Cugel gave his head a sardonic shake and sauntered back to the manse.

Early in the morning Cugel returned to the pond. He knotted together several coils of rope to create a single length, which he tied from a stunted juniper on one side of the pond to a bull-thorn bush on the other, so that the rope stretched across the center of the pond.

Cugel brought a bucket and a large wooden tub to the shore. He launched the trough upon the pond, loaded tub and bucket into his makeshift scow, climbed aboard, and then, tugging on the rope, pulled himself out to the middle.

Yelleg and Malser, arriving on the scene, stopped short to stare. Cugel also noted the red and blue caps of Gark and Gookin where they lurked behind a bank of heliotrope.

Cugel dropped the bucket deep into the pond, pulled it up and poured the contents into the tub. Six times he filled and emptied the bucket, then pulled the scow back to shore.

He carried a bucket full of slime to the stream and, using a large sieve, screened the stuff in the bucket.

To Cugel’s amazement, when the water flushed away the slime, two scales remained in the sieve: an ‘ordinary’ and a second scale of remarkable size, with elaborate radiating patterns and a dull red node at the center.

A flicker of movement, a darting little arm: Cugel snatched at the fine new scale, but too late! Gookin started to bound away. Cugel jumped out like a great cat and bore Gookin to the ground. He seized the scale, kicked Gookin’s meager haunches, to project him ten feet through the air. Alighting, Gookin jumped to his feet, brandished his fist, chattered a set of shrill curses. Cugel retaliated with a heavy clod. Gookin dodged, then turned and ran at full speed toward the manse.

Cugel reflected a moment, then scooped a hole in the mold beside a dark blue mitre-bush and buried his fine new scale. The ‘ordinary’ he tucked into his pouch, then went to fetch another bucket of slime from the scow.

Five minutes later, with stately tread, Twango came across the garden. He halted to watch as Cugel sieved a bucketful of slime.

“An ingenious arrangement,” said Twango. “Quite clever — though you might have asked permission before sequestering my goods to your private use.”

Cugel said coldly: “My first concern is to gather scales, for our mutual benefit.”

“Hmmf … Gookin tells me that already you have recovered a notable ‘special’.”

“A ‘special’? It is no more than an ‘ordinary’.” Cugel brought the scale from his pouch.

With pursed lips Twango inspected the scale. “Gookin was quite circumstantial in his report.”

“Gookin is that individual for whom the word ‘mendacity’ was coined. He is simply not to be trusted. Now please excuse me, as I wish to return to work. My time is valuable.”

Twango stood dubiously aside and watched as Cugel sieved a third bucket-load of slime. “It is very strange about Gookin. How could he imagine the ‘Spatterlight’ in such vivid detail?”

“Bah!” said Cugel. “I cannot take time to reflect upon Gookin’s fantasies.”

“That is quite enough, Cugel! I am not interested in your views. In exactly seven minutes you are scheduled to sanitize the laundry.”

Halfway through the afternoon Master Soldinck, of the firm Soldinck and Mercantides, arrived at Flutic. Cugel conducted him to Twango’s work-room, then busied himself nearby while Soldinck and Twango discussed the missing scales.

As before, Soldinck asserted that the scales had never truly been given into his custody, and on these grounds demanded a full refund of his payment.

Twango indignantly rejected the proposal. “It is a perplexing affair,” he admitted. “In the future we shall use iron-clad formalities.”

“All very well, but at this moment I am concerned not with the future but with the past. Where are my missing scales?”

“I can only reiterate that you signed the receipt, made payment, and took them away in your wagon. This is indisputable! Weamish would so testify were he alive!”

“Weamish is dead and his testimony is worth nothing.”

“The facts remain. If you wish to make good your loss, then the classical recourse remains to you: raise the price to your ultimate customer. He must bear the brunt.”

“There, at least, is a constructive suggestion,” said Soldinck. “I will take it up with Mercantides. In the meantime, we will soon be shipping a mixed cargo south aboard the Galante, and we hope to include a parcel of scales. Can you assemble another order of four cases, within a day or so?”

Twango tapped his chin with a plump forefinger. “I will have to work overtime sorting and indexing; still, using all my reserves, I believe that I can put up an order of four cases within a day or two.”

“That will be satisfactory, and I will report as much to Mercantides.”

Two days later Cugel placed a hundred and ten scales, for the most part ‘ordinaries’, before Twango where he sat at his work table.

Twango stared in sheer amazement. “Where did you find these?”

“I seem to have plumbed the pocket from which Weamish took so many scales. These will no doubt balance my account.”

Twango frowned down at the scales. “A moment while I look over the records … Cugel, I find that you still owe fifty-three terces. You spent quite heavily in the refectory and I show extra charges upon which you perhaps failed to reckon.”

“Let me see the invoices … I can make nothing of these records.”

“Some were prepared by Gark and Gookin. They are perhaps a trifle indistinct.”

Cugel threw down the invoices in disgust. “I insist upon a careful, exact and legible account!”

Twango spoke through compressed lips. “Your attitude, Cugel, is both brash and cynical. I am not favorably impressed.”

“Let us change the subject,” said Cugel. “When next do you expect to see Master Soldinck?”

“Sometime in the near future. Why do you ask?”

“I am curious as to his commercial methods. For instance, what would he charge Iucounu for a truly notable ‘special’, such as the ‘Skybreak Spatterlight’?”

Twango said heavily: “I doubt if Master Soldinck would release this information. What, may I ask, is the basis for your interest?”

“No great matter. During one of our discussions, Weamish theorized that Soldinck might well prefer to buy expensive ‘specials’ direct from the diver, thus relieving you of considerable detail work.”

For a moment Twango moved his lips without being able to produce words. At last he said: “The idea is inept, in all its phases. Master Soldinck would reject any and all scales of such dubious antecedents. The single authorized dealer is myself, and my seal alone guarantees authenticity. Each scale must be accurately identified and correctly indexed.”

“And the invoices to your staff: they are also accurate and correctly indexed? Or, from sheer idle curiosity, shall I put the question to Master Soldinck?”

Twango angrily took up Cugel’s account once again. “Naturally, there may be small errors, in one or another direction. They tend to balance out in the end … Yes, I see an error here, where Gark misplaced a decimal point. I must counsel him to a greater precision. It is time you were serving tea to Yelleg and Malser. You must cure this slack behaviour! At Flutic we are brisk!”

Cugel sauntered out to the pond. The time was the middle afternoon of a day extraordinarily crisp, with peculiar black-purple clouds veiling the bloated red sun. A wind from the north creased the surface of the slime; Cugel shivered and pulled his cloak up around his neck.

The surface of the pond broke; Yelleg emerged and with crooked arms pulled himself ashore, to stand in a crouch, dripping ooze. He examined his gleanings but found only pebbles, which he discarded in disgust. Malser, on his hands and knees, clambered ashore and joined Yelleg; the two of them ran to the rest hut, only to emerge a moment later in a fury. “Cugel! Where is our tea? The fire is cold ashes! Have you no mercy?”