“What!” cried Ildefonse. “Surely you are mistaken!”
“Look for yourself. This prism is too small for the housing. The workmanship is crude. Most significant of all, the true Perciplex could never project in reverse. Watch now! I will shake the Egg and topple the prism. The true Perciplex will right itself.”
Rhialto jarred the Egg with such effect that the Perciplex fell to its side, in which position it remained.
Ildefonse faced the Egg. “Adjudicator! Speak! It is Ildefonse the Preceptor who commands!”
No reply was audible.
Once again Ildefonse called out: “Adjudicator! Sarsem! I charge you: speak!”
Again, silence.
Ildefonse turned away. “Back to Boumergarth. The mystery is compounded. It is no longer trivial.”
“Never was it trivial,” said Rhialto.
“No matter,” said Ildefonse curtly. “The affair, now that it concerns me, has taken on a new and large dimension. To Boumergarth!”
6
Assembling again in the Grand Hall, the magicians set up a colloquy of many voices. Ildefonse for a time listened to the somewhat formless interchanges without comment, darting his pale blue eyes from face to face and giving an occasional tug to his untidy beard.
The discussions began to grow heated. Vehement in his wrath was Haze of Wheary Water: a hot-eyed little wefkin who affected a green pelt and a thatch of yellow willow-leaves in the place of hair. Moving with irregular starts and jerks, he asserted his opinions with ever-increasing agitation. “Willy-nilly, backwards, forwards, the Blue is the Blue! As Hache-Moncour averred, the text condemns Rhialto’s conduct out of hand, and that is all we care about. I will gladly stand on my head to read such news, or look through a mirror, or peek from behind my handkerchief!” And Haze spoke on, ever more fervently, until the company began to fear that he might injure himself in a paroxysm, or even blurt out some terrible all-inclusive curse to disable everyone. Ildefonse finally invoked the Spell of Soft Silence, so that while Haze ranted as before, his voice no longer could be heard, not even by himself, and presently he returned to his place.
The corpulent and loose-featured Dulce-Lolo analyzed the peculiar reversal of the projection. “I suspect that Sarsem the Adjudicator became careless and allowed the Perciplex to project in reverse, then, observing our consternation, he brought a hiatus upon us and turned the Perciplex to its proper position.”
Ildefonse stepped ponderously up on the dais. “I must make an important announcement. The prism you saw tonight is false: a fraud, a forgery. The question of reversal is irrelevant.”
Darvilk the Miaanther, normally taciturn, emitted an angry cry. “Then why did you, in full and pompous authority, dragoon us and march us lock-step to Fader’s Waft, if only to inspect what you claim to be a falsity?”
Shrue spoke out. “The Miaanther’s question strikes the nail! Ildefonse, your conduct merits a reproach.”
Ildefonse held his arms high. “The group is not addressing itself to the issue! I repeat again: the Monstrament, the basis of our association, is missing from the Judicial Egg! We are left without law; we are naked as the Egg itself to that faceless shape which walks among us! We cannot dare the duration of a day without undertaking strategies of protection.”
Hache-Moncour said with a gentle smile: “Ildefonse, dear friend! Must you cry cataclysm in such wild despair? Our association is based on the wisdom of its members!”
Vermoulian the Dream-walker said: “I predict a simple explanation to the apparent mystery. Sarsem may have removed the Perciplex for cleaning and left a simulacrum temporarily in place.”
“This must indeed be the explanation,” said Hache-Moncour. “Meanwhile, the simulacrum can be used at need.”
“Precisely so!” cried Hurtiancz. “And never forget that, in making use of this version, simulacrum though it may be, we shackle the animal ferocity of Rhialto, and quell his insensate demands.”
Ildefonse struck his gavel upon the podium. “Hurtiancz, your remarks are out of order. If you recall, Rhialto staunchly defended his conduct, and where this was impossible, he simply denied it.”
Hurtiancz muttered: “I only give tongue to the consensus.”
“Your remarks are not appropriate at this time. Rhialto, you have spoken no word: what is your opinion?”
“I am not yet ready to speak.”
“Shrue, what of you?”
“Only this: lacking the true Monstrament, all issues of legality must be held in abeyance. Practically, the ‘status quo’ must be considered as definite and final.”
“Nahourezzin: what are your thoughts?”
Nahourezzin, known in Old Romarth as ‘the Striped Sadwan’, already was pondering the possible courses of the future. “If the Perciplex is indeed gone, then, using the simulacrum as a basis, we must create a new Monstrament, to be known as the Orange Principles.”
“Or the Lime-green,” suggested Dulce-Lolo. “Or even the Rose-purple, to suggest both splendour and pomp.”
“The suggestion lacks merit,” said Ildefonse. “Why create a new document of some unfamiliar colour, when the Blue Principle has served us staunchly and well? Rhialto’s document, though slightly torn, will suffice for the nonce.”
Hurtiancz again bounded out to claim the floor. “If we accept Rhialto’s document, then his charges prevail! With a new Perciplex based upon the simulacrum, all previous claims, including Rhialto’s demand for triple damages, are repudiated, and Rhialto willy-nilly must pay the penalty for his mischiefs.”
“An important point!” cried Tchamast. “Hurtiancz has slashed a clear avenue through this jungle of verbiage; he has clamped his admirable teeth deep into the very gist of the matter.” Here Tchamast made reference to the exquisitely shaped rubies which replaced Hurtiancz’s original complement of teeth; and Hurtiancz bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment.
Vermoulian the Dream-walker, a person tall and thin as a wand, with a high crest of glossy black hair like the dorsal fin of a sail-fish, was not known for his loquacity. His prominent eyes tended to gaze unfocused past the bony jut of his nose, and were often obscured by a nictitating membrane which conceivably served a useful purpose during his dream-walking. In the punitive phase of the proceedings against Rhialto, he had acquired a very fine glossolary, which, translating as it did the most corrupt gibberish into clear common speech, served him well in the course of his vocation. In any event, and for whatever reason, Vermoulian now thrust himself erect and spoke in a voice dry and precise: “I put the thesis of Hurtiancz into the form of a motion!”
“That is not regular procedure,” declared Ildefonse. “Our task at hand is to learn the whereabouts of the Blue Perciplex! We must not be diverted!”
Hache-Moncour stepped forward. “I endorse the views of Ildefonse! I now undertake to make a full, thorough and exhaustive investigation into this deplorable matter, and let the chips fall where they may! In the meantime, our normal business may well proceed, and I suggest to the Preceptor that, in view of my undertaking, Vermoulian’s motion now be ruled in order.”
Rhialto glanced toward Ildefonse. He raised his hand to his mouth as if to stifle a yawn, making a secret sign in the process. Ildefonse gave a wince of distaste, but nevertheless invoked the Spell of Temporal Stasis.
7
Rhialto and Ildefonse inspected the chamber where their associates sat or stood poised in frozen postures.
