Counsels, Interprets, Prognosticates.
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CONSULTATIONS: Three Terces.
Cugel hung the sign above the booth, arranged curtains and waited for customers. The pot-boy, meanwhile, had inconspicuously secreted himself at the back.
Almost immediately folk crossing the square halted to read the sign. A woman of early middle-age presently came forward.
“Three terces is a large sum. What results can you guarantee?”
“None whatever, by the very nature of things. I am a skilled voyant, I have acquaintance with the arts of magic, but knowledge comes to me from unknown and uncontrollable sources.”
The woman paid over her money. “Three terces is cheap if you can resolve my worries. My daughter all her life has enjoyed the best of health but now she ails, and suffers a morose condition. All my remedies are to no avail. What must I do?”
“A moment, madam, while I meditate.” Cugel drew the curtain and leaned back to where he could hear the pot-boy’s whispered remarks, then once again drew aside the curtains.
“I have made myself one with the cosmos! Knowledge has entered my mind! Your daughter Dilian is pregnant. For an additional three terces I will supply the father’s name.”
“This is a fee I pay with pleasure,” declared the woman grimly. She paid, received the information and marched purposefully away.
Another woman approached, paid three terces, and Cugel addressed himself to her problem: “My husband assured me that he had put by a canister of gold coins against the future, but upon his death I could find not so much as a copper. Where has he hidden the gold?”
Cugel closed the curtains, took counsel with the pot-boy, and again appeared to the woman. “I have discouraging news for you. Your husband Finister spent much of his hoarded gold at the tavern. With the rest he purchased an amethyst brooch for a woman named Varletta.”
The news of Cugel’s remarkable abilities spread rapidly and trade was brisk. Shortly before noon, a large woman, muffled and veiled, approached the booth, paid three terces, and asked in a high-pitched, if husky, voice: “Read me my fortune!”
Cugel drew the curtains and consulted the pot-boy, who was at a loss. “It is no one I know. I can tell you nothing.”
“No matter,” said Cugel. “My suspicions are verified.” He drew aside the curtain. “The portents are unclear and I refuse to take your money.” Cugel returned the fee. “I can tell you this much: you are an individual of domineering character and no great intelligence. Ahead lies what? Honors? A long voyage by water? Revenge on your enemies? Wealth? The image is distorted; I may be reading my own future.”
The woman tore away her veils and stood revealed as the Nolde Huruska. “Master Cugel, you are lucky indeed that you returned my money, otherwise I would have taken you up for deceptive practices. In any event, I deem your activities mischievous, and contrary to the public interest. Gundar is in an uproar because of your revelations; there will be no more of them. Take down your sign, and be happily thankful that you have escaped so easily.”
“I will be glad to terminate my enterprise,” said Cugel with dignity. “The work is taxing.”
Huruska stalked away in a huff. Cugel divided his earnings with the pot-boy, and in a spirit of mutual satisfaction they departed the booth.
Cugel dined on the best that the inn afforded, but later when he went into the tavern he discovered a noticeable lack of amiability among the patrons and presently went off to his chamber.
The next morning as he took breakfast a caravan of ten wagons arrived in town. The principal cargo appeared to be a bevy of seventeen beautiful maidens, who rode upon two of the wagons. Three other wagons served as dormitories, while the remaining five were loaded with stores, trunks, bales and cases. The caravan master, a portly mild-seeming man with flowing brown hair and a silky beard, assisted his delightful charges to the ground and led them all to the inn, where Maier served up an ample breakfast of spiced porridge, preserved quince, and tea.
Cugel watched the group as they made their meal and reflected that a journey to almost any destination in such company would be a pleasant journey indeed.
The Nolde Huruska appeared, and went to pay his respects to the caravan-leader. The two conversed amiably at some length, while Cugel waited impatiently.
Huruska at last departed. The maidens, having finished their meal, went off to stroll about the square. Cugel crossed to the table where the caravan-leader sat. “Sir, my name is Cugel, and I would appreciate a few words with you.”
“By all means! Please be seated. Will you take a glass of this excellent tea?”
“Thank you. First, may I inquire the destination of your caravan?”
The caravan-leader showed surprise at Cugel’s ignorance. “We are bound for Lumarth; these are the ‘Seventeen Virgins of Symnathis’ who traditionally grace the Grand Pageant.”
“I am a stranger to this region,” Cugel explained. “Hence I know nothing of the local customs. In any event, I myself am bound for Lumarth and would be pleased to travel with your caravan.”
The caravan-leader gave an affable assent. “I would be delighted to have you with us.”
“Excellent!” said Cugel. “Then all is arranged.”
The caravan-leader stroked his silky brown beard. “I must warn you that my fees are somewhat higher than usual, owing to the expensive amenities I am obliged to provide these seventeen fastidious maidens.”
“Indeed,” said Cugel. “How much do you require?”
“The journey occupies the better part of ten days, and my minimum charge is twenty terces per diem, for a total of two hundred terces, plus a twenty terce supplement for wine.”
“This is far more than I can afford,” said Cugel in a bleak voice. “At the moment I command only a third of this sum. Is there some means by which I might earn my passage?”
“Unfortunately not,” said the caravan-leader. “Only this morning the position of armed guard was open, which even paid a small stipend, but Huruska the Nolde, who wishes to visit Lumarth, has agreed to serve in this capacity and the post is now filled.”
Cugel made a sound of disappointment and raised his eyes to the sky. When at last he could bring himself to speak he asked: “When do you plan to depart?”
“Tomorrow at dawn, with absolute punctuality. I am sorry that we will not have the pleasure of your company.”
“I share the sorrow,” said Cugel. He returned to his own table and sat brooding. Presently he went into the tavern, where various card games were in progress. Cugel attempted to join the play, but in every case his request was denied. In a surly mood he went to the counter where Maier the innkeeper unpacked a crate of earthenware goblets. Cugel tried to initiate a conversation but for once Maier could take no time from his labors. “The Nolde Huruska goes off on a journey and tonight his friends mark the occasion with a farewell party, for which I must make careful preparations.”
Cugel took a mug of beer to a side table and gave himself to reflection. After a few moments he went out the back exit and surveyed the prospect, which here overlooked the Isk River. Cugel sauntered down to the water’s edge and discovered a dock at which the fishermen moored their punts and dried their nets. Cugel looked up and down the river, then returned up the path to the inn, to spend the rest of the day watching the seventeen maidens as they strolled about the square, or sipped sweet lime tea in the garden of the inn.
The sun set; twilight the color of old wine darkened into night. Cugel set about his preparations, which were quickly achieved, inasmuch as the essence of his plan lay in its simplicity.
The caravan-leader, whose name, so Cugel learned, was Shimilko, assembled his exquisite company for their evening meal, then herded them carefully to the dormitory wagons, despite the pouts and protests of those who wished to remain at the inn and enjoy the festivities of the evening.
In the tavern the farewell party in honor of Huruska had already commenced. Cugel seated himself in a dark corner and presently attracted the attention of the perspiring Maier. Cugel produced ten terces. “I admit that I harbored ungrateful thoughts toward Huruska,” he said. “Now I wish to express my good wishes — in absolute anonymity, however! Whenever Huruska starts upon a mug of ale, I want you to place a full mug before him, so that his evening will be incessantly merry. If he asks who has bought the drink you are only to reply: ‘One of your friends wishes to pay you a compliment.’ Is this clear?”
“Absolutely, and I will do as you command. It is a large-hearted gesture, which Huruska will appreciate.”
The evening progressed. Huruska’s friends sang jovial songs and proposed a dozen toasts, in all of which Huruska joined. As Cugel had required, whenever Huruska so much as started to drink from a mug, another was placed at his elbow, and Cugel marveled at the scope of Huruska’s internal reservoirs.
At last Huruska was prompted to excuse himself from the company. He staggered out the back exit and made his way to that stone wall with a trough below, which had been placed for the convenience of the tavern’s patrons.
As Huruska faced the wall Cugel stepped behind him and flung a fisherman’s net over Huruska’s head, then expertly dropped a noose around Huruska’s burly shoulders, followed by other turns and ties. Huruska’s bellows were drowned by the song at this moment being sung in his honor.
Cugel dragged the cursing hulk down the path to the dock, and rolled him over and into a punt. Untying the mooring line, Cugel pushed the punt out into the current of the river. “At the very least,” Cugel told himself, “two parts of my prophecy are accurate; Huruska has been honored in the tavern and now is about to enjoy a voyage by water.”
He returned to the tavern where Huruska’s absence had at last been noticed. Maier expressed the opinion that, with an early departure in the offing, Huruska had prudently retired to bed, and all conceded that this was no doubt the case.
The next morning Cugel arose an hour before dawn. He took a quick breakfast, paid Maier his score, then went to where Shimilko ordered his caravan.
