“Yes, that is a ‘Malar Astrangal’, which fits over the elbow part of the third arm. It is an exceedingly fine specimen. Where are the others, which, so I understand, are numbered in the hundreds?”

Cugel looked at him in amazement. “Where have you heard such an extraordinary fantasy?”

“That is a matter of no consequence! Show me the scales or I must ask Gark and Gookin to find them!”

“Do so, by all means,” said Cugel with dignity. “But first let me protect my property.” He placed the six ‘ordinaries’ and the ‘Malar Astrangal’ in his pouch. At this moment, Gark, hopping up on the bench, gave a rasping croak of triumph and pulled down the sack Cugel had so recently placed there. “This is the sack! It is heavy with scales!”

Twango poured out the contents of the sack. “A few minutes ago,” said Cugel, “I looked through this sack for a clevis to fit upon the carrier. Gark perhaps mistook these objects for scales.” Cugel went to the door. “I will leave you to your search.”

The time was now approaching the hour when Yelleg and Malser ordinarily took their tea. Cugel looked into the shed, but the fire was dead and the divers were nowhere to be seen.

Good enough, thought Cugel. Now was the time to remove from his grave those scales originally filched by Weamish.

He went to the back of the garden, where, in the shade of the myrhadion tree he had buried Weamish and dug his own grave.

No unwelcome observers were in evidence. Cugel started to jump down into his grave, but stopped short, deterred by the sight of four broken and empty cases at the bottom of the hole.

Cugel returned to the manse and went to the refectory where he found Bilberd the gardener.

“I am looking for Yelleg and Malser,” said Cugel. “Have you seen them recently?”

Bilberd simpered and blinked. “Indeed I have, about two hours ago, when they departed for Saskervoy. They said that they were done diving for scales.”

“That is a surprise,” said Cugel through a constricted throat.

“True,” said Bilberd. “Still, one must make an occasional change, otherwise he risks stagnation. I have gardened at Flutic for twenty-three years and I am starting to lose interest in the job. It is time that I myself considered a new career, perhaps in fashion design, despite the financial risks.”

“An excellent idea!” said Cugel. “Were I a wealthy man, I would instantly advance to you the necessary capital!”

“I appreciate the offer!” said Bilberd warmly. “You are a generous man, Cugel!”

The gong sounded, signaling visitors. Cugel started to respond, then settled once more into his seat: let Gark or Gookin or Twango himself answer the door.

The gong sounded, again and again, and finally Cugel, from sheer vexation, went to answer the summons.

At the door stood Soldinck, with Rincz and Jornulk. Soldinck’s face was grim. “Where is Twango? I wish to see him at once.”

“It might be better if you returned tomorrow,” said Cugel. “Twango is taking his afternoon rest.”

“No matter! Rouse him out, in double-quick time! The matter is urgent!”

“I doubt if he will wish to see you today. He tells me that his fatigue is extreme.”

“What?” roared Soldinck. “He should be dancing for joy! After all, he took my good terces and gave me cases of dried mud in exchange!”

“Impossible,” said Cugel. “The precautions were exact.”

“Your theories are of no interest to me,” declared Soldinck. “Take me to Twango at once!”

“He is unavailable for any but important matters. I wish you a cordial good-day.” Cugel started to close the door, but Soldinck set up an outcry, and now Twango himself appeared on the scene. He asked: “What is the reason for this savage uproar? Cugel, you know how sensitive I am to noise!”

“Just so,” said Cugel, “but Master Soldinck seems intent upon a demonstration.”

Twango turned to Soldinck. “What is the difficulty? We have finished our business for the day.”

Cugel did not await Soldinck’s reply. As Bilberd had remarked, the time had come for a change. He had lost a goodly number of scales to the dishonesty of Yelleg and Malser, but as many more awaited him in Bilberd’s hut, with which he must be content.

Cugel hastened through the manse. He looked into the refectory, where Gark and Gookin worked at the preparation of the evening meal.

Very good, thought Cugel, in fact, excellent! Now he need only avoid Bilberd, take the sack of scales and be away … He went out into the garden, but Bilberd was not at his work.

Cugel went to Bilberd’s hut and put his head through the door. “Bilberd?”

There was no response. A shaft of red light slanting through the door illuminated Bilberd’s pallet in full detail. By the diffused light, Cugel saw that the hut was empty.

Cugel glanced over his shoulder, entered the hut and went to the corner where he had hidden the sack.

The rubbish had been disarranged. The sack was gone.

From the manse came the sound of voices. Twango called: “Cugel! Where are you? Come at once!”

Quick and silent as a wraith, Cugel slipped from Bilberd’s hut and took cover in a nearby juniper copse. Sidling from shadow to shadow, he circled the manse and came out upon the road. He looked right and left, then, discovering no threat, set off on long loping strides to the west. Through the forest and over the hill marched Cugel, and presently arrived at Saskervoy.

Some days later, while strolling the esplanade, Cugel chanced to approach that ancient tavern known as ‘The Iron Cockatrice’. As he drew near, the door opened and two men lurched into the street: one massive, with yellow curls and a heavy jaw; the other lean, with gaunt cheeks, black hair and a hooked nose. Both wore costly garments, with double-tiered hats, red satin sashes and boots of fine leather.

Cugel, looking once, then a second time, recognized Yelleg and Malser. Each had enjoyed at least a bottle of wine and possibly two. Yelleg sang a ballad of the sea and Malser sang “Tirra la lirra, we are off to the land where the daisies grow!” in refrain. Preoccupied with the exact rhythm of their music, they brushed past Cugel, looking neither right nor left, and went off along the esplanade toward another tavern, ‘The Star of the North’.

Cugel started to follow, then jumped back at the rumble of approaching wheels. A fine carriage, drawn by a pair of high-stepping perchers, swerved in front of him and rolled off along the esplanade. The driver wore a black velvet suit with silver epaulettes, and a large hat with a curling black plume; beside him sat a buxom lady in an orange gown. Only with difficulty could Cugel identify the driver as Bilberd, former gardener at Flutic. Cugel muttered sourly under his breath: “Bilberd’s new career, which I generously offered to finance, has cost me rather more than I expected.”

Early the next morning Cugel left Saskervoy by the east road. He crossed over the hills and came down upon Shanglestone Strand.

Nearby, the eccentric towers of Flutic rose into the morning sunlight, sharp against the northern murk.

Cugel approached the manse by a devious route, keeping to the cover of shrubs and hedges, pausing often to listen. He heard nothing; a desolate mood hung in the air.

Cautiously Cugel circled the manse. The pond came into view. Out in the middle Twango sat in the iron scow, shoulders hunched and neck pulled down. As Cugel watched, Twango hauled in a rope; up from the depths came Gark with a small bucket of slime, which Twango emptied into the tub.

Twango returned the bucket to Gark who made a chattering sound and dived again into the depths. Twango pulled on a second rope to bring up Gookin with another bucket.

Cugel retreated to the dark blue mitre-bush. He dug down and, using a folded cloth to protect his hand, retrieved the ‘Pectoral Skybreak Spatterlight’.

Cugel went to take a final survey of the pond. The tub was full. Gark and Gookin, two small figures caked with slime, sat at either end of the scow, while Twango heaved at the overhead rope. Cugel watched a moment, then turned and went his way back to Saskervoy.

2