Cugel became somewhat more cheerful, but now Firx, once again impatient, made a new demonstration. Clasping his abdomen Cugel cried out: “Preliminary to all, be good enough to extract the creature which lacerates my vitals, a certain Firx.”
Zaraides raised his eyebrows. “What manner of creature is this?”
“A detestable object from a far star. It resembles a tangle, a thicket, a web of white spines, barbs and claws.”
“A matter of no great difficulty,” said Zaraides. “These creatures are susceptible to a rather primitive method of extirpation. Come; my dwelling lies at no great distance.”
Zaraides stepped down from the stump, gathered his compendia and flung them into the air; all lofted high to float swiftly over the treetops and out of sight. Cugel watched them go with sadness.
“You marvel?” inquired Zaraides. “It is nothing: the simplest of procedures and a curb on the zeal of thieves and foot-pads. Let us set forth; we must expel this creature which causes you such distress.”
He led the way through the trees. Cugel came after, but now Firx, belatedly sensing that all was not to his advantage, made a furious protest. Cugel, bending double, jumping sidewise, forced himself to totter and run after Zaraides, who marched without so much as a backward glance.
In the branches of an enormous daobado Zaraides had his dwelling. Stairs rose to a heavy drooping bough which led to a rustic portico. Cugel crawled up the staircase, along the bough, and into a great square room. The furnishings were at once simple and luxurious. Windows looked in all directions over the forest; a thick rug patterned in black, brown and yellow covered the floor.
Zaraides beckoned Cugel into his workroom. “We will abate this nuisance at once.”
Cugel stumbled after him and at a gesture settled upon a glass pedestal.
Zaraides brought a screen of zinc strips which he placed at Cugel’s back. “This is to inform Firx that a trained wizard is at hand: creatures of his sort are highly antipathetic to zinc. Now then, a simple potion: sulfur, aquastel, tincture of zyche; certain herbs: bournade, hilp, cassas, though these latter are perhaps not essential. Drink, if you will … Firx, come forth! Hence, you extra-terrestrial pest! Remove! Or I dust Cugel’s entire interior with sulfur and pierce him with zinc rods! Come forth! What? Must I flush you forth with aquastel? Come forth; return to Achernar as best you may!”
At this Firx angrily relinquished his grip and issued from Cugel’s chest: a tangle of white nerves and tendrils, each with its claw or barb. Zaraides captured the creature in a zinc basin which he covered with a mesh of zinc.
Cugel, who had lost consciousness, awoke to find Zaraides serenely affable, awaiting his recovery. “You are a lucky man,” Zaraides told him. “The treatment was only barely in time. It is the tendency of this maleficent incubus to extend its prongs everywhere through the body, until it clamps upon the brain; then you and Firx are one and the same. How did you become infected with the creature?”
Cugel gave a small grimace of distaste. “It was at the hands of Iucounu the Laughing Magician. You know him?” For Zaraides had allowed his eyebrows to arch high.
“Mainly by his reputation for humor and grotesquerie,” replied the sage.
“He is nothing less than a buffoon!” exclaimed Cugel. “For a fancied slight he threw me to the north of the world, where the sun wheels low and casts no more heat than a lamp. Iucounu must have his joke, but now I will have a joke of my own! You have announced your effusive gratitude, and so, before proceeding to the main body of my desires, we will take a suitable revenge upon Iucounu.”
Zaraides nodded thoughtfully and ran his fingers through his beard. “I will advise you. Iucounu is a vain and sensitive man. His most vulnerable spot is his self-esteem. Turn your back on him, take yourself to another quarter! This act of proud disdain will strike a pang more exquisite than any other discomfort you might devise.”
Cugel frowned. “The reprisal seems rather too abstract. If you will be good enough to summon a demon, I will give him his instructions in regard to Iucounu. The business will then be at an end, and we can discuss other matters.”
Zaraides shook his head. “All is not so simple. Iucounu, himself devious, is not apt to be taken unawares. He would instantly learn who instigated the assault, and the relations of distant cordiality we have enjoyed would be at an end.”
“Pah!” scoffed Cugel. “Does Zaraides the Sage fear to identify himself with the cause of justice? Does he blink and draw aside from one so timid and vacillating as Iucounu?”
“In a word — yes,” said Zaraides. “At any instant the sun may go dark; I do not care to pass these last hours exchanging jests with Iucounu, whose humor is much more elaborate than my own. So now, attend. In one minute I must concern myself with certain important duties. As a final signal of gratitude I will transfer you to whatever locale you choose. Where shall it be?”
“If this is your best, take me then to Azenomei, at the juncture of the Xzan with the Scaum!”
“As you wish. Be so good as to step upon this stage. Hold out your hands thus … Draw your breath deep, and during the passage neither inhale nor exhale … Are you ready?”
Cugel assented. Zaraides drew back, called a spell. Cugel was jerked up and away. An instant later the ground touched his feet and he found himself walking the main concourse of Azenomei. He drew a deep breath. “After all the trials, all the vicissitudes, I am once again in Azenomei!” And, shaking his head in wonder, he looked about him. The ancient structures, the terraces overlooking the river, the market: all were as before. Not far distant was the booth of Fianosther. Turning his back to avoid recognition, he sauntered away.
“Now what?” he ruminated. “First, new garments, then the comforts of an inn, where I may weigh every aspect of my present condition. When one wishes to laugh with Iucounu, he should embark upon the project with all caution.”
Two hours later, bathed, shorn, refreshed, and wearing new garments of black, green and red, Cugel sat in the common room of the River Inn with a plate of spiced sausages and a flask of green wine.
“This matter of a just settlement poses problems of extreme delicacy,” he mused. “I must move with care!”
He poured wine from the flagon, ate several of the sausages. Then he opened his pouch and withdrew a small object wrapped carefully in soft cloth: the violet cusp which Iucounu wished as a match for the one already in his possession. He raised the cusp to his eye but stopped short: it would display the surroundings in an illusion so favorable that he might never wish to remove it. And now, as he contemplated the glossy surface, there entered his mind a program so ingenious, so theoretically effective and yet of such small hazard, that he instantly abandoned the search for a better.
Essentially, the scheme was simple. He would present himself to Iucounu and tender the cusp, or more accurately, a cusp of similar appearance. Iucounu would compare it with that which he already owned, in order to test the efficacy of the coupled pair, and inevitably look through both. The discord between the real and the false would jar his brain and render him helpless, whereupon Cugel could take such measures as seemed profitable.
Where was the flaw in the plan? Cugel could see none. If Iucounu discovered the substitution, Cugel need only utter an apology and produce the real cusp, and so lull Iucounu’s suspicions. All in all, the probabilities of success seemed excellent.
Cugel finished his sausages in leisure, ordered a second flagon of wine, and observed with pleasure the view across the Xzan. There was no need for haste; indeed, while dealing with Iucounu, impulsiveness was a serious mistake, as he already had learned.
On the following day, still finding no fault in his plan, he visited a glass-blower whose workroom was established on the banks of the Scaum a mile to the east of Azenomei, in a copse of fluttering yellow bilibobs.
The glass-blower examined the cusp. “An exact duplicate, of identical shape and color? No small task, with a violet so pure and rich. Such a color is most difficult to work into glass; there is no specific stain; all must be a matter of guess and hazard. Still — I will prepare a melt. We shall see, we shall see.”
After several trials he produced a glass of the requisite hue, from which he fashioned a cusp superficially indistinguishable from the magic lens.
“Excellent!” declared Cugel. “And now, as to your fee?”
“Such a cusp of violet glass I value at a hundred terces,” replied the glass-blower in a casual manner.
“What?” cried Cugel in outrage. “Do I appear so gullible? The charge is excessive.”
The glass-blower replaced his tools, swages and crucibles, showing no concern for Cugel’s indignation. “The universe evinces no true stability. All fluctuates, cycles, ebbs and flows; all is pervaded with mutability. My fees, which are immanent with the cosmos, obey the same laws and vary according to the anxiety of the customer.”
Cugel drew back in displeasure, at which the glass-blower reached forth and possessed himself of both cusps. Cugel exclaimed: “What do you intend?”
“I return the glass to the crucible; what else?”
