“Fewer boasts and more money!” called Koyman. “I await your terces!”

“What of your own bet, my good stealer of ornamental gold sphincter-clasps^* from the corpses entrusted into your care?”

“An oversight: simply that and no more.”

The play proceeded. Cugel lost eleven terces, and drank two mugs of the local beer: a pungent liquid brewed from acorns, bittermoss and black sausage. Presently Cugel was able to introduce his own cards into the game, whereupon his luck changed and he quickly won thirty-eight terces, with Wagmund, Koyman and Sabtile crying out and smiting their foreheads in disbelief at the unfavorable consequences of their play.

Into the common room ambled Bunderwal. He called for beer and for a space stood watching the game, teetering up and down on his toes and smoking dried herbs in a long-stemmed clay pipe. He seemed a skillful analyst of the game, and from time to time called out his approval of good play, while chaffing the losers for their blunders. “Ah then, Koyman, why did you not play down your Double-red and sweep the field before Cugel beat you with his Green Varlets?”

Koyman snapped: “Because the last time I did so, Cugel brought out the Queen of Devils and destroyed my hopes.” Koyman rose to his feet. “I am destitute. Cugel, at least tender me a beer from your winnings.”

“With pleasure!” Cugel called the serving boy. “Beer for Koyman and also for Bunderwal!”

“Thank you.” Koyman signaled Bunderwal to his place. “You may try your luck against Cugel, who plays with uncanny skill.”

“I will try him for a terce or two. Ho boy! Bring fresh cards, and throw away these limp old rags! Some are short, some are long; some are stained; others show strange designs.”

“New cards by all means,” cried Cugel heartily. “Still I will take these old cards and use them for practice. Bunderwal, where is your bet?”

Bunderwal placed out a terce and distributed the new cards with a fluttering agility of the fingers which caused Cugel to blink.

Several sallies were played out, but luck had deserted Cugel. He relinquished his chair to another and went to stand behind Bunderwal, in order to study the manner in which Bunderwal conducted his play.

After winning ten terces, Bunderwal declared that he wanted no more gaming for the evening. He turned to Cugel. “Allow me to invest some of my winnings in a noble purpose: the ingestion of good beer. This way; I see a couple of chairs vacant by the wall. Boy! Two mugs of the best Tatterblass!”

“Right, sir!” The boy saluted and ran down into the still-room.

Bunderwal put away his pipe. “Well, Cugel: what do you think of Saskervoy?”

“It seems a pleasant community, with prospects for the earnest worker.”

“Exactly so, and in fact it is to this subject that I address myself. First, I drink to your continued prosperity.”

“I will drink to prosperity in the abstract,” said Cugel cautiously. “I have had little experience of it.”

“What? With your dexterity at Skax? My eyes are crossed from the attempt to follow your flamboyant flourishes.”

“A foolish mannerism,” said Cugel. “I must learn to play with less display.”

“It is no great matter,” said Bunderwal. “Of more importance is that employment offered by Soldinck, which already has prompted several regrettable interchanges.”

“True,” said Cugel. “Let me make a suggestion.”

“I am always open to new concepts.”

“The supercargo possibly controls other posts aboard the Galante. If you will —”

Bunderwal held up his hand. “Let us be realistic. I perceive you to be a man of decision. Let us put our case to the test here and now, and let Mandingo determine who applies for the position and who stands aloof.”

Cugel brought out his cards. “Will you play Skax or Zampolio?”

“Neither,” said Bunderwal. “We must settle upon a test where the outcome is not fore-ordained … Notice the glass yonder, where Krasnark the landlord keeps his sphigales.” Bunderwal indicated a glass-sided box. Within resided a number of crustaceans, which, when broiled, were considered a notable delicacy. The typical sphigale measured eight inches in length, with a pair of powerful pincer-claws and a whip-tail sting.

“These creatures show different temperaments,” said Bunderwal. “Some are fast, some slow. Choose one and I will choose another. We will set our racers upon the floor and the first to reach the opposite wall wins the test.”

Cugel studied the sphigales. “They are mettlesome beasts, no question as to this.” One of the sphigales, a creature striped red, yellow and an unpleasant chalk-blue, caught his eye. “Very well; I have selected my racer.”

“Extract him with the tongs, but take care! They use both pincers and sting with a will.”

Working discreetly so as to avoid attention, Cugel seized his racer with the tongs and placed it on the line; Bunderwal did likewise.

Bunderwal addressed his beast: “Good sphigale, run your best; my future hangs on your speed! At the ready! Take position! Go!”

Both men lifted their tongs and discreetly departed the vicinity of the tank. The sphigales ran out across the floor. Bunderwal’s racer, noticing the open doorway, turned aside and fled into the night. Cugel’s sphigale took refuge in the boot removed by Wagmund that he might warm his feet at the fire.

“I declare both contestants disqualified,” said Bunderwal. “We must test our destiny by other means.”

Cugel and Bunderwal resumed their seats. After a moment Bunderwal conceived a new scheme. “The still-room is beyond this wall and half a level lower. To avoid collisions, the serving-boys descend by the steps on the right, and come up with their trays by the steps to the left. Each passageway is closed outside of working hours by one of those heavy sliding shutters. As you will observe, the shutters are held up by a chain. Notice further. This chain here to hand controls the shutter to the stairs on the left, up which the serving boys come with their beer and other orders. Thirdly, each of the serving boys wears a round pill-box cap, to keep his hair out of the food. The game we play is this. Each man in turn adjusts the chain, and he is obliged to lower the shutter by one or more links. At length one of the boys will brush off his cap on the bottom bar of the shutter. When this occurs the man last to touch the chain loses the wager and must relinquish all claim to the post of supercargo.”

Cugel considered the chain, the shutter which slid up and down to close off the passageway, and appraised the serving boys.

“The boys vary somewhat in height,” Bunderwal pointed out, “with perhaps three inches separating the shortest from the most tall. On the other hand, I believe that the tallest boy is inclined to hunch down his head. It makes for an intricate strategy.”

Cugel said: “I must stipulate that neither of us may signal, call or cause distractions calculated to upset the pure logic of the game.”

“Agreed!” said Bunderwal. “We must play the game like gentlemen. Further, to avoid spurious tactics of delay, let us stipulate that the move must be made before the second boy emerges. For instance, you have lowered the shutter and I have calculated that the tallest boy is next to emerge. I may, or may not, as I choose, wait until one boy has emerged, but then I must slip my chain before the second boy appears.”

“A wise regulation, to which I agree. Do you care to go first?”

Bunderwal disclaimed the privilege. “You, in a sense, are our guest here in Saskervoy, and you shall have the honor of the first play.”

“Thank you.” Cugel lifted the chain from its peg and lowered the shutter by two links. “It is now your turn, Bunderwal. You may wait until one boy has emerged, if you choose, and indeed I will expedite the process by ordering more beer for ourselves.”

“Good. Now, I must bend my keenest faculties to the game. I see that one must develop an exquisite sense of timing. I hereby lower the chain two links.”

Cugel waited and the tall boy emerged carrying a tray loaded with four pitchers of beer. By Cugel’s estimate, he avoided the shutter by a gap equivalent to thirteen links of the chain. Cugel at once let slip four links.

“Aha!” said Bunderwal. “You play with a flair! I will show that I am no less dashing than you! Another four links!”

Cugel appraised the shutter under narrow lids. A slippage of six more links should strike off the tall boy’s cap with smartness and authority. If the boys served regularly in turn, the tall boy should be emerging third in line. Cugel waited until the next boy, of medium stature, passed through, then lowered the chain five full links.

Bunderwal sucked in his breath, then gave a chirrup of triumph. “Clever thinking, Cugel! But now quickly, I lower the chain another two links. So I will avoid the short boy, who even now mounts the stairs.”

The short boy passed below with a link or two to spare, and Cugel must now move or forfeit the game. Glumly he let go another link from the chain, and now up from the still-room came the tallest boy. As luck would have it, while mounting the stairs he bobbed his head in order to wipe his nose on his sleeve and so passed under the shutter with cap still in place, and it was Cugel’s turn to chortle in triumph. “Move, Bunderwal, if you will, unless you wish to concede.”

Bunderwal disconsolately let slip a link in the chain. “Now I can only pray for a miracle.”

Up the steps came Krasnark the landlord: a heavy-featured man taller than the tall boy, with massive arms and lowering black eyebrows. He carried a tray loaded with a tureen of soup, a brace of roast fowl and a great hemisphere of sour-wabble pudding. His head struck the bar; he fell over backward and disappeared from view. From the still-room came the crash of broken crockery and almost at once a great outcry.