“None are necessary. There is adequate seclusion, and garments diminish the effect of the waters.”

“Yes, that seems reasonable.”

Cugel assisted Madame Soldinck into the carriage, then climbed into the driver’s seat. He thrust down the accelerator pedal and the carriage rolled off across the plaza.

Cugel followed the road up the mountainside. Pompodouros fell below, then disappeared among the stony hills. Thick black sedge to either side gave off a sharp aromatic odor and it became clear to Cugel where the folk of the island derived the raw material for their beer.

The road at last turned off into a dreary little meadow. Cugel halted the carriage to rest the drogger. Madame Soldinck called out in a reedy voice: “Are we almost to the fountain? Where is the temple which shelters the baths?”

“There is still some distance to go,” said Cugel.

“Truly? Fuscule, you should have provided a more comfortable carriage. This vehicle bounces and jounces as if I were riding a board being dragged over the rocks, nor is there protection from the dust.”

Swinging around in his seat, Cugel spoke severely: “Madame Soldinck, please put aside your complaints, as they grate on the nerves. In fact, there is more to be said, and I will use the even-handed candour of a worminger. For all your estimable qualities, you have been spoiled and pampered by too much luxury, and, of course, over-eating. You are living a decadent dream! In reference to the carriage: enjoy the comfort while it is available to you, since, when the way becomes steep, you will be obliged to walk.”

Madame Soldinck stared up speechless.

“Furthermore, this is the place where I customarily collect my fee,” said Cugel. “How much money do you carry on your person?”

Madame Soldinck at last found her tongue. She spoke icily: “Surely you can wait until we return to Pompodouros. Master Soldinck will deal justly with you at the proper time.”

“I prefer hard terces now to justice then. Here I can maximize my fee. In Pompodouros I must compromise with Soldinck’s avarice.”

“That is a callous point of view.”

“It is the voice of classical logic, as we are taught at wormingers’ school. You may pay over at least forty-five terces.”

“Absurd! I carry no such sum on my person!”

“Then you may give me that fine opal you wear at your shoulder.”

“Never! That is a valuable gem! Here is eighteen terces; it is all I have with me. Now take me at once to the baths and without further insolence.”

“You are starting out on the wrong foot, Madame Soldinck! I plan to sign upon the Galante as worminger, no matter what the inconvenience to Cugel. He can be marooned here forever, for all I care. In any case you will be seeing much of me, and cordiality will be returned in kind, and you may also introduce me to your toothsome daughters.”

Again Madame Soldinck found herself at a loss for words. Finally she said: “Take me to the baths.”

“It is time to proceed,” said Cugel. “I suspect that the drogger, if consulted, would claim already to have expended eighteen terces worth of effort. On Lausicaa we are not grossly overweight like you outlanders.”

Madame Soldinck said with flinty control: “Your remarks, Fuscule, are extraordinary.”

“Save your breath, as you may need it when the drogger begins to flag.”

Once again Madame Soldinck sat silent.

The hillside indeed became more steep and the road traversed back and forth until, breasting a little ridge, it dipped into a glade shaded under yellow-green gingerberry trees, and a single tall lancelade, with a glossy dark red trunk and feathery black foliage, standing like a king.

Cugel halted the carriage beside a stream which trickled across the glade. “Here we are, Madame Soldinck. You may bathe in the water and I will take note of the results.”

Madame Soldinck surveyed the stream without enthusiasm. “Can this be the site of the baths? Where is the temple? And the fallen statue? Where is Cosmei’s bower?”

“The baths proper are farther up the mountain,” said Cugel in a languid voice. “This is the identical water, which in any event works to small effect, especially in exaggerated cases.”

Madame Soldinck grew red in the face. “You may drive me down the hill at once. Master Soldinck will make other arrangements for me.”

“As you like. However, I will take my gratuity now, if you please.”

“You may refer to Master Soldinck for your gratuity. I am sure that he will have something to say to you.”

Cugel turned the carriage about and started back down-hill, saying: “Never will I understand the ways of women.”

Madame Soldinck sat in frigid silence and in due course the carriage came down into Pompodouros. Cugel took Madame Soldinck to the Galante; without a backward glance she stalked up the gangplank.

Cugel returned the carriage to the rank, then entered the club-house and seated himself in an inconspicuous booth. He rearranged his veil, draping it from inside the brim of his hat, that he might no longer be mistaken for Fuscule.

An hour passed. Captain Baunt and Chief Worminger Drofo, having completed various errands, strolled across the plaza to stand in conversation in front of the club-house, where they were presently joined by Pulk.

“And where is Soldinck?” asked Pulk. “Surely by now he has consumed all the spraling good for him.”

“So I would think,” said Captain Baunt. “He could hardly have come to any mishap.”

“Not with Fuscule in charge,” said Pulk. “No doubt they are standing by the pen, discussing Fuscule’s worm.”

Captain Baunt pointed up the hill. “Here comes Soldinck now! He seems in a bad way, as if he can hardly put one foot in front of another!”

Hunched forward and walking with exaggerated care, Soldinck crossed the plaza by an indirect route and at last joined the group in front of the club-house. Captain Baunt stepped forward to meet him. “Are you well? Has something gone wrong?”

Soldinck spoke in a voice thin and husky: “I have had an awful experience.”

“What happened? At least you are alive!”

“Only barely. These last few hours will haunt me forever. I blame Fuscule, in all respects. I name him a demon of perversity! I bought his worm; at least that is ours. Drofo, go fetch it to the ship; we will leave this sink-hole at once.”

Pulk put a tentative question: “Will Fuscule still be our worminger?”

“Ha!” declared Soldinck savagely. “He will not tend worms on my ship! Cugel commands the position.”

Madame Soldinck, having observed Soldinck as he crossed the plaza, could restrain her rage no longer. She descended to the dock and approached the club-house. As soon as she came within ear-shot of Soldinck she cried out: “So there you are at last! Where were you while I was suffering insolence and ridicule at the hands of that vicious Fuscule? The instant he puts his foot aboard our ship I leave! Compared to Fuscule, Cugel is a blessed angel of light! Cugel must remain the worminger!”

“That, my dear, is exactly my own opinion.”

Pulk tried to insert a soothing word. “I cannot believe that Fuscule would act other than correctly! Surely there has been a mistake or a misunderstanding of some sort —”

“A misunderstanding, when he demanded forty-five terces and took eighteen only because I had no more; and wanted my precious opal in the bargain, then visited upon me ignominies I cannot bear to think upon? And he boasted, if you can believe it, of how he intended to worm aboard the Galante! That will never be, if I myself must stand guard at the gang-plank!”

Captain Baunt said: “The decision is definite in this regard. Fuscule must be a madman!”

“A madman or worse! It is hard to describe the scope of his evil! And yet, all the while, I sensed familiarity, as if somewhere, in a previous existence, or a nightmare, I had known him!”