The Plain of Standing Stones ended at the brink of a scarp overlooking a wide valley. With safety close at hand Cugel relaxed his vigilance, only to be startled by a scream of triumph from the sky. He darted a horrified glance over his shoulder, then plunged over the edge of the scarp into a ravine, where he dodged among rocks and pressed himself into the shadows. Down swooped the pelgrane, past and beyond Cugel’s hiding place. Warbling in joy, it alighted at the base of the scarp, to evoke instant outcries and curses from a human throat.
Keeping to concealment Cugel descended the slope, to discover that the pelgrane now pursued a portly black-haired man in a suit of black and white diaper. This person at last took nimble refuge behind a thick-boled olophar tree, and the pelgrane chased him first one way, then another, clashing its fangs and snatching with its clawed hands.
For all his rotundity, the man showed remarkable deftness of foot and the pelgrane began to scream in frustration. It halted to glare through the crotch of the tree and snap out with its long maw.
On a whimsical impulse Cugel stole out upon a shelf of rock; then, selecting an appropriate moment, he jumped to land with both feet on the creature’s head, forcing the neck down into the crotch of the olophar tree. He called out to the startled man: “Quick! Fetch a stout cord! We will bind this winged horror in place!”
The man in the black and white diaper cried out: “Why show mercy? It must be killed and instantly! Move your foot, so that I may hack away its head.”
“Not so fast,” said Cugel. “For all its faults, it is a valuable specimen by which I hope to profit.”
“Profit?” The idea had not occurred to the portly gentleman. “I must assert my prior claim! I was just about to stun the beast when you interfered.”
Cugel said: “In that case I will take my weight off the creature’s neck and go my way.”
The man in the black-and-white suit made an irritable gesture. “Certain persons will go to any extreme merely to score a rhetorical point. Hold fast then! I have a suitable cord over yonder.”
The two men dropped a branch over the pelgrane’s head and bound it securely in place. The portly gentleman, who had introduced himself as Iolo the Dream-taker, asked: “Exactly what value do you place upon this horrid creature, and why?”
Cugel said: “It has come to my attention that Orbal, Duke of Ombalique, is an amateur of oddities. Surely he would pay well for such a monster, perhaps as much as a hundred terces.”
“Your theories are sound,” Iolo admitted. “Are you sure that the bonds are secure?”
As Cugel tested the ropes he noticed an ornament consisting of a blue glass egg on a golden chain attached to the creature’s crest. As he removed the object, Iolo’s hand darted out, but Cugel shouldered him aside. He disengaged the amulet, but Iolo caught hold of the chain and the two glared eye to eye.
“Release your grip upon my property,” said Cugel in an icy voice.
Iolo protested vigorously. “The object is mine since I saw it first.”
“Nonsense! I took it from the crest and you tried to snatch it from my hand.”
Iolo stamped his foot. “I will not be domineered!” He sought to wrest the blue egg from Cugel’s grasp. Cugel lost his grip and the object was thrown against the hillside where it broke in a bright blue explosion to create a hole into the hillside. Instantly a golden-gray tentacle thrust forth and seized Cugel’s leg.
Iolo sprang back and from a safe distance watched Cugel’s efforts to avoid being drawn into the hole. Cugel saved himself at the last moment by clinging to a stump. He called out: “Iolo, make haste! Fetch a cord and tie the tentacle to this stump; otherwise it will drag me into the hill!”
Iolo folded his arms and spoke in a measured voice: “Avarice has brought this plight upon you. It may be a divine judgment and I am reluctant to interfere.”
“What? When you fought tooth and nail to wrench the object from my hand?”
Iolo frowned and pursed his lips. “In any case I own a single rope: that which ties my pelgrane.”
“Kill the pelgrane!” panted Cugel. “Put the cord to its most urgent use!”
“You yourself valued this pelgrane at a hundred terces. The worth of the rope is ten terces.”
“Very well,” said Cugel through gritted teeth. “Ten terces for the rope, but I cannot pay a hundred terces for a dead pelgrane, since I carry only forty-five.”
“So be it. Pay over the forty-five terces. What surety can you offer for the remainder?”
Cugel managed to toss over his purse of terces. He displayed the opal ear-bangle which Iolo promptly demanded, but which Cugel refused to relinquish until the tentacle had been tied to the stump.
With poor grace Iolo hacked the head off the pelgrane, then brought over the rope and secured the tentacle to the stump, thus easing the strain upon Cugel’s leg.
“The ear-bangle, if you please!” said Iolo, and he poised his knife significantly near the rope.
Cugel tossed over the jewel. “There you have it: all my wealth. Now, please free me from this tentacle.”
“I am a cautious man,” said Iolo. “I must consider the matter from several perspectives.” He set about making camp for the night.
Cugel called out a plaintive appeal: “Do you remember how I rescued you from the pelgrane?”
“Indeed I do! An important philosophical question has thereby been raised. You disturbed a stasis and now a tentacle grips your leg, which is, in a sense, the new stasis. I will reflect carefully upon the matter.”
Cugel argued to no avail. Iolo built up a campfire over which he cooked a stew of herbs and grasses, which he ate with half a cold fowl and draughts of wine from a leather bottle.
Leaning back against a tree he gave his attention to Cugel. “No doubt you are on your way to Duke Orbal’s Grand Exposition of Marvels?”
“I am a traveler, no more,” said Cugel. “What is this ‘Grand Exposition’?”
Iolo gave Cugel a pitying glance for his stupidity. “Each year Duke Orbal presides over a competition of wonder-workers. This year the prize is one thousand terces, which I intend to win with my ‘Bagful of Dreams’.”
“Your ‘Bagful of Dreams’ I assume to be a jocularity, or something on the order of a romantic metaphor?”
“Nothing of the sort!” declared Iolo in scorn.
“A kaleidoscopic projection? A program of impersonations? A hallucinatory gas?”
“None of these. I carry with me a number of pure unadulterated dreams, coalesced and crystallized.”
From his satchel Iolo brought a sack of soft brown leather, from which he took an object resembling a pale blue snowflake an inch in diameter. He held it up into the firelight where Cugel could admire its fleeting lusters. “I will ply Duke Orbal with my dreams, and how can I fail to win over all other contestants?”
“Your chances would seem to be good. How do you gather these dreams?”
“The process is secret; still I can describe the general procedure. I live beside Lake Lelt in the Land of Dai-Passant. On calm nights the surface of the water thickens to a film which reflects the stars as small globules of shine. By using a suitable cantrap, I am able to lift up impalpable threads composed of pure starlight and water-skein. I weave this thread into nets and then I go forth in search of dreams. I hide under valances and in the leaves of outdoor bowers; I crouch on roofs; I wander through sleeping houses. Always I am ready to net the dreams as they drift past. Each morning I carry these wonderful wisps to my laboratory and there I sort them out and work my processes. In due course I achieve a crystal of a hundred dreams, and with these confections I hope to enthrall Duke Orbal.”
“I would offer congratulations were it not for this tentacle gripping my leg,” said Cugel.
“That is a generous emotion,” said Iolo. He fed several logs into the fire, chanted a spell of protection against creatures of the night, and composed himself for sleep.
An hour passed. Cugel tried by various means to ease the grip of the tentacle, without success, nor could he draw his sword or bring ‘Spatterlight’ from his pouch.
At last he sat back and considered new approaches to the solution of his problem.
By dint of stretching and straining he obtained a twig, with which he dragged close a long dead branch, which allowed him to reach another of equal length. Tying the two together with a string from his pouch, he contrived a pole exactly long enough to reach Iolo’s recumbent form.
Working with care Cugel drew Iolo’s satchel across the ground, finally to within reach of his fingers. First he brought out Iolo’s wallet, to find two hundred terces, which he transferred to his own purse; next the opal ear-bangle, which he dropped into the pocket of his shirt; then the bagful of dreams.
The satchel contained nothing more of value, save that portion of cold fowl which Iolo had reserved for his breakfast and the leather bottle of wine, both of which Cugel put aside for his own use. He returned the satchel to where he had found it, then separated the branches and tossed them aside. Lacking a better hiding place for the bagful of dreams, Cugel tied the string to the bag and lowered it into the mysterious hole. He ate the fowl and drank the wine, then made himself as comfortable as possible.
