Jack Vance, page 10
Madouc, after a diffident rehearsal, took a deep breath to settle her nerves, then blew a soft note on the grass flute and spoke the cantrap.
Nothing seemed to occur. Madouc looked here and there, then spoke to the wefkin. “Did I pronounce the charm correctly?”
A soft voice responded from behind the foxglove foliage: “You spoke the charm in good rendition.” Twisk the fairy damsel came forward: a supple creature with a casual fluff of pale blue hair, bound with a rope of sapphires.
Madouc called out in awe and rapture: “Are you truly my mother?”
“First things first,” said Twisk. “How did you agree to pay Zocco for his services?”
“He wanted me to kiss his nose. I told him that I would take advice on the matter.”
“Quite right!” declared Zocco the wefkin. “In due course I will vouchsafe the correct advice, and that will be the end of it. We need discuss the subject no further.”
“Since I am her mother, I will provide the advice, and spare you the effort,” said Twisk.
“No effort for me! I am deft and alert in my thinking!”
Twisk paid no heed. “Madouc, this is my advice: pick up yonder clod of dirt, and tender it to that popeyed little imp, speaking these words: ‘Zocco, with this token I both imburse and reimburse you, in full fee and total account, now and then, anon and forever, in this world and all others, and in every other conceivable respect, for each and every service you have performed for me or in my behalf, real or imaginary, to the limits of time, in all directions.’”
“Sheer rigmarole and tommyrot!” scoffed Zocco. “Madouc, pay no heed to this foolish blue-haired wiffet; you and I have our own arrangements, as you know.”
Twisk came slowly forward, and Madouc was able to see her clearly: a lovely creature with skin the color of cream, features of surpassing delicacy. Her eyes, like those of Madouc, were wonderful dreaming sky-blue pools, in which a susceptible man might easily lose his wits. Twisk spoke to Madouc: “I will remark, as a matter of casual interest, that Zocco is notorious for his lewd conduct. If you kissed his nose you would be compelled into his service, and soon would be kissing him elsewhere, at his orders, and who knows what else?”
“This is unthinkable!” declared Madouc aghast. “Zocco seemed so affable and courteous!”
“That is the usual trick.”
Madouc turned to Zocco. “I have now taken advisement.” She picked up the clod of dirt. “Instead of kissing your nose, I tender you this token of my gratitude.” She spoke the disclaimer which Twisk had contrived for her use, despite Zocco’s squeaks and groans of protest.
With a pettish motion Zocco cast the clod of dirt aside. “Such tokens are useless! I cannot eat them; they are flavorless! I cannot wear them; they lack style, and they provide no amusement whatever!”
Twisk said: “Silence, Zocco; your complaints are crass.”
“In addition to the token,” said Madouc with dignity, “and despite your horrifying plans, I extend you my thanks, in that you have united me with my mother, and no doubt Twisk feels the same gratitude.”
“What!” said Twisk. “I had long put your existence out of my mind. Why, may I ask, did you call me?”
Madouc’s jaw dropped. “I wanted to know my mother! I thought all the time she was dead.”
Twisk gave an indulgent laugh. “The error is absurd. I am surcharged with vivacity, of all kinds!”
“So I see! I regret the mistake, but I was given false information.”
“Just so. You must learn to be more skeptical. But now you know the truth and I will be returning to Thripsey Shee!”
“Not yet!” cried Madouc. “I am your beloved daughter, and you have only just met me! Also, I need your help!”
Twisk sighed. “Is it not always the way? What then do you want of me?”
“I am lost in the forest! Two murderers killed Pymfyd and stole my horse Tyfer. They chased me and caused me a great fright; they wanted to kill me as well; also they called me a ‘scrawny red-headed whelp’!”
Twisk stared in shock and disapproval. “You meekly stood by and allowed these insults?”
“By no means! I ran away as fast as possible and hid.”
“You should have brought them a waft of hornets! Or shortened their legs so that their feet adjoined their buttocks! Or transformed them into hedgehogs!”
Madouc gave an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know how to do these things.”
Twisk sighed once more. “I have neglected your education; I cannot deny it. Well, no time like the present, and we shall make a start at this instant.” She took Madouc’s hands in her own. “What do you feel?”
“A quiver came over me—a sensation most strange!”
Twisk nodded and stood back. “Now then: hold your thumb and finger thus. Whisper ‘Fwip’ and jerk your chin toward whatever nuisance you wish to abate. You may practice on Zocco.”
Madouc pressed thumb and finger together. “Like this?”
“Just so.”
“And: ‘Fwip’?”
“Correct.”
“And jerk my chin—like this?”
Zocco uttered a screech and jumped four feet from the ground, twirling his feet rapidly in mid-air. “Hai hai kiyah!” called Zocco. “Put me down!”
“You have worked the spell correctly,” said Twisk. “See how he twirls his feet, as if dancing? The spell is known as the ‘Tinkle-toe Imp-spring’.”
Madouc allowed thumb and finger to separate and Zocco returned to the ground, sea-green eyes bulging from his head. “Hold hard on that mischief, and at once!”
Madouc spoke contritely. “Excuse me, Zocco! I think that I jerked my chin a bit too hard.”
“That was my own thought,” said Twisk. “Try again, using less force.”
On this occasion Zocco jumped less than three feet into the air, and his outcries were considerably less shrill.
“Well done!” said Twisk. “You have a natural bent for such work!”
“It has come too late,” gloomed Madouc. “Poor Pymfyd lies dead in the ditch, and all through my insistence upon the Flauhamet fair!”
Twisk made an airy gesture. “Did you strike Pymfyd dead?”
“No, Mother.”
“Then you need feel no remorse.”
Madouc’s distress was not fully relieved. “All very well, but Ossip and Sammikin who struck the blows feel no remorse either! They beat poor Pymfyd till the blood gushed; then they chased me and stole Tyfer. I have met you and I am overjoyed for this reason, but at the same time I grieve for Pymfyd and Tyfer.”
Zocco chuckled. “Just like a female, singing both bass and falsetto with the same breath!”
Twisk turned Zocco a glance of mild inquiry. “Zocco, did you speak?”
Zocco licked his lips. “An idle thought, no more.”
“Since you lack occupation, perhaps you will look into the vexations which Madouc has described.”
Zocco said peevishly: “I see no reason to oblige either you or your unappealing brat of a daughter.”
“The choice is yours,” said Twisk graciously. She spoke to Madouc: “Wefkins are unimaginative. Zocco, for instance, envisions a future of blissful ease, with never a pang of discomfort. Right or wrong?”
“He is wrong indeed.”
Zocco jumped to his feet. “I find that I have a few moments to spare. It will do no harm to take a cursory look around the landscape, and perhaps make an adjustment or two.”
Twisk nodded. “Please report your findings on the instant!”
Zocco was gone. Twisk examined Madouc from head to toe. “This is an interesting occasion. As I mentioned, I had almost forgotten your existence.”
Madouc spoke stiffly: “It was not very nice of you to give me away, your own darling little child, and take another in my place.”
“Yes and no,” said Twisk. “You were not as darling as you might like to think; indeed, you were something of a rippet. Dhrun was golden-haired and sweet-natured; he gurgled and laughed, while you screamed and kicked. It was a relief to be rid of you.”
Madouc held her tongue; reproaches, clearly, would serve no useful purpose. She spoke with dignity: “I hope that I have given you reason to change your opinion.”
“You might have turned out worse. I seem to have gifted you with a certain queer intelligence, and perhaps an inkling of my own extravagant beauty, though your hair is a frowst.”
“That is because I have been running through the woods in terror and hiding under a rotten log. If you like, you may give me a magic comb, which will order my hair at a touch.”
“A good idea,” said Twisk. “You will find it under your pillow when you return to Sarris.”
Madouc’s mouth dropped. “Am I to return to Sarris?”
“Where else?” asked Twisk, somewhat tartly.
“We could live together in a pretty little castle of our own, perhaps beside the sea.”
“That would not be practical. You are quite suitably housed at Sarris. But remember: no one must learn of our meeting—King Casmir, in particular!”
“Why so? Though I had no intention of telling him.”
“It is a complicated story. He knows that you are a changeling, but, try as he might, he has never been able to identify Suldrun’s true child. Were he to know—and he would force the truth from you—he would send out assassins, and Dhrun would soon be dead.”
Madouc grimaced. “Why should he do such a terrible deed?”
“Because of a prediction in regard to Suldrun’s first-born son, which causes him anxiety. Only the priest Umphred knows the secret and he hugs it close, at least for the moment. Now then, Madouc, while this has been an interesting occasion—”
“Not yet! There is still much to talk about! Will we meet again soon?”
Twisk gave an indifferent shrug. “I live in a constant flux; I am unable to make fixed plans.”
“I am not sure whether I live in a flux or not,” said Madouc. “I know only that Devonet and Chlodys call me ‘bastard’ and insist that I lack all pedigree.”
“In a formal sense, they are correct, if somewhat rude.”
Madouc spoke wistfully: “I suspected as much. Still, I would like to know the name of my father and all the particulars of his personality and condition.”
Twisk laughed. “You pose a conundrum I cannot even begin to solve.”
Madouc spoke in shock: “You cannot remember his name?”
“No.”
“Nor his rank? Nor his race? Nor his appearance?”
“The episode occurred long ago. I cannot recall every trifling incident of my life.”
“Still, since he was my father, he was surely a gentleman of rank, with a very long and fine pedigree.”
“I remember no such individual.”
“It seems, then, that I cannot even claim to be a bastard of high degree!”
Twisk had become bored with the subject. “Make whatever claim you like; no one can disprove you, not even I! In any case, bastard or not, you are still reckoned to be Princess Madouc of Lyonesse! This is an enviable estate!”
From the corner of her eye Madouc glimpsed a flicker of green and blue. “Zocco has returned.”
Zocco reported his findings. “Neither corpse nor cadaver made itself known, and I adjudged the issue to be moot. Proceeding eastward along Old Street, I discovered two rogues on horseback. Fat Sammikin sat high on a tall bay like the hump on a camel. Ossip Longshanks bestrode a dappled pony, with his feet dragging the ground.”
“Alas, poor Tyfer!” mourned Madouc.
Twisk asked: “And how did you resolve the case?”
“The horses are tethered in the paddock. The rogues are running across Lanklyn Down pursued by bears.”
“Sammikin perhaps should have been transformed into a toad and Ossip into a salamander,” said Twisk. “I would also have verified Pymfyd’s death more carefully, if only that I might observe the prodigy of a walking corpse.”
Madouc suggested: “Perhaps he is not dead?”
“That, of course, is possible,” said Twisk.
Zocco grumbled: “If he wanted to be thought dead, he should have remained in place.”
“Quite so,” said Twisk. “Now you may go your way. In the future try no more sly tricks upon my innocent young daughter.”
Zocco grumbled: “She is young, but I doubt if she is all so innocent. Still, I will now bid you farewell.” Zocco seemed to fall backward off the stone and was gone.
“Zocco is not a bad sort, as wefkins go,” said Twisk. “Now then, time presses. It has been a pleasure to meet you after so many years, but—”
“Wait!” cried Madouc. “I still know nothing of my father, nor my pedigree!”
“I will give the matter thought. In the meantime—”
“Not yet, Mother dear! I need your help in a few other small ways!”
“If I must, I must,” said Twisk. “What are your needs?”
“Pymfyd may be in bad case, sore and ill. Give me something to make him well.”
“That is simple enough.” Twisk plucked a laurel leaf, spat delicately into its center. She folded the leaf into a wad, touched it to her forehead, nose and chin, and gave it to Madouc. “Rub this upon Pymfyd’s wounds, for his quick good health. Is there anything else? If not—”
“There is something else! Should I use the Tinkle-toe upon Lady Desdea? She might jump so high as to cause an embarrassment, or even to injure herself!”
“You have a kind heart,” said Twisk. “As for the Tinkle-toe, you must learn to gauge both the finesse of your gesture and the thrust of your chin. With practice, you will control the vigor of her jump to exactly a proper altitude. What else?”
Madouc considered. “I would like a wand to do transformations, a cap of invisibility, swift slippers to walk the air, a purse of boundless wealth, a talisman to compel the love of all, a mirror—”
“Stop!” cried Twisk. “Your needs are excessive!”
“It does no harm to ask,” said Madouc. “When will I see you again?”
“If necessary, come to Thripsey Shee.”
“How will I find this place?”
“Fare along Old Street to Little Saffield. Turn north up Timble Way, pass first through Tawn Timble, then Glymwode, which is hard by the forest. Take directions to Wamble Path, which leads into Thripsey Meadow. Arrive at noon, but never at night, for a variety of reasons. Stand at the edge of the meadow and softly speak my name three times, and I will come. If nuisances are committed upon you, cry out: ‘Trouble me not, by fairy law!’”
Madouc made a hopeful suggestion: “It might be more convenient if I called you with the grass flute.”
“More convenient for you perhaps; not necessarily for me.” Twisk stepped forward and kissed Madouc’s forehead. She stood back smiling. “I have been remiss, but that is my nature, and you must expect nothing better from me.”
Twisk was gone. Madouc, her forehead tingling, stood alone in the glade. She looked at the place where Twisk had stood, then turned away and also departed.
4
Madouc returned through the forest the way she had come. In the sheepfold she found Tyfer and Pymfyd’s bay tethered to a post. She mounted Tyfer and rode down the lane toward Old Street, leading the bay.
As she rode, she searched carefully to either side of the way, but Pymfyd was nowhere to be seen, neither alive nor dead. The circumstances caused Madouc both anxiety and puzzlement. If Pymfyd were alive, why had he lain so limp and still in the ditch? If Pymfyd were dead, why should he walk away?
Madouc, with wary glances to right and left, crossed Old Street into Fanship Way. She continued south, and presently arrived at Sarris. In a mournful mood she took the horses around to the stables, and at last the mystery in regard to Pymfyd’s disappearance was clarified. Sitting disconsolately beside the dungheap was Pymfyd himself.
At the sight of Madouc, Pymfyd jumped to his feet. “At last you trouble to show yourself!” he cried out. “Why have you dallied so long?”
Madouc responded with dignity: “I was delayed by events beyond my control.”
“All very well!” growled Pymfyd. “Meanwhile I have been sitting here on tenterhooks! If King Casmir had come before your return, I would now be crouching deep in a dungeon.”
“Your worries seem far less for me than for yourself,” said Madouc with a sniff.
“Not so! I made several guesses as to your probable fate, and was not cheered. Exactly what happened to you?”
Madouc saw no need to report the full scope of her adventures. “The robbers chased me deep into the forest. After I eluded them I circled back to Old Street and rode home. That, in general, is what happened.” She dismounted from Tyfer, and examined Pymfyd from head to toe. “You seem in adequately good health. I feared that you were dead, from the effect of so many cruel blows.”
“Hah!” said Pymfyd scornfully. “I am not so easily daunted! My head is thick.”
“On the whole, and taking all with all, your conduct cannot be faulted,” said Madouc. “You fought your best.”
“True! Still, I am not a fool! When I saw how events were going I feigned death.”
“Have you bruises? Do you hurt?”
“I cannot deny a few aches and as many pains. My head throbs like a great bell!”
“Approach me, Pymfyd! I will try to allay your suffering.”
Pymfyd asked suspiciously: “What do you plan to do?”
“You need ask no questions.”
“I tend to be cautious in the matter of cures. I want neither cathartics nor clysters.”
Madouc paid no heed to the remark. “Come here and show me where you hurt.”
Pymfyd approached and gingerly indicated his bruises. Madouc applied the poultice she had received from Twisk, and Pymfyd’s pain instantly disappeared.
“That was well done,” said Pymfyd grudgingly. “Where did you learn such a trick?”
“It is a natural art,” said Madouc. “I also wish to commend your bravery. You fought hard and well, and deserve recognition.” She looked here and there, but discovered no implement suitable to her needs save the manure fork. “Pymfyd, kneel before me!”
Once again Pymfyd stared in perplexity. “Now what?”
Nothing seemed to occur. Madouc looked here and there, then spoke to the wefkin. “Did I pronounce the charm correctly?”
A soft voice responded from behind the foxglove foliage: “You spoke the charm in good rendition.” Twisk the fairy damsel came forward: a supple creature with a casual fluff of pale blue hair, bound with a rope of sapphires.
Madouc called out in awe and rapture: “Are you truly my mother?”
“First things first,” said Twisk. “How did you agree to pay Zocco for his services?”
“He wanted me to kiss his nose. I told him that I would take advice on the matter.”
“Quite right!” declared Zocco the wefkin. “In due course I will vouchsafe the correct advice, and that will be the end of it. We need discuss the subject no further.”
“Since I am her mother, I will provide the advice, and spare you the effort,” said Twisk.
“No effort for me! I am deft and alert in my thinking!”
Twisk paid no heed. “Madouc, this is my advice: pick up yonder clod of dirt, and tender it to that popeyed little imp, speaking these words: ‘Zocco, with this token I both imburse and reimburse you, in full fee and total account, now and then, anon and forever, in this world and all others, and in every other conceivable respect, for each and every service you have performed for me or in my behalf, real or imaginary, to the limits of time, in all directions.’”
“Sheer rigmarole and tommyrot!” scoffed Zocco. “Madouc, pay no heed to this foolish blue-haired wiffet; you and I have our own arrangements, as you know.”
Twisk came slowly forward, and Madouc was able to see her clearly: a lovely creature with skin the color of cream, features of surpassing delicacy. Her eyes, like those of Madouc, were wonderful dreaming sky-blue pools, in which a susceptible man might easily lose his wits. Twisk spoke to Madouc: “I will remark, as a matter of casual interest, that Zocco is notorious for his lewd conduct. If you kissed his nose you would be compelled into his service, and soon would be kissing him elsewhere, at his orders, and who knows what else?”
“This is unthinkable!” declared Madouc aghast. “Zocco seemed so affable and courteous!”
“That is the usual trick.”
Madouc turned to Zocco. “I have now taken advisement.” She picked up the clod of dirt. “Instead of kissing your nose, I tender you this token of my gratitude.” She spoke the disclaimer which Twisk had contrived for her use, despite Zocco’s squeaks and groans of protest.
With a pettish motion Zocco cast the clod of dirt aside. “Such tokens are useless! I cannot eat them; they are flavorless! I cannot wear them; they lack style, and they provide no amusement whatever!”
Twisk said: “Silence, Zocco; your complaints are crass.”
“In addition to the token,” said Madouc with dignity, “and despite your horrifying plans, I extend you my thanks, in that you have united me with my mother, and no doubt Twisk feels the same gratitude.”
“What!” said Twisk. “I had long put your existence out of my mind. Why, may I ask, did you call me?”
Madouc’s jaw dropped. “I wanted to know my mother! I thought all the time she was dead.”
Twisk gave an indulgent laugh. “The error is absurd. I am surcharged with vivacity, of all kinds!”
“So I see! I regret the mistake, but I was given false information.”
“Just so. You must learn to be more skeptical. But now you know the truth and I will be returning to Thripsey Shee!”
“Not yet!” cried Madouc. “I am your beloved daughter, and you have only just met me! Also, I need your help!”
Twisk sighed. “Is it not always the way? What then do you want of me?”
“I am lost in the forest! Two murderers killed Pymfyd and stole my horse Tyfer. They chased me and caused me a great fright; they wanted to kill me as well; also they called me a ‘scrawny red-headed whelp’!”
Twisk stared in shock and disapproval. “You meekly stood by and allowed these insults?”
“By no means! I ran away as fast as possible and hid.”
“You should have brought them a waft of hornets! Or shortened their legs so that their feet adjoined their buttocks! Or transformed them into hedgehogs!”
Madouc gave an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know how to do these things.”
Twisk sighed once more. “I have neglected your education; I cannot deny it. Well, no time like the present, and we shall make a start at this instant.” She took Madouc’s hands in her own. “What do you feel?”
“A quiver came over me—a sensation most strange!”
Twisk nodded and stood back. “Now then: hold your thumb and finger thus. Whisper ‘Fwip’ and jerk your chin toward whatever nuisance you wish to abate. You may practice on Zocco.”
Madouc pressed thumb and finger together. “Like this?”
“Just so.”
“And: ‘Fwip’?”
“Correct.”
“And jerk my chin—like this?”
Zocco uttered a screech and jumped four feet from the ground, twirling his feet rapidly in mid-air. “Hai hai kiyah!” called Zocco. “Put me down!”
“You have worked the spell correctly,” said Twisk. “See how he twirls his feet, as if dancing? The spell is known as the ‘Tinkle-toe Imp-spring’.”
Madouc allowed thumb and finger to separate and Zocco returned to the ground, sea-green eyes bulging from his head. “Hold hard on that mischief, and at once!”
Madouc spoke contritely. “Excuse me, Zocco! I think that I jerked my chin a bit too hard.”
“That was my own thought,” said Twisk. “Try again, using less force.”
On this occasion Zocco jumped less than three feet into the air, and his outcries were considerably less shrill.
“Well done!” said Twisk. “You have a natural bent for such work!”
“It has come too late,” gloomed Madouc. “Poor Pymfyd lies dead in the ditch, and all through my insistence upon the Flauhamet fair!”
Twisk made an airy gesture. “Did you strike Pymfyd dead?”
“No, Mother.”
“Then you need feel no remorse.”
Madouc’s distress was not fully relieved. “All very well, but Ossip and Sammikin who struck the blows feel no remorse either! They beat poor Pymfyd till the blood gushed; then they chased me and stole Tyfer. I have met you and I am overjoyed for this reason, but at the same time I grieve for Pymfyd and Tyfer.”
Zocco chuckled. “Just like a female, singing both bass and falsetto with the same breath!”
Twisk turned Zocco a glance of mild inquiry. “Zocco, did you speak?”
Zocco licked his lips. “An idle thought, no more.”
“Since you lack occupation, perhaps you will look into the vexations which Madouc has described.”
Zocco said peevishly: “I see no reason to oblige either you or your unappealing brat of a daughter.”
“The choice is yours,” said Twisk graciously. She spoke to Madouc: “Wefkins are unimaginative. Zocco, for instance, envisions a future of blissful ease, with never a pang of discomfort. Right or wrong?”
“He is wrong indeed.”
Zocco jumped to his feet. “I find that I have a few moments to spare. It will do no harm to take a cursory look around the landscape, and perhaps make an adjustment or two.”
Twisk nodded. “Please report your findings on the instant!”
Zocco was gone. Twisk examined Madouc from head to toe. “This is an interesting occasion. As I mentioned, I had almost forgotten your existence.”
Madouc spoke stiffly: “It was not very nice of you to give me away, your own darling little child, and take another in my place.”
“Yes and no,” said Twisk. “You were not as darling as you might like to think; indeed, you were something of a rippet. Dhrun was golden-haired and sweet-natured; he gurgled and laughed, while you screamed and kicked. It was a relief to be rid of you.”
Madouc held her tongue; reproaches, clearly, would serve no useful purpose. She spoke with dignity: “I hope that I have given you reason to change your opinion.”
“You might have turned out worse. I seem to have gifted you with a certain queer intelligence, and perhaps an inkling of my own extravagant beauty, though your hair is a frowst.”
“That is because I have been running through the woods in terror and hiding under a rotten log. If you like, you may give me a magic comb, which will order my hair at a touch.”
“A good idea,” said Twisk. “You will find it under your pillow when you return to Sarris.”
Madouc’s mouth dropped. “Am I to return to Sarris?”
“Where else?” asked Twisk, somewhat tartly.
“We could live together in a pretty little castle of our own, perhaps beside the sea.”
“That would not be practical. You are quite suitably housed at Sarris. But remember: no one must learn of our meeting—King Casmir, in particular!”
“Why so? Though I had no intention of telling him.”
“It is a complicated story. He knows that you are a changeling, but, try as he might, he has never been able to identify Suldrun’s true child. Were he to know—and he would force the truth from you—he would send out assassins, and Dhrun would soon be dead.”
Madouc grimaced. “Why should he do such a terrible deed?”
“Because of a prediction in regard to Suldrun’s first-born son, which causes him anxiety. Only the priest Umphred knows the secret and he hugs it close, at least for the moment. Now then, Madouc, while this has been an interesting occasion—”
“Not yet! There is still much to talk about! Will we meet again soon?”
Twisk gave an indifferent shrug. “I live in a constant flux; I am unable to make fixed plans.”
“I am not sure whether I live in a flux or not,” said Madouc. “I know only that Devonet and Chlodys call me ‘bastard’ and insist that I lack all pedigree.”
“In a formal sense, they are correct, if somewhat rude.”
Madouc spoke wistfully: “I suspected as much. Still, I would like to know the name of my father and all the particulars of his personality and condition.”
Twisk laughed. “You pose a conundrum I cannot even begin to solve.”
Madouc spoke in shock: “You cannot remember his name?”
“No.”
“Nor his rank? Nor his race? Nor his appearance?”
“The episode occurred long ago. I cannot recall every trifling incident of my life.”
“Still, since he was my father, he was surely a gentleman of rank, with a very long and fine pedigree.”
“I remember no such individual.”
“It seems, then, that I cannot even claim to be a bastard of high degree!”
Twisk had become bored with the subject. “Make whatever claim you like; no one can disprove you, not even I! In any case, bastard or not, you are still reckoned to be Princess Madouc of Lyonesse! This is an enviable estate!”
From the corner of her eye Madouc glimpsed a flicker of green and blue. “Zocco has returned.”
Zocco reported his findings. “Neither corpse nor cadaver made itself known, and I adjudged the issue to be moot. Proceeding eastward along Old Street, I discovered two rogues on horseback. Fat Sammikin sat high on a tall bay like the hump on a camel. Ossip Longshanks bestrode a dappled pony, with his feet dragging the ground.”
“Alas, poor Tyfer!” mourned Madouc.
Twisk asked: “And how did you resolve the case?”
“The horses are tethered in the paddock. The rogues are running across Lanklyn Down pursued by bears.”
“Sammikin perhaps should have been transformed into a toad and Ossip into a salamander,” said Twisk. “I would also have verified Pymfyd’s death more carefully, if only that I might observe the prodigy of a walking corpse.”
Madouc suggested: “Perhaps he is not dead?”
“That, of course, is possible,” said Twisk.
Zocco grumbled: “If he wanted to be thought dead, he should have remained in place.”
“Quite so,” said Twisk. “Now you may go your way. In the future try no more sly tricks upon my innocent young daughter.”
Zocco grumbled: “She is young, but I doubt if she is all so innocent. Still, I will now bid you farewell.” Zocco seemed to fall backward off the stone and was gone.
“Zocco is not a bad sort, as wefkins go,” said Twisk. “Now then, time presses. It has been a pleasure to meet you after so many years, but—”
“Wait!” cried Madouc. “I still know nothing of my father, nor my pedigree!”
“I will give the matter thought. In the meantime—”
“Not yet, Mother dear! I need your help in a few other small ways!”
“If I must, I must,” said Twisk. “What are your needs?”
“Pymfyd may be in bad case, sore and ill. Give me something to make him well.”
“That is simple enough.” Twisk plucked a laurel leaf, spat delicately into its center. She folded the leaf into a wad, touched it to her forehead, nose and chin, and gave it to Madouc. “Rub this upon Pymfyd’s wounds, for his quick good health. Is there anything else? If not—”
“There is something else! Should I use the Tinkle-toe upon Lady Desdea? She might jump so high as to cause an embarrassment, or even to injure herself!”
“You have a kind heart,” said Twisk. “As for the Tinkle-toe, you must learn to gauge both the finesse of your gesture and the thrust of your chin. With practice, you will control the vigor of her jump to exactly a proper altitude. What else?”
Madouc considered. “I would like a wand to do transformations, a cap of invisibility, swift slippers to walk the air, a purse of boundless wealth, a talisman to compel the love of all, a mirror—”
“Stop!” cried Twisk. “Your needs are excessive!”
“It does no harm to ask,” said Madouc. “When will I see you again?”
“If necessary, come to Thripsey Shee.”
“How will I find this place?”
“Fare along Old Street to Little Saffield. Turn north up Timble Way, pass first through Tawn Timble, then Glymwode, which is hard by the forest. Take directions to Wamble Path, which leads into Thripsey Meadow. Arrive at noon, but never at night, for a variety of reasons. Stand at the edge of the meadow and softly speak my name three times, and I will come. If nuisances are committed upon you, cry out: ‘Trouble me not, by fairy law!’”
Madouc made a hopeful suggestion: “It might be more convenient if I called you with the grass flute.”
“More convenient for you perhaps; not necessarily for me.” Twisk stepped forward and kissed Madouc’s forehead. She stood back smiling. “I have been remiss, but that is my nature, and you must expect nothing better from me.”
Twisk was gone. Madouc, her forehead tingling, stood alone in the glade. She looked at the place where Twisk had stood, then turned away and also departed.
4
Madouc returned through the forest the way she had come. In the sheepfold she found Tyfer and Pymfyd’s bay tethered to a post. She mounted Tyfer and rode down the lane toward Old Street, leading the bay.
As she rode, she searched carefully to either side of the way, but Pymfyd was nowhere to be seen, neither alive nor dead. The circumstances caused Madouc both anxiety and puzzlement. If Pymfyd were alive, why had he lain so limp and still in the ditch? If Pymfyd were dead, why should he walk away?
Madouc, with wary glances to right and left, crossed Old Street into Fanship Way. She continued south, and presently arrived at Sarris. In a mournful mood she took the horses around to the stables, and at last the mystery in regard to Pymfyd’s disappearance was clarified. Sitting disconsolately beside the dungheap was Pymfyd himself.
At the sight of Madouc, Pymfyd jumped to his feet. “At last you trouble to show yourself!” he cried out. “Why have you dallied so long?”
Madouc responded with dignity: “I was delayed by events beyond my control.”
“All very well!” growled Pymfyd. “Meanwhile I have been sitting here on tenterhooks! If King Casmir had come before your return, I would now be crouching deep in a dungeon.”
“Your worries seem far less for me than for yourself,” said Madouc with a sniff.
“Not so! I made several guesses as to your probable fate, and was not cheered. Exactly what happened to you?”
Madouc saw no need to report the full scope of her adventures. “The robbers chased me deep into the forest. After I eluded them I circled back to Old Street and rode home. That, in general, is what happened.” She dismounted from Tyfer, and examined Pymfyd from head to toe. “You seem in adequately good health. I feared that you were dead, from the effect of so many cruel blows.”
“Hah!” said Pymfyd scornfully. “I am not so easily daunted! My head is thick.”
“On the whole, and taking all with all, your conduct cannot be faulted,” said Madouc. “You fought your best.”
“True! Still, I am not a fool! When I saw how events were going I feigned death.”
“Have you bruises? Do you hurt?”
“I cannot deny a few aches and as many pains. My head throbs like a great bell!”
“Approach me, Pymfyd! I will try to allay your suffering.”
Pymfyd asked suspiciously: “What do you plan to do?”
“You need ask no questions.”
“I tend to be cautious in the matter of cures. I want neither cathartics nor clysters.”
Madouc paid no heed to the remark. “Come here and show me where you hurt.”
Pymfyd approached and gingerly indicated his bruises. Madouc applied the poultice she had received from Twisk, and Pymfyd’s pain instantly disappeared.
“That was well done,” said Pymfyd grudgingly. “Where did you learn such a trick?”
“It is a natural art,” said Madouc. “I also wish to commend your bravery. You fought hard and well, and deserve recognition.” She looked here and there, but discovered no implement suitable to her needs save the manure fork. “Pymfyd, kneel before me!”
Once again Pymfyd stared in perplexity. “Now what?”
