Garstang, sitting to the side, smiled thoughtfully. “And you, Cugel the Clever, for once you are reticent. What is your belief?”
“It is somewhat inchoate,” Cugel admitted. “I have assimilated a variety of viewpoints, each authoritative in its own right: from the priests at the Temple of Teleologues; from a bewitched bird who plucked messages from a box; from a fasting anchorite who drank a bottle of pink elixir which I offered him in jest. The resulting visions were contradictory but of great profundity. My world-scheme, hence, is syncretic.”
“Interesting,” said Garstang. “Lodermulch, what of you?”
“Ha,” growled Lodermulch. “Notice this rent in my garment; I am at a loss to explain its presence! I am even more puzzled by the existence of the universe.”
Others spoke. Voynod the wizard defined the known cosmos as the shadow of a region ruled by ghosts, themselves dependent for existence upon the psychic energies of men. The devout Subucule denounced this scheme as contrary to the Protocols of Gilfig.
The argument continued at length. Cugel and one or two others including Lodermulch became bored and instituted a game of chance, using dice and cards and counters. The stakes, originally nominal, began to grow. Lodermulch at first won scantily, then lost ever greater sums, while Cugel won stake after stake. Lodermulch presently flung down the dice and seizing Cugel’s elbow shook it, to dislodge several additional dice from the cuff of his jacket. “Well then!” bawled Lodermulch, “what have we here? I thought to detect knavery, and here is justification! Return my money on the instant!”
“How can you say so?” demanded Cugel. “Where have you demonstrated chicanery? I carry dice — what of that? Am I required to throw my property into the Scamander, before engaging in a game? You demean my reputation!”
“I care nothing for this,” retorted Lodermulch. “I merely wish the return of my money.”
“Impossible,” said Cugel. “For all your bluster you have proved no malfeasance.”
“Proof?” roared Lodermulch. “Need there be further? Notice these dice, all askew, some with identical markings on three sides, others rolling only with great effort, so heavy are they at one edge.”
“Curios only,” explained Cugel. He indicated Voynod the wizard, who had been watching. “Here is a man as keen of eye as he is agile of brain; ask if any illicit transaction was evident.”
“None was evident,” stated Voynod. “In my estimation Lodermulch has made an over-hasty accusation.”
Garstang came forward, and heard the controversy. He spoke in a voice both judicious and conciliatory: “Trust is essential in a company such as ours, comrades and devout Gilfigites all. There can be no question of malice or deceit! Surely, Lodermulch, you have misjudged our friend Cugel!”
Lodermulch laughed harshly. “If this is conduct characteristic of the devout, I am fortunate not to have fallen in with ordinary folk!” With this remark, he took himself to a corner of the raft where seating himself he fixed Cugel with a glance of menace and loathing.
Garstang shook his head in distress. “I fear Lodermulch has been offended. Perhaps, Cugel, if in a spirit of amity you were to return his gold —”
Cugel made a firm refusal. “It is a matter of principle. Lodermulch has assailed my most valuable possession, which is to say, my honor.”
“Your nicety is commendable,” said Garstang, “and Lodermulch has behaved tactlessly. Still, for the sake of good-fellowship — no? Well, I cannot argue the point. Ha hum. Always small troubles to fret us.” Shaking his head he departed.
Cugel gathered his winnings, together with the dice which Lodermulch had dislodged from his sleeve. “An unsettling incident,” he told Voynod. “A boor, this Lodermulch! He has offended everyone; all have quit the game.”
“Perhaps because all the money is in your possession,” Voynod suggested.
Cugel examined his winnings with an air of surprise. “I never suspected that they were so substantial! Perhaps you will accept this sum to spare me the effort of carrying it?”
Voynod acquiesced and a share of the winnings changed hands.
Not long after, while the raft floated placidly along the river, the sun gave an alarming pulse. A purple film formed upon the surface like tarnish, then dissolved. Certain of the pilgrims ran back and forth in alarm, crying: “The sun goes dark! Prepare for the chill!”
Garstang however held up his hands in reassurance. “Calm, all! The quaver has departed, the sun is as before!”
“Think!” urged Subucule with great earnestness. “Would Gilfig allow this cataclysm, even while we travel to worship at the Black Obelisk?”
The group became quiet, though each had his personal interpretation of the event. Vitz, the locutor, saw an analogy to the blurring of vision, which might be cured by vigorous blinking. Voynod declared: “If all goes well at Erze Damath, I plan to dedicate the next four years of life to a scheme for replenishing the vigor of the sun!” Lodermulch merely made an offensive statement to the effect that for all of him the sun could go dark, with the pilgrims forced to grope their way to the Lustral Rites.
But the sun shone on as before. The raft drifted along the great Scamander where the banks were now so low and devoid of vegetation as to seem distant dark lines. The day passed and the sun seemed to settle into the river itself, projecting a great maroon glare which gradually went dull and dark as the sun vanished.
In the twilight a fire was built, around which the pilgrims gathered to eat their supper. There was discussion of the sun’s alarming flicker, and much speculation along eschatological lines. Subucule relinquished all responsibility for life, death, the future and past to Gilfig. Haxt, however, declared that he would feel easier if Gilfig had heretofore displayed a more expert control over the affairs of the world. For a period the talk became intense. Subucule accused Haxt of superficiality while Haxt used such words as “credulity” and “blind abasement”. Garstang intervened to point out that as yet all facts were not known, and that the Lustral Rites at the Black Obelisk might clarify the situation.
The next morning a great weir was noted ahead: a line of stout poles obstructing navigation of the river. At one area only was passage possible, and even this gap was closed by a heavy iron chain. The pilgrims allowed the raft to float close to this gap, then dropped the stone which served as an anchor. From a nearby hut appeared a zealot, long of hair and gaunt of limb, wearing tattered black robes and flourishing an iron staff. He sprang out along the weir to gaze threateningly down at those aboard the raft. “Go back, go back!” he shouted. “The passage of the river is under my control; I permit none to go by!”
Garstang stepped forward. “I beg your indulgence! We are a group of pilgrims, bound for the Lustral Rites at Erze Damath. If necessary we will pay a fee to pass the weir, though we trust that in your generosity you will remit the toll.”
The zealot gave a cry of harsh laughter and waved his iron staff. “My fee may not be remitted! I demand the life of the most evil in your company — unless one among you can to my satisfaction demonstrate his virtue!” And legs astraddle, black robe flapping in the wind, he stood glaring down at the raft.
Among the pilgrims was a stir of uneasiness, and all looked furtively at one another. There was a mutter, which presently became a confusion of assertions and claims. Casmyre’s strident tones at last rang forth. “It cannot be I who am most evil! My life has been clement and austere and during the gambling I ignored an ignoble advantage.”
Another called out: “I am even more virtuous, who eat only dry pulses for fear of taking life.”
Another: “I am even of greater nicety, for I subsist solely upon the discarded husks of these same pulses, and bark which has fallen from trees, for fear of destroying even vegetative vitality.”
Another: “My stomach refuses vegetable matter, but I uphold the same exalted ideals and allow only carrion to pass my lips.”
Another: “I once swam on a lake of fire to notify an old woman that the calamity she dreaded was unlikely to occur.”
Cugel declared: “My life is incessant humility, and I am unswerving in my dedication to justice and equivalence, even though I fare the worse for my pains.”
Voynod was no less staunch: “I am a wizard, true, but I devote my skill only to the amelioration of public woe.”
Now it was Garstang’s turn: “My virtue is of the quintessential sort, being distilled from the erudition of the ages. How can I be other than virtuous? I am dispassionate to the ordinary motives of mankind.”
Finally all had spoken save Lodermulch, who stood to the side, a sour grin on his face. Voynod pointed a finger. “Speak, Lodermulch! Prove your virtue, or else be judged most evil, with the consequent forfeit of your life!”
Lodermulch laughed. He turned, made a great jump which carried him to an outlying member of the weir. He scrambled to the parapet, and drawing his sword, threatened the zealot. “We are all evil together, you as well as we, for enforcing this absurd condition. Relax the chain, or prepare to face my sword.”
