The night passed without incident, but in the morning, when breakfast was served, Ermaulde failed to make an appearance.
As before Varmous searched the ship and the area enclosed by the guard-fence, but, like Ivanello, Ermaulde had disappeared as if into thin air. Varmous went so far as to knock on the door of Nissifer’s cabin, to assure himself that she was still aboard.
“Who is it?” came the husky whisper.
“It is Varmous. Are you well?”
“I am well. I need nothing.”
Varmous turned to Cugel, his broad face creased with worry. “I have never known such dreadful events! What is happening?”
Cugel spoke thoughtfully: “Neither Ivanello nor Ermaulde went off by choice: this is clear. They both rode the Avventura, which seems to indicate that the bane also resides aboard the ship.”
“What! In the ‘premier’ class?”
“Such are the probabilities.”
Varmous clenched his massive fist. “This harm must be learned and nailed to the counter!”
“Agreed! But how?”
“Through vigilance and care! At night no one must venture from his quarters, except to answer the call of nature.”
“To find the evil-doer waiting in the privy? That is not the answer.”
“Meanwhile, we cannot delay the caravan,” muttered Varmous. “Cugel, to your post! Watch with care and discrimination.”
The caravan once again set off to the east. The road skirted close under the hills, which now showed harsh outcrops of rock and occasional growths of gnarled acacia.
Doctor Lalanke sauntered forward and joined Cugel at the bow, and their conversation turned to the strange disappearances. Doctor Lalanke declared himself as mystified as everyone else. “There are endless possibilities, though none carry conviction. For instance, I could suggest that the ship itself is a harmful entity which during the night opens up its hold and ingests a careless passenger.”
“We have searched the hold,” said Cugel. “We found only stores, baggage and cockroaches.”
“I hardly intended that you take the theory seriously. Still, if we contrived ten thousand theories, all apparently absurd, one among them almost certainly would be correct.”
The three mimes came up to the bow and amused themselves by strutting back and forth with long loping bent-kneed strides. Cugel looked at them with disfavor. “What nonsense are they up to now?”
The three mimes wrinkled their noses, crossed their eyes and rounded their mouths into pursy circles, as if in soundless chortling, and looked toward Cugel sidelong as they pranced back and forth.
Doctor Lalanke chuckled. “It is their little joke; they think that they are imitating you, or so I believe.”
Cugel turned coldly away, and the three mimes ran back down the deck. Doctor Lalanke pointed ahead to a billow of clouds hanging above the horizon. “They rise from Lake Zaol, beside Kaspara Vitatus, where the road turns north to Torqual.”
“It is not my road! I journey south to Almery.”
“Just so.” Doctor Lalanke turned away and Cugel was left alone at his vigil. He looked around for the mimes, half-wishing that they would return and enliven the tedium, but they were engaged in a new and amusing game, tossing small objects down at the farlocks, which, when so struck, whisked high their tails.
Cugel resumed his watch. To the south, the rocky hillside, ever more steep. To the north, the Ildish Waste, an expanse streaked in subtle colors: dark pink, hazy black-gray, maroon, touched here and there with the faintest possible bloom of dark blue and green.
Time passed. The mimes continued their game, which the teamsters and even the passengers also seemed to enjoy; as the mimes tossed down bits of stuff, the teamsters and passengers jumped down to retrieve the objects.
Odd, thought Cugel. Why was every one so enthusiastic over a game so trifling? … One of the objects glinted of metal as it fell. It was, thought Cugel, about the size and shape of a terce. Surely the mimes would not be tossing terces to the teamsters? Where would they have obtained such wealth?
The mimes finished their game. The teamsters called up from below: “More! Continue the game! Why stop now?” The mimes performed a crazy gesticulation and tossed down an empty pouch, then went off to rest.
Peculiar! thought Cugel. The pouch in some respects resembled his own, which of course was safely tucked away in his tent. He glanced down casually, then looked once again more sharply.
The pouch was nowhere to be seen.
Cugel ran raging to Doctor Lalanke, where he sat on the hold conversing with Clissum. Cugel cried out: “Your wards made off with my pouch! They threw my terces down to the teamsters, and my other adjuncts as well, including a valuable pot of boot-dressing, and finally the pouch itself!”
Doctor Lalanke raised his black eyebrows. “Indeed? The rascals! I wondered what could hold their attention so long.”
“Please take this matter seriously! I hold you personally responsible! You must redress my losses.”
Doctor Lalanke smilingly shook his head. “I regret your misfortune, Cugel, but I cannot repair all the wrongs of the world.”
“Are they not your wards?”
“In a casual sense only. They are listed on the caravan manifest in their own names, which puts the onus for their acts upon Varmous. You may discuss the matter with him, or even the mimes themselves. If they took the pouch, let them repay the terces.”
“These are not practical ideas!”
“Here is one which is most practical: return forward before we plunge headlong into danger!” Doctor Lalanke turned away and resumed his conversation with Clissum.
Cugel returned to the bow. He stared ahead, across the dismal landscape, considering how best to recover his losses … A sinister flurry of movement caught his eye. Cugel jerked forward and focussed his gaze on the hillside, where a number of squat gray beings worked to pile heavy boulders where the hillside beetled over the road.
Cugel looked with care for several seconds. The creatures were plain in his vision: distorted half-human amloids with peaking scalps and neckless heads, so that their mouths opened directly into their upper torsos.
