Yodo bowed, scuttled away, and presently a line of footmen appeared bearing trays and flagons, and a banquet more than meeting Cugel’s specifications was arranged on the table.
Cugel brought forth the periapt provided by Iucounu the Laughing Magician, which not only converted organic waste to nourishment, but also chimed warning in the presence of noxious substances. The first few courses were salubrious and Cugel ate with gusto. The old wines of Cil were as beneficial, and Cugel drank freely, from goblets of black glass, carved cinnabar and ivory inlaid with turquoise and mother-of-pearl.
Derwe Coreme toyed with her food, sipped her wine, watching Cugel thoughtfully all the while. Further delicacies were brought and now Derwe Coreme leaned forward. “You truly plan to rule Cil?”
“Such is my heart’s-desire!” declared Cugel with fervor.
Derwe Coreme moved close to him. “Do you then take me as your consort? Say yes; you will be more than content.”
“We will see, we will see,” said Cugel expansively. “Tonight is tonight, tomorrow is tomorrow. Many changes will be made, this is certain.”
Derwe Coreme smiled faintly, nodded to Yodo. “Bring the most ancient of our vintages, we will drink the health of the new Lord of Cil.”
Yodo bowed, and brought a dull flagon webbed and dusty, which he decanted with utmost solicitude, and poured into crystal goblets. Cugel raised his goblet, and the charm purred warning. Cugel abruptly set down the goblet, and watched as Derwe Coreme raised hers to her lips. He reached forth, took the goblet, and again the charm purred. Poison in both? Strange. Perhaps she had not intended to drink. Perhaps she had already ingested an antidote.
Cugel signaled Yodo. “Another goblet, if you please … The decanter.” Cugel poured a third measure and again the charm signified direness. Cugel said, “Though my acquaintance with the excellent Yodo is of short duration, I have been most favorably impressed by his worth, and I hereby elevate him to the post of Major-Domo of the Palace!”
“Exalted,” stammered Yodo, “this is a signal honor indeed.”
“Drink then of the ancient vintage, to solemnize this new dignity!”
Yodo bowed low. “With the most heartfelt gratitude, Exalted.” He raised the goblet, drank. Derwe Coreme watched indifferently. Yodo put down the goblet, frowned, gave a convulsive jerk, turned a startled glance at Cugel, fell to the rug, cried out, twitched and lay still.
Cugel frowningly inspected Derwe Coreme. She appeared as startled as had Yodo. Now she turned to look at him. “Why did you poison Yodo?”
“It was your doing,” said Cugel. “Did you not order poison in the wine?”
“No.”
“You must say ‘No, Exalted’.”
“No, Exalted.”
“If you did not — who?”
“I am perplexed. The poison perhaps was meant for me.”
“Or both of us.” Cugel signaled one of the footmen. “Remove the corpse of Yodo.”
The footman signaled a pair of hooded under-servants, who carried off the unfortunate major-domo.
Cugel took the crystal goblets, stared down into the amber liquid, but did not communicate his thoughts. Derwe Coreme leaned back in her chair, contemplated him at length. “I am puzzled,” she said presently. “You are a man past the teaching of my experience. I cannot decide upon the colour of your soul.”
Cugel was charmed by the quaint turn of phrase. “You see souls in color, then?”
“Indeed. It was the birth-gift of a lady sorceress, who also provided me my walking boat. She is dead and I am alone, with no friend nor any who thinks of me with love. And so I have ruled Cil with little joy. And now you are here, with a soul which flickers through many colours, like that of no human man to come before me.”
Cugel forbore to mention Firx, whose own spiritual exhalation, mingling with that of Cugel’s, undoubtedly caused the variegation Derwe Coreme had noted. “There is a reason for this effect,” said Cugel, “which in due course will be voided, or so I hope. Until then, you may regard my soul as one shining with the purest ray imaginable.”
“I will try to keep this in mind, Exalted.”
Cugel frowned. In Derwe Coreme’s remarks and the poise of her head he noted barely concealed insolence, which he found exasperating. Still, there was ample time to correct the matter after learning the use of the amulet, a business of prime urgency. Cugel leaned back into the cushions, and spoke as one who muses idly: “Everywhere at this time of Earth’s dying exceptional circumstances are to be noted. Recently, at the manse of Iucounu the Laughing Magician, I saw a great libram which indexed all the writings of magic, and all styles of thaumaturgical rune. Perhaps you have similar volumes in your library?”
“It well may be,” said Derwe Coreme. “The Fourteenth Garth Haxt of Slaye was a diligent collator, and compiled a voluminous pandect on the subject.”
Cugel clapped his hands together. “I wish to see this important work at once!”
Derwe Coreme looked at him in wonder. “Are you then such a bibliophile? A pity, because The Eighth Rubel Zaff ordered this particular compendium submerged off Cape Horizon.”
Cugel made a sour face. “Are no other treatises at hand?”
“Doubtless,” said Derwe Coreme. “The library occupies the whole of the north wing. But will not tomorrow suffice for your research?” And, stretching in languid warmth, she contrived to twist her body into first one luxurious position, then another.
Cugel drank deep from a black glass goblet. “Yes, there is no haste in this matter. And now —” He was interrupted by a woman of middle age in voluminous brown garments, evidently one of the under-servants, who at this moment rushed into the hall. She was shouting hysterically and several footmen sprang forward to support her. Between racking sobs she made clear the source of her anguish: an abominable act only just now committed by the ghoul upon her daughter.
Derwe Coreme gracefully indicated Cugel. “Here is the new Lord of Cil; he has vast powers of magic and will order the ghoul destroyed. Will you not, Exalted?”
Cugel thoughtfully rubbed his chin. A dilemma indeed. The woman and all the servitors fell down upon their knees. “Exalted, if you control this corrosive magic, employ it instantly to destroy the vile ghoul!”
Cugel winced, and turning his head met Derwe Coreme’s thoughtful gaze. He jumped to his feet. “What need I of magic when I can wield a sword? I will hack the creature organ from organ!” He signaled the six men-at-arms who stood by in their brass armour. “Come! Bring torches! We fare forth to dismember the ghoul!”
The men-at-arms obeyed without enthusiasm. Cugel herded them toward the great portal. “When I fling wide the doors, rush forth with the torches, to create a blaze which will illuminate the evil being! Have swords drawn so that when I send him reeling you may strike the coup de grace!”
The men-at-arms each with torch and drawn sword stood before the portal. Cugel slid back the bolts and flung wide the portal. “Out! Shine upon the ghoul the last light of his existence!”
The men-at-arms raced desperately forth, with Cugel swaggering after, flourishing his sword. The men-at-arms paused at the head of the steps, to look uncertainly out over the promenade, from which a quiet horrid sound could be heard.
Cugel looked over his shoulder to see Derwe Coreme watching attentively from the doorway. “Forward!” he shouted. “Surround this wretched creature, whose death is now upon him!”
