The Unbeheaded King

Chapter Two THE GRAND DUKE'S PARK

GORAX INSISTS HE CANNOT PERSEVERE MUCH LONGER," said Karadur, peering into the murk. After leaving Xylar City, they had flown all day and crossed the Othomaean border. The overcast thickened, and rain began to fall. Jorian and Karadur huddled in their cloaks. But the rain fell more and more heavily, soaking them. Water sloshed about the bottom of the tub.

"Have we nought to bail out our ship with?" quavered Karadur. "Gorax complains of the additional weight of the water."

"Now that you mention it," said Jorian, "the tub has an outlet drain with a plug. It should be under that rope."

He inched his way to the faucet end of the tub and pushed aside the coil of rope. The plug was a large cork, driven in so firmly that Jorian's powerful fingers could not dislodge it. He pried the plug out with his dagger, and the bilge water drained out. Night came on.

"I stated that Gorax nears his limit," said Karadur. "He avers that, if not soon permitted to alight, he will collapse and drop us from whatever height we be."

'Tell him to slow down," said Jorian. "I know this country well, but I cannot see my hand before my face, let alone landmarks. Tis blacker than the inside of a cow. By my reckoning, we should reach Othomac City in two or three hours."

"At least," said Karadur, "we shall not frighten the yokels below to death. As we cannot see them, neither can they perceive us."

Jorian laughed. "Remember that wagoner in Xylar, who leaped from his wain, ran across a field, and burrowed into a haystack to hide?"

"Aye. But your efficient secret service will hear thereof and know we departed to eastward."

"True. But methinks we shall be safe in Othomae. The Othomaeans are ever on bad terms with Xylar. Tis one of those silly things where a river changes course, leaving behind a sandbar that belonged to one nation, and now is claimed by another. The dispute had just arisen during my last days as king, so I had no chance to compose it. At any rate, I misdoubt the Othomaeans would extradite us."

"I hope you be right. A lavish bribe oft overrides such parochial passions."

"Then we must needs trust the Xylarian treasurer's parsimony. In my time the post was held by Prithio son of Pellitus, as tight with his golden lions as a Mulvanian tiger with its prey." Jorian peered into the murk, trying to discern some solid object. "Tell Gorax to fly low but slowly, so as not to collide with some tree or steeple. When the moon rises, belike we can find a road or a river to guide us."

Hours later, the rain had slackened to a drizzle. The moon, in its last quarter, gave a faint pearly glow to the clouds overhead. Time ground on.

Peering over the side, Jorian saw plowed fields and now and then a village, a cluster of black rectangles in the darkness. He failed to identify any landmark. Karadur said:

"Gorax avers he be fordone. He warns us to brace ourselves, for he must descend whether we will or no."

There was a feeling of lightness as the tub dropped. The darkness deepened as trees arose about them. With a slight jar, the tub settled on soft ground.

"He bids us farewell," said Karadur. "Know you where we be?"

"Somewhere in Othomae," said Jorian, "unless Gorax have flown us clear across the duchy into Vindium."

Jorian stood up, grunting at the stiffness of his limbs. The rain had ceased, but all around he heard the drip of water from branches. He hoisted himself out of the tub. The ground seemed a green sward in a small clearing or glade, surrounded by huge trees. Jorian walked around the edges of the glade. Returning, he said:

"I still know not where we are. At least, let us wring the water from our clothes."

Standing in the tub, Jorian removed his garments and wrung them, holding them over the grass. He sneezed. "I hope," he grumbled, "they dry ere we freeze to death… What's that?"

Something moved about the glade. Its footfalls were practically noiseless; but Jorian could see a darker shadow in the darkness and hear a faint hiss of breathing. Then something sniffed, close to the tub. Two spots of feeble luminosity, barely visible, appeared above the edge of the tub. Jorian recognized an odor.

He was sitting on the coil of rope at the faucet end of the tub. Suddenly he leaped up, waving his arms and uttering an earsplitting scream: "Ye-ee-owf"

There was a spitting snarl and sounds of a body moving swiftly away. "A leopard, I think," said Jorian. "Are you all right, Father Karadur?"

The old wizard was gasping for breath. "Your screech well-nigh arrested my old heart for all eternity."

"Sorry, but I had to surprise the cat to get rid of it. The sky is lightening." Jorian felt his clothes; Karadur's were draped along the opposite side of the tub. "They're not yet dry, but we'd best do them on. The warmth of our bodies will dry them. How about a fire?"

"An excellent idea if feasible. With this all-pervading wet, I have doubts."

Jorian took out his lighter. "Plague! My tinder's wet, and I see not how to get dry tinder. Would your magical fire spell work, think you?"

"If you will fetch fuel, I will essay it."

Soon Jorian had collected fallen branches and twigs. Standing in the tub, Karadur waved his wand, made mystic passes, and uttered words of power. A little blue flame appeared among Jorian's pile of fuel. The flame danced among the branches, now and then evoking a faint hiss; but the fuel would not ignite.

"Alas!" said Karadur. "We can do nought until our wood dries."

Jorian grunted. "I always thought magic was something one resorted to when material means failed; but wizardries seem to fail quite as often."

Karadur sighed. "My son, I fear you have penetrated the secret of secrets, the inmost arcanum."

"Meaning that all you spookers' professions of infinite powers are but a bluff" to cozen us laymen?"

"True, alas. We fail as often as do the engineers in the House of Learning in Iraz. But I beseech you, reveal not this dread secret to the vulgus. We wizards have a hard enough time making a living."

Jorian grinned in the darkness. "Since you saved my life, old man, I'll keep your secret." He looked around. The light had grown strong enough to pick out twigs and leaves on trees, although the deciduous trees had lost most of their summer foliage. "By Astis's ivory breasts, what are those?"

To three of the trees surrounding the glade, wooden ladders had been affixed, reaching up until lost in the foliage. Jorian said: "I never heard of trees that grew ladders naturally. They must be the work of men."

"One can imagine erecting such ladders on fruit trees, to facilitate harvesting," said Karadur. "But these are nought but oaks, beeches, and lindens."

"There are beechnuts," said Jorian. "But two of the ladders I see go up oaks. Who would gather unripe acorns?"

"A breeder of swine, belike. But I am not convinced, when it were so much easier to pick them from the ground. Perchance the ladders lead to sentry posts, whence sentinels look out over the land to espy invaders."

"I never heard of aught like that when I served in the Grand Bastard's army," said Jorian. "But what other—oh-oh, Karadur, look behind you!"

The wizard turned and started in alarm. "A unicorn!" he breathed.

The head and forequarters of the animal appeared from out the shrubbery on one side of the glade. The unicorn of Jorian's world was no graceful pseudo-horse. Instead, it was a large member of the rhinoceros tribe, covered with golden-brown hair, with its single horn sprouting from its forehead, above the eyes, instead of its nose.

"If we keep still," whispered Jorian, "maybe he'll go away."

"I fear not," Karadur whispered back. "I detect emanations of rising rage. Methinks we had best prepare to make a dash for one of those ladders."

The unicorn gave an explosive snort, pawed the ground with a triple-hooved foot, and stepped forward.

Jorian murmured: "Soonest begun, soonest done, as said the wise Achaemo. Ready, set, go!"

He vaulted out of the tub and ran for a ladder across the glade from the beast. Karadur followed but, because of his age, fell behind. Jorian waited for him at the foot of the tree, calling: "Faster! Here it comes!"

When the wizard, panting and staggering, reached the tree, Jorian put his large hands around Karadur's waist and boosted the slight oldster several steps up the ladder.

The unicorn made a thunderous charge, snorting like a volcano. It rushed the tub, jerking its head as its horn struck. With a loud bongg, the tub flew into the air, scattering the belongings of the two travelers.

"Up! Hasten!" barked Jorian, for the winded Karadur was climbing the ladder with difficulty. Below, Jorian was still in range of the thick, curved horn.

The unicorn lumbered back and forth about the glade, trampling the objects scattered about. It got Jorian's blanket caught on its horn and wheeled about, shaking its head so that the blanket flapped like a flag. When the blanket flew away, the unicorn charged the tub again, tossing it end over end.

Then the animal turned its attention to the travelers on the ladder. It trotted to the oak and tried by rearing up against the trunk to reach Jorian, but he was now beyond range of the horn.

Safely out of reach, Jorian and Karadur continued their climb at a more leisurely pace. When they reached a thick horizontal branch with many smaller boughs for handholds, Jorian climbed out on the branch and sat. Karadur nervously followed. Below, the unicorn cocked its head to keep them in sight.

"Something tells me," said Jorian, "that fellow likes us not. Anyway, I think I know where we are."

"Where?"

"When I served in the Grand Bastard's Foot Guards, there was talk of a plan the Grand Duke cherished. This was to unite his several hunting preserves south of Othomae City into a national park to exhibit wild life. Grand Duke Gwitlac was getting too old and fat to enjoy hunting; and the Grand Bastard Daunas, his half-brother, preferred the pursuit of women to that of deer and boar.

"In either case, they needed money to equip and train their lobster-plated heavy cavalry. So they reckoned that, by stocking the park with beasts both familiar and exotic, they could make a neat income by charging the rabble admission. Visitors would come from other lands to spend their money and thereby be taxed. Our friend below is one of the exotic beasts, since it is native to the northern prairies beyond the Ellornas. Those ladders must have been emplaced for the purpose where-for we used them, to escape the charge of some beast that misliked gawking visitors."

"All very well," said Karadur. "But how shall we persuade this dratted unicorn to begone?"

Jorian shrugged. "Sooner or later 'twill tire of watching us."

"If we weaken not from starvation and fall out of the tree first," grumbled the seer.

"Well, there was the method whereby King Fusinian escaped the Boar of Chinioc."

Karadur settled himself. "I thought I had heard all your tales of Fusinian the Fox, but this one I know not."

"When Fusinian was King of Kortoli," began Jorian, "he inherited a hunting preserve, like those of this Grand Duke. The preserve was called the Forest of Chinioc. Now, when Fusinian succeeded his father, the incompetent Filoman the Well-Meaning, he was kept too busy for several years, what with the war with Aussar and the trouble with the giants called the Teeth of Grimnor, to have time for the Forest of Chinioc.

"After these events, Fusinian settled back to enjoy life, as far as any conscientious ruler can enjoy it despite the harassments of his position. Some of his gentlemen urged him to take up hunting in Chinioc, which, they said, was overrun by wild beasts. In particular, the forest harbored a wild boar of preternatural size, strength, and ferocity. As they described it, it sounded like a buffalo with tusks instead of horns, and the hangers-on filled Fusinian's ears with tales of the glory he would earn by slaying the beast, giving a feast with its flesh, and having its head stuffed and mounted on the palace wall.

"Fusinian did not much care for hunting, but he did like fishing. Moreover, he liked to get off by himself from time to time to mull over the stream of proposals, and bills, and acts, and requests, and treaties, and agreements, and petitions, and memorials constantly urged upon him. For such purposes, the sport of fishing was useful.

"So, one summer day, Fusinian set out with a bodyguard of four troopers and rode to the edge of the Forest of Chinioc. Here he left the troopers, commanding them to remain there unless he should fail to return by an hour before sunset, in which case they should come searching.

"The guards protested, warning the king against the bears, wolves, and leopards in the forest, not to mention the Boar of Chinioc. But Fusinian brushed aside their objections and set out along a trail which, he knew, led to a good trout stream. He bore a pair of fishing rods and a creel containing his luncheon, and he whistled gayly as he plunged into the wold.

"Ere he reached the stream, he heard a grunting, like that engine in the House of Learning in Iraz, whereby one of the servants hopes to get useful work by the power of steam. And then the Boar of Chinioc ambled out from between the trees. At the sight of Fusinian, the animal grunted, pawed the earth, and lowered its head to charge.

"The beast was not quite the size of a buffalo, but it was certainly large enough. The bristles on its back came up to the height of Fusinian's chin; and Fusinian had no arms save a knife for cleaning fish.

"As the monster bounded forward, the king dropped his fishing rods and sprang for the nearest tree, a big beech like that one yonder. Although a small man, he was wiry and active, and he scrambled up into the branches. Below, the boar reared up against the trunk; but it could not reach Fusinian, now perched on a branch as we are.

"Fusinian thought that, if he sat long enough, the boar would lose interest and go away. But hours passed, and the boar stubbornly remained below. Every time Fusinian moved, the boar circled about, looking up and grunting ferociously.

"Fusinian began to worry about his guards and his wife and his kingdom, and he decided that he must escape in one way or another. He tried shouting, hoping his guards would hear; but they were too far away.

"He thought of other expedients, such as whittling a branch into a pole and tying his knife to it to make a spear. He actually cut one branch of about the right size for the purpose, but found it too limber. It would simply bend and break ere it drove a blade through the boar's thick hide.

"Next, he thought to make a diversion. He did off his hat, jerkin, and hose and constructed a dummy, using his fishhooks to pin these garments together and leafy branches for stuffing. Then he crept out along a branch and hung the dummy by means of his spare fishing line at such a height that the boar could not quite reach it.

"Creeping back, he shook the branch so that the dummy bobbed up and down and swayed from side to side. The boar, seeing what looked like Fusinian dancing in the air above it, went into a paroxysm of rage, snorting like a thunderstorm and leaping about beneath the dummy, striving to reach and slash it.

"Meanwhile Fusinian climbed down the tree on the side away from the boar and ran for his life. When he could no longer hear the thrashing and grunting of the boar, he stopped with the realization that he was lost.

"Steering by the sun, he headed back toward the edge of the Forest of Chinioc. In mid-afternoon, he came to a fence that marked the boundary. Continuing on, he found himself in cultivated fields; but he realized that he must be a long way from where he had entered the forest. The first person he saw was a farmer hoeing weeds. Approaching, he said: 'God den, goodman. May I—'

"At that, the fanner turned to shout toward his house: inogen! Run to fetch the constable! Tis a madman we have, running about the land naked!' For, indeed, Fusinian was naked but for his boots, underwear not having been in use in his time. Meanwhile the farmer ported his hoe like a weapon, in case Fusinian should come closer.

" 'My good man,' quoth Fusinian, 'you are mistaken—a natural error, belike, but a mistake natheless. Know that I am King Fusinian, your sovran lord. If you will be so kind as to lend me some garments—' Whereupon the rustic shouted louder than before: 'Inogen! Hasten! The madman is proclaiming himself king!'

"The farmer's wife ran out of the house, mounted a mule, and set out at a gallop. Fusinian tried to explain how he had fallen into this curious plight; but the more he talked, the more alarmed the rustic became, threatening Fusinian with his hoe until the king had to leap back to avoid being struck.

"Then came a clatter of hooves, and the farmer's wife reappeared on her mule, accompanied by a constable on horseback. The latter swung down with a jingle of mail and approached the king, saying: 'Easy, now, easy, fellow! Come with me to the lazarette, where our learned physicians will cure you. Come along, poor fellow!'

"The constable approached Fusinian and made a snatch at him, but the king leaped back and ran. The constable ran after, clanking and jingling, and so did the fanner. The farmer's two sons, just returning from school, joined the chase. So did other yokels. Soon Fusinian found himself pursued by a score of men and boys, some armed and all shouting: 'Seize the madman, ere he slay someone in his frenzy!'

"A swift runner, Fusinian long kept ahead of the pursuit. But, as one pursuer became winded and dropped back, another joined the chase, so that in time the little king faltered. Then men on horseback galloped up on either side of him, one being the constable whom the farmer's wife had summoned. So Fusinian stopped, holding up his hands to show he was harmless. Between gasps, he tried once more to explain, but none heeded his words.

"Instead, someone knotted a rope around his neck and gave the other end to the constable, who said: 'Now, poor fellow, ye shall come along whether ye will or no.' The constable turned his horse away and tugged on the rope, so that Fusinian was forced to trot along. And thus, at sunset, they came to the nearest village, called Dimilis.

"They fetched the magistrate, who arrived at the jailhouse much put out by having to leave his dinner half-eaten. When, he had heard the stories of the first fanner and the constable, he asked Fusinian: 'And what have ye to say, my featherless fowl?'

"Fusinian said: 'Your Honor, it is true that I am King Fusinian.'

" 'Hah!' said the magistrate. 'A likely story! Where are your crown, your robes of state, your train of attendants? Forsooth, we have here not merely insanity but also high treason. Clap this knave in irons!'

" 'Your Honor!' quoth Fusinian. 'To prove my veracity, I can recite the coronation oath. I can list the ancestors of the royal line for fifteen generations. Fetch someone who knows me! Send word to the court!' But no heed did anyone pay.

"None knows how much further this farce would have gone, but just then two of Fusinian's guardsmen appeared, demanding news of their King. When they saw Fusinian, laden with chains, being led off to a cell, they dropped to one knee, crying: 'Your Majesty! What scoundrels have entreated you thus? Command us to slay them!'

"A great silence fell amongst the folk gathered in the jailhouse. Each tried to look as if he had just happened by on other business and knew nought of the dispute over the naked man's identity. Each tried to hide behind his fellows, and some of those near the door tiptoed out and ran for it, until one of the guardsmen blocked the door.

"Fusinian smiled through the dirt wherewith he was covered, saying: 'Hail, Baldolf and Cumber! Am I glad to see you! How came you so opportunely?'

"A guardsman spoke: 'Your Majesty, when the sun stood a hand's breadth from the horizon, we followed your trail into the forest. Soon we saw what we thought was Your Majesty hanged from a branch of a tree, which gave us a frightful shock; but we found this was merely Your Majesty's garments stuffed with brush. Although we could not imagine the reason for this, we agreed that two of us should continue to search the forest, whilst the other two hastened to Dimilis and spread the alarum for our King's disappearance.'

" 'I will explain,' said Fusinian, but at that moment the magistrate and all the other local folk fell on their knees and groveled, crying: 'Mercy, Great King! We meant no harm! We thought but to do our duty! We have wives and children! Mercy, we beseech thee!'

" 'Get up!' said Fusinian sharply. 'To say I am pleased by today's events were stretching the truth; but I do not massacre my subjects, however idiotically they comport themselves. Magistrate Colgrin! For your haste in passing judgment ere the evidence be in, I will levy a small fine upon you. You shall remove your jacket and trews and give them to me, instanter!'

"So pleased was the magistrate to get away with his life that he stripped off the garments and handed them over forthwith, leaving himself naked but for his shoes and chain of office. Fusinian donned the garments, which fitted him ill since Colgrin was fat. With his two guards, the king strode out of the jailhouse, mounted his horse—which the guards had led with them—and galloped away. But thereafter Fusinian was more cautious about leaving his guards and going off by himself."

Karadur said: "An edifying tale, showing how our perceptions of rank and authority are swayed by superficial things. But our unicorn shows no disposition to depart, and I misdoubt we could distract it as your king did with the boar."

Jorian put a finger to his lips, whispering: "I hear voices." The voices waxed, and a swishing of branches told of the movement of a large body. The unicorn looked across the glade and snorted.

Out from the trees lumbered an elephant, a huge Mulvanian tusker with people on its back. As the animal came closer, Jorian saw that a broad plank was secured lengthwise along its spine. Eight people sat on this plank in two rows, back to back, with their feet resting on footboards along the elephant's sides. A turbaned Mulvanian sat astride the elephant's neck and guided the beast.

One rider was a man in an unfamiliar uniform, who was lecturing the seven others on the plank. In a stentorian voice, this man said: "There you see a unicorn from the steppes of Shven. Its scientific name is Elasmotherium, and the philosophers tell us it is related to the rhinoceros of Beraoti. Although a grass-eater, it is short-tempered and dangerous if approached on foot…"

The unicorn turned and trotted away from the glade. Jorian quickly lost sight of it. A young elephant-rider called out: "Master Ranger, what's that red thing yonder?" The child pointed to the battered bathtub.

The ranger spoke to the mahout, who guided the elephant toward the tub and the debris of Jorian's and Karadur's belongings. The ranger said: "By Zevatas's brazen beard, what's this? It looks as if some vagabonds had camped here and departed leaving their litter. There is punishment for littering. But what's this object? It looks like a large bathtub, but how could such a thing get here?"

The child spoke again: "Master Ranger, there are your vagabonds, sitting in that big tree!"

"Oho!" said the ranger. He spoke to the mahout, who brought the elephant to stand beneath the branches of Jorian's tree. "Fry my guts, but here we have a brace of poachers, caught red-handed! But the game they flushed proved larger than they expected."

"Excuse me, sir," said Jorian, "but you are misinformed. We are not poachers, merely a pair of travelers dropped into your park by happenstance."

"A likely story!" The ranger turned to his sightseers. "Now you shall behold how we of the Ranger Corps dispose of such knaves." He raised a bugle to his mouth and blew a call. The call was answered from afar.

"How got you in?" the ranger asked. "You did not come in the gate and sign the register, or you would not be wandering the park unescorted. Your presence alone proves your guilt."

Jorian pointed to the bathtub, lying across the glade. "We came in yonder tub, upheld by sorcery. When our demon became exhausted, he dropped us into this glade. Since it was at night, we knew not where we were."

"Ha!" said the ranger. "Try to convince the judge of that!"

"Good my sir," persisted Jorian, "we are quite respectable folk, despite appearances. I have served in the Grand Bastard's Foot Guards and studied at the Academy. If you will ask Doctor Gwiderius—"

"You waste your breath, poacher," said the ranger. "If you shut not your gob, 'twill be the worse for you."

After a further wait, three rangers on horses cantered out from between the trees. After talk between them and the one on the elephant, the latter spoke to his mahout, and the elephant started off into the forest. Jorian could hear the ranger's voice, fading with distance:

"… the unicorn is an animal of solitary habits, keeping company with another of its kind only at the mating season…"

Of the three newly arrived rangers, two bore crossbows. The third, who appeared to be in command, said: "Come down now, poachers. But think not to run off through the woods, unless you crave a bolt in the brisket."

"May we gather our belongings, pray?" said Jorian, reaching the ground.

"Aye, but be quick about it!"

Half an hour later, Jorian and Karadur arrived at the park entrance. Some of their belongings, such as Jorian's set of small cooking utensils, had been smashed beyond repair. The rest were rolled up in blankets, which they bore on their backs like refugees.

Another elephant was being prepared for a sightseeing trip. It lay on its belly, and the next batch of sightseers was climbing a ladder placed against its side to take their places on its back. Several more of the animals were tethered to stakes in a row, rhythmically swaying and stuffing greenery into their mouths.

The two travelers were surrounded by rangers, disarmed, and hustled into a small detention room. "Here you shall wait, poachers," a ranger said, "until Ranger Ferrex returns from his tour."

The door was slammed and bolted on the outside. A bench was the only furniture; the only light came from a little window high up, about a handspan square.

"Now I know how your King Fusinian felt when none would listen to his rational explanation," said Karadur. "Could you open the door with your picklocks?"

"If it were closed by a proper lock, yea; but my little teasers were useless against bolts."

During the wait, Jorian relieved his boredom by composing a poem on their latest misadventure. The first stanza ran:

Jorian had reached the fifth stanza when the door opened. Ranger Ferrex beckoned. "Come, poachers!"

They were handcuffed together, taken to a wagon with seats, and loaded aboard with their gear. Ranger Ferrex got in and sat facing them. The driver whipped up the horses. The wagon rattled over the dirt road for an hour, passing fields and villages, until Othomae City appeared on the horizon.

On the way, Jorian and Karadur conversed in Mulvanian. This made Ferrex scowl, but he did not try to stop them. They agreed that Jorian might as well give his true name, since he wanted to get in touch with people he knew.

At the jailhouse, the ranger told his story to the magistrate, Judge Flollo, and Jorian repeated the tale he had told the ranger. The magistrate said:

"I cannot let you out on bail, since as foreigners you have no local ties to assure your appearance for trial. You profess to have used sorcery to come hither; but if you be sorcerers, you could summon another demon or work a spell with your sorcerous implements and escape."

"But Your Honor!" protested Jorian. "If we be sorcerers, then our tale is proven true. Hence we cannot be poachers."

"Nought hinders a sorcerer from trying his hand at poaching, if that be his bent." The magistrate hefted Jorian's purse and poured out its load of coins. "A veritable fortune! Whence got you this money? Have you robbed a royal treasury?"

"Not robbed, Your Honor. It's a long story. As you see, the coins are of the Kingdom of Penembei, where I was employed to repair the clocks in the tower—"

"Never mind. The money shall be sequestered and returned to you, minus the cost of your prison victuals, when and if you are acquitted of the charge of poaching."

"But, Your Honor, if I be so well provided, I had no need to sit out in the rain all night in hope of snaring a hare. Let me tell you how—"

"I cannot take time to hear your tale, prisoner; I have many more cases to decide. Your presence unescorted in the park is prima facie evidence of wrongdoing; so whether your story be true or false will be for the trial judge to decide. Take them away, bailiff."

"Come, you two," said a heavyset, scar-faced man in a shabby black uniform. Jorian and Karadur were led down a corridor to another cell. This, Jorian found, had a single, heavily barred window, high up. As the bailiff closed the door, he said: "Did I hear you give your name as Jorian of Ardamai?"

"Aye. What about it?"

"Do ye not recall a fellow soldier named Malgo?"

"Yea, now that you mention it." Jorian looked sharply at the bailiff. "By Imbal's iron yard, methinks I see my old comrade-in-arms!"

"Comrade, hell!" snorted Malgo. "Ye be the bastard who gave me a beating. And now I have you where I want you! Ye'll be sorry ye ever laid a finger on me!"

"But that was seven years ago—" began Jorian. Malgo walked heavily away, paying no attention.

"What was all that?" asked Karadur.

"When Malgo and I were recruits in the Grand Bastard's army, Malgo was the company bully. He made life especially hard for one lad who, whatever he was good for, was not cut out for a soldier. He was a spindly little whelp and awkward, forever stepping off on the wrong foot or dropping his pike. So Malgo took delight in tormenting him.

"One day I found the lad backed into a corner, while Malgo poked, pinched, and otherwise mistreated him, all the while telling him how worthless he was. I suspected that Malgo had made certain demands of the youth and had been denied. Thinking it time for Malgo to receive a dose of his own physic, I hauled him round and gave him a drubbing. I got a bloody nose and a black eye, but you should have seen him!"

"All very gallant," said Karadur, "but it redounds not to our advantage now. Would we had used one of your pseudonyms, such as—what did you call yourself when you first fled hither from Xylar?"

"Nikko of Kortoli. You may be right, but it's too late now."

During the following days, Bailiff Malgo, while careful to keep out of Jorian's reach, found ingenious ways to torment the prisoners. He made sure that their food ration was but half that of the other prisoners, and consisted of the least edible parts of the day's serving. The food was delivered by Malgo's assistant, a huge, half-witted youth with a vacant smile.

When Jorian demanded to see the magistrate to complain, Malgo said he would carry the message. Soon he came back, saying that the magistrate refused. Jorian suspected that the message had never been delivered.

When Jorian asked for water, Malgo fetched a cup, then poured it on the floor outside the cell, laughing.

Jorian asked for writing materials, to send a note to Doctor Gwiderius and another to the wizardess Goania. Malgo furnished paper and pen. When Jorian had written the notes and handed them through the bars, Malgo tore them up, laughing.

Malgo refused to let his helper take out and empty the commode, so that the cell came to stink. The stench attracted swarms of flies. Malgo sometimes stood in the hall outside, laughing at the prisoners' efforts to slap the pests. "Let's hope this lasts not till next summer's heat," grumbled Jorian.

At last Jorian said: "Holy Father, can't you work up a spell to get us out of here?" •

"Nay, my son. The little spells I could perform without my paraphernalia would accomplish nought. Besides, I sense that a contraspell has already been laid about this edifice, so that none of my spells would succeed. How about your picklocks? The locks on these cells, meseems, are of the sort for which they are suited."

"Aye, but my little ticklers are in my wallet, which is in the magistrate's custody."

"He also has my magical accessories in his charge."

"This is ridiculous!" growled Jorian. "Here we are, two harmless travelers with local friends of influence and repute, locked up through a series of mischances, and we cannot even communicate with anyone who could help us!"

"If we shouted our message through yonder window, belike we could persuade someone to carry a message."

Jorian clapped a hand to his forehead. "Why didn't I think of this sooner? I'm a stupid clod. We've wasted a quarter-moon in this stinking cell. If I stand on one of the stools…"

The stool brought Jorian's face up to the window. He found himself looking down from the second story of the jailhouse on to the street below.

"Methinks we're on Amaethius Street," he told Karadur. "There are a few passersby. Ho there, young man! You with the red cap! Wouldst earn a golden royal of Penembei by bearing a message?"

The boy hurried on. Jorian tried again and again with other pedestrians. At last he gave up. "They must be so used to hearing cries from prisoners that they heed them not."

A raucous laugh came from beyond the bars. Malgo stood there, saying: "Waste your breath if ye will, noble Jorian! Know that there's a law against carrying messages for prisoners, and we keep an officer posted to see that none flouts the rule."

Jorian got down. When Malgo went away, Jorian said: "Still, there must be something." He sat frowning in thought and said at last: "Some have said that I have not a bad singing voice, albeit untrained. If I gave the folk below a little concert, at a regular hour each day, perchance I could draw a crowd who would gather to hear. Sooner or later the word would get out, and one of our friends would hear of it."

"I cannot see how it would hurt to try," said Karadur.

Jorian hoisted himself back on the stool and, in his powerful bass, began singing one of his jingles, to a tune from an operetta by Galliben and Silfero. The first stanza ran:

By the end of the third stanza, a cluster of pedestrians had coagulated in the street below, staring up. Malgo appeared outside the bars, roaring: "Stop that hellish noise!"

Jorian grinned over his shoulder at the bailiff and continued on through the six stanzas he had previously composed. He added a new one:

Malgo continued to bawl objections, but he did not enter the cell. Jorian added several other songs, then stepped down. "It's a start," he said.

He spent the rest of the day and much of the night remembering the verses he had casually tossed off over the years and trying to match them to tunes he remembered. The following afternoon, at about the same time, he delivered another recital. Malgo shouted: "For this, I'll see to it ye never go free! Ye shall rot here for ay!"

Jorian ignored the threat and continued his singing. On the sixth day after the first recital, the half-wit appeared at the bars with keys. To Jorian's astonishment, the youth unlocked the cell door, saying: "Ye come, now."

They found Magistrate Flollo talking with Doctor Gwiderius. The professor beamed through his bushy gray beard. "Jorian! My onetime pupil! When I heard those songs with the quadruple-alpha rhyme scheme, I suspected 'twas you, since that was your favorite form despite its difficulties. You are free, and there are your effects. Who is your companion?"

Jorian introduced Karadur, adding: "What—how—"

"I shall tell you later. Have you a place to stay? I cannot lodge you in my own house, because we have visiting kinfolk."

Jorian shrugged. "I suppose I'll stay at Rhuys's inn, the Silver Dragon, as I did before." He turned to the magistrate. "Sir, where is Master Malgo?"

"Oh, when Doctor Gwiderius brought the order for your release, the bailiff was seized by sudden pains internal. Avouching that he suffered an affliction of the bowels, he begged the rest of the day off. So I let him go. Why, Master Jorian?"

Jorian looked at the knuckles of his fist. "Oh, I just thought I should like to bid him a fond farewell." He turned to Gwiderius. "Where's the public bathhouse?"