“A loyal creature indeed!” grumbled Cugel. “It is unswervingly faithful to the comfort of its barn.” He found his green velvet cap, clapped it back upon his head and once more trudged south along the road.
During the late afternoon Cugel came to a village of a dozen mud huts populated by a squat long-armed folk, distinguished by great shocks of whitewashed hair.
Cugel gauged the height of the sun, then examined the terrain ahead, which extended in a dreary succession of tussock and pond to the edge of vision. Putting aside all qualms he approached the largest and most pretentious of the huts.
The master of the house sat on a bench to the side, whitewashing the hair of one of his children into radiating tufts like the petals of a white chrysanthemum, while other urchins played nearby in the mud.
“Good afternoon,” said Cugel. “Are you able to provide me food and lodging for the night? I naturally intend adequate payment.”
“I will feel privileged to do so,” replied the householder. “This is the most commodious hut of Samsetiska, and I am known for my fund of anecdotes. Do you care to inspect the premises?”
“I would be pleased to rest an hour in my chamber before indulging myself in a hot bath.”
His host blew out his cheeks, and wiping the whitewash from his hands beckoned Cugel into the hut. He pointed to a heap of reeds at the side of the room. “There is your bed; recline for as long as you like. As for a bath, the ponds of the swamp are infested with threlkoids and wire-worms, and cannot be recommended.”
“In that case I must do without,” said Cugel. “However, I have not eaten since breakfast, and I am willing to take my evening meal as soon as possible.”
“My spouse has gone trapping in the swamp,” said his host. “It is premature to discuss supper until we learn what she has gleaned from her toil.”
In due course the woman returned carrying a sack and a wicker basket. She built up a fire and prepared the evening meal, while Erwig the householder brought forth a two-string guitar and entertained Cugel with ballads of the region.
At last the woman called Cugel and Erwig into the hut, where she served bowls of gruel, dishes of fried moss and ganions, with slices of coarse black bread.
After the meal Erwig thrust his spouse and children out into the night, explaining: “What we have to say is unsuitable for unsophisticated ears. Cugel is an important traveler and does not wish to measure his every word.”
Bringing out an earthenware jug, Erwig poured two tots of arrak, one of which he placed before Cugel, then disposed himself for conversation. “Whence came you and where are you bound?”
Cugel tasted the arrak, which scorched the entire interior of his glottal cavity. “I am native to Almery, to which I now return.”
Erwig scratched his head in perplexity. “I cannot divine why you go so far afield, only to retrace your steps.”
“Certain enemies worked mischief upon me,” said Cugel. “Upon my return, I intend an appropriate revenge.”
“Such acts soothe the spirit like no others,” agreed Erwig. “An immediate obstacle is the Plain of Standing Stones, by reason of asms which haunt the area. I might add that pelgrane are also common.”
Cugel gave his sword a nervous twitch. “What is the distance to the Plain of Standing Stones?”
“Four miles south the ground rises and the Plain begins. The track proceeds from sarsen to sarsen for a distance of fifteen miles. A stout-hearted traveler will cross the plain in four to five hours, assuming that he is not delayed or devoured. The town Cuirnif lies another two hours beyond.”
“An inch of foreknowledge is worth ten miles of afterthought —”
“Well spoken!” cried Erwig, swallowing a gulp of arrak. “My own opinion, to an exactitude! Cugel, you are astute!”
“— and in this regard, may I inquire your opinion of Cuirnif?”
“The folk are peculiar in many ways,” said Erwig. “They preen themselves upon the gentility of their habits, yet they refuse to whitewash their hair, and they are slack in their religious observances. For instance, they make obeisance to Divine Wiulio with the right hand, not on the buttock, but on the abdomen, which we here consider a slipshod practice. What are your own views?”
“The rite should be conducted as you describe,” said Cugel. “No other method carries weight.”
Erwig refilled Cugel’s glass. “I consider this an important endorsement of our views!”
The door opened and Erwig’s spouse looked into the hut. “The night is dark. A bitter wind blows from the north, and a black beast prowls at the edge of the marsh.”
“Stand among the shadows; divine Wiulio protects his own. It is unthinkable that you and your brats should annoy our guest.”
The woman grudgingly closed the door and returned into the night. Erwig pulled himself forward on his stool and swallowed a quantity of arrak. “The folk of Cuirnif, as I say, are strange enough, but their ruler, Duke Orbal, surpasses them in every category. He devotes himself to the study of marvels and prodigies, and every jack-leg magician with two spells in his head is feted and celebrated and treated to the best of the city.”
“Most odd!” declared Cugel.
Again the door opened and the woman looked into the hut. Erwig put down his glass and frowned over his shoulder. “What is it this time?”
“The beast is now moving among the huts. For all we know it may also worship Wiulio.”
Erwig attempted argument, but the woman’s face became obdurate. “Your guest might as well forego his niceties now as later, since we all, in any event, must sleep on the same heap of reeds.” She opened wide the door and commanded her urchins into the hut. Erwig, assured that no further conversation was possible, threw himself down upon the reeds, and Cugel followed soon after.
In the morning Cugel breakfasted on ash-cake and herb tea, and prepared to take his departure. Erwig accompanied him to the road. “You have made a favorable impression upon me, and I will assist you across the Plain of Standing Stones. At the first opportunity take up a pebble the size of your fist and make the trigrammatic sign upon it. If you are attacked, hold high the pebble and cry out: ‘Stand aside! I carry a sacred object!’ At the first sarsen, deposit the stone and select another from the pile, again make the sign and carry it to the second sarsen, and so across the plain.”
“So much is clear,” said Cugel. “But perhaps you should show me the most powerful version of the sign, and thus refresh my memory.”
Erwig scratched a mark in the dirt. “Simple, precise, correct! The folk of Cuirnif omit this loop and scrawl in every which direction.”
“Slackness, once again!” said Cugel.
“So then, Cugel: farewell! The next time you pass be certain to halt at my hut! My crock of arrak has a loose stopper!”
“I would not forego the pleasure for a thousand terces. And now, as to my indebtedness —”
Erwig held up his hand. “I accept no terces from my guests!” He jerked and his eyes bulged as his spouse came up and prodded him in the ribs. “Ah well,” said Erwig. “Give the woman a terce or two; it will cheer her as she performs her tasks.”
Cugel paid over five terces, to the woman’s enormous satisfaction, and so departed the village.
After four miles the road angled up to a gray plain studded at intervals with twelve-foot pillars of gray stone. Cugel found a large pebble, and placing his right hand on his buttock made a profound salute to the object. He scratched upon it a sign somewhat similar to that drawn for him by Erwig and intoned: “I commend this pebble to the attention of Wiulio! I request that it protect me across this dismal plain!”
He scrutinized the landscape, but aside from the sarsens and the long black shadows laid by the red morning sun, he discovered nothing worthy of attention, and thankfully set off along the track.
He had traveled no more than a hundred yards when he felt a presence and whirling about discovered an asm of eight fangs almost on his heels. Cugel held high the pebble and cried out: “Away with you! I carry a sacred object and I do not care to be molested!”
The asm spoke in a soft blurred voice: “Wrong! You carry an ordinary pebble. I watched and you scamped the rite. Flee if you wish! I need the exercise.”
The asm advanced. Cugel threw the stone with all his force. It struck the black forehead between the bristling antennae, and the asm fell flat; before it could rise Cugel had severed its head.
He started to proceed, then turned back and took up the stone. “Who knows who guided the throw so accurately? Wiulio deserves the benefit of the doubt.”
At the first sarsen he exchanged stones as Erwig had recommended, and this time he made the trigrammatic sign with care and precision.
Without interference he crossed to the next sarsen and so continued across the plain.
The sun made its way to the zenith, rested a period, then descended into the west. Cugel marched unmolested from sarsen to sarsen. On several occasions he noted pelgrane sliding across the sky, and each time flung himself flat to avoid attention.
