“Gark, you are stern!” said Cugel. “Well, if I must, I must.” Without further ceremony he rolled Weamish into his grave, covered him over, and tamped down the mold.
So passed the morning. At noon Cugel made an excellent lunch of braised eel with ramp and turnips, a conserve of exotic fruits and a flask of white wine. Yelleg and Malser, lunching upon coarse bread and pickled acorns, watched sidelong in mingled surprise and envy.
During the late afternoon, Cugel went out to the pond to assist the divers as they finished work for the day. First Malser emerged from the pond, hands like claws, then Yelleg. Cugel flushed away the slime with water piped from a stream, then Yelleg and Malser went to a shed to change clothes, their skin shriveled and lavender from the cold. Since Cugel had neglected to build a fire, their complaints were curtailed only by the chattering of their teeth.
Cugel hastened to repair the lack, while the divers discussed the day’s work. Yelleg had gleaned three ‘ordinary’ scales from under a rock, while Malser, exploring a crevice, had discovered four of the same quality.
Yelleg told Cugel: “Now you may dive if you see fit, though the light fails fast.”
“This is the time Weamish dived,” said Malser. “He often used the hours of early morning, as well. But no matter what his exertions never did he neglect our warming fire.”
“It was an oversight on my part,” said Cugel. “I am not yet accustomed to the routine.”
Yelleg and Malser grumbled somewhat more, then went to the refectory, where they dined on boiled kelp. For his own meal, Cugel took first a tureen of hunter’s goulash, with morels and dumplings. For a second course, he selected a fine cut of roast mutton, with a piquant sauce, assorted side dishes, and a rich red wine; then, for dessert, he devoured a large dish of mungberry trifle.
Yelleg and Malser, on their way from the refectory, stopped to advise Cugel. “You are consuming meals of excellent quality, but the prices are inordinate! Your account with Twango will occupy your efforts for the rest of your life.”
Cugel only laughed and made an easy gesture. “Sit down, and allow me to repair my deficiencies of this afternoon. Gark! Two more goblets, another flask of wine and be quick about it!”
Yelleg and Malser willingly seated themselves. Cugel poured wine with a generous hand, and refilled his own goblet as well. He leaned comfortably back in his chair.
“Naturally,” said Cugel, “the possibility of exorbitant charges has occurred to me. Since I do not intend to pay, I care not a fig for expense!”
Both Yelleg and Malser murmured in surprise. “That is a remarkably bold attitude!”
“Not altogether. At any instant the sun may lurch into oblivion. At this time, were I to owe Twango ten thousand terces for a long series of excellent meals, my last thoughts would be happy ones!”
Both Yelleg and Malser were impressed by the logic of the concept, which had not previously occurred to them.
Yelleg mused: “Your point seems to be that if one’s debt to Twango hovers always at thirty or forty terces, it might as well be ten thousand!”
Malser said thoughtfully: “Twenty thousand, or even thirty thousand, would seem an even more worthy debt.”
“This is an ambition of truly great scope!” declared Yelleg. “As of this moment, I believe that I will try a good slice of that roast mutton!”
“And I as well!” said Malser. “Let Twango worry about the cost! Cugel, I drink to your health!”
Twango jumped from a nearby booth, where he had sat unseen. “I have heard the whole of this base conversation! Cugel, your concepts do you no credit! Gark! Gookin! In the future Cugel must be served only the Grade Five cuisine, similar to that formerly enjoyed by Weamish.”
Cugel only shrugged. “If necessary, I will pay my account.”
“That is good news!” said Twango. “And what will you use for terces?”
“I have my little secrets,” said Cugel. “I will tell you this much: I intend notable innovations in the scale-gathering process.”
Twango snorted incredulously. “Please perform these miracles in your spare time. Today you neglected to dust the relics; you neither waxed nor polished the parquetry. You failed to dig your grave, and you neglected to carry out the kitchen wastes.”
“Gark and Gookin must carry out the garbage,” said Cugel. “While I was still supervisor, I rearranged the work schedule.”
Gark and Gookin, on the high shelf, set up a protest.
“The schedule is as before,” said Twango. “Cugel, you must observe the regular routine.” He departed the room, leaving Cugel, Yelleg and Malser to finish their wine.
Before sunrise Cugel was awake and abroad in the back garden, where the air was damp and chill, and heavy with silence. Bottle-yew and larch imposed silhouettes in a ragged fringe around the mulberry-gray sky; mist lay in low ribbons across the pond.
Cugel went to the gardener’s shed, where he secured a stout spade. Somewhat to the side, under a lush growth of paunce-wort, he noticed an iron tub, or trough, ten feet long by three feet wide, built to a purpose not now in evidence. Cugel examined the trough with care, then went to the back of the garden. Under the myrhadion tree he started to dig that grave ordained by Twango.
Despite the melancholy nature of the task, Cugel dug with zest.
The work was interrupted by Twango himself, who came carefully across the garden, wearing his black gown and a bicorn hat of black fur to guard his head against the bite of the morning chill.
Twango paused beside the grave. “I see that you have taken my censure to heart. You have worked to good effect, but why, may I ask, have you dug so close to poor Weamish? You will lie essentially side by side.”
“Quite so. I feel that Weamish, were he allowed one last glimmer of perception, would take comfort in the fact.”
Twango pursed his lips. “That is a nice sentiment, though perhaps a trifle florid.” He glanced up toward the sun. “Time passes us by! In your attention to this particular task, you are neglecting routine. At this moment you should be emptying the kitchen waste bins!”
“Those are chores more properly consigned to Gark and Gookin.”
“Not so! The handles are too high.”
“Let them use smaller bins! I have more urgent work at hand, such as the efficient and rapid recovery of Sadlark’s scales.”
Twango peered sharply sidewise. “What do you know about such matters?”
“Like Weamish, I bring a fresh viewpoint to bear. As you know, Weamish made a notable success.”
