Shanglestone Strand to Saskervoy
1
Flutic
Iucounu (known across Almery as ‘the Laughing Magician’) had worked one of his most mordant jokes upon Cugel. For the second time Cugel had been snatched up, carried north across the Ocean of Sighs, dropped upon that melancholy beach known as Shanglestone Strand.
Rising to his feet, Cugel brushed sand from his cloak and adjusted his hat. He stood not twenty yards from that spot upon which he had been dropped before, also at the behest of Iucounu. He carried no sword and his pouch contained no terces.
The solitude was absolute. No sound could be heard but the sigh of the wind along the dunes. Far to the east a dim headland thrust into the water, as did another, equally remote, to the west. To the south spread the sea, empty except for the reflection of the old red sun.
Cugel’s frozen faculties began to thaw, and a whole set of emotions, one after the other, made themselves felt, with fury taking precedence over all.
Iucounu would now be enjoying his joke to the fullest. Cugel raised his fist high and shook it toward the south. “Iucounu, at last you have exceeded yourself! This time you will pay the price! I, Cugel, appoint myself your nemesis!”
For a period Cugel strode back and forth, shouting and cursing: a person long of arm and leg, with lank black hair, gaunt cheeks, and a crooked mouth of great flexibility. The time was middle afternoon, and the sun, already half-way into the west, tottered down the sky like a sick animal. Cugel, who was nothing if not practical, decided to postpone the remainder of his tirade; more urgent was lodging for the night. Cugel called down a final curse of pulsing carbuncles upon Iucounu, then, picking his way across the shingle, he climbed to the crest of a dune and looked in all directions.
To the north a succession of marshes and huddles of black larch straggled away into the murk.
To the east Cugel gave only a cursory glance. Here were the villages Smolod and Grodz, and memories were long in the Land of Cutz.
To the south, languid and listless, the ocean extended to the horizon and beyond.
To the west, the shore stretched far to meet a line of low hills which, thrusting into the sea, became a headland … A red glitter flashed across the distance, and Cugel’s attention was instantly attracted.
Such a red sparkle could only signify sunlight reflecting from glass!
Cugel marked the position of the glitter, which faded from view as the sunlight shifted. He slid down the face of the dune and set off at best speed along the beach.
The sun dropped behind the headland; gray-lavender gloom fell across the beach. An arm of that vast forest known as the Great Erm edged down from the north, suggesting a number of eery possibilities, and Cugel accelerated his pace to a striding bent-kneed lope.
The hills loomed black against the sky, but no sign of habitation appeared. Cugel’s spirits sagged low. He proceeded more slowly, searching the landscape with care, and at last, to his great satisfaction, he came upon a large and elaborate manse of archaic design, shrouded behind the trees of an untidy garden. The lower windows glowed with amber light: a cheerful sight for the benighted wanderer.
Cugel turned briskly aside and approached the manse, putting by his usual precautions of surveillance and perhaps peering through the windows, especially in view of two white shapes at the edge of the forest which quietly moved back into the shadows as he turned to stare.
Cugel marched to the door and tugged smartly at the bell-chain. From within came the sound of a far gong.
A moment passed. Cugel looked nervously over his shoulder, and again pulled at the chain. Finally he heard slow steps approaching from within.
The door opened and a pinch-faced old man, thin, pale, and stoop-shouldered, looked through the crack.
Cugel used the suave tones of gentility. “Good evening! What is this handsome old place, may I ask?”
The old man responded without cordiality: “Sir, this is Flutic, where Master Twango keeps residence. What is your business?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” said Cugel airily. “I am a traveler, and I seem to have lost my way. I will therefore trespass upon Master Twango’s hospitality for the night, if I may.”
“Quite impossible. From which direction do you come?”
“From the east.”
“Then continue along the road, through the forest and over the hill, to Saskervoy. You will find lodging to meet your needs at the Inn of Blue Lamps.”
“It is too far, and in any event robbers have stolen my money.”
“You will find small comfort here; Master Twango gives short shrift to indigents.” The old man started to close the door, but Cugel put his foot into the aperture.
“Wait! I noticed two white shapes at the edge of the forest, and I dare go no farther tonight!”
“In this regard, I can advise you,” said the old man. “The creatures are probably rostgoblers, or ‘hyperborean sloths’, if you prefer the term. Return to the beach and wade ten feet into the water; you will be safe from their lust. Then tomorrow you may proceed to Saskervoy.”
The door closed. Cugel looked anxiously over his shoulder. At the entrance to the garden, where heavy yews flanked the walk, he glimpsed a pair of still white forms. Cugel turned back to the door and jerked hard at the bell-chain.
Slow steps padded across the floor, and once again the door opened. The old man looked out. “Sir?”
“The ghouls are now in the garden! They block the way to the beach!”
The old man opened his mouth to speak, then blinked as a new concept entered his mind. He tilted his head and spoke craftily: “You have no funds?”
“I carry not so much as a groat.”
“Well then; are you disposed toward employment?”
“Certainly, if I survive the night!”
“In that case, you are in luck! Master Twango can offer employment to a willing worker.” The old man threw open the door and Cugel gratefully entered the manse.
With an almost exuberant flourish the old man closed the door. “Come, I will take you to Master Twango, and you can discuss the particulars of your employment. How do you choose to be announced?”
