“It is easily explained,” said Cugel. “I consider myself the single honest man in a world of rogues and blackguards, present company excepted. In these conditions it is hard to accumulate wealth.”
The innkeeper pulled at his chin, and turned away. When he came to serve Cugel a dessert of currant cake, he paused long enough to say: “Your difficulties have aroused my sympathy. Tonight I will reflect on the matter.”
The innkeeper was as good as his word. In the morning, after Cugel had finished his breakfast, the innkeeper took him into the stable-yard and displayed a large dun-colored beast with powerful hind legs and a tufted tail, already bridled and saddled for riding.
“This is the least I can do for you,” said the innkeeper. “I will sell this beast at a nominal figure. Agreed, it lacks elegance, and in fact is a hybrid of dounge and felukhary. Still, it moves with an easy stride; it feeds upon inexpensive wastes, and is notorious for its stubborn loyalty.”
Cugel moved politely away. “I appreciate your altruism, but for such a creature any price whatever is excessive. Notice the sores at the base of its tail, the eczema along its back, and, unless I am mistaken, it lacks an eye. Also, its odor is not all it might be.”
“Trifles!” declared the innkeeper. “Do you want a dependable steed to carry you across the Plain of Standing Stones, or an adjunct to your vanity? The beast becomes your property for a mere thirty terces.”
Cugel jumped back in shock. “When a fine Cambalese wheriot sells for twenty? My dear fellow, your generosity outreaches my ability to pay!”
The innkeeper’s face expressed only patience. “Here, in the middle of Tsombol Marsh, you will buy not even the smell of a dead wheriot.”
“Let us discard euphemism,” said Cugel. “Your price is an outrage.”
For an instant the innkeeper’s face lost its genial cast and he spoke in a grumbling voice: “Every person to whom I sell this steed takes the same advantage of my kindliness.”
Cugel was puzzled by the remark. Nevertheless, sensing irresolution, he pressed his advantage. “In spite of a dozen misgivings, I offer a generous twelve terces!”
“Done!” cried the innkeeper almost before Cugel had finished speaking. “I repeat, you will discover this beast to be totally loyal, even beyond your expectations.”
Cugel paid over twelve terces and gingerly mounted the creature. The landlord gave him a benign farewell. “May you enjoy a safe and comfortable journey!”
Cugel replied in like fashion. “May your enterprises prosper!”
In order to make a brave departure, Cugel tried to rein the beast up and around in a caracole, but it merely squatted low to the ground, then padded out upon the road.
Cugel rode a mile in comfort, and another, and taking all with all, was favorably impressed with his acquisition. “No question but what the beast walks on soft feet; now let us discover if it will canter at speed.”
He shook out the reins; the beast set off down the road, its gait a unique prancing strut, with tail arched and head held high.
Cugel kicked his heels into the creature’s heaving flanks. “Faster then! Let us test your mettle!”
The beast sprang forward with great energy, and the breeze blew Cugel’s cloak flapping behind his shoulders.
A massive dire oak stood beside a bend in the road: an object which the beast seemed to identify as a landmark. It increased its pace, only to stop short and elevate its hind-quarters, thus projecting Cugel into the ditch. When he managed to stagger back up on the road, he discovered the beast cavorting across the marsh, in the general direction of the inn.
“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.”
