Captain Wiskich looked at Cugel in drunken wonder. “Almery? Why should anyone sail to Almery? First one mires his ship in a morass of foul-smelling weeds a hundred miles across. The weeds grow over the ship and multitudes of insects crawl aboard. Beyond is the Gulf of Swirls, then the Serene Sea, now bedeviled by pirates of the Jhardine Coast. Then, unless one detours far west around the Isles of Cloud, he must pass through the Seleune and a whole carnival of dangers.”

Cugel became outraged. “Am I to understand that you are not sailing south to Almery?”

Captain Wiskich slapped his chest with a huge red hand. “I am a Dilk and know nothing of fear. Still, when Death enters the room by the door, I leave through the window. My ship will sail a placid course to Latticut, thence to Al Halambar, thence to Witches Nose and The Three Sisters, and so back to Port Perdusz. If you wish to make the passage, pay me your fare and find a hammock in the hold.”

“I have already bought my ticket!” stormed Cugel. “For the passage south to Almery, by way of Mahaze!”

“That pest-hole? Never. Let me see your ticket.”

Cugel presented that document afforded him by the purported ticket-agent. Captain Wiskich looked at it first from one angle, then another. “I know nothing of this. I cannot even read it. Can you?”

“That is inconsequential. You must take me to Almery or return my money, to the sum of forty-five terces.”

Captain Wiskich shook his head in wonder. “Port Perdusz is full of touts and swindlers; still, yours is a most imaginative and original scheme! But it falls short. Get off my ship at once.”

“Not until you pay me my forty-five terces!” And Cugel laid his hand suggestively on the pommel of his sword.

Captain Wiskich seized Cugel by the collar and seat of the trousers, frog-marched him along the deck, and heaved him down the gang-plank. “Don’t come back aboard; I am a busy man. Ahoy, dray-master! You still must bring me another load! I am in haste to make sail!”

“All in good time. I still must despatch a load to Varmous for his caravan. Now pay me for the present consignment; that is how I do business, on a cash basis only.”

“Then bring up your invoice and we will check off the items.”

“That is not necessary. The items are all on board.”

“The items are on board when I say they are on board. You will take none of my terces until that moment.”

“You only delay your last consignment, and I have Varmous’ delivery to make.”

“Then I will make my own tally and pay by this reckoning.”

“Never!” Grumbling for the delay, the dray-master went aboard the Avventura.

Cugel went across the wharf and accosted a porter. “A moment of your time, if you please! This afternoon I had dealings with a small fat man in a dark uniform. Where can I find him at this moment?”

“You would seem to speak of poor old Master Sabbas, whose case is tragic. At one time he owned and managed the draying business. But he went senile and now he calls himself ‘Sab the Swindler’ to everyone’s amusement. That is his son Master Yoder aboard the Avventura with Captain Wiskich. If you were foolish enough to give him your terces, you must now think of the act as a kindly charity, for you have brightened the day of poor feeble-minded old Master Sabbas.”

“Perhaps so, but I gave over the terces in jest, and now I want them back.”

The porter shook his head. “They are gone with the moons of ancient Earth.”

“But surely Master Yoder reimburses the victims of his father’s delusions!”

The porter merely laughed and went off about his duties.

Yoder presently descended the gang-plank. Cugel stepped forward. “Sir, I must complain of your father’s actions. He sold me passage for a fictitious voyage aboard the Avventura and now —”

“Aboard the Avventura, you say?” asked Yoder.

“Precisely so, and therefore —”

“In that case, Captain Wiskich is your man!” So saying, Yoder went off about his business.

Cugel glumly walked back to the central plaza. In a yard beside the inn Varmous prepared his caravan for its journey. Cugel noticed three carriages, each seating a dozen passengers, and four wagons loaded with cargo, equipment and supplies. Varmous was immediately evident: a large man, bulky of shoulder, arm, leg and thigh, with ringlets of yellow hair, mild blue eyes and an expression of earnest determination.

Cugel watched Varmous for a few moments, then stepped forward and introduced himself. “Sir, I am Cugel. You would seem to be Varmous, director of the caravan.”

“That is correct, sir.”

“When, may I ask, does your caravan leave Port Perdusz?”

“Tomorrow, in the event that I receive all my stores from the indolent dray-master.”

“May I ask your itinerary?”

“Certainly. Our destination is Torqual, where we will arrive in time for the Festival of Ennoblements. We travel by way of Kaspara Vitatus, which is a junction point for travel in several directions. However, I am obliged to notify you that our roster is complete. We can accept no more applications for travel.”

“Perhaps you wish to employ another driver, or attendant, or guard?”

“I have ample personnel,” said Varmous. “Still, I thank you for your interest.”

Cugel disconsolately entered the inn, which, so he found, had been converted from a theater. The stage now served as a first-class dining hall for persons of fastidious taste, while the pit served as a common room. Sleeping chambers had been built along the balcony and sojourners could overlook both the first-class dining hall and the common room below merely by glancing from their doors.

Cugel presented himself to the office beside the entrance, where a stout woman sat behind a wicket.

“I have just arrived in town,” said Cugel in a formal voice. “Important business will occupy me for the better part of a week. I will require food and lodging of excellent quality for the duration of my visit.”

“Very good, sir! We will be happy to oblige. Your name?”

“I am Cugel.”

“You may now pay over a deposit of fifty terces against charges.”

Cugel spoke stiffly: “I prefer to pay at the end of my visit, when I can examine the bill in detail.”

“Sir, this is our invariable rule. You would be astonished to learn of the scurrilous vagabonds who try every conceivable trick upon us.”

“Then I must go find my servant, who carries the money.”

Cugel departed the inn. Thinking that by chance he might come upon Master Sabbas, Cugel returned to the wharves.

The sun had set; Port Perdusz was bathed in wine-colored gloom. Activity had diminished somewhat, but drays still carried goods here and there among the warehouses.

Sab the Swindler was nowhere to be seen, but Cugel had already put him aside in favor of a new and more positive concept. He went to that warehouse where Yoder stored his victuals and stood waiting in the shadows.

From the warehouse came a dray driven not by Yoder but by a man with a ruff of ginger-colored hair and long bristling mustaches with waxed points. He was a person of style who wore a wide-brimmed hat with a tall green plume, double-toed boots and a mauve knee-length coat embroidered with yellow birds. Cugel removed his own hat, the most notable element of his costume, and tucked it into his waist-band.

As soon as the dray had moved a few yards along the wharf Cugel ran forward and accosted the driver. He spoke briskly: “Is this last load for the Avventura? If so, Captain Wiskich does not appreciate so much unnecessary delay.”