There was a whispered conversation in the corridor, then came the response. “There was indeed a statement to that effect. You are hereby declared free, to come and go as you wish. Unblock the entrance, cast down your sword, and come forth!”
“What guarantee can you offer me?” asked Cugel, listening intently at the blocked entrance.
There were shrill chittering whispers, then the reply: “No guarantee is necessary. We now retire. Come forth, walk along the corridor to your freedom.”
Cugel made no response. Holding aloft the fire-ball he turned to inspect the store-room, which contained a great store of articles of clothing, weapons, tools. In that bin he had pushed against the entrance he noticed a group of leather-bound librams. On the face of the first was printed:
ZARAIDES THE WIZARD
His Work-book: Beware!
The rat-folk called once more, in gentle voices: “Cugel, dear Cugel: why have you not come forth?”
“I rest; I recover my strength,” said Cugel. He took forth the libram, turned the pages, and found an index.
“Come forth, Cugel!” came a command, somewhat sterner. “We have here a pot of noxious vapor which we propose to discharge into the chamber where you so obdurately seclude yourself. Come forth, or it shall be the worse for you!”
“Patience,” called Cugel. “Allow me time to collect my wits!”
“While you collect your wits we ready the pot of acid in which we plan to immerse your head.”
“Just so, just so,” said Cugel absently, engrossed in the work-book. There was a scraping sound and a tube was thrust into the chamber. Cugel took hold of the tube, twisted it so that it pointed back into the corridor.
“Speak, Cugel!” came the portentous order. “Will you come forth or shall we send a great gust of vile gas into the chamber?”
“You lack that capability,” said Cugel. “I refuse to come forth.”
“You shall see! Let the gas exude!”
The tube pulsed and hissed; from the corridor came a cry of vast dismay. The hissing ceased.
Cugel, not finding what he sought in the work-book, drew forth a tome. This bore the title:
ZARAIDES THE WIZARD
His Compendium of Spells
— Beware! —
Cugel opened and read; finding an appropriate spell he held the fire-ball close the better to encompass the activating syllables. There were four lines of words, thirty-one syllables in all. Cugel forced them into his brain, where they lay like stones.
A sound behind him? Into the chamber from another portal came the rat-folk. Crouching low, white faces twitching, ears down, they crept forward, tridents leveled.
Cugel menaced them with his sword, then chanted that spell known as the Inside Out and Over, while the rat-folk stared aghast. A great tearing sound: a convulsive lift and twist as the passages everted, spewing all through the forest. Rat-folk ran squealing back and forth, and there were also running white things whose nature Cugel could not distinguish by starlight. Rat-folk and the white creatures grappled and tore ferociously at each other, and the forest was filled with snarling and gnashing, shrill screams and small voices raised in outcry.
Cugel moved quietly away, and in a bilberry thicket waited out the night.
When dawn arrived he returned cautiously to the hillock, hoping to possess himself of Zaraides’ compendium and work-book. There was great litter, and many small corpses, but the articles he sought were not to be found. Regretfully Cugel turned away and presently came upon Fabeln’s daughter sitting among the ferns. When he approached, she squeaked at him. Cugel pursed his lips, shook his head in disapproval. He led her to a nearby stream and attempted to wash her, but at the first opportunity she disengaged herself and hid under a rock.
Chapter VII
The Manse of Iucounu
The spell was the ‘Inside Out and Over’, of derivation so remote as to be forgotten. An unknown Cloud-rider of the Twenty-first Aeon had construed an archaic version; the half-legendary Basile Blackweb refined its contours, a process continued by Veronifer the Bland who added a reinforcing resonance. Archemand of Glaere annotated fourteen of its pervulsions; Phandaal had listed it in the “A”, or “Perfected” category of his monumental catalogue. In this fashion it had reached the workbook of Zaraides the Sage, where Cugel, immured under a hillock, found it and spoke it forth.
The results were of dramatic scope. The hillock ejected its contents, scattering the hoard of that murine race which had lived below; then, heaving and re-establishing, was as before.
Searching through the multifarious litter Cugel found articles of every description: garments new and old; jerkins, vests and cloaks; antique tabards; breeches flared after the taste of Kauchique, or fringed and tasseled in the style of Old Romarth, or pied and gored in the extravagant Andromach mode. There were boots and sandals and hats of every description; plumes, panaches, emblems and crests; old tools and broken weapons; bangles and trinkets; tarnished filigrees, crusted cameos; gem-stones which Cugel could not refrain from gathering and which perhaps delayed him from finding that which he sought: the workbooks of Zaraides, which had been scattered with the rest.
Cugel searched at length. He found silver bowls, ivory spoons, porcelain vases; gnawed bones and shining teeth of many sorts, these glittering like pearls among the leaves — but nowhere the tomes and folios which might have helped him overcome Iucounu the Laughing Magician. Even now Iucounu’s creature of coercion, Firx, clamped serrated members upon Cugel’s liver. Cugel finally called out: “I merely seek the most direct route to Azenomei; you will soon rejoin your comrade in Iucounu’s vat! Meanwhile take your ease; are you in such an agony of haste?” At which Firx sullenly relaxed his pressure.
Cugel wandered disconsolately back and forth, looking among branches and under roots, squinting up the forest aisles, kicking among the ferns and mosses. Then at the base of a stump he saw that which he sought: a number of folios and librams, gathered into a neat stack. Upon the stump sat Zaraides.
Cugel stepped forward, pinch-mouthed with disappointment. Zaraides surveyed him with a serene countenance. “You appear to seek some misplaced object. The loss, I trust, is not serious?”
Cugel gave his head a terse shake. “A few trifles have gone astray. Let them moulder among the leaves.”
“By no means!” declared Zaraides. “Describe the loss; I will send forth a searching oscillation. You will have your property within moments!”
Cugel demurred. “I would not impose such a trivial business upon you. Let us consider other matters.” He indicated the stack of tomes, upon which Zaraides had now placed his feet. “Happily your own property is secure.”
Zaraides nodded with placid satisfaction. “All is now well; I am concerned only with that imbalance which distorts our relationship.” He held up his hand as Cugel stood back. “There is no cause for alarm; in fact, quite the reverse. Your acts averted my death; the Law of Equivalences has been disturbed and I must contrive a reciprocity.” He combed his beard with his fingers. “The requital unfortunately must be largely symbolic. I could well fulfill the totality of your desires and still not nudge the scale against the weight of the service you have performed, even if unwittingly, for me.”
