Doctor Lalanke made signals; the maidens, preoccupied with Ivanello’s nonsense, at last noticed the gesticulations. They leapt to their feet and for a few moments performed a set of dizzying saltations.
Ivanello came over to Doctor Lalanke and whispered a question into his ear.
Doctor Lalanke frowned. “The question is indelicate, or at least over-explicit, but the answer is ‘yes’.”
Ivanello put another discreet question, to which Doctor Lalanke’s response was definitely frosty. “I doubt if such ideas even enter their heads.” He turned away and resumed his conversation with Perruquil.
Ansk-Daveska brought out his concertina and played a merry tune. Ermaulde, despite Varmous’ horrified expostulations, jumped to her feet and danced a spirited jig.
When Ermaulde had finished dancing, she took Varmous aside: “My symptoms were gas pains only; I should have reassured you but the matter slipped my mind.”
“I am much relieved,” said Varmous. “Cugel will also be pleased, since, as captain of the Avventura, he would have been forced to serve as obstetrician.”
The evening proceeded. Each of the group had a story to tell or a concept to impart, and all sat while the fire burned down to embers.
Clissum, so it developed, had composed several odes and upon urging from Ermaulde recited six stanzas from an extended work entitled: O Time, Be Thou the Sorry Dastard? in dramatic fashion, with vocal cadenzas between each stanza.
Cugel brought out his packet of cards and offered to teach Varmous and Ansk-Daveska Skax, which Cugel defined as a game of pure chance. Both preferred to listen as Gaulph Rabi responded to the indolent questions of Ivanello: “… no confusion whatever! The Collegium is often known as ‘the Convergence’, or even as ‘the Hub’, in a jocular sense, of course. But the essence is identical.”
“I fear that you have the better of me,” said Ivanello. “I am lost in a jungle of terminology.”
“Aha! There speaks the voice of the layman! I will simplify!”
“Please do.”
“Think of a set of imaginary spokes, representing between twenty and thirty infinities — the exact number is still uncertain. They converge in a focus of pure sentience; they intermingle then diverge in the opposite direction. The location of this ‘Hub’ is precisely known; it is within the precincts of the Collegium.”
Varmous called out a question: “What does it look like?”
Gaulph Rabi gazed a long moment into the dying fire. “I think that I will not answer that question,” he said at last. “I would create as many false images as there were ears to hear me.”
“Half as many,” Clissum pointed out delicately.
Ivanello smiled lazily up toward the night sky, where Alphard the Lonely stood in the ascendant. “It would seem that a single infinity would suffice for your studies. Is it not grandiose to preempt so many?”
Gaulph Rabi thrust forward his great narrow face. “Why not study for a term or two at the Collegium and discover for yourself?”
“I will give thought to the matter.”
The second day was much like the first. The farlocks ambled steadily along the road and a breeze from the west pushed the Avventura slightly ahead of the foremost carriage.
Porraig the steward prepared an ample breakfast of poached oysters, sugar-glazed kumquats and scones sprinkled with the scarlet roe of land-crabs.
Nissifer remained immured in her cabin. Porraig brought a tray to the door and knocked. “Your breakfast, Madame Nissifer!”
“Take it away,” came a hoarse whisper from within. “I want no breakfast.”
Porraig shrugged and removed both the tray and himself as rapidly as possible, since the fetor of Nissifer’s ‘taint’ had not yet departed the area.
At lunch matters went in the same style and Cugel instructed Porraig to serve Nissifer no more meals until she appeared in the dining saloon.
During the afternoon Ivanello brought out a long-necked lute tied with a pale blue ribbon, and sang sentimental ballads to gentle chords from the lute. The mimes came to watch in wonder, and it became a topic of general discussion as to whether or not they heard the music, or even grasped the meaning of Ivanello’s activities. In any event, they lay on their bellies, chins resting on their folded fingers, watching Ivanello with grave gray eyes and, so it might seem, dumb adoration. Ivanello was emboldened to stroke Skasja’s short black hair. Instantly Sush and Rlys crowded close and Ivanello had to caress them as well.
Smiling and pleased with his success, Ivanello played and sang another ballad, while Cugel watched sourly from the foredeck.
Today the caravan passed only a single village, Port Titus, and the landscape seemed perceptibly wilder. Ahead rose a massive stone scarp through which the river had carved a narrow gorge, with the road running close alongside.
Halfway through the afternoon the caravan came upon a crew of timber-cutters, loading their timber aboard a barge. Varmous brought the caravan to a halt. Jumping down from the carriage he went to make inquiries and received unsettling news: a section of mountain had collapsed into the gorge, rendering the river road impassable.
The timber-cutters came out into the road and pointed north toward the hills. “A mile ahead you will come upon a side-road. It leads up through Tuner’s Gap and off across Ildish Waste. After two miles the road forks and you must veer to the right, around the gorge and in due course down to Lake Zaol and Kaspara Vitatus.”
Varmous turned to look up toward the gap. “And the road: is it safe or dangerous?”
The oldest timber-cutter said: “We have no exact knowledge, since no one has recently come down through Tuner’s Gap. This in itself may be a negative sign.”
Another timber-cutter spoke. “At the Waterman’s Inn I have heard rumors of a nomad band down from the Karst. They are said to be stealthy and savage, but since they fear the dark they will not attack by night. You are a strong company and should be safe unless they take you from ambush. An alert watch should be maintained.”
The youngest of the timber-cutters said: “What of the rock goblins? Are they not a serious menace?”
“Bah!” said the old man. “Such things are boogerboos, on the order of wind-stick devils, by which to frighten saucy children.”
“Still, they exist!” declared the young timber-cutter. “That, at least, is my best information.”
“Bah!” said the old cutter a second time. “At the Waterman’s Inn they drink beer by the gallon, and on their way home they see goblins and devils behind every bush.”
The second cutter said thoughtfully: “I will reveal my philosophy. It is better to keep watch for rock-goblins and wind-stick devils and never see them, than not to keep watch so that they leap upon you unawares.”
