The innkeeper pointed across the square to a dingy tavern. “In the yard of the ‘Howling Dog’ all the riffraff in town take counsel together. Here you will find workers sufficient to your purposes.”
“While I visit the hostler, be good enough to send a boy across to hire twelve of these sturdy fellows.”
“As you wish.”
At the hostler’s Cugel rented a large six-wheeled wagon and a team of strong farlocks. When he returned with the wagon to the Five Owls, he found waiting a work-force of twelve individuals of miscellaneous sort, including a man not only senile but also lacking a leg. Another, in the throes of intoxication, fought away imaginary insects. Cugel discharged these two on the spot. The group also included Iolo the Dream-taker, who scrutinized Cugel with the liveliest suspicion.
Cugel asked: “My dear fellow, what do you do in such sordid company?”
“I take employment so that I may eat,” said Iolo. “May I ask how you came by the funds to pay for so much skilled labor? Also, I notice that from your ear hangs that gem which only last night was my property!”
“It is the second of a pair,” said Cugel. “As you know, the robber took the first along with your other valuables.”
Iolo curled his lip. “I am more than ever anxious to meet this quixotic robber who takes my gem but leaves you in possession of yours.”
“He was indeed a remarkable person. I believe that I glimpsed him not an hour ago, riding hard out of town.”
Iolo again curled his lip. “What do you propose to do with this wagon?”
“If you care to earn a wage, you will soon find out for yourself.”
Cugel drove the wagon and the gang of workers out of Cuirnif along the road to the mysterious hole, where he found all as before. He ordered trenches dug into the hillside; crating was installed, after which that block of soil surrounding and including the hole, the stump and the tentacle, was dragged up on the bed of the wagon.
During the middle stages of the project Iolo’s manner changed. He began calling orders to the workmen and addressed Cugel with cordiality. “A noble idea, Cugel! We shall profit greatly!”
Cugel raised his eyebrows. “I hope indeed to win the grand prize. Your wage, however, will be relatively modest, even scant, unless you work more briskly.”
“What!” stormed Iolo. “Surely you agree that this hole is half my property!”
“I agree to nothing of the sort. Say no more of the matter, or you will be discharged on the spot.”
Grumbling and fuming Iolo returned to work. In due course Cugel conveyed the block of soil, with the hole, stump and tentacle, back to Cuirnif. Along the way he purchased an old tarpaulin with which he concealed the hole, the better to magnify the eventual effect of his display.
At the site of the Grand Exposition Cugel slid his exhibit off the wagon and into the shelter of a pavilion, after which he paid off his men, to the dissatisfaction of those who had cultivated extravagant hopes.
Cugel refused to listen to complaints. “The pay is sufficient! If it were ten times as much, every last terce would still end up in the till at the ‘Howling Dog’.”
“One moment!” cried Iolo. “You and I must arrive at an understanding!”
Cugel merely jumped up on the wagon and drove it back to the hostelry. Some of the men pursued him a few steps; others threw stones, without effect.
On the following day trumpets and gongs announced the formal opening of the exposition. Duke Orbal arrived at the plaza wearing a splendid robe of magenta plush trimmed with white feathers, and a hat of pale blue velvet three feet in diameter, with silver tassels around the brim and a cockade of silver puff.
Mounting a rostrum, Duke Orbal addressed the crowd. “As all know, I am considered an eccentric, what with my enthusiasm for marvels and prodigies, but, after all, when the preoccupation is analyzed, is it all so absurd? Think back across the aeons to the times of the Vapurials, the Green and Purple College, the mighty magicians among whose number we include Amberlin, the second Chidule of Porphyrhyncos, Morreion, Calanctus the Calm, and of course the Great Phandaal. These were the days of power, and they are not likely to return except in nostalgic recollection. Hence this, my Grand Exposition of Marvels, and withal, a pale recollection of the way things were.
“Still, all taken with all, I see by my schedule that we have a stimulating program, and no doubt I will find difficulty in awarding the grand prize.”
Duke Orbal glanced at a paper. “We will inspect Zaraflam’s ‘Nimble Squadrons’, Bazzard’s ‘Unlikely Musicians’, Xallops and his ‘Compendium of Universal Knowledge’. Iolo will offer his ‘Bagful of Dreams’, and, finally, Cugel will present for our amazement that to which he gives the tantalizing title: ‘Nowhere’. A most provocative program! And now without further ado we will proceed to evaluate Zaraflam’s ‘Nimble Squadrons’.”
The crowd surged around the first pavilion and Zaraflam brought forth his ‘Nimble Squadrons’: a parade of cockroaches smartly turned out in red, white, and black uniforms. The sergeants brandished cutlasses; the foot soldiers carried muskets; the squadrons marched and countermarched in intricate evolutions.
“Halt!” bawled Zaraflam.
The cockroaches stopped short.
“Present arms!”
The cockroaches obeyed.
“Fire a salute in honor of Duke Orbal!”
The sergeants raised their cutlasses; the footmen elevated their muskets. Down came the cutlasses; the muskets exploded, emitting little puffs of white smoke.
“Excellent!” declared Duke Orbal. “Zaraflam, I commend your painstaking accuracy!”
“A thousand thanks, your Grace! Have I won the grand prize?”
“It is still too early to predict. Now, to Bazzard and his ‘Unlikely Musicians’!”
The spectators moved on to the second pavilion where Bazzard presently appeared, his face woebegone. “Your Grace and noble citizens of Cuirnif! My ‘Unlikely Musicians’ were fish from the Cantic Sea and I felt sure of the grand prize when I brought them to Cuirnif. However, during the night a leak drained the tank dry. The fish are dead and their music is lost forever! I still wish to remain in contention for the prize; hence I will simulate the songs of my former troupe. Please adjudicate the music on this basis.”
Duke Orbal made an austere sign. “Impossible. Bazzard’s exhibit is hereby declared invalid. We now move on to Xallops and his remarkable ‘Compendium’.”
Xallops stepped forward from his pavilion. “Your Grace, ladies and gentlemen of Cuirnif! My entry at this exposition is truly remarkable; however, unlike Zaraflam and Bazzard, I can take no personal credit for its existence. By trade I am a ransacker of ancient tombs, where the risks are great and rewards few. By great good luck I chanced upon that crypt where several aeons ago the sorcerer Zinqzin was laid to rest. From this dungeon I rescued the volume which I now display to your astounded eyes.”
Xallops whisked away a cloth to reveal a great book bound in black leather. “On command this volume must reveal information of any and every sort; it knows each trivial detail, from the time the stars first caught fire to the present date. Ask; you shall be answered!”
“Remarkable!” declared Duke Orbal. “Present before us the Lost Ode of Psyrme!”
