“Indeed?” inquired the creature. “I will attempt as much; let me see: this is the Lobe of Antithesis and here, the Convolvement of Subliminal Configuration … ‘Szzm’. Much here puzzles me; it was never thus on Achernar.” The creature gave Cugel a sharp look to see if the slip had been noticed. But Cugel put on an attitude of lackadaisical boredom; and the creature continued to sort through the various elements of Iucounu’s brain. “Ah yes, here: the Lobe of Directive Volition. Now, a sudden vigorous pressure.”

Iucounu’s face became taut, the muscles sagged, the corpulent body crumpled to the floor. Cugel leapt forward and in a trice bound Iucounu’s arms and legs and affixed an adhesive pad across the big mouth.

Now Cugel performed a joyful caper of his own. All was well! Iucounu, his manse, his great collection of magical adjuncts were at his disposal! Cugel considered the helpless hulk and started to drag it outside where he might conveniently strike off the great yellow head, but the recollection of the numerous indignities, discomforts and humiliations he had suffered at Iucounu’s hands gave him pause. Should Iucounu attain oblivion so swiftly, with neither cognition or remorse? By no means!

Cugel pulled the still body out into the hall, and sat on a nearby bench to consider.

Presently the body stirred, opened its eyes, made an effort to arise, and finding this impossible, turned to examine Cugel first in surprise, then outrage. From the mouth came peremptory sounds which Cugel acknowledged with a noncommittal sign.

Presently he arose to his feet, examined the bonds and the mouth-plaster, made all doubly secure, then set about a cautious inspection of the manse, alert for traps, lures or dead-falls which the whimsical Iucounu might have established in order to outwit or beguile intruders. He was especially vigilant during his inspection of Iucounu’s workroom, probing everywhere with a long rod, but if Iucounu had set forth snares or beguilements, none were evident.

Looking along Iucounu’s shelves, Cugel found sulfur, aquastel, tincture of zyche and herbs from which he prepared a viscous yellow elixir. He dragged the flaccid body into the workroom, administered the potion, called orders and persuasions and finally, with Iucounu an even more intense yellow from ingested sulfur, with aquastel steaming from his ears, with Cugel panting and perspiring from his own exertions, the creature from Achernar clawed free of the heaving body. Cugel caught it in a great stone mortar, crushed it to a paste with an iron pestle, dissolved all with spirits of vitriol, added aromatic mernaunce and poured the resultant slime down a drain.

Iucounu, presently returning to consciousness, fixed Cugel with a glare of disturbing intensity. Cugel administered an exhalation of raptogen and the Laughing Magician, rolling his eyes upward, returned to a state of apathy.

Cugel sat back to rest. A problem existed: how best to restrain Iucounu while he made his representations. Finally, after looking through one or two manuals, he sealed Iucounu’s mouth with a daub of juncturing compound, secured his vitality with an uncomplicated spell, then pent him in a tall glass tube, which he suspended from a chain in the vestibule.

This accomplished, and Iucounu once more conscious, Cugel stood back with an affable grin. “At last, Iucounu, matters begin to right themselves. Do you recall the indignities you visited upon me? How gross they were! I vowed that you would regret the circumstance! I now begin to validate the vow. Do I make myself clear?”

The expression distorting Iucounu’s face was an adequate response.

Cugel seated himself with a goblet of Iucounu’s best yellow wine. “I intend to pursue the matter in this wise: I shall calculate the sum of those hardships I have endured, including such almost incommensurable qualities as chills, cold draughts, insults, pangs of apprehension, uncertainties, bleak despairs, horrors and disgusts, and other indescribable miseries, not the least of which were the ministrations of the unspeakable Firx. From this total I will subtract for my initial indiscretion, and possibly one or two further ameliorations, leaving an imposing balance of retribution. Luckily, you are Iucounu the Laughing Magician: you will certainly derive a wry impersonal amusement from the situation.” Cugel turned an inquiring glance up at Iucounu, but the returning gaze was anything but jocular.

“A final question,” said Cugel. “Have you arranged any traps or lures in which I might be destroyed or immobilized? One blink will express ‘no’; two, ‘yes’.”

Iucounu merely gazed contemptuously from the tube.

Cugel sighed. “I see that I must conduct myself warily.”

Taking his wine into the great hall, he began to familiarize himself with the collection of magical instruments, artifacts, talismans and curios: now, for all practical purposes, his own property. Iucounu’s gaze followed him everywhere with an anxious hope that was by no means reassuring.

Days went by and Iucounu’s trap, if such existed, remained unsprung, and Cugel at last came to believe that none existed. During this time he applied himself to Iucounu’s tomes and folios, but with disappointing results. Certain of the tomes were written in archaic tongues, indecipherable script or arcane terminology; others described phenomena beyond his comprehension; others exuded a waft of such urgent danger that Cugel instantly clamped shut the covers.

One or two of the workbooks he found susceptible to his understanding. These he studied with great diligence, cramming syllable after wrenching syllable into his mind, where they roiled and pressed and distended his temples. Presently he was able to encompass a few of the most simple and primitive spells, certain of which he tested upon Iucounu: notably Lugwiler’s Dismal Itch. But by and large Cugel was disappointed by what seemed a lack of innate competence. Accomplished magicians could encompass three or even four of the most powerful effectuants; for Cugel, attaining even a single spell was a task of extraordinary difficulty. One day, while applying a spatial transposition upon a satin cushion, he inverted certain of the pervulsions and was himself hurled backward into the vestibule. Annoyed by Iucounu’s smirk, Cugel carried the tube to the front of the manse, affixed a pair of brackets upon which he hung lamps, which thereafter illuminated the area before the manse during the hours of night.

A month passed, and Cugel became somewhat more confident in his occupancy of the manse. Peasants of a nearby village brought him produce, and in return Cugel performed what small services he was able. On one occasion the father of Jince, the maiden who served as arranger of his bed-chamber, lost a valuable buckle in a deep cistern, and implored Cugel to bring it forth. Cugel readily agreed, and lowered the tube containing Iucounu into the cistern. Iucounu finally indicated the location of the buckle, which was then recovered with a grapple.

The episode set Cugel to devising other uses for Iucounu. At the Azenomei Fair a ‘Contest of Grotesques’ had been arranged. Cugel entered Iucounu in the competition, and while he failed to win the prime award, his grimaces were unforgettable and attracted much comment.

At the fair Cugel encountered Fianosther, the dealer in talismans and magical adjuncts who had originally sent Cugel to Iucounu’s manse. Fianosther looked in jocular surprise from Cugel to the tube containing Iucounu, which Cugel was transporting back to the manse in a cart. “Cugel! Cugel the Clever!” exclaimed Fianosther. “Rumor then speaks accurately! You are now lord of Iucounu’s manse, and of his great collection of instruments and curios!”

Cugel at first pretended not to recognize Fianosther, then spoke in the coolest of voices. “Quite true,” he said. “Iucounu has chosen to participate less actively in the affairs of the world, as you see. Nonetheless, the manse is a warren of traps and dead-falls; several famished beasts stalk the grounds by night, and I have established a spell of intense violence to guard each entrance.”

Fianosther seemed not to notice Cugel’s distant manner. Rubbing his plump hands, he inquired: “Since you now control a vast collection of curios, will you sell certain of the less choice items?”

“I have neither need nor inclination to do so,” said Cugel. “Iucounu’s coffers contain gold to last till the sun goes dark.” And both men, after the habit of the time, looked up to gauge the color of the moribund star.

Fianosther made a gracious sign. “In this case, I wish you a good day, and you as well.” The last was addressed to Iucounu, who returned only a surly glare.

Returning to the manse, Cugel brought Iucounu into the vestibule; then making his way to the roof, leaned on a parapet and gazed over the expanse of hills which rolled away like swells on a sea. For the hundredth time he pondered Iucounu’s peculiar failure of foresight; by no means must he, Cugel, fall into similar error. And he looked about with an eye to defense. Above rose the spiral green glass towers; below slanted the steep ridges and gables which Iucounu had deemed aesthetically correct. Only the face of the ancient keep offered an easy method of access to the manse. Along the slanting outer abutments Cugel arranged sheets of soapstone in such a manner that anyone climbing to the parapets must step on these and slide to his doom. Had Iucounu taken a similar precaution — so Cugel reflected — instead of arranging the over-subtle crystal maze, he would not now be looking forth from the tall glass tube.

Other defenses must also be perfected: namely those resources to be derived from Iucounu’s shelves.

Returning to the great hall, he consumed the repast set forth by Jince and Skivvee, his two comely stewardesses, then immediately applied himself to his studies. Tonight they concerned themselves with the Spell of Forlorn Encystment, a reprisal perhaps more favored in earlier aeons than the present, and the Agency of Far Despatch, by which Iucounu had transported him to the northern wastes. Both spells were of no small power; both required a bold and absolutely precise control, which Cugel at first feared he would never be able to supply. Nevertheless he persisted, and at last felt able to encompass either the one or the other, at need.

Two days later it was as Cugel had expected: a rap at the front door which, when Cugel flung wide the portal, indicated the unwelcome presence of Fianosther.

“Good day,” said Cugel cheerlessly. “I am indisposed, and must request that you instantly depart.”

Fianosther made a bland gesture. “A report of your distressing illness reached me, and such was my concern that I hastened here with an opiate. Allow me to step within —” so saying he thrust his portly figure past Cugel “— and I will decant the specific dose.”

“I suffer from a spiritual malaise,” said Cugel meaningfully, “which manifests itself in outbursts of vicious rage. I implore you to depart, lest, in an uncontrollable spasm, I cut you in three pieces with my sword, or worse, invoke magic.”

Fianosther winced uneasily, but continued in a voice of unquenchable optimism. “I likewise carry a potion against this disorder.” He brought forth a black flask. “Take a single swallow and your anxieties will be no more.”

Cugel grasped the pommel of his sword. “It seems that I must speak without ambiguity. I command you: depart, and never return! I understand your purpose and I warn that you will find me a less indulgent enemy than was Iucounu! So now, be off! Or I inflict upon you the Spell of the Macroid Toe, whereupon the signalized member swells to the proportions of a house.”

“Thus and so,” cried Fianosther in a fury. “The mask is torn aside! Cugel the Clever stands revealed as an ingrate! Ask yourself: who urged you to pillage the manse of Iucounu? It is I, who by every standard of honest conduct should be entitled to a share of Iucounu’s wealth!”

Cugel snatched forth his blade. “I have heard enough; now I act.”

“Hold!” And Fianosther raised high the black flask. “I need only hurl this bottle to the floor to unloose a purulence, to which I am immune. Stand back then!”

But Cugel, infuriated, lunged, to thrust his blade through the upraised arm. Fianosther called out in woe, flung the black bottle into the air. Cugel leapt to catch it with great dexterity; but meanwhile, Fianosther, jumping forward, struck him a blow, so that Cugel staggered back and collided with the glass tube containing Iucounu. It toppled to the stone, shattered; Iucounu crept painfully away from the fragments.

“Ha ha!” laughed Fianosther. “Matters now move in a different direction!”

“By no means!” called Cugel, bringing forth a tube of blue concentrate which he had found among Iucounu’s instruments.

Iucounu strove with a sliver of glass to cut the seal on his lips. Cugel projected a waft of blue concentrate and Iucounu gave a great tight-lipped moan of distress. “Drop the glass!” ordered Cugel. “Turn about to the wall.” He threatened Fianosther. “You as well!”

With great care he bound the arms of his enemies, then stepping into the great hall possessed himself of the workbook which he had been studying.

“And now — both outside!” he ordered. “Move with alacrity! Events will now proceed to a definite condition!”

He forced the two to walk to a flat area behind the manse, and stood them somewhat apart. “Fianosther, your doom is well-merited. For your deceit, avarice and odious mannerisms I now visit upon you the Spell of Forlorn Encystment!”

Fianosther wailed piteously, and collapsed to his knees. Cugel took no heed. Consulting the workbook he encompassed the spell; then pointing and naming Fianosther, spoke the dreadful syllables.

But Fianosther, rather than sinking into the earth, crouched as before. Cugel hastily consulted the workbook and saw that in error he had transposed a pair of pervulsions, thereby reversing the quality of the spell. Indeed, even as he understood the mistake, to all sides there were small sounds, and previous victims across the aeons were now erupted from a depth of forty-five miles, and discharged upon the surface. Here they lay, blinking in glazed astonishment; though a few lay rigid, too sluggish to react. Their garments had fallen to dust, though the more recently encysted still wore a rag or two. Presently all but the most dazed and rigid made tentative motions, feeling the air, groping at the sky, marveling at the sun.

Cugel uttered a harsh laugh. “I seem to have performed incorrectly. But no matter. I shall not do so a second time. Iucounu, your penalty shall be commensurate with your offense, no more, no less! You flung me willy-nilly to the northern wastes, to a land where the sun slants low across the south. I shall do the same for you. You inflicted me with Firx; I will inflict you with Fianosther. Together you may plod the tundras, penetrate the Great Erm, win past the Mountains of Magnatz. Do not plead; put forward no excuses: in this case I am obdurate. Stand quietly unless you wish a further infliction of blue ruin!”

So now Cugel applied himself to the Agency of Far Despatch, and established the activating sounds carefully within his mind. “Prepare yourselves,” he called, “and farewell!”

With that he sang forth the spell, hesitating at only one pervulsion where uncertainty overcame him. But all was well. From on high came a thud and a guttural outcry, as a coursing demon was halted in mid-flight.

“Appear, appear!” called Cugel. “The destination is as before: to the shore of the northern sea, where the cargo must be delivered alive and secure! Appear! Seize the designated persons and carry them in accordance with the command!”