
Shelyids body to the floor, like a giant swatting a fly. 

Oh horror! cried Zulkeh. Greyboar and Ignace looked away, grimacing. 

Oh horror! cried Zulkeh. The diminutive cretins at it again! Greyboar and Ignace 
looked back, astonishment upon their faces. 

And indeed, the now-certifiably-moronic dwarf had risen to his feet, somewhat shakily, 
and advanced again upon the snarl. This time, however, his hands were not raised high in 
appeal, but clenched in pigmy petulance. 

That hurt! shrilled Shelyid. The monsters head plunged down, jaws gaping wide. 

Shelyid punched its snout. 

The snarl pulled back its head abruptly. Its jaws snapped shut. For a momentinsane 
moment!monster and dwarf gazed at each other, their eyeballs not more than two feet 
apart. Shelyid was glaring, if such a fierce description can be applied to the gnomes 
ridiculous little face. The snarls expression was impossible to describe at all. Uncertainty, 
puzzlement, surprise, confusionperhaps a bit of all of these. But perhaps nottis difficult 
to ascertain the mental state of a beast which is, after all, mindless. 

The impasse was broken by Greyboar. 

Dont move, Shelyid! he shouted, advancing rapidly toward the pair, his great hands 
outstretched in a wrestlers pose. Ill take care of it! 

The snarls head turned. Seeing Greyboar approach, the monsters hackles rose, a great 
snarl issued from its mawand they dont call the beasts snarls for nothing, let me assure 
you! 

Stay away! shrilled Shelyid. But Greyboars attention was wholly fixed on the snarl, 
which was even that moment matching wrestlers stance with predators stalk. 

Stay away! cried Shelyid again. Rushing at the strangler, the dwarf stretched out his 
hands and thrust them into Greyboars bellyif such a word as belly can be used to 
describe a stomach like the plastron of a giant weight-lifting tortoise. 

Greyboar landed on his rump. Utter shock best describes the expression on his face. 

You knocked me down! he bellowed. 

Shelyid grimaced. He started to speak, then spotted the head of the snarl, which was even 
then pushing past him, jaws wide, flaming eyes fixed on the form of the strangler. 

And you stop it too! shrilled the dwarf. He smacked the snarls snout. Then smacked it 
again. The enormous beast backed up a pace, stared at Shelyid. Whined. Sat back on its 
haunchesfor all the world like a dog brought to heel! 

You knocked me down! bellowed Greyboar. 

Shelyid turned back to the strangler. Grimaced again. Shrugged apologetically. 

You knocked me down! bellowed Greyboar. 

Shelyid wrung his handsand well he should! He began to apologize: Well, gee, Mr. 
Greyboar, I didnt mean to but 
Greyboar, still seated, looked over at Ignace. Did you see that, Ignace? He pointed an 
accusing finger at the dwarf. He knocked me down! 
Ignace nodded, his face pale. Yeah, I saw it. The agent whistled tunelessly. Word of this 
gets out, our feell be cut in half. If were lucky. 
Zulkeh tugged urgently at the agents sleeve. Mr. Ignace, he spoke, I must urge you to 


exercise whatever ability you possess to restrain your client! I apologize for my apprentices 
unseemly behavior, but I am quite certain the miscreant gnome (here he gazed fiercely at 
Shelyid, shook his finger, and admonished his apprentice: Apologize at once to Mr. 
Greyboar, unworthy wretch! Im trying to, complained Shelyid, if peoplell just let me 
fin) did not intend any actual bodily harm or discomfort to the esteemed chokesternay, 
fie on such witless notions! And I can assure you and your client that I shall certainly 
chastise the insolent youth in a most 

Shuddup! cried Ignace. Just shuddup! You dont get it, dummy! I aint worried about 
bodily harmha! Look at the great bruiser! Does he look bodily harmed to you? And, 
indeed, it did not appear that any actual physical harm had befallen the strangler. 

Its his reputation, thats the problem, shrilled Ignace. Hes never been knocked down 
before, its part of the mystique. Customers pay through the nose for that, dont you know. 

Not actually true, said Greyboar, now rising to his feet. The Chevalier dEscroc knocked 
me down. 

Not in the record book! shrilled Ignace. He only put you down on one knee and you 
right off used the position to tear off his leg and you snatched him falling off the other side of 
the horse and had him throttled before he even hit the groundand with his helmet still on! 
The Records Committee ruled the kneedrop was a maneuver! 

Greyboar grunted. Yeah, I know, you talked a good line to embut I was there, I know it 
was a knockdown. He flexed his shoulder at the memory. Good man with a morning star, 
the Chevalier. 

Who cares? demanded Ignace hotly. DEscrocs the only one who could argue the point, 
and hes pushing up daisies. Record says youve never been knocked down! 

Not any more, commented Greyboar, quite calmly. Not even you can argue this one. Or 
what kind of maneuver you want to call me landing plunk on my ass? 

Ignace shook his head in despair. Then, a thought come to him, he turned to Zulkeh. 

Listen, professor, maybe theres no real reason you gotta go public with this. I mean, who 
knows? Maybe Greyboar and Shelyid were just clowning around, you know, just friendly-
like, and maybe Greyboar just pretended to fall down, you know, maybe just 

Calm yourself! spoke Zulkeh. I have no intention of broadcasting the recent event to the 
world at largequite the contrary! I simply wish to retain the services of my stupid but loyal 
apprentice, who will be of little assistance to me if Greyboar takes umbrage at his recent 
offense and throttles the wretched little He turned to Shelyid, shaking his finger. I 
denounce you again, miserable 

But his admonition was cut short. The wizard was speechless, jaw agape. 

The cause of this unwonted silence was plain to see. For even at that moment did the 
snarl, which had whiled away the preceding minute sniffing at Shelyids person, seize the 
dwarf in both paws and begin a vigorous licking of the apprentices face. Shelyid giggled in 
protest, trying to fend off the great purple tongue. 

Ill be damned, whispered Greyboar. 

Tis true, then, mused the mage, stroking his beard, the dwarf is, in actual fact and not 
his fancy, a snarl-friend. 

Whats that mean? queried Ignace. 

It is difficult to answer the question, spoke the wizard. The essence of snarl-friendness 
remains a complete mystery to all scholars and sages. Though, tis true that in his memoirs 
the world-famed snarl-friend Tarzan Laebmauntsforscynneweld claimswell, perhaps not 


at the moment! And, in any event, his thesis is vigorously disputed by no less an authority 
than Mowgli Sfondrati-Piccolomini, who for his part advances the argumentwell, perhaps 
at a later time! Suffice it to say, sirrah Ignace, that snarls are known to take a strange liking 
for certain individualsnot many! no more than a handful in each historical epochfor 
reasons which are quite unknown. Based on what records exist, only two factors seem to 
demonstrate a frequency beyond the limits of statistical accident: hirsuteness, especially 
among males, and great size. 

The wizard paused, stroking his beard vigorously. Of these factors, Shelyid certainly 
exhibits the firstperhaps to such an extreme as to outweigh his utter lack of the other. For, 
as all can plainly see, the dwarf does not possess great size. To the contrary! The dwarf is 
actuallywell, actually, hes a dwarf. 

More vigorous beard-stroking. Yet there seems no question that he is a snarl-friend. 

Indeed, twould be hard to question, for even as the wizard spoke were the dwarf and the 
snarl engaged in that childish pleasure in play which so typifies the savage beast and the 
dimwit. The twain romped about, the apprentice shrieking with glee as he slapped the snarls 
snout, the latter, for its part, gaily seizing the dwarf in its great maw and swinging the gnome 
about like a cat shaking a mouse. 

That looks kind of risky, said Greyboar, frowning. 

Nonsense! spoke the mage. I admit my apprentice appears scrofulous, but I can assure 
you that I have always insisted on a regime of hygiene and cleanliness. The snarl is in no 
danger of contracting 

That isnt what I meant! bellowed the strangler. I mean it looks risky for Shelyid. Look 
at the size of that He gasped in horror, for the snarl had just swallowed the dwarf whole. 
Shelyids peals of laughter could be heard faintly from within the monstrous jaws. But the 
stranglers disquiet proved unbased. The snarl opened its jaws and Shelyid popped out, none 
the worse for wear. Actually, he was howling in positive ecstasy at the experience. 

Eventually, dwarf and snarl ended their foolish rompery. Shelyid, now inspecting the 
beast closely as he worked to unfasten its collar, turned to the wizard and said shrilly: Look, 
master, the snarls all scarred up and everything! Hes gota moments pause for 
examination, then:shes got all these fresh cuts and sores all over her! 

The wizard nodded his head. Yes, Shelyid, and I am not surprised. For look you! Here 
the mage pointedly dramatically at a great cat-o-nine-tails hanging on the wall behind. 
Clearly twas part of Inkmans trap! Not only to keep a snarl chained here in the chamber, 
but to keep the beast maddened by frequent scourgings. No doubt he also kept the monster 
on starvation rations! A shrewd man, Inkman, there can be no doubt of it. Anyone who 
attempts to pass through this chamber to the treasure room beyond must deal not with a 
snarl, which is bad enough, nor even a starving snarl, which is worse, but a starving snarl 
driven to the height of rage by torture and torment. Most ingenious! Most sagacious! Most 
 

Hes mean! interrupted Shelyid. He flung the collar to the floor. 

Well, as to that, spoke the mage, ingenuity and sagacity have, in themselves, no moral 
character. Nay, fie upon such witless notions! Do we not have before us the splendid historic 
example of Borgia Sfrondrati-Piccolomini? Not to mention, of course, the 

Speaking of treasure rooms, boomed Greyboar, shouldnt we be getting on with it? 
Quite so, quite so, admitted the mage. Some other occasion, Shelyid, will be more 
suitable for this lecture. But be sure to remind me! Tis essential, for your education, to 


discern with sure precision twixt the higher faculties of Reason and the maudlin morass of 
Emotion. 

From the sour expression on his face, it appeared that Shelyid was not filled with 
anticipation at this promised lesson of the future. 

Our heroes crossed the room and opened the door to the chamber beyond. The foursome 
enteredfivesome, I should say, for the snarl squeezed itself through the door after them. 
Greyboar looked back, paused, shrugged. 

Why not? he asked no one in particular. 

Treasure room, the wizard had called it, but in truth, the chamber was utterly bare save 
for a table in the center. Upon the table rested a small book, bound in green leather. 
Such were the only objects in the room. 

Ignace advanced to the table, reaching out his hand. Thats got to be it! he exclaimed. 

Stop! cried the mage. Stop, you fool! 

Ignace looked back, frowning. 

Whats your problem, professor? 

Dolt! spoke Zulkeh. Yon object is a great relicancient, potent beyond belief. Think you 
it is not guarded by fell wards and gruesome glyphs, guardian daemons and the like? 

Well, maybe, but I dont see anyth Ignace choked, then fell silent. 

Twas not, one suspects, so much the size of the great wraith-like serpent which even now 
appeared, coiled above the book, which convinced Ignace that the wizard had reason on his 
side. Twas probably not the coal-red eyes, nor the dagger-like fangs, nor even the drops of 
misty poison which fell from said fangs. No, one suspects it was the spirit-snakes voice 
throaty, sibilant, seductivehissing the words: Oh you stud! Kiss me! Kiss me, you stud! 

More your line of work, this! muttered Ignace to Zulkeh, as he beat a hasty retreat. 

Indeed so, concurred the mage, examining the guardian spirit with an expert eye. 

Bah! he oathed. A naga! Clear enough, Zulkeh was displeased. 

And not even a purple, he added darkly, but a green. He glowered with ill-humor. 
Then spoke again: 

I am deeply offended at this disrespect! 


 
CHAPTER XXIV. 

A Thaumaturge Insulted. A Daemon Destroyed. A Sorcerer Demeaned. A Glyph 

Dispelled, A Wizard Offended. A Ward Dissolved. A Mollified Mage. The Seal Is 

Broken! 

Disrespect, master? queried the apprentice. 

Of course, disrespect! spoke Zulkeh. A slur, a sneer, a gesture of base contempt! He 
pointed accusingly at the naga, which was still coiling and writhing about, its glowing eyes 
now fixed on the wizard. 

Shelyids brow wrinkled. Well, I dont know, master, sure and the things a fright, and its 
kind of obscene the way it keeps telling you to kiss it and all, but Im not sure its really being 
disrespectful. Actually, I think its trying to trick 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Dolt of an apprentice! What boots it, the nagas words? Tis the 
very presence of the thing which offends me! 
Shelyid eyed the snake-spirit again. Well, yes master, I can see where the things ugly, 
and I know you have real refined 
Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Cretin of a gnome! What boots it, the nagas appearance? I say 
again, tis the very presence of the thing which affronts! 
Well, said Shelyid uncertainly, then, in a small voice: I guess I dont understand, 
master. 
Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Of course you dont! You are a lowly apprenticenaturally you do 
not grasp the insult which is here delivered unto me. 

Seeing no understanding on Shelyids face, the wizard threw up his hands with 
exasperation. Then, with the look of resignation of one forced, for the thousandth time, to 
explain the obvious yet again: 

What am I, my loyal but stupid apprentice? 

O master, you are the wisest and most powerful sorcerer in the world! came the instant 
response. 
At last! A glimmer of intellect! And what am I doing here? 
Shelyid frowned. Well, youre here to take that relic thing thats sitting right there under 

the naga. 
Good, good. Two correct statements in a row. And what is the purpose of the nagas 
presence? 
Shelyid frowned, hesitated, then said: Well, I guess its here to keep the thing from being 
taken. 


Very good! Three correct statements in a row. The mage smiled, patted Shelyids head, 
then glowered deeply at the naga. 

And therein lies the insult! he spoke. For to put a nagaand a green, at that!to 
prevent the mightiest mage of the world from seizing yon relicO infamy! O insult! 

Thats a lot of fancy talk, commented Ignace, pressed against the far wall, face pale, eyes 
fixed fearfully on the naga, but hows about some action? His sentiment seemed shared by 
Greyboar, who was pressed equally flat against the same far wall. Even the snarl kept its 
distance, sidling with agitation, growling at the naga. 

Action, you say? Observe, then, the dispatch of a naga! And so saying, the wizard 
advanced upon the spirit-snake, who, for its part, hissed: Oh you stallion! Kiss me! Kiss me, 
you stallion! 

Which scroll do you want, master? Ill get it for you! The dwarf began scrabbling in the 
sack. 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Think you a thaumaturge of my puissance needs to consult a 
library to dispatch a mere nagaand a green, at that? He was now almost upon the thing. 

Oh my gander! Kiss me! Kiss me, my gander! Now great was the nagas excitement. 

Bah! oathed the wizard. Think you I would not know from memory the hexes of the 
great scholar and serpentbane, I speak, of course, of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi Sfondrati-
Piccolomini? 

At the name, the naga recoiled in terror. Too late! For even now did Zulkeh purse his lips, 
like a lover, and speak the words of snakedoom: 

Oh mon goose! Kiss me! Kiss me, mon goose! 

A great wail filled the room, as of a lost soulthe naga was gone, vanished like smoke! 

Ill be damned, said Greyboar. He and Ignace stared at the wizard, a new respect in their 
eyes. But Zulkeh took no notice, for he was even now inspecting the relic at close hand 
though twas noticed by all that he kept his hands away. 

There will now appear a glyph, he predicted. Sure enough, but a second later did a great 
rune appear on the books cover, elaborate in its calligraphy, glowing a baleful crimson. 

O outrage! cried Zulkeh. O dishonor! 

Whats the matter, master? queried Shelyid. 

The mages eyes seemed almost as red as the rune. The matter? The matter? Look at the 
glyph, diminutive dolt! 

The apprentice approached and examined the glyph. Looks like a rune, master, he said. 
A nasty-looking one, too. 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Of course its nasty-looking! Not just nasty-looking, I might add, 
tis nasty in actual fact. Touch the thing without first draining its power, and your body will 
be blasted by lightning. 

No kidding? This from Ignace, still plastered to the wall. 

The wizard bestowed his hot-eyed look upon the agent. Do you doubt me? he demanded. 
Touch the thing, then! 

No, no, replied Ignace hastily, wouldnt doubt you for a minute! 

Never question a professional at his work, myself, added Greyboar. Even the snarl 
looked away from Zulkehs glare. 

Zulkeh turned back to the table. A rune! he snorted. A miserable, wretched, ridiculous 
rune. Not even an ideogram, much less a hieroglyph! 

Barbarous things, runes, he grumbled. To be expected, of course! Barbarous folk, 


northmen. Crude, uncivilized, not much better than savages. 

Seeing Shelyid inching toward the sack, the wizard made a peremptory gesture. Cease 
and desist, lilliputian librarian! Think you I require assistance to remember the phrase 
which drains all power from a rune-glyph? Fie on such witless notions! Exists not a 
journeyman warlock in creation who could not, in his sleep, recite the infallible weird of 
those masters of barbarian lore, I speak, of course, of the Runettes Laebmauntsforscynneweld! 


And so saying, the wizard began dancing and shuffling about, snapping his fingers, 
crooning the following tune: 

Who put the rune on the book, the book? 

Who was that man? 

He thinks himself quite grand! 

But hes so very plain to see! 

Bebop! Shebop! 

The glyph faded away in less than a second. 

Ignoring the exclamations of praise coming from the duo still plastered to the far wall, 
Zulkehnot yet touching the bookannounced, in a tone of supreme confidence: 
And now for the ward. 
All eyes were fixed on the Rap Sheet, at first in anticipation, then in puzzlement. 
The ward always takes a bit of time, Shelyid, explained Zulkeh.  Tis always the third of 

the four relic guards, and its appearance is always delayedthis in the hope of lulling the 
ignorant would-be reiver to lay his hands upon the relic. To do so before unlocking the ward, 
of course, would be disastrous. 

Would you be, like, fried alive or something? queried the gnome. 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. The cruder of the dooms we have already surmounted. Nay, 
Shelyid, the unwary seizer of still-warded relics finds himself drawn into the relic itself, there 
to spend eternity in the utter boredom of relichood. A horrible fateeven for a scholar! 

Zulkeh stretched his limbs, looked about. Perhaps we could take some refreshment, 
Shelyid. Twill be some time yet before the ward, its hope of an easy snatch frustrated, 
becomes manifest. The more potent the ward, it goes without saying, the greater its patience. 
The legendary wards of old were known to lurk as much as two full days before making their 
appearance. In these modern times, however, I doubt me we shall need to wait more than 
four hours, perhaps not more thanwhat? Already? 

Great was the sorcerers indignation. 

O scurrilous discompliment! O scabrous disesteem! O insult piled onto insult! He 
stalked about the chamber, fists clenched above his head. Smoke and lightning issued from 
his ears. Shelyid quailed, for he naturally recognized in Zulkehs circular pacing the famed 
and dreaded peripatis thaumaturgaecounterclockwise, eleven steps to the circuit, with, of 
course, the semi-hop following each third completion of the circuit to throw off what demons 
might be tailing behind in the netherworld. 

Look at the thing! he spoke. More accurately, bellowed with rage. 

Its like a cage of glowing red bars, master, said Shelyid. Like the door to a vault, 
maybe, if a vault door was made of molten steel. 

Precisely! snarled Zulkeh. Its a vault ward! The most primitive, simple-minded, 


rudimentary, oafish, hebetate and thick-witted of all wards! I was tossing the things off like a 
short-order cook my first year at the University! 

He stopped his pacing. Glowered for a moment more, then began to speak. But before 
even a single word was finished, he hesitated. 

Bah! oathed the wizard.  Tis so long ago I have forgotten the exact phrasing. 
Infuriating! To have such simple problems posed that one has to grope to remember the 
answer! 

He sighed. Still, best to get it right. Even a vault ward can be dangerous if improperly 
unlocked. Shelyid, get me the Memoirs of Sutton Sfondrati-Piccolomini. 

The dwarf disappeared into the sack, reemerged not more than a minute later with a 
volume in his hand. The mage quickly flipped through the pages. 

Now, where is it? he muttered. Ah! Here is the relevant passage. At once he recited the 
following: 

Willie, why do you rob banks? Because thats where the money is. 

The glowing bars had already begun to fade before he was well into the passage. By its 
end, they were gone. 

The wizard handed the volume back to his apprentice. And what insult comes next? he 
demanded. There is still the last guard, the seal. In what manner will my dignity be 
affronted now? 

He glared at the Rap Sheet, then seized it with both hands and shook it fiercely. 

O master! cried Shelyid. Be careful! 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. The seal is not dangerous! It is the final guard because it is the last 
resort. The relic reiver having avoided the grasp of the daemon, the blast of the glyph, and 
the snare of the ward, there is naught can stop him now but the prevention, by sheer sealing 
away, of his ability to use the relic. Such is the purpose of the seal. I can now safely take the 
relic in handindeed, I could travel the world with it, use it as a footstool, a pillow!but can 
I use it without opening it, without breaking the seal? Of course not! Even now, look you as I 
attempt to open the book! 

And so saying, the wizard made what was clearly an effort to turn the pages. As well turn 
the pages of a solid block of marble! 

And so what demeaning seal will appear? demanded Zulkeh. Solomons Seal, I expect, 
which can be broken by any half-literate herbalist in her hovel in the woods! 

He began to utter more phrases of contempt and contumely, but stopped. For now had a 
seal appeared, like unto a great blob of wax plastered across the open edge of the book. 

But whats this? he demanded. He frowned, gazing at the seal which was rapidly taking 
form. Odd ridges and whorls solidified, spotted gold and black. 

Fascinating! Extraordinary! he cried, as soon as the seal had taken its final shape and 
structure. 

What is it, master? queried Shelyid. 

Why, why, tis a Leopard Seal! Astonishing! 

Whats a Leopard Seal, master? 

Zulkeh stared down at his apprentice, thoughtfully. 

Truly, tis early in your apprenticeship for an introduction to the higher seals, yetrecall, 
dwarf, that I predicted this journey would expose you to new knowledge and lore! 

Oh yes, master! cried Shelyid. 

Know, Shelyid, that all of the higher seals take their inspiration from the souls of animals. 


For who could keep their counsel better than dumb beasts? I might mention, in this regard, 
that we see here the absurdity of the popular belief that Solomons Seals are the greatest of 
seals. Preposterous! How could a seal inspired by the soul of Solomonthat vainglorious 
babbler, that opinionated chatterbox, that obsessive-compulsive spouter of judgments and 
pronunciamentos, thatwell! Suffice it to say that the expression pillow talk finds its origin 
in Solomons liaison with the Queen of Sheba. 

Here the wizard wagged his finger in Shelyids nose. 

Nay, fie upon such witless notions! To inspirit a seal with real power of mutery, tis 
necessary to draw upon the souls of dumb beasts. True, such beasts utter sounds, but sounds 
without meaning. Likewise, should I shatter the seal on this binder by force rather than 
science, I should reduce the contents within to pure babble. Such is the reason that all the 
higher seals are inspirited of animals. 

Oh, I understand, master! cried Shelyid. So this seal is, well, inspired by a leopard 
soul. The dwarf frowned in puzzlement. I would have thought maybe a tiger or a lion 
would 

Nay, nay! spoke Zulkeh. Shelyid fell silent. The wizard stroked his beard. 

I am perhaps responsible for your confusion, he admitted. There are, it is true, 
excellent seals derived from the felines. And, tis true enough, the tiger and lion seals are the 
best of the lot. The seals inspirited by leopardswhich are properly called panther seals, by 
the wayare noticeably weaker. But this is not such a seal, Shelyid. Nay, nay, this seal is of 
the greatest of the seal families, I speak, of course, of the pinnipeds. For what animal soul 
could better inspirit a seal than a seal? 

The wizard paced back and forth, gesturing with the book in his hand. 

Within the seal seals, there are of course gradations. Weakest are the Harbor Seals. The 
Harp Seals are famed forwell, times presses! Suffice it to say, Shelyid, that of all the seal 
seals, the most potenton this all scholars agreeare the Leopard Seals. 

He held up the relic in both hands, his face positively glowing. So! he cried. At last I am 
shown proper respect! A frown. But why would such a great seal be combined with such a 
wretched set of daemons, glyphs and wards? The wizard pondered for a moment, before his 
expression cleared. 

Of course! he exclaimed. I had forgot me that the relic is a Rap Sheet, long in the 
possession of the Cruds. No doubt it was the Angel Jimmy Jesus himself who set the 
daemon, glyph, ward and seal. This explains all! The grandeur of the seal, its well-nigh 
perfection of mutery, derives from the most outstanding characteristicpersonality trait, 
you might sayof the Angel Jimmy Jesus, which is known even to babes in swaddling 
clothes. 

Hes a total paranoid, said Greyboar. 

Claims friends are enemies, elaborated Ignace, and the better the friends the more 
certain their enmity. Why else would they be your best friends, except to get close enough to 
stab you in the back? 

Precisely! agreed the wizard. A classic paranoid. He actually believes that the whole 
world is out to get him, when all studies have shown that not more than three-fourths the 
global population actively seeks his death, although, in all fairness, one should add that a 
good three-fourths of the one-fourth remaining would certainly cheer from the sidelines as 
the multi-millioned mob tore him limb from skeletal limb. 

Then why was the other stuff so rotten? asked Shelyid. You knowthe daemon and 


glyph and stuff? 

Tis obvious, youth! spoke the mage. Zulkeh turned to Greyboar and Ignace. 

Enlighten my apprentice, good sirs. What is the second most prominent characteristic of 
the Angel Jimmy Jesus, known to schoolboys at their desks? 

Hes a total incompetent, stated Greyboar. 

Worst thing ever happened to the Cruds, him being put in charge, added Ignace. I 
remember once when some Senators tried to get rid of him, there was mass demonstrations 
and riots in the streets of Ozar, every revolutionist and insurrectionary gathered the world 
over demanding he keep his job. 

Exactly! A complete nincompoopin all but one thing, which is keeping his mouth shut. 
And certainly we cannot sneer at this seal, he mused, gazing down at the book in his hand. 

So! Let me to work! Twill take hours, no doubt, for this is a challenge worthy of my 
science! Happily muttering to himself, the wizard headed over to his sack and began 
rummaging. Soon enough he realized that rummaging in the great sack was difficult with the 
Rap Sheet still in his hand. 

Shelyid! spoke the mage, extending the relic toward his apprentice, hold this for me a 
moment. Then, seeing the look of apprehension on Shelyids face, Zulkeh snorted. Come, 
come, dwarf! I have already explained the thing is harmless! 

Gingerly, Shelyid extended his hand and took the book. 

At once the great seal shattered into a thousand pieces, which fell to the floor and melted 
away into nothing. The Rap Sheet was open! 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A Paradox, Followed By a Quandary. The Wizards Wrath. The Wizards New 

Experience, and His Later Reflections Thereon. Shelyids Wild Ride. A Lousely 

Schism. The Cruds Doom. A Parting! 

Unspeakable gnome! oathed Zulkeh. What have you done? 

I didnt do anything, master, whined Shelyid. I just took the thing like you gave it to 
me. 

The seal is broken! Look you, tis broken! 

Its not my fault, pouted the dwarf. I didnt break it. I didnt do nothing! 

Anything, corrected the mage. Then, still glaring, he stroked his beard.  Tis true, he 
mused, there is no way such a novice as yourself could have broken the seal. Still, tis odd. 
Tis most odd! 

Who cares how it got broken? interjected Ignace. It is broken, rightthe seal, I mean? 

Certainly! snorted the mage. Can you not 

Then it dont matter how it got broken! cried Ignace. And dont bother with my 
grammar, he added, forestalling the mage, Im to old to change habits. The important 
thing is to get out of here quick. We got what we came for, so lets go! 

But the paradox protested Zulkeh. Twas of no use. Ignace snatched the relic from 
Shelyids hand and headed out the door, Greyboar close behind. After a moment, the wizard 
threw up his hands in frustration. 

Bah! he oathed. I fear Ignace is right. Come, Shelyid, we must depart. And so saying, 
the mage followed the strangler and his agent. Still, he was heard to mutter,  tis most 
mysterious, most enigmatic! 

Shelyid came after, followed in turn by the snarl, like a giant puppy following a child. 
Rapidly, the bizarre-looking party made their way through the snarls former prison 
chamber and into Inkmans bedchamber. No sooner had the snarl squeezed its way into the 
room than it began a fierce sniffing of the bed. Twas apparent the beast had smelled his excaptors 
scent, for the monster suddenly roaredcausing all others present to jump with 
alarm!and then proceeded, in but three seconds, to transform the bed into so much wood 
and leather wreckage. 

Inkman did not win the heart of his pet, Id say, commented Greyboar drily. The 
strangler stooped and entered the tunnel in the far wall. 

Here we go again, he complained. Ill be a hunchback before the nights over. 

Greyboar was followed by Ignace, then Zulkeh, then Shelyid, then 


a problem presented itself. 

Hearing a whimper, Shelyid turned and beheld the snarls head at the entrance to the 
tunnel, its hitherto-fierce eyes filled with a look of sorrow. It whimpered again. 

Oh, wait! cried Shelyid. She cant fit into the tunnel! Well have to find a different way 
out! 

There followed a most absurd dispute. For the dwarf, exhibiting that petulant 
stubbornness which was perhaps his most unattractive characteristic, refused to listen to 
reason, even as his master advanced the most cogent arguments and clever dialectic, the 
thrust of which was that there was no other possible escape route than Gauphins tunnels. 

Hes right, Shelyid, said Greyboar, as the mage paused to catch his breath. The only 
other way out is through the main corridor into the Embassy. Placell be crawling with 
soldiers. If I thought wed have a chance, Id be willing to try it. But theres limits, Im afraid, 
even for a strangler. 

Lets just open the door into the corridor and let the snarl out, suggested Ignace. Maybe 
she can escape on her ownwhat the hell, the soldiers probably wont try to stop her. The 
agent looked up at the great horror. I sure as hell wouldnt. 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Tis a ridiculous scheme! No doubt she could deal with the 
soldiers, but how is the great creature supposed to open the various doors along the way? 
The snarl could break through some of them, certainly, but an Ozarine embassy is sure to 
have any number of bronze portals, iron gratings and the like, cunningly locked and barred, 
which no amount of brute force can overcome. Twould require deft fingers to pass through 
such, andwell. He shrugged. Examine the beasts paws, if you will! 

All looked. And twas clear at a glance, even to the dwarf, that the snarls extremities were 
not well suited for lock-picking. Other tasks, yesgutting, rending, disemboweling, 
manglingbut opening cunningly barred and locked metal doors, no. 

So, you see, concluded Zulkeh, we have no option. In a rare gesture, he laid a kind 
hand on his apprentices shoulder. I am unhappy myself at the fact, Shelyid, for I abhor the 
thought of leaving the poor creature to Inkmans mercythe more so as our recent theft of 
his relic will no doubt greatly enhance his already, judging from all evidence, exceedingly 
sadistic bent. But here as in all things, must Reason be our 

I can open the doors for her, said Shelyid. 
Before his master could fully grasp the meaning of these words, Shelyid darted out of the 
tunnel and seized a tuft of the snarls throat fur. 
Come on! cried the gnome, tugging the monster toward the far door, you and mell go 
the other way! Ill meet you back at Magrits house, master! he shouted over his shoulder. 
Shelyid! exclaimed Zulkeh. Halt! Cease and desist in this madness! His voice rang with 
sure command. 
The dwarf stopped abruptly. His little shoulders hunched. He turned around and looked at 
the wizard. 

No, he said. Very softly, very firmly. 

Zulkehs face assumed the aspect of apoplexy. Impudent dwarf! raged the sorcerer. 
Disobedient wretch! Not only stupid but-now-revealed-to-be-disloyal apprentice! 

Im not disloyal, stated Shelyid. Im not at all, thats not fair, and besides youll be all 
right because youll have Greyboar and Ignace to look after you. He stopped, groped for 
words, then said: Its just, well, I have to be loyal to her too. 

But twas clear as day the wizard was in no mood for argument. 


Bah! he oathed. My safety is beside the point! The issue here is your impertinence! 
Your rebellion gainst my authority! Your 

The silence which now fell upon the mage was total, sudden, complete. 

In later time, Zulkeh would reminisce more than once on the new experience he was now 
undergoing. On such occasions he would allow, with quite atypical modesty, that the vast 
theoretic knowledge which he had acquired beforehand, even when added to his own 
empirical observations, had never prepared him for the actual reality of Greyboars choke. 

 The Hand of Fate, tis called in southwest Grotum and the Grenadine, he would 
comment to his rapt audience. In the Crapaude, Mortemain; in east Grotum, Doomclasp; 
throughout the Ozarine, of course, the Great Crunch is common, though many prefer the 
Devils Grip; in Alsask, tis invariably called simply the Squeeze, which is further 
embellished among the Kushrau to the Big Squeeze. Buthere he would wag his finger 
solemnlyI have personally experienced the phenomenon, and I can assure you that none 
of these namesthough they each capture some aspect of its essenceapproaches in 
exactitude the phrase which is universal in Greyboars own homeland of Sfinctria, I speak, of 
course, of the Thumbs of Eternity. 

You know, growled Greyboar, sometimes you piss me off. 

Take it easy, big guy, take it easy! exclaimed Ignace, prying himself between Greyboar 
and the mage. 

You dont want to piss him off, he said to Zulkeh. Trust me on this one. 

Twas apparent, by his gestures, that the mage was attempting to indicate his full 
agreement with Ignaces last point. Words, of course, failed him. 

Greyboar, came Shelyids shrill voice, let go of him! And, astonishingly: Now! 

A moments hesitation, then the strangler released Zulkeh. The wizard gasped for breath. 
Greyboar turned to Shelyid. 

I was just He stopped, stared. 

Truly an incredible sight! For there was the dwarf, perched on top of the snarls shoulders, 
for all the world like a tiny mahout riding a carnivorous elephant! 

I know, said Shelyid, but you still shouldnt choke the master. He just gets excited 
sometimes, especially when I irritate him, which happens pretty often. Then, to Zulkeh: 
Are you all right, master? 

The wizard wheezed and whistled. Of course . . . not . . . all right . . . imbecile! Just been . . 
. throttled . . . worlds . . . premier strangleur . . . what a . . . question! Rattlepated runt . . . 
half-witted homunculus . . . 

Hes okay, announced Ignace. 

Hes right, master!cried Shelyid. Youll be back to normal 

moronic midget . . . pinheaded pygmy . . . 

in no time! The dwarf tugged on the snarls left ear, turning the beast aroundfor all 
the world like a champion equestrian! We gotta go! Ill see you at Magrits house later! And 
so saying, dwarf and snarl-mount headed toward the door leading to the main corridor. But 
Shelyid stopped almost at once and turned to look back, consternation on his face. 

Oh! I almost forgot! The masters sack! 
He looked appealingly at Greyboar. I really cant take it with me, he said, I was 
wondering if, well, maybe you could 
Dont worry about it, rumbled the strangler, Ill make sure the wizard doesnt lose his 
precious bag. 


Oh, thank you! cried Shelyid. A moment later, he and the snarl disappeared. 

Good luck, Shelyid! shouted Ignace. Turning back, he said: Well, lets hope he makes it. 
Come on, Greyboar, pick up the sack and lets get out of here! The agent grabbed Zulkeh 
and shoved the still-wheezily-denouncing mage ahead of him into the corridor. 

Greyboar bent over, reached down a hand, seized the sack, and flung it over his shoulder. 

And collapsed to the floor. 

Whats in this thing, he complained, lead bricks? The strangler rose again and lifted 
the sack anew, this time firmly braced and using both hands. His knees bent, his great thews 
rippled with effort. The sack now on his shoulders, he stooped and entered the tunnel, 
grumbling: How does that tiny little guy manage to carry this thing, anyway? 

The events which now followed caused such excitement and consternation among the 
Alfredae as to completely overshadow the fierce debate which had erupted among us not 
more than a few minutes earlier. The debate, of course, centered on the proper significance 
to be given Shelyids defiance of his master. Was this, as some argued, the first act of 
rebellion in his life? Or rather, so countered others, but a continuation of the insolence 
which had first manifested itself in Shelyids behavior at the tavern and been shortly 
followed by his refusal to heed Zulkehs commands to cease and desist his murderous 
attempts on the person of Ignace? 

As the Alfred, it was naturally left to me to decide the issue. At the appropriate time I did 
so, coming down firmly on the side of those who advanced what came to be known as the 
Thesis of First Revolt. For twas clear, I explained in my authoritative judgement, that 
Shelyids earlier acts of insubordination occurred while the gnome was incapacitated due to 
strong drink and frenzy. Whereas in this instance, we had to deal with conscious and sober 
insurrection, committed by the dwarf in full possession of his faculties (such as they were). 

All this, however, came later. For no sooner had the debate begun to wax hot, than the 
events which piled upon us swept all other considerations aside. 

In the official annals of the Alfredae, it is known as The Snarlrun, but noble and common 
louse alike invariably refer to it in the vernacular: Shelyids Wild Ride. 

The madness began at once. For no sooner had Shelyid and snarl entered the main 
corridor than they ran right into a squad of soldierya platoon, I should say. These wights 
were hastening forward, led by a leftenant with drawn sword, who was even at that moment 
shouting: 

Faster! You all heard the alarm! Someones 

The leftenants speech ended, as invariably happens when a speakers head is bitten off by 
a snarl. A snarl in full fury, as the soon-decorating-the-walls-of-the-corridor entrails of half a 
platoon attested. The other half retained their innards by utilizing the classic methods of 
rout and stampede, though twas clear from the smell that these innards were no longer 
continent. 

Even then, there is little doubt the snarl would have hunted them down with ease save 
that Shelyid restrained the great beast, not without difficulty. 
Stop! Stop! he cried, tugging at the monsters ears. This availing little, the dwarf leaned 
over the snarls forehead and slapped the horrors snout. 

Cut it out, dummy! The snarl stopped in its tracks, whether out of obedience or out of 
astonishment that a bite-sized idiot would slap a snarl on the snout even while the snarl is 
rending flesh, it is difficult to say. 


Shelyid hopped off the snarl and raced back to the corpse of the leftenant. A moment of 
groping, and the dwarf was racing back, holding up a large key ring. 
See? See? demanded the gnome. I had to get the keyswell need them later! He leapt 
back aboard his huge mount. Okay, lets go! 

The scenes of carnage which followed appalled even the hardened scribes of the Alfredae. 
Limbs strewn about like confetti! Torsos severed! Skulls shattered like melons! Blood 
pouring down corridors like a river! Intestines flowing down staircases like a mudslide! Grue 
and goregore and grue! 

And the hideous scenes of individual tragedy, which burn deeper into the memory than 
the general slaughter! The elderly Seneschal of the Keep, cornered, crying: Down, boy, 
down! Twas perhaps the snarls annoyance at this confusion of her sex which caused her to 
linger over the dotards demise. The young Captain of Cuirassiers, stripped from his half-
armor like an oyster from its shell, yet still possessing that savoir faire which is the hallmark 
of the aristocracy to which his handsome-though-ashen features clearly marked his 
membership, down on one knee in a clever stratagem, snapping his fingers, saying: Here 
kitty, kitty, kitty! Alas, to no avail! The distinguished Chamberlainbut enough! I grow 
nauseous at the memory! 

Worse than the snarls bestiality was the dastardly role played by the gnome Shelyid. 
Twas only the apprentices aiding and abetting which permitted the slaughter to continue. 
Time and again, clots of fleeing officials and soldiers would yet retain the presence of mind 
to close and lock behind them the great iron doors which separated the various sections of 
the castle. On such occasionseach and every one!would the pitiless dwarf leap from the 
snarls shoulders and open the locks. The locks once turned, of course, no weight of 
officialdom leaning on the other side could for an instant prevent the snarl from forcing its 
way through. Then! Ambassador Saladtossed! Flank of Diplomatshredded! 
Plenipotentiary Steakchopped! Loin of Legate! Envoy Bouillabaisse! Not to mention, of 
course, the steady diet of Ground Round Dragoon. 

Worse yet than the butchery of bodies was the spiritual anguish of unshriven souls. For oft 
were cries of rue and chagrin heard issuing from the lips of the doomed! And, as is known by 
man and louse alike, tis bad enough to die, but tis worse to die in the grip of hopeless 
regret. 

I told him not to use the whips! were the last words of a consul, even as he disappeared 
into the great maw. 

Damn all Cruds and their schemes! came from a stalwart Colonel of Lance, expiring on 
the chandelier whence a single blow of the snarls paw had sent him and his several and 
separate portions. 

The most common expression of regret, of course, was the ubiquitous phrase: He could 
have at least fed the thing! 

In this entire holocaust, I can hear the readers shaken query in my minds ear: was there a 
single instance where the dwarf Shelyid used his influence to stay the monster? Even for a moment? 
Even if in vain? 

Not one. 

To the contrary! The gnome urged the ravenous beast on! Yes! Yes! I say it again! Time 
and again, Shelyid was heard to say, in the childlike tones of a boy excusing his pets 
misconduct: That mean Mr. Inkman! Starving you like that! 

From this day, came a sea change over the attitude of the Alfredaeof its scribal class, I 


should saytoward the dwarf. Of Shelyids pathetically addled mind, of course, our view 
remained unchanged. But where, in times gone by, superior and subordinate notaries alike 
even Alfreds themselves!were oft heard to say: Still and all, a sweet-tempered little 
fellownever again! Nay, never again! In the stead of such benevolent comments came the 
frequent habit, on the part of superior and subordinate notaries alike, of referring to the evil-
souled apprentice by those cognomens which were to become, all too soon, the common 
property of the civilized world entire: 

Shelyid the Terrible. 

Shelyid the Merciless. 

Shelyid the Cruel. 

The Runt Rampant. 

The Thuggee Dwarf. 

Kalis Gnome. 

The Midget Sans Merci. 

Pygmy the Impaler. 

And, of course: The Rebel. 

But worst of all was the sea change which now also began among the lesser licethe pen-
fumblers, the ink-spillers, the mis-spellers, the lack-grammars, the declension-bunglers, 
thewell!in sum, that entire motley rabble which is known as the class of louselouts. 

For these dregs reacted otherwise than the cultured strata. Oh, otherwise indeed! 
Throughout The Snarlrun, while their betters stood silent, aghast, able to keep quill to paper 
solely by dint of long training and stern regimen, did the canaille gather upon Shelyids 
shoulders and cavort shamelessly. Disgusting slogans did they chant: 

Two, four, six, eight! What do we appreciate? Masticate! Masticate! 

Most popular of all: De Flense! De Flense! 

In defiance of all custom, twould be from this time forward that the lower lice would 
develop their own terms and definitions. The insolence began with the rabbles own 
nicknames for the apprentice, which cognomens became, all too soon, the common property 
of the globes sansculottes: 

Shelyid the Plucky. 

Shelyid the Bold. 

Shelyid the Brave. 

The Runt Rambunctious. 

The Disabused Dwarf. 

The Gnome Unleashed. 

The Midget Sans Peur et Sans Reproche. 

Pygmy the Mahdi. 

And, of course: The Rebel. 

Soon enough, sentiment would lead to deed. Began then that period in Alfredae history 
known as The Troubles. Mad philosophies appeared, swept the mob, only to be discarded in 
favor of outlandish ideologies, which, in turn, were casually cast aside for doctrines still 
more extreme. Bands of savage young louselouts arose, who scuffled shamelessly with the 
respectable apprentices and sub-scribes. It became dangerous for an educated louse to 
scurry at night through entire sections of Shelyid. Why, the hooligans even declared the 
dwarfs left leg a No Go Areaand woe to the penlouse who ventured thereon! 

But I race ahead of our tale. The Troubles lay still aheadthough not far distant! But tis 


well said that narrative must follow its own course, and so do we return to the moment: 

Shelyid and snarl were now in a great corridor on the ground floor of the Embassy. Ahead 
of them, at the end of the corridor, a door was open. Beyond, the lights of the city could be 
seen. 

Thats the way out! cried the dwarf. Come on, lets go! 

The snarl made its way quickly down the corridor, approaching a door to their right, 
through which could be heard a great hubbub. Then, just as the beast was passing the door, 
the hubbub was stilled by a piercing voice. 

The words could not be made out, but the snarl froze, twisted its head, swung forward its 
ears. The voice was heard again. Again. And yet again. 
Now did the beasts features assume that expression which gives the snarl its name. 
Without warning, the monster hurled itself at the door! 

The door splintered under the blow. The snarl forced its way through, uttering such a roar 
as to waken the dead. They were in a great ballroom, filled with people, all of whom were at 
that very moment transfixed with terror at the sight of the snarl. 

But, in truth, the huge crowd wasin its overwhelming majorityquite beyond danger. 
For the snarls attentions were fixed entirely upon the person of a single figure within the 
rooma thin man, practically skeletal, tall, dressed all in black. The man stared back at the 
snarl with equally rapt fixation, his blue eyes flashing with the look of eagles. 

Such eagles, at least, as have aroused the mortal fury of the legendary roc. 

Oh shit! he cried. But the Savior of the Rellenos was made of stern stuff. Even as the 
great monster bounded toward him, maw gaping wide, Inkman stood his ground. 
Soldiers, arrest that beast! he ordered. 
Then, seeing the soldiers fleeing the scene, Inkmans voice rang with paramount 
authority: Notables of Ozar! Nobles of Pryggiaarrest the soldiers! 

Then, seeing the nobility and the plutocracy trampling the soldiery underfoot in their mad 
rush for the doors, Inkmans voice grew stentorious with imperial command. 
Traitors! Arrest yourselves! 
Then, even as the doom was upon him, Inkman faced his end with that sangfroid which is 

the hallmark of all great champions of law and order. His last sentence, crackling with a tone 

which can only be described as Olympian: 

Stop, beaston pain of investigation! 

Alas, crackling tone was now replaced by crunching bone. 

So passed Rupert Inkman, Crud among Cruds, Groutch chief of station, brilliant 
investigator, dazzling interrogator, the Scourge of Sedition, the Hammer of the Right, and 
many other prestigious titles, positions and cognomensbut hereafter known among the 
Groutch masses, I am grieved to relate, as The Just Dessert. 

Eventually Shelyid was able to coax the snarl to leave aside its frenzied Crud-crunching, 
though not before Inkmans last finger bone disappeared into the horrid maw. 

Cmon, baby, he whispered urgently into the beasts ear, we gotta go! The snarl, 
apparently sated both in body and soul, obediently ambled through the double doors leading 
to the entry beyond. 

A moment later, dwarf and beast were padding through the deserted streets of Prygg. It 
seemed that word of the slaughter had spread throughout the city. Even many blocks from 
the embassy, all doors were shut, all shutters barred. No one walked abroad that Halloween 
night! 


Or, almost no one. 

Psst! Shelyid! came a low and hoarse cry from an alley to their left. The snarls hackles 
began to rise, but fell soon enough as it became clear that Shelyid was ecstatic. 

Oh, its Magrit! cried the dwarf. And Les Six! 

Sure enough, twas the disreputable septet in the flesh. They ventured out from the alley 
and came up to the dwarfkeeping a certain distance, to be sure. 

Amazingly, Les Six were speechless. Magrit was not, quite. 

Ive seen everything now, she muttered. Then, to Shelyid: You want to come with us? 
My house is just around the corner. 
The apprentice hesitated. Well. He stroked the snarls shoulder. Well, yes, I guess Id 
better. He started to climb down from the monster, then hesitated. 
Maybe I should stay with her just a while longer, he said. Just to make sure she gets out 
of the city all right. 

Good fortune is always brief. Les Six found their voice. 

Tis true! cried the first. 

The snarl needs a shepherd to guide it through the streets! pleaded the second. 

The perilous streets of the Pryggian night! gasped the third. Filled with ruffians and 
footpads! 
I can see the horrid scene now! wailed the fourth. The snarl ambushed! 
The bloodthirsty cutpurse advancing, knife in hand! moaned the fifth. 
The snarl at bay! Cornered! Back to the wall! Whimpering for mercy! This from the 
sixth, and back around to the first. 

But tis a pitiless rogue, yon blackguard of 

All right! All right! Youve made the point! shrilled the dwarf. He climbed down from the 
snarl. For a moment, dwarf and monster stared at each other, their eyes not two feet apart. 
The beast licked Shelyids face with a great purple tongue. The dwarf giggled, then clutched 
the terrors neck. His puny little arms didnt reach halfway around. 

Take care of yourself, he mumbled into the mass of fur, then stepped back. Another 
moment of this absurd mutual admiration. Suddenly the snarl was gone, flitting down the 
alleys like a ghost, heading toward the great rocky crags to the west, which shone in the 
moonlight above the rooftops. 

Now afoot, like a proper gnome, Shelyid followed Magrit and Les Six in the opposite 
direction. Once only he looked back. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

A Wizards Wrath. A Dwarfs BiographyRetold.UnfortunateMisunderstandings 

Thereof. The Wizard Abashed. A Dwarfs Decision. A Contract Is Negotiated! 

And so it was that the first sight which greeted the wizard Zulkeh upon entering Magrits 
chamber was that of his apprentice, perched on a couch, a shawl wrapped about his little 
shoulders, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in his hands. Magrit sat next to him on the 
couch. Les Six were scattered about on various seats. Wolfgang sat in his special chair in the 
corner, his features hard to discern in the dim lighting. 

The gnome was chattering away as if he had not a care in the world. He was immediately 
disabused of the notion. 

Miscreant! oathed Zulkeh from the doorway. Disobedient rascal! Insubordinate 
delinquent! Mutinous 

His peroration was cut short by Greyboar, who pushed him into the chamber from behind. 

Do you mind letting the rest of us by? growled the strangler. He staggered into the room 
and let fall the sack off his shoulders, heaving a great sigh of relief. 

Am I glad to be rid of this thing! he puffed. He eyed Shelyid with respect. How long 
have you been lugging around thisthis burden of eternal damnation, anyway? 

Ever since we left Goimr! piped up the dwarf. Thanks a lot for taking care of the sack. I 
know its real heavy. It was hard at first, but Ive gotten used to it, and besides, its like the 
master said! This trips improved my muscular tone and strengthened my stamina, just like 
he said it would! 

Bah! oathed Zulkeh. Think you this feeble praise will deflect the force of my 
chastisement? Which even now sweeps toward your diminutive person as the cyclone of the 
tropics falls upon the monkey chattering in his palm tree! 

The mage shook his staff and advanced to the center of the room, glowering down at his 
apprentice. Gnome, you have displeased me beyond measure! Aroused my temper! 
Wrothed my wrath! Incited my 

SHUDDUP! came the united cry from every throat in the room save Shelyids. And as, 
among the throats numbered in the room, were those of the witch Magrit and Les SixI 
leave aside the now-revealed-to-be-stentorian voice of the normally-soft-spoken-thoughpossessed-
of-windpipes-like-unto-the-moose-of-the-north Greyboarthe wizard was 
stunned into silence. 

You are an asshole, stated Magrit. 

A gaping asshole, clarified the salamander. 


At this point, Les Six would no doubt have contributed a round or two, but Ignaceof all 
people!rose to the mages defense. 

Still and all, hes a good wizard, said the agent. I wouldnt have thought so before this 
little escapadebut theres quite the hexman underneath all that verbiage! 

Magrit looked at Ignace, then back to Zulkeh. 

Yeah, I know, she said sourly. Thats why I knew it would work. She adjusted the shawl 
around Shelyids shoulders, saying: Hes a windbag, hes got an ego would paralyze 
Narcissus, hes self-righteous like the Old Geister in his cloud-shrouded citadel wishes He 
could have wet dreams about, he could dry up a middle-sized lake with hot air, he could bore 
an oak tree into falling over in the hope of escape, he She paused, took a deep breath. He 
has the screwiest ideas about the real worldgravitys caused by graveness, can you believe 
it? Another deep breath. But when it comes to real magic, hes a hell of a wizard. I hate to 
admit it, but hes probably the best actual sorcerer in the world. 

She rose suddenly and advanced upon Zulkeh, who was standing as rigid as a post. Seizing 
the mages shoulders with her thick hands, she shoved him into a chair. Then, returning to 
her seat, she spoke again: 

While weve been waiting for you, Shelyids been telling us all about his life. 

Cheerful little fellow, commented the first. 

Nary a complaint uttered, added the second. 

Not a peep! emphasized the third. 

Naught but a recital of events, summarized the fourth. 

The round now took an ugly turn. 

Difficult to fathom such innocence, mused the fifth. 

In light of selfsame events, agreed the sixth. 

Tis not the beatings, of course, protested the first. 

Certainly not! concurred the second. 

Good for sprouts to beswitched now and then! snorted the third. 

Though perhaps not with oaken staffs, qualified the fourth. 

Nor with the frequency of pellets in a hailstorm, added the fifth. 

Should at least let the wounds heal, developed the sixth. 

The blood dry. The first again. 

The scars fade. This from the second. 

Nay, tis the other little matter, stated the third. 

The selling into slavery, specified the fourth. 

The attempted selling into slavery, quibbled the fifth. 

The distinction is of little moment, countered the sixth. 

From the moral standpoint, explained the first. 

The round now took a very ugly turn. 

As has oft been expressed by the toilers in their various congresses and assemblies, 
began the second. 
Speaking with one voice, and in no uncertain terms, added the third. 
The downtrodden masses, continued the fourth, have declared the traffic in human 

flesh an abomination. 

An historical anachronism, chipped in the fifth. 

A monstrous crime gainst humanity, concluded the sixth. 

To be dealt with by any representatives of the suffering classes The first. 


Elected in formal congress The second. 

Or self-appointed The third. 

Due to the press of circumstances. The fourth. 

The round now took an extremely ugly turn. Such, at least, seemed the best interpretation 
of the fact that Les Six had put down their teacups, risen to their feet, circled the mage, 
clenched their meaty fists. 

You wouldnt happen to have the odd bucket of tar lying about, Magrit dear? asked the 
fifth. 

Forgotten in a corner, perhaps? queried the sixth. 

Hot tar, clarified the first. 

The unused pillow here and there? inquired the second. 

Well be needing feathers, explained the third. 

Fortunately for the dignity of the mage, a new party interjected himself into the scene. 

Just hold on a moment there, lads, rumbled the strangler. Les Six turned as one man 
and glared at the strangler. Greyboar raised a huge hand, in a calming gesture. 

Im a man likes peace and tranquility, commented the strangler mildly. And whats all 
this about, anyway? 

The minutes which followed did not, one suspects, take their place among the mages 
fondest memories. For Les Six and Magrit proceeded to provide Greyboar and Ignace with 
the biography of the dwarf Shelyid, as the youth had recounted it to them over the hours 
gone by. Particular emphasis was placed on the apprentices relationship to his master. More 
precisely, on the wizards notions of discipline, and his concept of the rights of masters over 
their wards. 

As the story unfolded, Shelyid attempted, on several occasions, to lighten somewhat a tale 
which, it is difficult to deny, would seem dark to the uninformed listener. 

Oh no! he cried in one instance, Youre exaggerating like you shouldnt! The master 
only beat me seven times that day, not ten! And its true, I was really slow to learn the 
lesson. He blushed. Im never good at theology, especially the part about how Gods love of 
man is expressed in crippling diseases and such. Then, in a small voice: Its cause Im so 
stupid, and you have to be real smart to understand theology. Really, really smartlike a 
genius. Like the master. 

And theres another point well be needing to discuss, good my mage, stated the first. 

The constant emphasis on the youths lack of brains, explained the second. 

As contrasted with the brilliance of the scholar, elaborated the third. 

With which we ourselves will soon be blessed! cried the fourth. 

As the illuminatus corrects our dull-witted mistakes The fifth. 

Our crude technique The sixth. 

Our disrespect for the classics The first. 

Our gross ignorance of the fine points The second. 

As laid down in the writings of Jack Ketch Laebmauntsforscynneweld The third. 

Vigilante Sfondrati-Piccolomini The fourth. 

Fortunately for the mage, this particular round was again quelled by Greyboar. Even more 
than the stranglers warning growl, however, it was perhaps the sight of the little apprentice 
moving over to stand by Zulkehs side which caused Les Six to settle back in their chairs. 

The strangler himself made no comments throughout the entire tale. Early on, Greyboar 
rose and went to the fireplace. He returned to his seat holding the great iron poker which 


stood by the mantel. In the minutes which followed, the strangler proceeded to idle away the 
time twisting the poker into a succession of knots. During the recital of Zulkehs various 
attempts at the Caravanserai to sell Shelyid to slavers and circus owners, Greyboar tired of 
knot-tying. He now stretched the poker into a long iron wire, with which he idled away 
further minutes making a cats cradle. 

For his part, Ignace spoke just once, saying: Boy, I thought my pop was bad, before he 
died. And he had the excuse of being a drunk. 

At length the biographical project came to an end. There followed a minutes silence, 
which was broken by Greyboar. 

Theres one thing in all this puzzles me. He looked at Zulkeh and said: Ive had the 
dubious privilege of carrying that weight of the worlds sins you call a sack. I doubt you could 
even pick it up, much less move with it. So who was supposed to carry your sack? After youd 
sold the kid into slavery, I mean? 

Zulkeh frowned, stroked his beard. 
Actually, he began. Stopped. Then: Well, that is to say, actually. Stopped. Then: I 
confess I had not considered the point. No doubt I should have engaged a porter. 

Youd have needed to hire a crew of teamsters, more like, grunted Greyboar. The 
strangler shook his head. What a genius. He tries to sell his apprentice into slavery so he 
can get enough money to go on saving the world, but in order to save the world he needs his 
sack, so hed have to use the money to hire people to carry the sack the apprentice was 
already carrying all by himself forwhat was it?a shilling a year and, in good times, maybe 
the odd meal once a day. A snort. You always hear about absent-minded professorsbut! 

Then he rose, stretched his muscles. This awesome action was perhaps not done 
unconsciously, for the strangler proceeded to say to Les Six: 

Boys, youll have to be forgetting about lynchings and such. Theres better ways to handle 
the situation, and besides, in case you hadnt noticed, Shelyids making it pretty plain hell 
stand by the mage. Whatre you going to do? Restrain the kid while you string up Zulkeh? 
Shelyid might be harder to restrain that you thinkhes a lot stronger than he looks, and Im 
telling you, the lads got the making of a chokester. Besides, the snarl might be hanging 
around, lurking in the shadows like. 

A moment followed, in which the united glare of Les Six was met by the stranglers calm 
stare. Les Six looked away. Greyboar then turned to the wizard. 
Now, as to you: I hope youve got plenty of money, because youll need to be hiring some 
idiots to carry your sack. The kidll be staying here. 

At this last statement, Zulkeh raised his head, began to protest. But the sight of Greyboars 
face stopped him. And it was odd, how the stranglers gaze could have this effect upon 
people. For there was not a hint of anger, not a trace of a clenched jaw, not a blink of an eye, 
not even the slightest flush on the cheeks. Justimpossible to describe! 

Of course, in the time to come, the wizard would describe it often. 

 Destinys Glime, tis called in Begfat, he would explain to a rapt audience. In the 
Crapaude, le Visage Impitoyable, or simply lImplacable; in the bustling streets of Ozar 
proper, tis the Mirror of Mortality, but in the slower-paced Ozarine as a whole, the Mirror 
of Imminent Mortality; in the mystic land of Sundhjab it has many names: most common 
among warriors is the terse Kismet, but the higher castes prefer the Contemplation of the 
Endless Round of the Wheel, which is shortened by the fellah classes to the Window on 
Infinite Pain; in Grotum itself, these elaborate terms are discarded in favor of the simple 


Basilisk. Buthere he would wag his finger solemnlyI have personally experienced the 
phenomenon, and I can assure you that none of these namesthough they each capture 
some aspect of its essenceapproaches in exactitude the phrase which is universal in 
Greyboars own homeland of Sfinctria, I speak, of course, of the Time to Reconsider. 

But we leap ahead of our tale. Greyboar continued to speak as follows: 

Magrit, you can put the kid up, at least for a while. Your place is plenty big enough, and 
Im sure Shelyidll be helpful around the house. 

Hell, Ill take him on as my apprentice. Wont be able to teach him all that high-falutin 
stuff, but hell get a lot more practical education. And if it turns out the kid decides he 
doesnt really want to be a warlockhere she looked pointedly at Les SixIm sure the lads 
here can set him up in a suitable trade. 

Tis a certainty! boomed the first. 

Any one of a hundred! cried the second. 

The possibilities are endless, added the third, shoemaker, baker, turner, drayer, 
forgeman, welder, blacksmith, ironmonger 
Course thesell be but the means to pay the rent, interrupted the fourth. 
While the lad learns his true and proper profession, explained the fifth. 
The art of insurrection, concluded the sixth. 
Heres to the new comrade! bellowed Les Six in unison, rising to their feet, clenched fists 

held high like hams in a smokehouse. 

Then Ignace spoke. 

Before you all start planning out the kids life, he snarled, why dont you ask Shelyid 
what he wants? Surprised, all stared at the agent. The little redheads face was flushed and 
angry. You all remind me of my aunts and uncles! he shrilled. Do this, Ignace! Do that, 
Ignace! Youll make a right proper little whatever, Ignace! He glared furiously. Poor guyll 
wind up like I didtake to the streets just to get away from it all. 

Hes got a point, rumbled Greyboar. He looked over to Shelyid, who was still standing 
next to the mage. Zulkeh remained in his chair, his head bent. 

Well, Shelyid? asked the strangler. 

The dwarfs face was a study in uncertainty. Uncertainty but, it soon became clear, not 
confusion. He placed a hesitant hand on the shoulder of the wizard. 

Well, actually, said the dwarf, Id really rather stay with the master. If hes willing, of 
course. 

The faces around him filled with surprise. 

Weve been together a long time, explained Shelyid, ever since I waswell, found in a 
basket. I dont know where I was born, or who my parents are, so the masters really been 
my only family. Until I went on this trip, I didnt even have any friendswell, I had one, 
butwell, never mind. 

Seeing that his words were not having much effect, the dwarf hurried on: And besides, 
its not been as bad as you all make it out to be. Sure and the master thrashed me a lot, and 
hes impatient with me, and maybe I think Im not really as stupid as he always says, but the 
truth is I actually learn a lot and this trips been really exciting even though I didnt want to 
go and I only went because he made me but it really has turned out just like he said it would, 
I really have gotten betterreally, I can tell! Im stronger and smarter, and I made a bunch 
of new friends and before in my whole life I only had one and itwell. He fell silent for a 
moment, then said: I misswell. But itll be so nice when I get back! Ill be able to tell 


Again, a moments silence. Then, quietly: Its my secret. 

When the dwarf spoke again his voice was filled with a quite unusual firmness. I want to 
stay with the master. The reasons may not make any sense to anyone else, but theyre good 
reasons to me. Its not always fun, being the masters apprentice. Truth to tell, its not any 
fun at all. But its best for me. I dont want to be just a wretched little dwarf. Im tired of it. 
But even though the master treats me bad, well, I dont know any better way to learn what I 
have to learn. 

He looked around the room. All visible faces were blank in expression. The wizards head 
was still bent. Wolfgangs face remained invisible in the darkness of his corner. 

You all think Im crazy, muttered Shelyid, but I know whats the right thing to do. 

Of course you do, boy! boomed Wolfgangs voice. Everyone jumped. 

What a fright you gave me! exclaimed Magrit. Id forgotten you were even here! She 
gazed at the lunatic quizzically. Youve been silent as a clam. Not like you, at all. 

Wolfgang pulled his chair into the light. 

As the mage would saybah! You sane types have an altogether irrational faith in the 
power of speech. Babble, now, theres a useful skill! 

He gazed about the room, beaming like an idiot. 

I think the boys quite right! Not stupid at all! Of course he should go with the wizard! 
Where else would he learn the things hes learned? Why, think about it! A mere sprout, and 
hes already sown confusion and havoc! Fed a high and mighty Crud to a snarl! Which of you 
had accomplished such mad deeds at such an early age? Not to mention stealing a great 
relic! 

Oh! gasped Shelyid. The Rap Sheet! We havent even looked at it! Weve wasted all this 
time talking about me! He grasped the sleeve of the mages robe and tugged vigorously. We 
should look at the Rap Sheet, masteritll tell you who your enemies are! 

Zulkehs head lifted a bit. His face, it could now be seen, was pale and drawn. 

Later, Shelyid, said the mage. It will keep. At the moment, there are more important 
things to deal with. He gazed down at the dwarfs hand, still resting upon his sleeve. 
You are firm in your resolve? he asked. To remain as my apprentice? 
Oh yes, master! cried Shelyid. 
Be not so quick, Shelyid. The road I must travel, though its exact route remains 

uncertain, will undoubtedly take me to distant and perilous lands. Twill be long, perhaps 
very long, before we shall return to Goimr. 

Oh, Im not afraid! 

The wizard shook his head. That is not my meaning. He snorted.  Tis certain that the 
timid gnome who left Goimr is no longer timid! Rash, yes. Foolhardy, yes. But certainly not 
lacking in courage. 

He paused, took a deep breath. I raise the question of our return to Goimr because, 
listening to your earlier words, I was struck by your referencesthree of them, if I am not 
mistakento the friend left behind, the one you so look forward to seeing again and telling 
of your adventures. Your secret, you called it. 

Zulkeh raised his eyes to Shelyids face. You are referring to the spider in the lower 
catacombs. 

The dwarfs mouth fell open. You know? 

Certainly. Only a fool could have missed your expeditions to the lower levels. After a few 
such, I became curious. I followed and observed you with the spider. 


He raised his hand. I did not eavesdrop! I departed the scene after no more than a 
minute, and never followed you again. Twas clear enoughwell. I am not unaware of my 
inadequacy as a source of emotional comfort. To anyone, much less an orphan. Some 
happiness the spiders company seemed to give you, and I saw no harm in it. Twould have 
been sheer cruelty to intervene. 

The wizard paused, took another breath. I am not cruel, Shelyid. Cold, yes. At times, I 
admit, even harsh. Perhaps other terms could be used 

We shall assist! cried the first. 

The word callous immediately springs to mind, mused the second. 

A single gesture from Greyboar brought silence. 

The pained look on Zulkehs face faded, to be replaced by a frown. 

Doubt me not on this, Shelyid, spoke the mage. Thesegentlemenmay mock, but if 
you travel with me you shall soon enough learn the meaning of true cruelty. Inkman gave 
you but a taste of it. 

I never said you were cruel, master. I never even thought it. A guilty look crossed 
Shelyids face. I did say you were mean a few times. A look of greater guilt. And I thought 
it a lot more times. 

I will allow mean, dwarf. The wizard sighed. Tis perhaps not far from the mark. But 
look you, Shelyid, we have drifted from the point. If you truly wish to see your friend again, 
you cannot accompany me. You must return to Goimr now. For she has not much longer to 
live. Certainly she will be dead before spring comesand we are already well into autumn. 

The spiders sick! gasped Shelyid. 

Nonsense! snorted the mage. A most hale and healthy arachnid! She has already lived 
to a ripe old age. Spiders do not live long, Shelyid. Your spider has done exceedingly well in 
that regard, actually. 

The dwarf fought tears. I never knew. And I promisedits a she? A female spider? I 
never actually knew which sex my friend was. 

Bah! oathed the mage. Who cannot distinguish between the male and female arachnid 
is a His jaws clamped shut. 

Amazing! cried the fifth. 

Who says you cant teach an old dog new tricks? demanded the sixth. 

Another gesture from Greyboar stilled the round. 

After a moment, Shelyid spoke. 

Well, it makes me feel better, knowing that she had a full life. And its nice to know what 
sex she was, after all this time. Maybe you could teach me more about spiders, master. 

Certainly! spoke the mage. A most fascinating breed, the arachnids! Pound for pound, 
as your lowlifes would say, the fiercest predators in the animal kingdom. Moreover He 
stopped. But let us save this for a later occasion. For the moment, we must resolve the issue 
before us. Do you still wish to remain with me, knowing what you now know? 

Shelyid pondered the question for perhaps a minute, then nodded his head. 

Yes, master. Its true I promised her, but there wouldnt be much point going back just to 
see her die. And I dont think shed like it, anyway. Actually, I always knew she was pretty 
fierce, and I think she wouldnt like me, well, you know, fussing over her deathbed, and such. 
Ill sure miss her, though. A tear formed, but he wiped it away. So Ill stay with you. 

Then the dwarf squared his shoulders, stepped back a pace, and stared the wizard straight 
in the eye. 


But theres going to be some changes made! he said shrilly. 

The scene which followed is painful to relate. For the dwarf Shelyid not only behaved in a 
most reprehensible manner, insisting upon the most preposterous rights and privileges, but 
was shamelessly aided and abetted in this impudence by Les Six. 

Their brazen role began at once. 

The lad needs a new contract! cried the first. 

A complete overhaul of his terms of employment! exclaimed the second. 

But hes a youth, moaned the third, inexperienced at the negotiating table. 

A pawn in the hands of the boss, wailed the fourth, sure to be shackled in the exploiters 
cunning twist of phrase and subtlety of clause. 
Desperately in need of experienced counsel, lest he sign himself over to helotry, opined 
the fifth. 
Stewards, to the fore! bellowed the sixth. And with these words, Les Six pulled up their 
chairs, forming a semicircle around the mage. 
Zulkeh stared at the half-dozen great and grinning faces, much as a cornered fox examines 
the muzzles of the hounds. 

Perhaps, said the mage, coughing, we should first examine the great relic which we 
havejust this very night!obtained in order to determine the nature of our enemies. Our 
enemies, gentlemen! Who areperhaps this very moment!closing in, their black hearts 
filled with 

Do not concern yourself with the enemies of the future, counseled the first. 

When you are surrounded by the enemies of the present, advised the second. 

Here Magrit intervened. The Rap Sheetll wait till tomorrow, Zulkeh. And whatever 
enemies weve got are so fuddled tonight theyll have a hard enough time finding their 
peckers to take a piss. No, you just concentrate on this businessitll take you hours as it is. 
The rest of us can go to bed. 

And so saying, she strode out of the room, stopping along the way to take Wolfgang by the 
hand. 

Cmon, tall and handsome, lets get laid. 

Greyboar rose, stretched. I think Ignace and I will turn in, also. Been a long day. 

The wizard looked at him with appeal. Sirrah Greyboar! Perhapsyou have been a most 
calming influencethe heat of negotiations 

Me? cried Greyboar. You want me to stick my nose into the affairs of a different trade? 
He shook his head, clucking. Tisnt done, just isnt. Not at all proper! Besides, I wouldnt be 
any help, anyway. I dont really know a thing about negotiating complicated labor contracts. 
The fine points just dont come up in my profession. The basic provisions of my contracts are 
simple and straightforward, so I hardly ever run into difficulties with my employers. They 
pay me what they owe me when the jobs done, orhe cracked his knuckles; the house 
shookI collect from the estate. 

He turned to his agent: Cmon Ignace. Lets hit the sack. The two departed. 

Down to business, said the third, rubbing his hands. 

Point one, stated the fourth. This master business has got to go. 

Tis demeaning to the laborer, explained the fifth. 

And most inaccurate, happily added the sixth, as youll soon see for yourself when 
examining the provisions which are about to be included in your new contract with the dwarf 


Shelyid. 

The first: Who is hereafter referred to as the short-statured-but-fully-qualifiedapprentice 
Shelyid. 

And this was but the beginning! 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Enemies RevealedBut a Deeper Mystery Bared. A Lunatics Exposition. A 

Mages Great Disquiet. A Resolved Apprentice. Traveling Companions Found. 

Forward the Mage! 

Magrit! spoke the mage. I require your expert assistance here. Can you not leave thisthis 
obscene chortling and plotting to a later time? 

The witch looked up from mixing potions. Huh? she asked. Oh. Yes, I suppose so. She 
rose, muttering fiercely, and stamped over to the table where Zulkeh was examining the Rap 
Sheet. 

I still cant believe, she snarled, that two-faced rat! That smiling little slimeball! All this 
time, pretending to be my friendand he even had me fooled, I got to admit. 

It had been some time earlier, in mid-morning, when the various parties involved in the 
theft of the Rap Sheet had reconvened in Magrits chamber. Greyboar and Ignace were alone 
absent, off on some business of their own. The witch had demanded to be the first to 
examine the relic. Zulkeh began to protest, then wearily nodded his assent. And truly the 
mage seemed exhausted by the events of the night pastnot from the adventure itself, but 
from the rigors of the bargaining table. 

From that day forward, he was known to say in later life, the chambers of the 
Inquisition held no fears for me. The rackI laugh! The wheelI sneer! The whipping post 
beneath my contempt! 

And so had Magrit delved deeply into the Rap Sheet, cackling with glee as the name of one 
unsuspected enemy after another appeared, faithfully recorded in the relic as informers of 
the various police agencies which had taken a keen interest in the doings of the witch. So 
great was her enthusiasm, in fact, that she soon broke off further examination of the Rap 
Sheet and began happily plotting her revenge against the half-dozen now-doomed 
individuals whose identity she had already ascertained. 

Twas at that point that the wizard was finally able to scrutinize the relic for his own 
purposes. After a few minutes, a great frown took form on his features. It was then that the 
mage called for Magrits aid. 

What is it, Zulkeh? asked the witch. 

I am totally baffled, admitted the wizard. Look you on what is revealed herein! Of my 
enemiesat least, those who have been thwarting me in my attempt to decipher the meaning 
of the Kings dreamthere is not a trace! Not a whisper! Not a hint! Butwell! See for 
yourself! He thrust the relic before her. 


The witch examined the Rap Sheet, which was now attuned to the wizard Zulkeh. Listed 
on its magical pages was all information concerning the mage known to all authorized, semi-
authorized, quasi-authorized, pseudo-authorized and unauthorized official agencies charged 
with police, regulatory or espionage powers anywhere in Grotum. Many sheets did Magrit 
scan, her eyebrows rising steadily. 

She whistled. Oh, boy! Have you pissed off a lot of people! 

Practically every authority in Grotum and Ozar has me listed as an arch-criminal! cried 
the mage. Me! Who has always been the most loyal of citizens! A model of propriety! He 
was livid with indignation. 

Magrit summoned the crowd. You got to see this! she boomed. A moment later, all were 
examining the relic. 

The first to react, to Zulkehs everlasting chagrin, were Les Six. 

Comrade! they bellowed in one voice, surrounding the mage and pounding his back 
vigorously. The wizards protestation of innocence was to no avail. 

You cant be innocent, declared the first. 

Youve been accused, explained the second. 

But there have been no charges filed! protested the mage. No warrants issued! No 
subpoenas! No inquest! No trial! 

What nonsense is this? demanded the third. 

Would you waste the taxpayers hard-earned money? inquired the fourth. 

Fie on such witless notions! exclaimed the fifth. 

The round was cut short by Wolfgang. 

Youre all missing the important thing! he cried. The cryptic cypher! Its on every page! 
The lunatic grinned like an idiot. Look here, for instance! He pointed his finger at a 
notation on the page. 

Zulkeh peered closely. Yes, yes, I had noticed thatand, as you say, it appears frequently, 
at least once on each page. Magrit, you are more conversant in these matters than I. What is 
the import of this notation? 

Magrit examined the cypher, then shook her head. Got no idea. Surprising, tootheres 
not much in the way of foety gets by me. 

Of course you dont know what it means! boomed Wolfgang. The madman cackled like, 
well, like a madman. 

Magrit glared up at him. Do you know something I dont, you fucking loony? Yes! I can 
tell by that drooling grin! Spit it out, Wolfgang! What does AVEXBU mean? 

Its an acronym, replied the giant. It stands for Avatar Extermination Bureau. 

Magrit and Zulkeh looked puzzled. Never heard of it, said the witch. Nor I, chimed in 
the wizard. 

Of course you havent! agreed Wolfgang cheerfully. Its the most secret secret society in 
the world. Not more than a few thousand people anywhere have ever heard of itand most 
of them work for the Bureau. 

Is it an Ozarine cabal? demanded the first. 

Wolfgang shook his head. Not exactlyalthough it has close ties to many Ozarine spy 
agencies. Very tight with the Cruds, for instance. No, its sort of a unique outfit. Ancient, it 
istraces its origins back to the Knights Rampant. The Ecclesiarchs have always encouraged 
it on the highest levelsby which I mean the Twelve Popes. I doubt if even most Cardinals 
know of it. The Popes have provided much of AVEXBUs funding for centuries. 


But even they dont control it. Its truly marvelous! An independent spiral of 
organized insanity, institutionalized madness, passed on down through the generations like 
syphilis! 

Then how do you know about it, you nutcase? demanded Magrit. 

Wolfgang blushed like a schoolgirl. Well, actually, I myself have been the subject of their 
inquiries. In fact, its one of the reasons I decided to go mad. Always a good alibi, lunacy. 

You? Why would they go after you? Magrits face expressed disbelief. 

Im not positive, love, responded Wolfgang, because as soon as I found out they were 
sniffing around I had my first breakdown. And a doozy it was, too! He beamed around the 
room. Then: But Ive always thought it was probably my size. 

You are almost certainly correct, came the quiet voice of Zulkeh. Magrit turned, gasped. 
The wizard had collapsed into a chair, his face pale as a ghost, a trembling hand stroking his 
brow. 

Are you all right? asked Magrit. 

Yes, yes, came the impatient reply. A moments weakness, no more. It all makes sense 
to me, now. I should have known from the beginning! What other subject would so arouse 
the deepest enmity of the fiercest powers of the Universe? Tis no wonder I have not been 
able to interpret the Kings dream! 

What are you babbling on about? demanded Magrit. The both of you! 

Zulkeh coughed. Madame, please do not take offense at what I am about to say, butas I 
recallhistory was never your best subject at the University. 

Magrit snorted. Hated the stuff. Dry bones, chewed over by mangy dogs. 

An intemperate remark began to emerge from Zulkehs lips, was choked back. A moment 
later, the mage spoke: 

I will not dispute the question now. Wolfgang, it was the acronym which confused me. 
AVEXBU is new to me. I assume it is of recent origin. What I mean to saywe are talking 
about the Godferrets, are we not? 

Right as rain! Always thought that was a crazy expression, actually. Why should rain be 
right? Why not wrong rain? Or left rain, maybe? 

Wolfgang! roared Magrit. 

What? Oh. Sorry, dear, my mind wandered. Cant be helpedIm nuts. Yes, yes! Business 
first! Zulkeh, you are absolutely correct! We are indeed talking about the Godferretsalso 
known, at various times and places, as the Weasels of Righteousness, the Almightys Knout, 
the Fangs of Piety, the Guardians ofwell! I could go onand on and on. And those, of 
course, are the names given by admirers! Othersheretics, infidels, suchlike monstershave 
preferred other cognomens: the Darkworms, the Slime of Creation, thewell! Theres a lot of 
names. Lot and lots of names! Not surprising, theyve been around for a long time. 

Yes, they have, agreed Zulkeh. But whence this AVEXBU? 

Oh, thats the new name! Modern times, you know! Separation of Church and State, 
rights of the individual, freedom of conscience, all that folderol. Slavering sanctimony needs 
a secular face, nowadays! And besidesacronyms are all the rage among the upper crust, 
dont you know? 

Wittgenstein! bellowed Magrit. Start the pot boilingthe big one! If I dont get some 
sensible answers out of these two were going to have psychopath stew tonightgarnished 
with chopped sorcerer. 

Right away! squeaked the salamander, scurrying toward the kitchen. Its voice came 


back: Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy I love psychopath stew! Especially the brains! 
Melt in your mouth like butter! 

Madame, this is uncouth! protested Zulkeh. Then, seeing the inevitable riposte, he held 
up a hand. 

 Tis simple, witch! ThisAVEXBUis but a modern incarnation of the oldest, and easily 
the most vicious, of the Churchs inquisitory agencies. Though, as Wolfgang says, the 
Ecclesiarchs long ago lost their grip on the leash. The Godferrets! They claim to answer to no 
one but the Old Geister himself. The most secret of secret societiesand easily the most 
powerful! Their influence reaches into the chambers and corridors of all the worlds 
mightiest institutionstemporal and spiritual alike. All this, devoted to one general 
purposethe ruthless extermination of Joesy. And to one specific purposethe sniffing out 
and destruction of Joes avatars. 

Joes avatars? demanded Magrit. You meanJoebacks? 

That is, I believe, the popular name, yes. 

But thats just a fable! protested the witch. 

Is it? demanded the wizard fiercely. You have, then, suddenly become an expert on 
Joetrics? 
Magrit snarled. You know damn good and well I got thrown out of the University before I 
could qualify for the Arcanum! You should know, you rotten 
Please, please! interjected Wolfgang. Some calm! Tranquility! My nerves are shot 
liable to break down any minute! 

Magrit and Zulkeh fell silent, glaring at each other. Wolfgang picked up the conversation. 

Magrit, dear, he said mildly, what the wizards trying to saywith his usual charm!is 
that all questions surrounding Joe are mysterious and convoluted. Not to mention 
dangerous! Nobody can really claim to be an expert on the subject. Well, except my dear 
aunt Hildegard, I suppose. 

There is one recognized authority, said Zulkeh, his calm returned. 

Wolfgang pursed his lips. Well, yes, theres Uncle Manya. But hes craziern a loon, you 
know. Would have been locked up years ago except his familys so rich they can keep him on 
the estatehas a whole mansion to himself, I hear! 

A thought apparently came to the lunatic. Wait a minute, he mused. What if hes not 
really crazy? The Godferrets were never happy with him. Tried to kill him a few times, in 
fact! Nutty idea, of coursetrying to kill a Kutumoff on Kutumoff soil. The Godferrets ought 
to have themselves institutionalized, the idiots! But maybe the General got tired of running 
assassinstold Uncle Manya to pretend he was a fruitcake, so his dogs could get a rest. 

Sort of like you, you mean, piped up Shelyid from his chair. 

Wolfgang bellowed in outrage. 

Like me? What an insult! Im a certified psychotic! The head psychiatrist at the world-
famous asylum at Begfat has said so himself! Many times! And in any number of articles 
published in the most prestigious psychological journals! 

Youre the head psychiatrist at the asylum at Begfat, protested Shelyid. 

Yes, thats true. What of it? The mans still a giant in his field! One of the most respected 
figures in psychoanalytic circles the world over! Wolfgang the great psychiatrist says 
Wolfgang the big nut is a madmanwho are you to question his word? 
Shelyid frowned, scratched his head. Theres something about this that doesnt make 
sense. 


Wolfgang now appealed to the wizard. You know, Zulkeh, you really have to concentrate 
more on the psychological subjects in the boys education. Look at the poor tyke! Totally 
confused by the most basic concepts! 

Zulkeh waved the protest away. Yes, no doubt. But for the moment, I must discuss a more 
pressing matter with my apprentice. Shelyid, have you followed this conversation? 

Oh yes, mastprofessor. 

The wizard glared fiercely at his apprentice, but the dwarf held his ground. Its in the 
contract! he shrilled. Shelyid dug into his tunic, took out a booklet. Its right hereright in 
Article I. The apprentice is henceforth to address the wizard as professor. Under no 
circumstances is the term master to be used, except under the following provisions: clause a: 
at such times as 

Cease! Cease! roared the mage. Remind me not of that nefarious contract! Thatthat 
product of coercion! 

And when was a labor contract ever squeezed from a greedy exploiter other than by 
coercion? demanded the second. 

Wolfgang interjected himself again. Please, please! My nerves! My fragile grasp on 
reality! Even now I can feel it cracking! 

All fell silent. Then Zulkeh glowered and spoke again. 

What I was about to say, wretched dw 

No slurs based on stature! piped the dwarf. Article II, clause a. 

Zulkeh ground his teeth. Misbegott 

No slurs based on genetic origins! piped the dwarf. Article II, clause b. 

Zulkeh faces was now beet red. He leapt to his feet, gesticulating wildly. Anthropophage 
of Reason! Creature of darkness! Georgia of the lowest sort! Base cur of low degree! He 
continued in this vein for a minute or so. 

When he was done, Shelyid brows were knitted in thought. I think thosere all okay, he 
said uncertainly. He appealed to Les Six: Arent they? 

Within the letter of the contract, stated the third. 

Though base cur of low degree rather bends the spirit, opined the fourth. 

Where this would have led will remain unknown, for twas at that very moment that 
Greyboar and Ignace came into the room. Ignaces face was flushed with pleasure. 
Good news! he cried. The heats off in New Sfinctr! We can go backin fact, were 
headed off today! 
Zulkehs attention was distracted. But the King of Sundjhab and his heir are barely cold 
in their graves! he protested. 

Actually, rumbled Greyboar, I think the Sundjhabi practice is cremation. Be that as it 
may, it seems theres been some little changing of the guard in the Sundjhab. Whole new 
dynasty, in fact. And of course theyd just as soon everybody forgot all about the old 
monarch. Whose official name in the Sundjhab is now the Devils Spawn.  The strangler 
frowned. Dont much care for that kind of disrespect for my guru. May just go down there 
some day and speed a few souls along the wheel of time. 

Later for that! exclaimed Ignace. Theres been too much of this philosophy business as 
it is. Right now were off to New Sfinctr! 

If you dont mind my asking, asked Magrit, why in the world are you so eager to get 
back to New Sfinctr? The citys a cesspool! 

Pesthole of the planet, agreed Ignace cheerfully. Armpit of the world. Its great for 


business! 

When are you leaving, did you say? asked Zulkeh. 

Within the hour, said Greyboar. 

A moment, then, if you please, said the mage. I have a favor to ask. But first Here he 
turned back to his apprentice. A frown began to appear, then faded. Zulkeh sighed. 

Shelyid, if you will kindly leave aside for the moment the fine points of our new contract, 
I am attempting to commit a kindness. How much of the preceding discussion did you 
actually understand? 

All that stuff about the AVEXBU and the Godferrets and stuff? asked Shelyid. Zulkeh 
nodded. 

Well, admitted the gnome, not actually a whole lot. I was paying real close attention, 
too, cause I could tell it has something to do with Joe, and Ive always liked the Joe stuff you 
teach me. But I really didnt understand what it was all about, except that everybody seems 
real nervous. 

Zulkeh snorted. Nervous indeed! The key point you must understand now, Shelyid, is 
that there is no subject in all the world which is more perilous to meddle with than what you 
call Joe stuff. And it is now clear that in some mannerI remain completely mystified as to 
how it all happened, by the wayI have become thoroughly enmeshed in Joe stuff. Twas 
not by my choice, I can assure you! I am not pusillanimous, mind youno practicing 
sorcerer can bebut I am not foolhardy. 

He frowned, stroked his beard. But there is no point in bemoaning the reality which faces 
one. Entwined in Joe stuff I have become, and I must seize the tiger by the tail. Thus will 
my road forward be even more fraught with danger than I had foreseen. I say this, Shelyid, 
by way of a preface. For once again, my loyal but stupnot brilliant apprentice, I offer your 
release from my guardianship. 

You mean you dont want me to come? asked the dwarf, his voice little with hurt. 

I did not say that, gnoshort one, snapped the mage. For myself alone, I would prefer 
that you did come. Zulkeh was silent for a moment, then: In truth, it would be a great 
comfort to me. But I would not needlessly expose you to the perils ahead. 

Oh, thats okay! cried Shelyid. I told you before, masprofessorIm not afraid. And 
besides, I really like Joe stuff. Im real good at it, too! Ive always been good at the Joe stuff 
you teach me! I never forget any of it. The dwarf blushed, then said hesitantly: You know, I 
think its my best subject. 

An expression of surprise crossed the wizards face. He looked to Magrit and Wolfgang. 

You know, Shelyids right. He always did soak up what little Joetrics I exposed him to. 
The wizard stroked his beard. Odd, really, very odd. Tis normally the most difficult subject 
for apprentices. Apprentices! Wizards themselves fumble at Joetrics, in their great majority. 
Of course, I didnt expose the boy to but the simplest aspects, youll understand! But still 
He fell silent, musing. 

Of course the boys good at it! boomed Wolfgang. Ive said it before, Ill say it againthe 
little tykes got a knack for madness! And nothings crazier thanwhatd the lad call it?Joe 
stuff, yes, Joe stuff! 

The lunatic waved his arms around wildly, like, well, like a lunatic. 

Its mad! Its insane! Heresies galore! Schisms enough to turn a schizophrenic green with 
envy! And talk about paranoia! Whisper the words Joes back in an alley somewhere 
Church and State both will scream for your blood! Ask any priest to tell you about Joe and 


hell shame a deaf-mute! And 

Enough! roared Magrit. 

The wizard now addressed himself to the strangler. 

Sirrah Greyboar, as I mentioned before, I have a favor to ask. 

What is it? 

As I understand it, you and your agent are departing for New Sfinctr within the hour? 
Greyboar nodded. My apprentice and I, for our part, must wend our way to the Mutt. For 
tis clear that I must, before all else, attempt to consult with Uncle Manya. Sane or insane, he 
remains the worlds authority on Joetrics. If there is anyone who can shed light on the 
mysteries which surround me, twill be he. 

Zulkeh paused, coughed apologetically. I am, perhapswhat is the popular expression? 
yes, beating about the bush. The point is this. For some considerable distance, we shall be 
traveling the same route. Of course, our paths will diverge at Blain. But for the first many 
days, well 

You want to come with us? asked Greyboar. 

Zulkeh coughed again. It seemed to me, you understand, the occasional footpad or 
highwayman 

No problem, professor, said Ignace, grinning widely. Sure and you can come along. 
Greyboarll no doubt enjoy the philosophical conversation. And, its true, he added, his grin 
now evil, were not likely to be bothered by cutthroats. 

Havent actually been mugged since I was eight, rumbled Greyboar. The thing went 
badly for the footpad, and word got around. He survived, of course, I was too short to reach 
his throat, butwell 

Best thing that ever happened to the guy! chipped in Ignace. He made lots more as a 
beggar than he ever did as a cutpurse. People always chipped into his hat, feeling as sorry for 
him as they did, all twitchy and mangled up like that. 

Yeah, sure, itd be a pleasure, said Greyboar. On the way, I think Ill teach Shelyid a 
little fingerwork. Kids got a great natural choke. He forestalled Zulkehs protest with an 
upraised hand. 

Nothing fancy, nothing fancy. But the boy cant study sorcery every minute of the day. 
And you never know when a little professional fingerwork will come in handy, even in your 
trade. 

Well, yes, allowed Zulkeh. There is the occasional rowdy demon. Oft cranky, your 
demons, especially if you summon them during copulation. 

If you want to come, were leaving now, announced Ignace. 

We are ready. Are we not, Shelyid? 

Oh yes, professor. The sacks right here. 

Let us be off, then. For even as I speak, time wanes! 

Wait! Wait! cried Shelyid. We forgot something! 

The wizard frowned. And what is that? 

Well, its the first of the month, right? 

Yes, tis November 1, Year of the Jackal, replied the mage. What of it? 

A huge grin split the gnomes face. Shelyid extended his arm, palm facing up. 

Payday! 

A black frown began to take form on Zulkehs brow. But it faded, to be replaced by a rare 
smile. 


Why, so it is, spoke the mage. As the contract saysArticle III, clause a, if I am not 
mistakenthe short-statured-but-fully-qualified-apprentice shall earn the wage 
of one shilling a month, to be paid on the first day of the month. The wizard fumbled in 
his purse, drew out a coin, and placed it in Shelyids hand. 

Of course, spoke the mage, from a logical standpoint this entire business is somewhat 
absurd. You are yourself, after allhe coughedwell, let us simply say that the funds 
actually originate from you in the first place. 

Is it not ever so? demanded the first. 

Is not all value created from the toil of the suffering masses? asked the second. 

Only then seized in its entirety by the grasping hand of the exploiter! added the third. 

To be added to his already-obscene accumulation of plenty! This from the fourth. 

From which bloated mass of wealth but a pittance is returned to the laborer! The fifth. 

Upon which starvation wages the downtrodden working classes eke out their miserable 
existence, concluded the sixth. 
No doubt a long-winded economic debate would have ensued, save for the intervention of 
Wolfgang. 

Crazy thing, money! he boomed. And they say we lunatics are insane! Nonsensejust 
another example of the superiority of lunacy over lucidity! Only sober-minded rational 
people with their feet planted firmly on the ground would ever come up with such a goofy 
idea as money! Wont find us demented types worrying over money! Weve got real things to 
fret over! How do unicorns propagate when theyve got this fetish about virginity? Why does 
a trolls tongue drool when its naked as an egg and has sweat glands? Why are krakens 
extinct? Are they extinct? Did they ever exist? Why do 

Come, Shelyid, let us be off! cried the mage, hustling his apprentice out the door. For 
even as the lunatic raves, time wanes! 


PART XVIII 


In Which We Conclude This 
Volume of Our Chronicle By Resuming, 
With Firm Resolve Though Great Distaste, 
Our Skeptical Scrutiny of the Autobiography of 
That Sfondrati-Piccolomini Fellow, in This Portion 
of Whose Tale Are Related Impudent Revelries Over 
Recent Reverses Suffered By The Lawful Order 
of Grotum As Well As Divers and Dramatic 
Encounters and Leave-Takings. 


The Autobiography of Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini, 
Episode 9: Dogs, Divas, Dements and Departures 

So it was on such a wretched horse that I rode onto the estates of General Kutumoff. 

As I thought, the trip had taken a day longer than predicted. It was not until the morning 
of November 1 that we arrived at our destination. The estates were vast, or so they seemed to 
me. But when I made comment to that effect, Gwendolyn told me that they were actually 
quite small, by Groutch standards. I realized again the impossibility of gauging Grotum by 
Ozarine scales. Though rich and mighty, the Ozarinenot to speak of Ozarae properis 
small in geographic size. Whereas Grotum! A world in itself, it sometimes seemed to me. 

Truth to tell, I had no idea we had entered onto the estates until Gwendolyn told me. To 
all outward appearances, the estates seemed much like the rest of the countryside of the 
Mutt. Prosperous, well-tended fields; farmers busy about their business; modest but well-
kept farmhouses. 

Not quite what I had expected, I remarked. 

How so? 

Well, from all youve told me of what you call the Groutch land question, Id rather been 
expecting to see miserable, half-starved serfs, stooped in their labor, overseers cracking 
whips, that sort of thing. 

Gwendolyn was shocked. On the estates of General Kutumoff? 

I saw the storm gathering on her brow. This experience, if youve never undergone it, is 
somewhat akin to watching a mounting tidal wave. From the vantage point of a very small, 
very flat island. 


Obviously I misunderstood! I hastened to add. 

I should think so! 

I was relieved to see the storm pass. After a moment, Gwendolyn even laughed. 

I keep forgetting how little you know of Grotum. The Mutt isnot like the rest of 
Grotum. 
I can believe that! Not that Ive seen much else beside the forest and Goimria. 
At that moment our conversation was interrupted by a great baying sound. I looked ahead. 

My blood ran cold. Toward us, racing like the wind, was an enormous pack ofdogs? 
Wolves? Snarls? I couldnt really tell. Whatever they were, they were utterly horrifying. It 
wasnt simply their size, but the gaping jaws, the slavering tonguesmost of all, the frenzy 
with which they were bounding toward us. Futile though it was, I reached behind me for my 
sword. 

Oh, will you relax? Its just the Generals puppies. Theyre always excited when people 
come to visit. 

Those are puppies? 

But it could not be gainsaid. Once thecreaturesreached us, they began acting just like 
eager and undisciplined pups. Gwendolyn leapt off her horse and the beasts swarmed all 
over her. A minute or two of rough play followed. 

I myself remained on my horse. A vast horde of the things gathered about me, peering up 
with puzzlement, whining and whimpering with confusion at my unseemly behavior. I 
remained, I say, on the horse. 

Oh, Benvenuti, youre such a spoilsport. Youll hurt their feelings. 
Let them die of heartbreak. I am not romping about with puppies the size of timber 
wolves. 
Laughing, Gwendolyn shook off a half dozen of the brutes and remounted. She gave me a 
mischievous sidelong glance. 

And here I thought you wanted an adventurous life. 

And so I do, Gwendolyn. A life full of drama and romance and high adventure. 
Reasonable adventures. Rescuing fair maidens from ogres. Slaying dragons in their lairs. 
Storming the gates of hell. NotI repeat, notsuicidal acts involving puppies the size of 
timber wolves. A horrible thought came to me. Do the adult dogs roam loose? 

All over the place. The General doesnt believe in kennels. She was giggling now. The 
look on your faceits priceless! But you can relax. The grown-up dogs are very dignified. 
Very aloof with people, until they get to know you. Especially Fangwulf. 

Whoor should I say, whatis Fangwulf? 
Hes the Generals head dog. The leader of the pack. Again, that mischievous sidelong 
glance. A great foreboding filled my heart. Immediately confirmed. 
Ill have to make sure the General introduces you to Fangwulf, she said. 

Some time later, a great mansion loomed on the horizon. A lane led to it from the main 
road, shaded by trees on either side. I had expected to turn down that way, but Gwendolyn 
continued along the main road. In response to my quizzical eyebrow, she explained: The 
General wont be there. Hes always at his shack, except for a few evenings when Madame 
Kutumoff forces him to attend one of her soirees. 

A mile or so further on, we turned down a trail leading off from the left of the road. Then, 
through a small wood, and into a clearing. At the far edge of the clearing, nestled under the 


overhanging boughs of a huge sycamore, rested a hut. It was easily the most ramshackle 
structure I had yet seen in the Mutt. 

I pointed to it, chuckling. Now thats more what I thought housing for the downtrodden 
serfs should look like. 

Ostentatious, isnt it? Its the Generals shack. I think he overdoes the thing, myself. But 
hes quite proud of the tradition. 

I forbore comment. Odd place, the Mutt, I believe Ive mentioned before. As we drew near, 
I noticed some mounds scattered about in the clearing near the hut, looking for all the world 
like little haystacks. As we came nearer, they began to move. The truth dawned upon me. 

Theyre the size of buffalos, I whispered shakily. 

Nonsense! Any decent buffalo will weigh in at around a ton. The dogs dont average but 
three, maybe four hundred pounds. 
Dogs are not supposed to be that big, I hissed. 
Why are you whispering? boomed Gwendolyn. The sound of her powerful voice brought 

the monsters to their feet. But I was relieved to see that they made no move in our direction. 
They simply stood there, watching us impassively. 

As Gwendolyn drew up before the hut, a man emerged. Rather short, perhaps a bit on the 
heavy side. Altogether, completely unremarkable in his appearance. A battered campaign hat 
was perched on his head. He leaned on a cane held in his left hand. In its right he held a 
short, very pungent cigar. 

Hello, General, said Gwendolyn. 

Gwendolyn, responded the General, nodding his head. Gwendolyn began to introduce 
me, but before she got two words out of her mouth a pack of raggedy children came boiling 
out of the hut. 

Gwendolyn! Gwendolyn! Gwendolyn! Gwendolyn! they shrieked, capering about. A 
moment later Gwendolyn was off her horse and repeatingmore gentlyher earlier antics 
with the puppies. I was forced to the painful conclusion that the love of my life had no sense 
of aristocratic reserve whatsoever. 

Eventually, she extracted herself from the squealing pack. 

General Kutumoff, meet Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini. 

A look of interest came into his face. So this is the young man Ive been expecting. 

I was taken completely by surprise. So, judging from her expression, was Gwendolyn. 

How didI didnt say anything about Benvenuti in my note. 

The General looked at her. Oh, I wasnt expecting him to come with you, Gwendolyn. But 
I received a letter from his uncles a month ago saying he was coming to Grotum. Ludovigo 
and Rodrigo said the boy was bound to get into some kind of trouble, which means hed 
wind up here sooner or later. And since hes here with you, Id say hes in serious trouble. 

A plain-looking fellow, but I learned then that he was perhaps the most observant man I 
ever met. What he saw in Gwendolyn and me at that momentsome subtlety of expression, 
or posturebrought a gleam into his eyes. 

Young Benvenuti, he said, puffing on his cigar, I believe you have committed the 
gravest of sins. I speak as a soldier. 

And what is that? 

In classic Sfondrati-Piccolomini manner, you have engaged yourself simultaneously on 
two fronts. I predict you will have an adventurous life. 
I flushed, as did Gwendolyn. The General chuckled. 


I dont disapprove, mind you. Love is not war, appearances and popular opinion to the 
contrary. Gwendolyn, its nice to see a softness, for once, on that blade of a soul. As for you, 
young Benvenuti, its always a pleasure to see a bloodline run true. You are, I trust, 
illegitimate? 

I gaped like a fish. Nodded. 

Excellent, excellent. I approve of Sfondrati-Piccolomini bastards. Got no use for the rest 
of that lot. He turned back into his hut. Come in, come in. 

Entering, I found that the hut was much bigger on the inside than it had seemed from 
without. 

Youve added on, said Gwendolyn. 

The General looked uncomfortable. Yes, yes, I have. Its still the smallest residence on the 
estate, mind you. But I admit Im stretching the limit of tradition. Still, I had no choice. The 
children needed more room to play, and Fangwulf was getting grumpy, not being able to 
stretch out properly. 

I could see it coming, tried to head it off, but Gwendolyn was too quick. 
Benvenutis just dying to meet Fangwulf! she cried. The words out, she gave me an 
immense grin. Completely unfazed, she was, by my answering scowl. 

Amusement gleamed in the Generals eyes. Well, of course he wants to meet the top dog. 
He stuck two fingers in his mouth and emitted a piercing whistle. A moment later, a batch of 
childrens heads were in the door. 

Go fetch Fangwulf, said the General. The faces disappeared in a flash. 

And mind you follow protocol this time! he roared after them. 

Hes a good dog, Fangwulf, explained the General. But as he gets on in years, hes 
getting prickly about the formalities. 
A minute or so later, a girlperhaps six years oldskidded into the hut. She drew herself 
up into a rigidly military posture. Then, in a shrill voice, intoned the following: 

All hail Fangwulf! Fangwulf of Wide Fame! 

All hail the Fleshripper! The Hideous Hound! 

Fangwulf of the Loping Stride! 

The Ravening Gullet Himself! 

Sired by Consumption out of Omnigorge! 

The Slouching Rough Beast! 

Its Hour Come Round At Last! 

How shall I describe the dog who came into the hut? From a dispassionate, scientific, 
objective standpoint, the task is not too difficult. The beast was something of a triple-lifesize 
cross between a mastiff and a wolfhound, combining the most fearsome features of both 
the great jaws of a mastiff with the long legs and teeth of the wolfhound. The fur was 
relatively short and bristly, colored black and brown except for a white spot above one eye. 

But all this was trivial. For I am an artist, with an artists eye, and I could not help but 
think of a portrait of the great horror. The difficulty was in choosing a suitable title. 
Death Incarnate would be too abstract. The phrase doesnt capture the saliva dripping 
from the great canine fangs. 
Slavering Beast of Hell, on the other hand, connotes a certain mindless rage. And while I 
could not miss the oceanic fury in those glowing red eyes, neither could I escape the great, 


cold, pitiless intelligence which gleamed there also. 

Other titles flashed through my mind as well, in that last moment of my life: Satans 
Nightmare. The Big Crunch. Doom Itself. 
I thought Gwendolyns description was utterly inappropriate. 
Isnt he just the most beautiful dog! she cried. And so saying, Gwendolyn flung herself 

onto the monster. When my horrified paralysis passed, I discovered that the thing was 
licking her face. While she, for her part, rumpled his fur and nuzzled his jowls. Fortunately, 
the more energetic antics she had conducted with the puppies earlier were forgone. 

I saw the Generals eyes upon me, weighing and judging. 

Ithat is, hes certainly quite impressive, I said, very weakly. 

Nonsense. Hes a hideous creature from the darkest pit of hell. Not even a snarl could 
stand against him, except perhaps an ancient forest snarl. Snarls are just great natural 
killers, while hes been bred for it, generation after generation. 

He gazed at the affectionate embrace, took a puff on his cigar. Then, with a gesture, he 
drew me out of the hut. Once in the clearing, he drew another puff on the cigar, and shook 
his head. 

You dont understand Grotum yet. You may never. Its a handicap, being Ozarine. 

I started to speak. He held up his hand. 

Please, please. I was not criticizing. Your uncles were fine officers. Two of the best that 
ever served with me. Bitter men, of course. Couldnt really accept Grotum. And born at least 
a century too late to be Ozarine. Not the least of Ozars many crimes, that it drives its best to 
become mercenaries. 

He took a last puff on his cigar and threw the butt away. Enough of that. Youve a lifetime 
to learn these things, and you seem to be off to a decent start. Very good start. Precious few 
men in this world have a heart big enough to give to Gwendolyn. Fewer still have a heart big 
enough to win hers. I congratulate you, sir. 

I didnt know what to say. 

Dont know what to say? Excellent, excellent. Its a fine and proper thing for bold young 
men to be tongue-tied by the sagacity of their elders. A fine and proper thing. 
He turned back to the hut. And now, I need to speak to Gwendolyn. I have news. 
At that very moment, Gwendolyn herself came out. I need to talk to you, General. I just 
found out a few weeks ago that the Ozarine are sending a Rap Sheet to 

I know, Gwendolyn, I know. 

Gwendolyn was stunned. How did you 

The General smiled. I found out about it the same way I found out that the problems 
already been taken care of. From Hildegard. 

Gwendolyn was speechless. The Generals smile widened. 

Dont know what to say? Excellent, excellent. Its a fine and proper thing for bold young 
women to be tongue-tied by the sagacity of their elders. A fine and proper thing. 

He took Gwendolyn by the elbow and moved her toward the horses. Why dont you go up 
to the house? Hildegards there. She can tell you about the whole thing. 

Gwendolyn leapt on her horse and took off toward the mansion at a gallop. I followed at a 
somewhat less precipitous pace. By the time I reached the front door, Gwendolyn had 
disappeared inside. I was in such a hurry to hear the news myself that I didnt take the time 
to examine the building. Only an impression of great size registered. 

I entered through a pair of double doors and found myself in a large foyer. There was no 


one present. Down a hallway to my left I heard voicesGwendolyns, and others. I 
followed the sounds, and found myself in a large room with high ceilings. My artists eye 
was at once drawn to the marvelous paintings on the ceilings, which depicted scenes from 
various great operas. 

The room was sparsely furnished. A grand piano stood toward the far wall, a few chairs 
and music stands scattered about it. At the near end of the room were several large and 
comfortable looking sofas and easy chairs clumped around a couple of low tables. Most of 
the space in between was empty, exposing a beautiful parquet floor. The room was very 
brightly lit from an entire wall of windows. The other walls, covered in a pale apricot watered 
silk, were decorated with an extensive collection of antique musical instruments. 

Gwendolyn was standing by the piano, her back to me. A middle-aged woman, rather 
pretty, was sitting in a chair nearby. Another woman, elderly but very vigorous looking, was 
standing behind the piano. She was almost as tall as Gwendolyn. Her hair was white as 
snow, drawn back in a tight bun. A serene smile graced her face. 

But, Gwendolyn, I insist! she said. You must hear this aria first. 

Without waiting for Gwendolyns reply, the white-haired woman leaned over and began 
playing the piano. It was only then that I realized she wasnt standing behind the pianoshe 
was sitting. She must have been well-nigh eight feet tall! 

A beautiful melody filled the room. Gwendolyn clenched her fist and raised it over the 
piano. Her whole body exuded anger and frustration. But the melody was too much. After a 
moment, her fist opened, her hand fell to her side. Slowly, the tension eased out of her 
shoulders. By the end, she was even humming along to the tune. 

The giant woman finished the melody with a flourish. 

There! Isnt it just grand? Its from the Big Banjos new opera. Hes here, you know? He 
came two weeks ago, in order to put the finishing touches on the opera. Its called I Ladro. 
Such a dramatic libretto! Its about a highwayman who wins the love of the beautiful wife of 
an old miser while hes robbing them. Then, after the old man and his young wife get thrown 
in prison, the highwayman rescues them and then 

Hildegard! 

The old woman sighed with exasperation. Gwendolyn, you are such a monomaniac. Very 
well, then. I suppose well have to discuss this Rap Sheet business first, or I wont get any 
peace. But when were done, you must promise me to read the libretto. So dramatic! 
Everyones dead at the end, of course. After the old miser slays the highwayman with his 
cane in a duel, his wife commits suicide and he 

Hildegard! 

dies of heartbreak after repenting his lifelong obsession 

Hildegard! 

with money. There, I got it out! All right, dear, Ill tell you all about the Rap Sheet. But 
first, who is this very handsome young man standing behind you? 

I hadnt realized shed noticed me. The old womanHildegard, apparentlyhad never 
looked in my direction once. Gwendolyn turned. Her face was set in its hawk look. But for 
just that one moment, when she first looked at me, a trace of softness came into her face. 

Oh, said Hildegard. I see. 

Gwendolyn turned back. See what? she demanded. 

Hildegards only reply was a smile and a quick flurry of notes on the piano. Not a tune, 
really, just a sudden air of joy and happiness. Gwendolyns face reddened a bit. 


The third woman in the room suddenly stood up and came over to me, her hands 
outstretched. 

Welcome! Welcome! I am Madame Kutumoff. 

I took her hands in mine and bowed. 

Enchanted, Madame. I am Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini. 

Which branch? asked Madame Kutumoff. 

I began to explain where my immediate family line fit on the complex hereditary tree of 
the Sfondrati-Piccolomini clan, but before I got very far into it she began nodding her head. 

Yes, yes, I know it. Two of your unclesLudovigo and Rodrigo, if memory serves me 
correctlyserved with my husband some years ago. Still holding my hands, she looked at 
Gwendolyn and then back at me. 

I predict you will have an adventurous life, said Madame Kutumoff. 

Hildegard laughed. Never, in all my life, had I heard more melodious laughter. 

Gwendolyn spoke. If you two gossips are through chortling over my love life, can we get 
on with the business at hand? But she was smiling. 

Very well, dear. Hildegard placed her hands on top of the piano, fingers interlaced. Last 
nightright at the stroke of midnight on HalloweenI had a vision, you see. 

Where was this? 

Hildegard frowned with puzzlement. My vision? It was in my head, of course. 

No, no. Where were youwhen you had this vision? 

Hildegard was still frowning. Why, let me see. I believe I was sitting in that chair over 
therethe one against the wall. We were all here, discussing the Big Banjos latest 

Gwendolyn threw up her hands with frustration. Hildegard! What were you doing here? 
The last time I saw you was at the Abbey, when you told me you were being watched too 
closely to leave and you needed me to take your message to Zulkeh in Goimr. So what are 
you doing on the loose? 

But that was then. This is now. The past and the present are different, Gwendolyn. Thats 
the one truth you can always be sure of. I keep trying to explain that to the Old Geister, but 
Hes just so set in His ways. Im afraid all that omnipotent nonsense has quite gone to His 
head. Why, do you know that in His latest tablet He claims 

Hildegard, please! Never mind. You came here. Then you had a vision. Lets please stick 
to the Rap Sheet, if you dont mind. Ive been charging all over central Grotum, warning 
everybody about it. 

Well, I should hope so! Such horrible things, those Rap Sheets. But we wont have to 
worry about this one they sent to Grotum. 

Why not? 

Because its been taken away from them, dearfrom the horrid Ozarines. Hildegard 
looked at me, an apologetic expression in her face. Please dont take that personally, 
Benvenuti. 

I waved it away. 

How? demanded Gwendolyn. And how do you know that? 

Hildegard looked confused. Well, I dont actually know how it was done. But I imagine 
well find out from my nephew when he gets here. I expect him any day now. 
Who? Wolfgang? Hes in Pryggat least, thats where he said he was going. 
Oh, yes. Hes just leaving there today. 
Gwendolyn sighed. Hildegard, Prygg is hundreds of miles awayas the crow flies. Itll 


take Wolfgang weeks to get here. 

Oh no, dear. Not Wolfgang. 

Gwendolyn sighed again. Never mind. But if you dont know how it was taken, how do 
you know that it was taken at all? 

I told youI had a vision. Last night, at midnight, I suddenly saw a monster. Two 
monsters, actually. There was a little monster inside a big monster, although the little 
monster was actually bigger than the big monster. And then there was another little monster 
and he was suddenly inside the big monster too, except that he wasnt bigger than the big 
monster the way the other little monster was. Oh no, not at all! Instead, the second little 
monster got smaller and smaller until he disappeared. And then I heard a great wailing in 
the sky, and a great singing in the earth, and I knew. 

Knew what? 

Again, Hildegard looked confused. Whyso many things. I knew the Rap Sheet was 
taken away from people who shouldnt have it, and I knew the time was here. Sooner than 
Id expected. I had so hoped I could convince the Old Geister to set things right beforehand. 
But one has to look facts in the face. He refused to listen to me, and now things will be 
unpleasant. Very unpleasant, Im afraid. 

Gwendolyn shook her head. She spoke between gritted teeth. 
Hildegard, you are making no sense at all! What is this time is here youre talking 
about? 
Hildegard looked away. For a long moment, she stared out the window. When she turned 
back, the expression on her face was a strange mix of serenity and fatalism. 

Joes time, dear. Hes coming back. 

Gwendolyn frowned. She started to say something, but Hildegard suddenly reached out 
and placed her fingertips on Gwendolyns lips. If the gesture hadnt been done so gracefully, 
it would have been grotesque, so incredibly long was her arm. 

Hush, Gwendolyn. I know you dont like to hear about Joe, but just this once, listen to 
me. Dont say anything, just listen. Because he is coming back, and whether you like it or 
not, youll have to deal with it. We all will. 

She took her hand away. Actually, its not that simple. Joethe old Joe, I meanis gone 
forever. So he cant actually just come back. But heswell, returning. Lets put it that way. 
Its perhaps a fine distinction, but its important to me. 

Suddenly she laughed, that amazing musical laugh. 
Of course, its not an important distinction for some people! Gods Own Tooth, for 
instancenot to mention that whole pack of Popes. 

Gwendolyn walked away a few steps. She radiated frustration and impatience. Hildegard 
stood up and went over to her. I could now see that she was almost as tall as Wolfgang. She 
stroked Gwendolyns great mane of black hair. 

Gwendolyn smiled. 

I dont know what is it about you, Hildegard. But I can never stay angry with you. 

Well, I should hope not! I am, after all, the Abbess of the Sisters of Tranquility. 

A moment later they were both laughing. When they stopped, Gwendolyn looked up at 
Hildegard with a rueful expression. 
Just tell me this, Abbess. I cant make sense of the rest of itbut are you sure the Rap 
Sheets been taken from the Ozarines? 
Hildegard looked shocked. Madame Kutumoff was scandalized. 


Gwendolyn! she cried. How could you say such a thing? Hildegards visions are 
infallible! 

In desperation, Gwendolyn looked at me. 

Does any of this make any sense, Benvenuti? 

I pondered the question, reviewing my uncles advice. Nothing seemed relevant to the 
question of the infallibility of the visions of a gigantic Abbess. So I applied common sense. 

Gwendolyn, precious few things have made sense to me since I landed in Grotum. So why 
should this be any different? But the solution is obviouswe wait a few days for Wolfgang to 
show up and clarify everything with his twin powers of madness and amnesia. When the 
laughter settled down, I continued: If he doesnt show up, we reexamine our situation. And 
in the meantime I turned to Madame Kutumoff. Did you say that the Big Banjo was still 
here? 

Why, yes, he is. 

I would take it as a great privilege if you would introduce me. 

I shall be delighted, young man. 

I turned back to Gwendolyn. Suddenly, I was bathed in her smile. 

Good! cried Hildegard. Thats settled. And you, young lady, are going to sing. We 
havent heard your voice in ages. The Big Banjo was complaining about it, just the other 
day. 

Madame Kutumoff was clapping her hands. Oh, yes! That will be such a joy. She stuck 
two fingers in her mouth and emitted a piercing whistle. A moment later, a very proper 
looking butler appeared in the doorway. Tall, spare, polished, groomed within an inch of his 
life. Aplomb personified. 

Madame whistled? 

Yes, Andrew. Gwendolyn and her friend, Benvenuti, will be staying with us. Can you see 
to their rooms, please? 
Gwendolyn took my hand. Well just need one room. 
Madame Kutumoff eyed us thoughtfully. Such vigorous young people. Best make it the 
room at the far end of the second floor, Andrew. 

My very thought, Madame, said the butler, nodding his head. 

Madame Kutumoff smiled at us. Youll find the bed in that room is very comfortable. And 
those of us who are insomniacs will find it very comfortable, too. It doesnt squeak. 

The next morning, following breakfast, I was introduced to the Big Banjo. It was a great 
moment in my life, although, truth to tell, the man didnt pay much attention to me. He was 
far too busy trying to convince Gwendolyn to be the prima donna for his next opera. 

No, I am not joking. It came as a surprise to me, I can assure you. I had come to adore 
Gwendolyns unique voice, but the thought had never crossed my mind that she could sing 
at least, by operatic standards. Yet here was the worlds greatest opera composersuch, at 
least, was my opinionintently waging a campaign to convince Gwendolyn to take the stage. 

Not a chance, she said, over and again. But the Big Banjo was stubborn. He sat in his 
chair, his back ramrod straight, glaring at her down his long nose. 

But its such nonsense, Gwendolyn! The Rap Sheets a thing of the past. Theres no reason 
you cant forego agitation for a few months. And the parts perfect for you! No, not even 
thatthe part requires you. I dont know another singer could fill the role. 

An innocent smile came onto Gwendolyns face. Oh, that cant be true! Why, I hear these 


new singers for the Gesamtkunstwerkgenie put everyone else to shame. 

The Big Banjos eyes blazed. Thats not singing! Bellowing, gruntingcall it what you like, 
but dont call it singing! 

Gwendolyns smile became angelic. How you can say that? Why, the whole worlds 
waiting with bated breath for the grand opening of his new opera house next year. Hes a 
geniusno, thats not quite right. Hes the genius of all time! Everyone says so. Her smile 
now radiated holy beatitude. They even say youre learning a few tricks from him. 

The Big Banjo shot to his feet like a rocket. For a moment, he stood glaring down at 
Gwendolyn. Then, suddenly, he began to laugh. 

Yes, yes, its quite true. Ive tried to keep it a secret, but its no use. I am a child at the feet 
of the master. But I fear I shall die of old age before he finishes the first act. 

In the end, he was able to prevail upon Gwendolyn to sing an aria he had written for her 
part in the projected opera. No sooner had she agreed than Madame Kutumoff was bustling 
about rounding up a pack of musicians from various nooks and crannies of the huge 
mansion. It wasnt but ten minutes later that the first bars of the music started, and 
Gwendolyn began to sing. 

I was stunned. All the deep strength of her voice, put to that marvelous music, was like the 
soaring of a great heart. A heart with the power of the universe, unleashed, triumphant, 
filled with hope and glory. The Big Banjo had not been wrong. I could think of no other voice 
which could possibly have conveyed that music. 

When she finished, there was no applause. Applause would have beentrivial. After a 
moments silence, Gwendolyn said: It is wonderful. Where does this aria come? In the first 
act? 

No, Gwendolyn. Its the finale. 

The finale? Butthis is a song ofof joy, and victory. Its not at all tragic. 

The Big Banjo shrugged. I am becoming weary of tragedy. Our people have had enough of 
it. I thought I would compose something different. And besides, I wrote it for you, and youre 
just not the tragic type. 

Gwendolyn grinned. How can you say that? Havent you been telling me for years that 
Im doomed to an early grave? 

The Big Banjo dismissed her words with a gesture. Not the same thing, at all. Tragedys 
when the young heroine dies on stage from a dainty stiletto, moaning, at the last, of her 
broken heart. Stage left, in good view. Whereas you will die in an alley from a hundred great 
saber wounds. Howling defiance, like a wolf. And nobody will be able to see your body, 
because it will be buried under a dozen corpses of your foes. 

These grim words brought silence to the salon. Gwendolyn and the Big Banjo stared at 
each other. A contest of wills, I thought at first, until I recognized the respect. And the regret. 
The moment passed. The Big Banjo smiled ruefully, and said, At least promise me this 

much. After the revolution, sing in the opera. I will have it ready by then. 

I will. She laughed. Who knows? I may sing before thenif the occasion is right. 

Actually, she sang quite a bit the rest of that day. Mostly compositions by Hildegard, who, 
I discovered, was a great composer in her own right. As I might have expected, the Abbess 
music was not at all dramatic. But it conveyed an immense serenity, a calm acceptance of life 
which evoked not so much resignation as understanding. 

In the course of the afternoon, the Big Banjo told me some parts of Gwendolyns life which 
I had not known. 


I first met Gwendolyn at Hildegards Abbey, he explained. Just a girl she was then, 
hiding out from the police. Hildegard had started her singing, as a way to relax the child. But 
when the Abbess discovered that voice! She wrote to me, and I came right away. I was 
astonished. No, more!I was consumed by the desire to set Gwendolyns voice to music. 

He chuckled. Still am consumed by the desire. But Gwendolyn wouldnt agree. After the 
revolution, she saidhard as iron, even then. And shes never budged since. 

Late that afternoon, after tea, Madame Kutumoff took me on a tour of the mansion. Quite 
an extraordinary place. As you can imagine, having grown up in Ozar apprenticed to my 
uncles, I had been inside many of the palatial homes of the idle rich. Grand salons, 
innumerable rooms, lavish gilding, elaborate bronze and marblework, paintings, sculpture 
I had seen it all, and had found most of it tasteless and ostentatious, jumbled displays of 
sumptuous opulence intended more to impress and stupefy than to delight and uplift the 
soul. The Kutumoff mansion, however, was altogether different. 

When I made comment to that effect, Madame Kutumoff said: Well, yes, I should think it 
would be different. Its because of the traditions of the Mutt, and the Kutumoffs. Do you 
know about that? 

Somewhat, I replied. I know the General is the latest of a long line of Kutumoffs who 
have achieved world renown as military leaders, and have repelled all attempts by others to 
dominate the Mutt. As for the Mutt, all I know is that people here take a great aversion to 
money and all its wicked ways. 

Quite so! Well, every time one of the Kutumoff generals leads the people of the Mutt to a 
victory, the various tradesmen of the Mutt come here and do some more work on the house. 
Its the tradition, you see. And since there have been so many victories over the centuries, 
well, the house has grown. Two hundred and seventeen rooms, I believe were up to now. 

I felt I was on delicate ground, so I tread lightly. 

Ah, I notice, ah, however, ah, that the General himself doesnt seem to spend much time 
in the house. 

Oh, certainly not! That would be most improper! A modest man of the people, he is, just 
like all the generals have been. So he mostly lives in the shack. Thats also part of the 
tradition, you see? 

The expression on my face caused Madame Kutumoff to laugh. 

Oh, Benvenuti! The people of the Mutt are passionately attached to their traditions. The 
worlds greatest general has to be a plain and simple fellow, scorning luxury and ostentatious 
display. But in order to do that, he has to have a luxurious and ostentatious mansion he can 
scorn. Dont you see? It all makes perfect sense! 

We toured for over an hour and yet I did not see all of it. Indeed, during the days I spent at 
the Kutumoff residence, I got lost any number of times in the multitude of stairways, turrets, 
galleries, hallways, passages, loggias, rooms and rotundas. 

The lower floor consisted of the most commonly used rooms: the music salon, the 
breakfast room, the morning room, the dining room, the great dining room, the feasting hall, 
the drawing room, the officeeach with its attendant cloakrooms, antechambers, closets and 
alcoves. Belowstairs was a virtual warren of storerooms, pantries, a buttery, a bakery, the 
small kitchen, the morning kitchen, the big kitchen, the really big kitchennot to mention a 
beer and wine cellar of truly legendary proportions. 

The upper floors were divided into the family wing with divers bedrooms, nurseries and 


suites, and the guest wing, again with many spacious rooms. There was even a padded cell, 
built especially for Wolfgang on those occasions when he escaped from the asylum. In 
addition, there were two ballrooms, a conservatory, a library, a smoking room, and a whole 
shoal of rooms and salons devoted to the special passions and interests of Kutumoffs past 
and present. There was also a trophy room, which, I was surprised to notice, was empty. 
Madame Kutumoff explained that the Kutumoff generals were really only interested in 
bagging whole armies, and that the ancient practice of mounting the heads of defeated field 
marshals had been discontinued several generations earlier. 

Modern times, you know. Nowadays its considered uncouth. 

There was even a large and well-equipped art studio, which I eyed hungrily. 

Several of the rooms came equipped with their own stories and traditions. One of the 
rooms, of course, was haunted. And several closets were full of skeletons. Another room was 
locked and barredthe locked room, Madame Kutumoff explained, where all were 
forbidden to enter lest the secret therein be revealed. 

Whats the secret? I asked. 

Who knows? replied Madame Kutumoff. Youd have to ask the workmen who built the 
room. They felt a proper mansion should have a locked and barred room holding a dark 
secret. But theyre all dead now, I imaginethat was four generations of Kutumoffs ago. 

At last, Madame Kutumoff and I returned to the music salon, where nobody seemed to 
have noticed our absence. Later that evening at dinner, however, everyone asked me about 
my tour, and it soon became clear that each one had his or her own favorite room or part of 
the house. I discovered that there was hardly a single inhabitant of the Mutt who didnt 
know every nook and cranny of the mansion, and didnt have a favorite room where they had 
spent many happy hours. I caught a glimpse, then, of the reason the Mutt had broken every 
army sent against it over the centuries. 

The next several days passed quickly. Peaceful days, at first. But by the third day, I could 
feel Gwendolyns increasing agitation. Soon she was spending most of her time with the 
General, discussing the prospects for future struggle. I came along, the first time, but their 
conversation really meant very little to me. 

It was then that I remembered the figurine I had obtained in the Doghouse, and I resolved 
to create my own version of the piece. Madame Kutumoff readily granted me permission to 
use the studio, and so I went happily to work. After an initial period of indecision, I finally 
decided to make a carvinginspired by finding an exquisite baulk of walnut. By the end of 
the week, I felt satisfied with my work. 

Yet, as enjoyable as the time was, there was always a little cloud of unhappiness lurking in 
a corner of my heart. It could not last, I knew. But I thrust the thought from my mind. 

We were awakened, the morning of the seventh day, by a great, booming, familiar voice. 
Before I was even out of the bed, Gwendolyn was clothed and rushing through the door. 

A minute or so later, I arrived downstairs in the music salon which seemed to double as 
the mansions all-purpose gathering place. Sure enough. It was Wolfgang. When he heard 
my footsteps, he broke off his conversation with Gwendolyn and Hildegard. 

Benvenuti! he cried. I hear youve had the most heroic adventure! Such a hair-raising 
exploit! 

I shrugged modestly. It was nothingnot much more than a hike through the woods. 


Not that, you silly boy! Im talking about seducing Gwendolynsuch a daredevil! Such a 
credit to his family! 

Gwendolyn slapped him playfully. Anyone but the gigantic lunatic would have been 
flattened. 

Stop that, Gwendolyn, stop that! You mustnt strike a psychopathits very bad 
therapeutic technique. Not at all modern! 

Gwendolyn laughed. It was a sad day for the world when they did away with snake pits. 

Wolfgang rolled his eyes. Oh, but they didnt! They just turned the whole world into a 
snake pit, so nobody could tell the difference. 
And Ill have you know he didnt seduce me, anyway. Ha! I had to drag the screaming 
virgin to the bed. Then I had to teach him everything. 

My upper lip grew stiff. 

Ill admit, hes been a good student. Doesnt fumble near as much, although his stiff 
upper lip still gets in the way when he tries to 
Gwendolyn! cried Hildegard. 
Gwendolyn chuckled. Bait me, will you? Make fun of the dour fanatic, will you? Ha! All 

right, Wolfgang, enough of that. What happened to the Rap Sheet? And how did you get here 
so fast, anyway? 
Wolfgang sighed. Oh, Gwendolyn, always so serious. Business, business, business. Its 
not good for your mental stability, you know? The head psychiatrist at 

Wolfgang! 

The giant rolled his eyes. Where should I start? How did I get here so fast? Well, I was so 
eager to tell you the wonderful news that I just started off. Im so impulsive, you know, I 
forgot how far it was. So it didnt take me any time at all, naturally. He waved his arms 
about. Spacetimepeople are much too concerned about all that. Slows them down 
terribly. 

Gwendolyn rubbed her face. Never mind. I should have known better than to ask. But 
what happened to the Rap Sheet? Can you at least give me a straight answer to that 
question. 

Wolfgang scratched his head. Oh, thats so difficult! Im really not very good at straight 
answers. Not good at anything straight, actually. And it gets me in so much trouble. Like this 
man I met once who told me he liked straight shooters, but he wasnt telling the truth at all. 
Because when I went and got a bow and started shooting arrows at him I could tell right off 
that he wasnt angry at me because I was missing him but because I was shooting at him in 
the first place. He couldnt fool me! Im not stupid, you knowjust crazy. But then 

Wolfgang! 

Oh, dear. Ive made you angry again. Very well, then, Ill do my best. It was really so 
grand! Such heroes they were! The wizard and his apprenticesuch a splendid little fellow! 
Hes a dwarf, you know? 

Whos a dwarf? 

The wizards apprentice, of course. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yesand your brother was 
there! And his friend, that little Ignace fellow. 
Gwendolyns jaw fell. My brother? What was he doing there? 
Wolfgang looked puzzled. Well, of course he was there. Where else would he be? We 

couldnt have stolen the Rap Sheet without him. Oh, noit would have been utterly out of 
the question! You need serious muscle for this kind of thing, Gwendolyn. Dont you read any 


novels? 

Suddenly the lunatic was howling like a lunatic. But the funniest thing waswas He 
was unable to speak for a few seconds, hooping and whooping and drooling. The funniest 
thing was that in the end most of the muscle came from the dwarf! Ho! Ho! Sort of, I mean 
actually, what I mean is that most of the muscle came from the snarl who carried the dwarf, 
so it was really the snarl who did most of the shredding and gobbling and rending and all 
that. But he couldnt have done it without the dwarf! 

He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. Even so, we couldnt have done it without 
Greyboar. Because Greyboar had to carry the sack, you see? Except for the dwarf, hes the 
only one strong enough. 

He beamed down at Gwendolyn. So thats how it happened. 

Gwendolyn shook her head. Thats all gibberish, Wolfgang. 

Wolfgang cackled. Of course its gibberish! What else do you expect from a lunatic? 

Hildegard interrupted. Nephew, let us leave aside for a moment the ins and outs of the 
thing. Where is the Rap Sheet itself? 

Oh! I forgot! I have itits right here. The giant dug a hand into his tunic. He brought it 
out, clutching a green book. 

Thats it? demanded Gwendolyn. It doesnt look like much. 

Of course it doesnt, dear, said Hildegard. Joe was a plain and simple fellow. None of 

his relics look like much. But dont be fooled by appearances. Thatthat horrid thingis 
worth the lives of thousands. 
Oh, at least! exclaimed Wolfgang. Its such a clever gadget! Let me show you! He 
opened the book and began thumbing through the pages. 
Look, Gwendolynhere you are! He handed her the book. The life and times of 
Gwendolyn Greyboar! 
Gwendolyn scanned the page the book was open to. Then she began turning more pages. 
More pages. More pages. After a minute or so, she closed the book. Her face was pale. 

Thisrelicknows more about me than I do. Id forgotten half the things in it. 

Shaking her head, she started to hand the book to Wolfgang. Suddenly she drew it back, 
and reopened it again. She scanned a few pages, closed it. The expression on her face was 
strangerelief, tinged with sadness. 

Whats wrong, dear? asked Hildegard. 

Nothings wrong, Hildegard. I justneeded to know something. 

She gave the book to Wolfgang and walked over to a window. She stood there silently for a 
time, staring, thinking. Then she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and turned 
away from the window. She looked at me. 
Youre not mentioned anywhere in the Rap Sheet, Benvenuti. Not once. That means none 
of the authorities have any idea of what youve been up to since you came to Grotum. 
The news should have pleased me, but it didnt. I had a sudden premonition, which 
Gwendolyn immediately confirmed. 

So you should go. Now, while you still can. 

I opened my mouth to speak, found no words. I tried again, and found no words. 

At that moment, General Kutumoff came into the room, followed by his wife. I was 
relieved to see them, although I knew the respite was only momentary. 
General! And Madame! cried Wolfgang. So good to see you! How are the children? And 
the dogs? 


Everyone is fine, Wolfgang, replied Madame Kutumoff. 

I must apologize for this interruption, said the General, but there is pressing business 
which we need to discuss. 

Wolfgang rolled his eyes. Business, always business. 

The General smiled. Im afraid so, Wolfgang. What are you going to do with the Rap 
Sheet? 

Im supposed to give it to The Mysterious Q. Magrit decided it wasnt safe to keep it 
herself. Ozarae is bound to retaliate, you know, and itll strike at Prygg first. The poor witch! 
It just broke her heartall those enemies shell have to pass up. Of course, the list she did 
compile will keep her busy for several years. But you know Magrit! Once a horrid harridan, 
always a horrid harridan! 

The General pursed his lips. Yes, thats probably best. If the Rap Sheet will be safe 
anywhere, itll be safe there. And The Mysterious Q can make the best use of it. 

Use it? exclaimed Hildegard. That horrid thing? 

The Generals face grew bleak. Yes, Hildegard, use it. Well be able to keep track of the 
activities of the police and the Ozarine spies. The enemy has suffered a double blow here, 
dont you see? Its not just that they wont be able to use the Rap Sheet, but that well be able 
to use it against them. And why not? It seems fitting to me. 

Hildegard shook her head. Oh, its not the justice of the matter that bothers me, General. 
Itswell, perhaps youre right. Im certain that Joe wouldnt mind. After all, he made the 
thing to keep track of the baddies. Not the baddies he originally had in mind, of course, but 
then things have turned out differently than he thought they would. 

She shook her head. Still, I dont much care for the idea. And I dont think it will really 
stop the Ozarines. 

Of course it wont stop them, replied the General gruffly. To the contrarynow that 
their favored methods of conquest are neutralized, theyll fall back on simpler methods. 
Direct military interventionstarting at Prygg, I imagine. 

Hildegard looked distressed. I had so hoped to avoid this unpleasantness, she said 
softly. 

A look of sympathy came to the Generals face, but when he spoke his voice was like iron. 
It was never possible to avoid it, Abbess. Never. And it wont just be a military intervention, 
either. The Ecclesiarchs will drop their facade of holy dispassion. Soon enough theyll bring 
out the Switchesand who knows what other relics theyve been hoarding for centuries? 

Dont forget the Godferrets! cried Wolfgang. 

I have not forgotten them, replied the General. Theyll be right in the thick of things. In 
many ways, theyll pose the greatest danger because of their magical powers. Gods Own 
Tooth is probably the worlds most powerful sorcerer. 

Wolfgang cackled. Oh, I dont think so, General! Oh no, not at all! In fact, the worlds 
greatest sorcerer is on his way here this very minute. 

The General frowned. Who is this? And why is he coming to see me? 

Well, actually, hes not coming to see you. Hes coming to see Uncle Manya. His names 
ZulkehZulkeh of Goimr, physician. 
Oh, dear, said Hildegard. 
The General looked at her sharply. Whats all this about, Hildegard? Do you know this 
Zulkeh? 

Oh, yes, General. Ive known him for years. 


The Abbess bestowed a look on Wolfgang which fairly reeked of disapproval. You had to 
go and do it, didnt you, nephew? 

Wolfgang rolled his eyes. His body began twitching. Oh! Oh! he cried. I think Im 
having one of my attacks! Oh! Oh! 

Stop it, Wolfgang! exclaimed Hildegard. Stop that this instant! I want a straight answer 
and none of your foolishness! 

The lunatic ceased twitching. He beamed at the Abbess. 

Hildegardsuch a disciplinarian! So medieval! Thats not at all the proper approach to a 
demented seizure, you know? The head psychiatrist at the asylum says 

A straight answer, I said! Now! 

Oh, all right, pouted Wolfgang. Well, yes, I did think your approach was altogether too 
placid. We argued about this years ago, if you remember. And I dont see what youre so 
upset aboutor are you still hoping you can change the Old Geisters mind? Wolfgang 
broke into a fit of howling laughter. It was always such an idiotic idea, my dear aunt! How 
can you change Gods mind? Hes omniscient, you know? 

He most certainly is not! snapped the Abbess. 

Wolfgang shook his head. Such heresy! Such outr theology! He looked at the 
rest of us. Its why they excommunicated her, you know? Cant say I blame them! What kind 
of a proper abbess goes around saying Gods got an ego problem? 

Yes, Wolfgang, we know thats why they excommunicated her, said the General 
patiently. But Im afraid Im not making much sense out of all thisand spare me the line 
about expecting sense from a lunatic! 

Wolfgang pouted. But its one of my best lines! 

The General smiled. A very wintry smile. 

Perhaps Fangwulf needs a good run. Hes been getting a little fat lately. 

Wolfgang smirked. Fangwulf wont chase me, General. Hes partial to lunatics. Uncle 
Manyas influence, that is. 

The General glared. I might mention that the glare of the worlds greatest general is a 
fearsome sight to behold. Fortunately, Wolfgang came to his senses. So to speak. 

The reason Zulkeh is coming here to see Uncle Manya, General, is because hes gotten 
thoroughly mixed up in Joe business. 

To put it mildly, interjected Hildegard. 

And as for who he is, continued Wolfgang, the fact is that hes the worlds greatest 
sorcerer. Oh, yes! Gods Own Tooth couldnt hold a candle to Zulkeh! 

Then why havent I heard of him? demanded the General. 

Well, thats because its often been noted that hes the least notable wizard of Grotum. 
Then, forestalling the Generals looming outburst: Its because hes such a goofy pedant, 
General. You know the old saying of the wise man? Wherefore profit it a man to be learned, 
if he remains stupid in his mind? 

Everybody knows that saying. 

Wolfgang grinned. What everybody doesnt know is that the wise man said it after he met 
Zulkeh. 

The General threw up his hands with frustration. Then what good is he? And whos side 
is he on? 

What good is he? exclaimed Wolfgang. General, hes the worlds greatest sorcerer! Such 
a magician! Such a thaumaturge! Why, we couldnt have stolen the Rap Sheet without him! 


The lunatic looked confused for a moment. As for whos side hes on, well, thats a bit 
difficult. Hes a reactionary, of courseall your great sorcerers are, you know. But the thing 
about Zulkeh is, that hes such a really great sorcerer that his reaction sort of gets very 
strange. Leads him to do the wildest things! 

The General shook his head. Never mind, Wolfgang. Since this Zulkeh is coming here, Ill 
get to meet him anyway. In the meantime, we have lots of other things to do. 
He turned to Gwendolyn. The warnings youve been spreading about the Rap Sheet will 
have the movement on its toes by now. 
Ill feel a little foolish when these latest developments come out, said Gwendolyn 
ruefully. 

Dont be stupid. We want the movement on the qui vive. All hells about to break loose 
bigger hell than the Rap Sheet wouldve produced, actually. But were better able to handle 
this kind of action. And with the Rap Sheet in the hands of The Mysterious Q, well have the 
best intelligence we could ask for. 

The General paused for a moment, groped for a cigar in his vest. 

Not in the house, dear, said Madame Kutumoff. The General got that unmistakable look 
on his face. Some day I should capture it on canvas: Guilt and FrustrationThe Thwarted 
Smoker. 

Sorry. Anyway, Gwendolyn, I think the first thing you should do is try to find The Roach. 
Hell be at Blain by now, I imagine. Then, youve got to step up the Railroads work 
immediately. Therell be a wave of pogroms coming, as sure as the sunrise, and theres no 
one better than you 

He stopped then, seeing Gwendolyns expression. Her face was pale. The General cast a 
quick, shrewd glance at me. 
But we can deal with all this tomorrow, he said gently. Youll want today for other 
things, I imagine. 

Gwendolyn nodded faintly. She reached out and took my hand. 

Lets go outside, Benvenuti. We need to talk. 

As we headed out the door, I heard the General speaking. Nowlunatic! I want some 
straight answers. 
Shall I take him to the kitchen, dear? asked Madame Kutumoff. Wolfgang began howling 
with fear. 
No, love, said the General. I think it best to remain within the guidelines of the rules of 
war. Very loosely interpreted, of course. 

The rest of the day was unlike any other of my life. Islands of joy, in a sea of pain. Time 
and again, I tried to find a way out of the dilemma. But Gwendolyn had a will of steel. 

We always knew this time would come, Benvenuti. It wont help to draw it out. Therell 
just be more pain. And I have to leave soon anyway. Its true, what the General said. The 
Ozarines will set Grotum on fire. My kind of fire, what I was made for. 

But 

But what? Her face was like a stone mask. 

That night was spent in a frenzy of passion. In the morning, exhausted in body and soul, I 
packed my belongings. Gwendolyn and I descended from our room to the foyer. Madame 
Kutumoff was there, holding a satchel, which she extended to me. 

Take this, Benvenuti. Rations for your trip. She made a wry face. I know the stuff tastes 


terrible, but itll keep you going. 

When we stepped through the door, we found Wolfgang waiting outside. I was surprised 
to see him. 

But why are you surprised, dear boy? He waved his arms about. You are going to New 
Sfinctr, arent you? 

I hesitated, but Gwendolyn was implacable. 

Yes, hes going. Hes not happy about itneither am Ibut its for the best. 

Of course he should go! cried Wolfgang. Youre absolutely right, Gwendolyn! Theres 
nothing for him here. Except you, of course. But youre going to be very, very busy now, 
arent you? Things are going to be getting hot in Grotum soon, oh yes! The Ozarines are 
going to be making such a fuss. 

He looked at me, grinning from ear to ear. 

So its the perfect time for you to make a splash, my boy! New Sfinctr will be a whirl! 
High society dancing on the edge of the volcano! Oh, itll be splendid! Youll be famous in no 
time! Oh, yes! Trust me! 

I opened my mouth to speak, found no words. 

And besides, added the lunatic, Im heading that way myself. So I can show you how to 
get there. 

Why are you going to New Sfinctr? asked Gwendolyn. 

Oh, Im not. Im going the opposite direction, so itll be easy for me to show Benvenuti 
where to go. The other way from me. Id love to go to New Sfinctr, mind you. Such a crazy 
place! But Ive got to get back to the asylum before they discover that I escaped. 

You escaped months ago, I said. Theyre bound to have discovered by now. 

Oh, yes, certainly. But the captain of the security guard has such a bad memory! Hes 
probably forgotten all about it. 

Madame Kutumoff laughed. Gwendolyn snorted. 

But Ive still got to get back. You never knowhe might remember any time now! And if 
he does Wolfgang shuddered. Hes a monster! A brute! Hell beat me to a pulp! The man 
has fists like hams! 

Youre the captain of the security guard, you idiot! roared Gwendolyn. 

Yes, I know! Thats whats so terrifying! I know the man well andbelieve me!hes a 
sadist! A psychopath! Ought to be locked up himself! 

He reached out a gigantic arm and took me by the shoulder. So lets be off! 

I pulled back. Wait! Im not I turned to Gwendolyn. She was in my arms in a rush. Her 
embrace was like a pythons. She gave me a quick fierce kiss, and then pushed me away. 

Go, love, she said, fighting tears. Go now. Please. 

I was unable to speak. I looked around. Madame Kutumoff seemed distressed. Wolfgang 
was watching me with a look on his face I couldnt decipher. Amusement, almost, but there 
was not a hint of malice in it. 

I tried to kiss Gwendolyn again, but she fended me off. Gently, but with that incredible 
strength. 

No, she said. Just go. 

Wolfgang took me by the arm and gently pulled me away. But after I had taken a few 
steps, I stopped and turned back. 

Wait. I have something for you, Gwendolyn. Ive been working on it for the last two days. 
Its a copy I made of a piece I found in the Mutt. I thought you would like it. 


I dug in my pack and brought out the carving. When I handed it to her, Gwendolyn gazed 
down at it and gave a little gasp. 

She looked up at me, frowning. I thought you said youd never met him. 

Met who? 

She held up the carving. Him. My brother. Thats who this is. 

I had no idea. Its just a carving I made from a piece I found in a shop. Here, Ill show 
you. I pulled forth the original. 

Butwhat would this be doing in a shop? 

Oh, those! exclaimed Madame Kutumoff. Why, those figurines are all over, Gwendolyn. 
The peasants in the Baronies started making them a year or so ago. It was after Greyboar 
well, after he disposed of the Comte de lAbattoir and his Knights Companion. Hes become 
something of a folk hero among the serfs, actually. 

Gwendolyns face grew hard. He didnt do it for them! 

Well, of course he didnt! boomed Wolfgang. He did it because some other baron paid 
him to do itstupid peasants! Just like the ignorant sods to make a hero out of the man who 
throttled the most vicious lord in creation for the wrong reason. He clucked his tongue. 
Thats the whole problem with the Groutch peasantryno understanding of psychology! 

He reached out his hand. May I see the carving? 
Gwendolyn handed it to him. Wolfgang gazed down at it for a moment, and then handed it 
back. He began shaking his head vigorously. 

Oh no! Oh no! It just wont do! Its a beautiful carving, of course. Excellent work, 
Benvenutibut Im afraid its ruined by that typical Sfondrati-Piccolomini touch. Just like 
that painting of your uncles! The marvelous suggestion of a great nobility of soul within that 
brutish exteriorpreposterous! Greyboars not like that at all! Oh no! The mans a monster, 
a fiend! A heartless killer! Why, my soul shudders when I think 

Wolfgang, shut up! roared Gwendolyn. 

The giant pouted. But, my dear, your brother is a renegade from the human race. A two-
legged beast, with the philosophy of a weasel. Youve said so yourselfmany times, in fact. I 
was just elaborating on your words. 

Gwendolyn glared at him. I never She fell silent. Well, maybe I did. She looked down 
at the carving in her hand. After a moment, her face softened and she looked up at me. 

Thank you, Benvenuti. 

Before I could say anything, Wolfgang was hustling me down the lane. 

Were off! Were off! he cried. When we reached the road, I turned back. But Gwendolyn 
was gone. 

Four days I spent, walking north from the Mutt with Wolfgang. All things considered, he 
may have been the best companion I could have had then. In his bizarre way, he made it 
impossible for me to wallow for long in my misery. 

He talked constantly, an unending stream of idiotic babble, with those odd insights 
popping up like bubbles. Of what he said, I remember nothing, except his last words. Those 
came at a crossroads at the start of Joes Hills. 

Just keep going north, Benvenuti. Its safe enough, walking through Joes Hills, as long as 
you stick to the road. And when you get to Munching, you can take the barge down the river 
to New Sfinctr. Theyre wretched barges, I warn you. But theyll get you there. 

Suddenly I was enfolded in his huge arms. When he released me, he was grinning in his 


inimitable style. Quite a fetching grin, actually, if you ignored the foam. 

Dont look so woebegone, boy! He cackled. The hearts just a muscle, you know. It 
doesnt really break, it just gets bruised. Bruises go away. Especially if the muscles healthy. 
So thats it! Just exercise your heart! 

His grin was replaced by a rare look of seriousness. I have come to cherish you, 
Benvenuti. 

The look vanished. 

I know what Ill do! Ill tell you the secret of the universe! He leaned down and 
whispered two words in my ear. A moment later, he was shambling down the road in that 
unique stride, waving his arms. 
I must be off! I heard him cry. Its my longest escape ever! Oh! Theyll be furious! 
Theyll beat me! Whip me! Oh! Oh! I cant wait! 
Three seconds later, he was out of sight around a bend. His voice lingered a few seconds 
longer. 

I made my camp that evening atop the highest hill I could find. From there, I was able to 
look south over the Mutt. The setting sun bathed the land in purple and ochre beauty. I 
found some comfort, then, knowing Gwendolyn was somewhere in that splendor. 

Two days I spent there, paralyzed. A hundred times, I started back south, only to return to 
the camp. A hundred times, I started north, only to return to the camp. 

In the end, staring out over the Mutt on the evening of the second day, I found my answer. 
A cold answer. But I took some pride in the fact that it had nothing to do with my ambitions. 

I would only be a burden to her. 

* * * 

Sometime around noon of the next day, as I walked north, I remembered Wolfgangs last 
words to me. And it was strange, that it was those words which brought the first smile to my 
lips in days. 

Two words. The secret of the universe, according to a lunatic. 

Things change. 

MAPS 



