Ermaulde indignantly marched around the fire, to stand looking down at Ivanello. In a brittle voice she said: “Clissum is about to chant one of his odes. I suggest that you put aside your lute and listen.”
“I will do so with pleasure,” said Ivanello.
Ermaulde turned and marched back the way she had come. The three mimes jumped to their feet and strutted behind her, cheeks puffed out, elbows outspread, bellies thrust forward and knees jerking high. Ermaulde, becoming aware of the activity, turned, and the mimes capered away, to dance for five seconds with furious energy, like maenads, before they once again flung themselves down beside Ivanello.
Ermaulde, smiling a fixed smile, went off to converse with Clissum, and both sent scathing glances toward Ivanello, who, putting aside his lute, now gave free rein to his fondling of the mimes. Far from resenting his touch, they pressed ever more closely upon him. Ivanello bent his head and kissed Rlys full on the mouth; instantly both Sush and Skasja thrust forward their faces for like treatment.
Cugel gave a croak of disgust. “The man is insufferable!”
Doctor Lalanke shook his head. “Candidly, I am surprised by their complaisance. They have never allowed me to touch them. Ah well, I see that Varmous has become restless; the evening draws to a close.”
Varmous, who had risen to his feet, stood listening to the sounds of night. He went to inspect the guard fence, then addressed the travellers. “Do not become absent-minded! Do not walk in your sleep! Make no rendezvous in the forest! I am now going to my bed and I suggest the same for all of you, since tomorrow we travel long and far across the Ildish Waste.”
Clissum would not be denied. Summoning all his dignity, he stepped forward. “I have heard several requests for another of my pieces, to which I shall now respond.”
Ermaulde clapped her hands, but many of the others had gone off to their beds.
Clissum pursed his mouth against vexation. “I will now recite my Thirteenth Ode, subtitled: Gaunt Are the Towers of My Mind.” He arranged himself in a suitable posture, but the wind came in a great gust, causing the fire to wallow and flare. Clouds of smoke roiled around the area and those still present hurried away. Clissum threw his hands high in despair and retired from the scene.
Cugel spent a restless night. Several times he heard a distant cry expressing dejection, and once he heard a chuckling hooting conversation from the direction of the forest.
Varmous aroused the caravan at an early hour, while the pre-dawn sky still glowed purple. Porraig the steward served a breakfast of tea, scones and a savory mince of clams, barley, kangol and pennywort. As usual, Nissifer failed to make an appearance and this morning Ivanello was missing as well.
Porraig called down to Varmous, suggesting that he send Ivanello aboard for his breakfast, but a survey of the camp yielded nothing. Ivanello’s possessions occupied their ordinary places; nothing seemed to be missing except Ivanello himself.
Varmous, sitting at a table, made a ponderous investigation, but no one could supply any information whatever. Varmous examined the ground near the guard fence, but discovered no signs of disturbance. He finally made an announcement. “Ivanello for all practical purposes has vanished into thin air. I discover no hint of foul play; still I cannot believe that he disappeared voluntarily. The only explanation would seem to be baneful magic. In truth, I am at a loss for any better explanation. Should anyone entertain theories, or even suspicions, please communicate them to me. Meanwhile, there is no point remaining here. We must keep to our schedule, and the caravan will now get under way. Drivers, bring up your farlocks! Cugel, to your post at the bow!”
The caravan moved out upon Ildish Waste, and the fate of Ivanello remained obscure.
The road, now little more than a track, led north to a fork; here the caravan veered eastward and proceeded beside the hills which rolled away as far as the eye could reach. The landscape was bleak and dry, supporting only a few stunted gong-trees, an occasional tumble of cactus, an isolated dendron, black or purple or red.
Halfway through the morning Varmous called up to the ship: “Cugel, are you keeping a sharp watch?”
Cugel looked down over the gunwale. “I could watch with more purpose if I knew what I was watching for.”
“You are looking for hostile nomads, especially those hidden in ambush.”
Cugel scanned the countryside. “I see nothing answering to this description: only hills and waste, although far ahead I notice the dark line of a forest, or maybe it is only a river fringed with trees.”
“Very good, Cugel. Maintain your look-out.”
The day passed and the line of dark trees seemed to recede before them, and at sundown camp was made on a sandy area open to the sky.
As usual, a fire was built, but the disappearance of Ivanello weighed heavy, and though Varmous served out wine, no one drank with cheer, and conversation was pitched in low tones.
As before Varmous arranged his guard-fence. He spoke again to the company. “The mystery remains profound! Since we are without a clue, I recommend everyone to extreme caution. Certainly, do not so much as approach the guard-fence!”
The night passed without incident. In the morning the caravan got under way in good time, with Cugel once more serving as look-out.
As the day went by, the countryside became somewhat less arid. The line of trees now could be seen to mark the course of a river wandering down from the hills and out across the waste.
Arriving at the riverbank the road turned abruptly south and followed the river to a stone bridge of five arches, where Varmous called a halt to allow the teamsters to water their farlocks. Cugel ordered the rope to shorten itself and so drew the Avventura down to the road. The ‘premier’ passengers alighted and wandered here and there to stretch their legs.
At the entrance to the bridge stood a monument ten feet tall, holding a bronze plaque to the attention of those who passed. The characters were illegible to Cugel. Gaulph Rabi thrust close his long nose, then shrugged and turned away. Doctor Lalanke, however, declared the script to be a version of Sarsounian, an influential dialect of the nineteenth aeon, in common use for more than four thousand years.
“The text is purely ceremonial,” said Doctor Lalanke. “It reads:
TRAVELERS! AS DRY SHOD YOU CROSS
THE THUNDERING TURMOIL OF THE RIVER SYK,
BE ADVISED THAT YOU HAVE BEEN ASSISTED
BY THE BENEFICENCE OF
KHAIVE, LORD-RULER OF KHARAD
AND
GUARDIAN OF THE UNIVERSE
As we can see, the River Syk no longer thunders a turmoil, but we can still acknowledge the generosity of King Khaive; indeed, it is wise to do so.” And Doctor Lalanke performed a polite genuflection to the monument.
“Superstition!” scoffed Gaulph Rabi. “At the Collegium we turn down our ears in reverence only to the Nameless Syncresis at the core of the Hub.”
“So it may be,” said Doctor Lalanke indifferently and moved away. Cugel looked from Gaulph Rabi to Doctor Lalanke, then quickly performed a genuflection before the monument.
“What?” cried the gaunt ecclesiarch. “You too, Cugel? I took you for a man of judgment!”
“That is precisely why I gave honor to the monument. I judged that the rite could do no harm and cost very little.”
Varmous dubiously rubbed his nose, then made a ponderous salute of his own, to the patent disgust of Gaulph Rabi.
The farlocks were brought back to their traces; Cugel caused the Avventura to rise high in the air and the caravan proceeded across the bridge.
During the middle afternoon Cugel became drowsy and dropping his head upon his arms, dozed off into a light slumber … Time passed and Cugel became uncomfortable. Blinking and yawning, he surveyed the countryside, and his attention was caught by stealthy movements behind a thicket of smoke-berry bushes which lined the road. Cugel leaned forward and perceived several dozen short swarthy men wearing baggy pantaloons, dirty vests of various colors and black kerchiefs tied around their heads. They carried spears and battle-hooks, and clearly intended harm upon the caravan.
Cugel shouted down to Varmous: “Halt! Prepare your weapons! Bandits hide in ambush behind yonder thicket!”
Varmous pulled up the caravan and blew a blast on his signal horn. The teamsters took up weapons as did many of the passengers and prepared to face an onslaught. Cugel brought the boat down so that the ‘premier’ passengers might also join the fight.
Varmous came over to the boat. “Exactly where is the ambush? How many lie in wait?”
Cugel pointed toward the thicket. “They crouch behind the smoke-berry bushes, to the number of about twenty-three. They carry spears and snaffle-irons.”
