The woman pointed. “There is Doulka who is butcher and trundleman. We need no chieftain; such folk eat more than their share.”
A big-bellied old man with gray wattles sidled a few steps forward. He spoke in a wheedling nasal voice: “Must your disgust be so blatant? True: we are anthropophages. True: we put strangers to succulent use. Is this truly good cause for hostility? The world is as it is and each of us must hope in some fashion to be of service to his fellows, even if only in the form of a soup.”
“Our talents lie elsewhere,” said Rhialto. “If I see any more nets, you will be first to fly the sky.”
“No fear, now that we know your preferences,” declared Doulka. “What are your needs? Are you hungry?”
“We are curious in regard to Luid Shug, which at this time should be awakening to the Age of Gold. Instead we find only rubble, slime and the stink from your village. Why have events gone in this unhappy fashion?”
Doulka had recovered his confidence and blinked at his visitors with torpid complacence. Idly, as if through the force of habit, he began to twist and interweave his fingers with a dexterity which Rhialto found interesting, even fascinating. He spoke in a droning nasal monotone: “The mystery surrounding the ruins is more apparent than real.” As Doulka spoke, he wove his fingers slowly back and forth. “Centuries passed by, one upon the other, and the gods stood steadfast, by day and by night. At last they succumbed to the grind of wind and rain. They became dust and their power was gone.”
Doulka worked his fingers in and out. “The land was empty and the ruins lay quiet. The ‘Paragons’ slept their long sleep in alabaster eggs. Youths and maidens of prime quality ripened on their silken couches, unknown to all!”
Doulka’s fingers created odd patterns. Rhialto began to feel a pleasant lassitude, which he ascribed to his efforts of the day.
“My dear fellow, I see that you are weary!” said Doulka. “I reproach myself!” Three ceremonial chairs of woven withe were brought out, their backs carved to represent contorted human faces.
“Sit,” said Doulka in a soothing voice. “Rest yourself.”
Doulka ponderously placed his own fat buttocks upon the creaking withe of a chair. Rhialto also seated himself, to ease his tired limbs. He turned to Osherl and spoke in the language of the twenty-first aeon: “What is this sly old devil doing to me, that I feel such torpor?”
Osherl responded in an offhand manner: “He commands four sandestins of an inferior sort: the type we call ‘madlings’. They are building patterns of lassitude in and out of your eyes, which are now somewhat skewed. Doulka has already given orders to prepare for a feast.”
Rhialto spoke indignantly: “Why did you not prevent this trickery? Where is your loyalty?”
Osherl merely coughed in discomfiture.
Rhialto told Osherl: “Order the madlings to pull Doulka’s nose out to a length of two feet, to impose an ulcerous cyst at the tip, and also a large painful carbuncle on each buttock.”
“As you wish.”
The work was done to his satisfaction. “Now,” he told Osherl, “and this should go without saying, order the madlings to desist from all further nuisances upon my person.”
“Yes, true. We would not want Doulka to retaliate in kind.”
“Then you will accord the madlings their freedom, and send them on their way, with instructions never again to serve Doulka.”
“A generous thought!” declared Osherl. “Does the same instruction apply to me?”
“Osherl, do not distract me. I must question Doulka, despite his new preoccupations.” Rhialto turned back to the agitated trundleman and spoke in the language of the village: “You have learned the penalty of bad faith. All in all, I consider myself merciful, so be grateful and rejoice in this fact! Now then: shall we continue our conversation?”
Doulka said sulkily: “You are an irritable man! I intended no great harm! What more can I tell you?”
“You have explored the ruins thoroughly?”
“We are not interested in the ruins, except as they yield alabaster eggs for our delectation.”
“I see. How many eggs have you devoured?”
“Over the years they number five thousand six hundred and forty one. Few remain.”
Rhialto said: “‘Few’? Unless you have miscounted, a single Paragon remains to institute the Age of Gold. You have eaten all the others.”
Doulka momentarily forgot his nose and buttocks. “Only one remaining? This is bad news! Our feasts are at an end!”
“What of treasure?” asked Rhialto. “Have you taken gems and crystals from the vaults of the city?”
“We have indeed, since we take pleasure in fine things: notably all red, pink and yellow gems. Those which are blue and green induce bad luck and we use them for our amusement.”
“How so?”
“We tie them to the tails of bogadils, or ursial lopers or even manks, which prompts them to absolutely comical acts of worry and shame, so that they run pell-mell through the forest.”
“Hmmf. And what of a luminous blue crystal in the form of a prism, thus and so? Has such an object come to your attention?”
Doulka ruefully felt the length of his nose. “I seem to recall such an item, in the not too distant past.”
Rhialto, all kindliness, asked: “Does your nose truly cause you such distress?”
“Oh indeed, indeed!”
“And your buttocks?”
“They are exquisitely painful.”
“When you bring me the blue crystal I seek, your sores will be healed.”
Doulka gave a surly grunt. “That is no easy task.”
