Cugel left his branches of brittlebush and his burning torch on the dirt floor and went to gather more fuel. In the plum-colored afterglow he collected four armloads of branches and brought them to the tree-tower; during the final load he heard at frighteningly close hand the melancholy call of a visp.
Cugel hurriedly returned to the tree-tower. Once again the residents issued furious protests, and strident screams echoed back and forth across the sink-hole.
“Vermin, settle down!” called Cugel. “I am about to take my rest.”
His commands went unheeded. Cugel brought his torch from the work-room and flourished it in all directions. The tumult instantly died.
Cugel returned into the work-room and blocked the door with the limestone slab, which he propped into place with a pole. He laid his fire so that it would burn slowly, one brand at a time. Wrapping himself in his cloak, he composed himself to sleep.
During the night he awoke at intervals to tend his fire, to listen and to peer through a crack out across the sinkhole, but all was quiet save for the calls of wandering visps.
In the morning Cugel aroused himself with the coming of sunlight. Through cracks he scrutinized the area outside the tree-tower, but nothing seemed amiss, and no sound could be heard.
Cugel pursed his lips in dubious reflection. He would have been reassured by some more or less overt demonstration of hostility. The quiet was over-innocent.
Cugel asked himself: “How, in similar case, would I punish an interloper as bold as myself?”
And next: “Why risk fire or sword?”
Then: “I would plan a horrid surprise.”
Finally: “Logic leads to the concept of a snare. So then: let us see what there is to be seen.” Cugel removed the limestone slab from the door. All was quiet: even more quiet than before. The entire sink-hole held its breath. Cugel studied the ground before the tree-tower. He looked right and left, to discover cords dangling from the branches of the tree. The ground before the door had been sprinkled with a suspicious amount of soil, which failed to conceal altogether the outlines of a net.
Cugel picked up the limestone slab and thrust it at the back wall. The planks, secured with pegs and withes, broke loose; Cugel jumped through the hole and was away, with cries of outrage and disappointment ringing after him.
Cugel continued to march south, toward far hills which showed as shadows behind the haze. At noon he came upon an abandoned farmstead beside a small river, where he gratefully sated his thirst. In an old orchard he found an ancient crab-apple tree heavy with fruit. He ate to satiation and filled his pouch.
As Cugel set off on his way he noticed a stone tablet with a weathered inscription:
EVIL DEEDS WERE DONE AT THIS PLACE
MAY FAUCELME KNOW PAIN UNTIL THE SUN GOES OUT
AND AFTER
A cold draught seemed to touch the back of Cugel’s neck, and he looked uneasily over his shoulder. “Here is a place to be avoided,” he told himself, and set off at full stride of his long legs.
An hour later Cugel passed beside a forest where he discovered a small octagonal chapel with the roof collapsed. Cugel cautiously peered within, to find the air heavy with the reek of visp. As he backed away, a bronze plaque, green with the corrosion of centuries, caught his eye. The characters read:
MAY THE GODS OF GNIENNE WORK BESIDE
THE DEVILS OF GNARRE TO WARD US
FROM THE FURY OF FAUCELME
Cugel suspired a quiet breath, and backed away from the chapel. Both past and present oppressed the region; with the utmost relief would Cugel arrive at Port Perdusz!
Cugel set off to the south at a pace even faster than before.
As the afternoon waned, the land began to swell in hillocks and swales: precursors to the first rise of the hills which now bulked high to the south. Trees straggled down from the upper-level forests: mylax with black bark and broad pink leaves; barrel-cypress, dense and impenetrable; pale gray parments, dangling strings of spherical black nuts; graveyard oak, thick and gnarled with crooked sprawling branches.
As on the previous evening, Cugel saw the day grow old with foreboding. As the sun dropped upon the far hills he broke out into a road running roughly parallel to the hills, which presumably must connect by one means or another with Port Perdusz.
Stepping out upon the road, Cugel looked right and left, and to his great interest saw a farmer’s wain halted about half a mile to the east, with three men standing by the back end.
To avoid projecting an impression of urgency, Cugel composed his stride to an easy saunter, in the manner of a casual traveler, but at the wain no one seemed either to notice or to care.
As Cugel drew near, he saw that the wain, which was drawn by four mermelants, had suffered a breakdown at one of its tall rear wheels. The mermelants feigned disinterest in the matter and averted their eyes from the three farmers whom the mermelants liked to consider their servants. The wain was loaded high with faggots from the forest, and at each corner thrust high a three-pronged harpoon intended as a deterrent to the sudden swoop of a pelgrane.
As Cugel approached, the farmers, who seemed to be brothers, glanced over their shoulders, then returned unsmilingly to their contemplation of the broken wheel.
Cugel strolled up to the wagon. The farmers watched him sidelong, with such disinterest that Cugel’s affability congealed on his face.
Cugel cleared his throat. “What seems to be wrong with your wheel?”
The oldest of the brothers responded in a series of surly grunts: “Nothing ‘seems’ to be wrong with the wheel. Do you take us for fools? Something is definitely and factually wrong. The retainer ring has been lost; the bearings have dropped out. It is a serious matter, so go your way and do not disturb our thinking.”
Cugel held up a finger in arch reproach. “One should never be too cock-sure! Perhaps I can help you.”
“Bah! What do you know of such things?”
The second brother said: “Where did you get that odd hat?”
The youngest of the three attempted a thrust of heavy humor. “If you can carry the load on the axle while we roll the wheel, then you can be of help. Otherwise, be off with you.”
“You may joke, but perhaps I can indeed do something along these lines,” said Cugel. He appraised the wain, which weighed far less than one of Nisbet’s columns. His boots had been anointed with ossip wax and all was in order. He stepped forward and gave the wheel a kick. “You will now discover both wheel and wagon to be weightless. Lift, and discover for yourselves.”
