The Pixilated Peeress

VII – Nugacious Nuptials

For the next fortnight, Tho­rolf Zigramson dwelt in the village of the Sharmatt trolls and took part in their simple toils and pleasures. Since he proved handy with tools, they set him the task of whittling arrow shafts and attaching feathers and iron heads. In his spare time he whetted his weapons, prac­ticed shooting his crossbow and throwing his dagger, and washed his dirty linens and hose in the creek that served the settlement.

The trolls who had been sent with the captive dragon returned. Two bore a stout pole between them. From the pole hung a leathern sack, the weight of which made the pole sag. Evening found Chief Wok and Thorolf squatting by a fire and painstakingly counting out ten-mark gold pieces. The Chief had drafted Thorolf to keep a tally with little sticks, each representing ten coins.

When the count was over and a hundred sticks re­posed in little piles, Wok said: "I am still not certain. This time ye shall count coins whilst I pile the sticks."

Thorolf counted. Although he had taken pains to count accurately, he only tallied 998 coins.

"Try again." growled Wok, taking over the coins. This time there was one coin left over when a hundred sticks had been piled.

Wok gave an angry roar. "These cursed things must be bewitched!"

"Wilt try once more?" Thorolf asked.

"Oh, to the spirit world with the futtering things! It is close enough. Thorolf. since ye have fulfilled your agreement, it is but fair that we should enlarge you. Whither go ye next?"

"For the time being," said Thorolf, "I should be happy to remain with the tribe, provided I may move about at will."

"Good!" roared Wok, smiting Thorolf on the back with numbing force. "Meanst to stay for ay and per­chance take a mate from amongst us?"

The thought of a troll wife appalled Thorolf. He had gotten used to trolls but still found the females mon­strously ugly. Still, in his present strait he dared not say so. Tactfully he replied:

"That were a great honor, Chief Wok. But I should have to think about it, since I already have mine eye upon a lowland female."

"Fetch her hither and mate with both!" said Wok. "Or better yet, keep one wife here and another in Zurshnitt. In such a case, it were better not to tell either of the other." He winked. "We'll talk of this anon. Meanwhile, hast ever hunted?"

"Aye, with my father."

Wok shot a sharp glance. "Who is your father?"

"I told you, Zigram Thorolfson, who as senator in­troduced that bill to make trolls human beings. As you know, he is now Consul of the Rhaetian Republic."

Wok's jaw dropped. "I disbelieved you when ye said so before; but now we know you for a true man. Now that we truly know ye have this kinship, ye must assured­ly mate with one of our tribes women, to bind you to us and give us influence with your government. I will find a nice girl. Meanwhile, ye should sharpen your skill at the hunt." Wok raised his voice to a bellow: "Oh, Gak!"

Wok's eldest son strolled near. "Aye. Father?"

Wok said: "Thorolf true man; lowlander outside, troll inside. Take hunt tomorrow." The Chief turned back to Thorolf. "This is worth getting drunk over. Gak, two beer!"

Soon Gak returned with two mugs of crude trollish pottery, filled with barley beer. Thorolf disliked the trollish beverage. The brew was not only weak but also so full of barley grains that it was best drunk through a straw. But there was no decent way to avoid it now.

Wok, less fastidious, drank his beer in great gulps, straining the grains out with his teeth and spitting them on the ground. Thorolf looked across the amphitheater to where several trolls were firing up the smelter. Other trolls ignited simple torches, made by dipping cattails in goat grease, before they disappeared into a nearby cave mouth. Thorolf felt the stirring of an idea. He asked:

"Oh Chief, whither goes the tunnel from yonder cave?"

"To bed of iron ore." said Wok with a hiccup. '⁴ Would st like to see how we mine it?"

Thorolf suppressed a shudder, saying vaguely: "Some day, mayhap." He did not wish to admit that he had an irrational fear of dark, narrow places, ever since as a boy he had been accidentally locked in a clothes chest. He went on:

"Is that all? Does a branch extend to Zurshnitt?"

"Nay, nay. What made you think of such a thing?" Wok's gaze shifted furtively. Thorolf had been with trolls long enough to read their expressions.

"We have legends," said Thorolf, "of trollish tun­nels extending all over Rhaetia, even beneath the streets of our cities. Betimes politicians warn us that the trolls might burst out of their tunnels and massacre folk in their beds."

Wok finished his mug. "What stupid idea!" His Rhaetian deteriorated as the beer took effect. "Certes, we have tunnels, but not hence to Zurshnitt. Would be several days' walk, and who could bear enough food, water, and torches to last the distance? Besides, air bad."

"But you do have a tunnel under Zurshnitt?"

"Oh, yea; but ye enter it not here. Entrance less than hour from city—" Wok clapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh. sacred ancestors! 1 told you one of our deepest secrets. Too much beer. How knew ye of it?"

"You told me you had heard a session of the Senate, and I remembered the trollish tunnels."

"Lowlanders too damned clever. Is terrible sad."

"What is sad? I'll never tell—"

Wok began to weep. "Dare not let you go. Must eat you now." He dropped into Trollish. "You friend. Eat friend bad. No eat friend bad. No take chance."

"Be not a ninny!" cried Thorolf, disguising the fear he felt. "I'm practically a member of the tribe, so why-should I harm you?"

Wok caught Thorolf's hand, a pleading expression on his brutish face. "You be real troll? Mate with troll girl? Good! Me get you nice girl. Oh. Gak!" he shouted.

"Aye, Father?" The young troll came on the run.

"You know Bza, Fid daughter?"

"Yea."

"Fetch. Her Thorolf mate."

The horrified Thorolf dared not protest for fear of the stewpot. The youth returned with a young female, even shorter and more barrel-shaped than most trollish women. Wok roared: "Bza, you good girl, fit Thorolf mate. Him lowlander outside but troll inside. Him good man. You be good mate. Me say you, him mate. For night, me give own tent. Take. Thorolf. Have fun all night and many cubs!"

Wok rose to his feet, slapped Thorolf's back, lost his balance, and stretched his length on the turf. Gak bent over him, saying:

"You well, Father?"

The only response was a thunderous snore. Gak looked at Thorolf. whose gaze shifted from Wok to Gak to Bza. At last Gak said:

"Father lend tent. Come!"

Following Gak among the tents, Thorolf was startled when Bza caught his hand in her hairy one. He found the touch repellant, though Bza was only doing what was expected of her. At the big tent in the middle, Gak pulled aside the flap, thrust in his head, and cried:

"Out, Mother, aunts! Wedding!"

Several of Wok's wives emerged. One said to Tho­rolf: "You lowland weakling, take Bza mate? You be good mate, or all women of tribe beat shit out of you!"

"Have strong yard!" cried Gak. closing the tent flap behind Thorolf and Bza.

A little pottery lamp dimly lit the tent. A small iron pot in the center flickered and smoked: this took the edge off the autumnal chill but did not heat the tent enough to comfort a "lowland weakling." To one side lay a heap of bear and wolfskins.

Bza fingered Thorolf's jacket. "How can futter in false skin?" she asked.

"'Come off," replied Thorolf, feeling more and more appalled. The sight and strong odor of Bza's squatty body aroused no lust whatever. What if he could not get it up? He had heard jokes about shepherds and ewes but had no such tendencies himself.

"Take off," said Bza. "False skin scratch." She lay down on the pile of skins and spread her stout, yellow-furred form.

In for a penny, in for a mark, thought Thorolf. One by one he shed his garments. At last he approached the supine troll girl with lagging steps, as if on his way to the headsman's block. This was certainly not the initi­ation into the pleasures of love about which he had fan­tasized. He began to shiver.

Bza raised herself on one elbow. "What matter? No stiff?" she said, pointing.

"Well—ah—" Perhaps if he shut his eyes and imag­ined Yvette ... Then Thorolf was startled to see, in the dimness, a tear trickle down Bza's hairy cheek; then another.

"Why, Bza!" he said. "You weep!"

Her wide mouth puckered, and she sobbed. "Sorry. Do duty. Come on, futter! Get over!'"

"What matter? No want?"

"N-nay. Me try, but you so ugly! No hair on long, thin body, like snake!"

"No want, no do," said Thorolf, sneezing and sit­ting down beside her. He stroked her scalp as if she had been a pet animal. "No fear. Me kind." He sneezed again.

She sobbed more than ever, stammering: "M-me love. Love Khop. Few day. me Khop mate. Then you come."

"Be Khop mate," he said.

"No can. Wok say us mate."

"No worry. Me no say; you no say. No tell Wok. Me love other, too. Many days, me go; you be Khop mate. Good?"

"Good!" Bza threw her thick arms around Thorolf and gave him a hug that, he thought, came close to cracking a rib. He said: "Now sleep!" and blew out the lamp.

On the next day's hunt with Gak, Thorolf had to endure Gak's coarse jokes and unabashed curiosity about Thorolf's nuptials. He passed off Gak's remarks with vague nothings, and the young troll ceased after Thorolf, with a lucky crossbow bolt, brought down an ibex.

A few days later, returning from a similar hunt with­out game, Thorolf approached the little tent that Wok had assigned him. He was about to throw open the flap when a faint sound from within made him pause. The sound, he perceived, was that of heavy breathing from two occupants.

He wormed a finger into the crack of the flap, teased it open a hairsbreadth, and put his eye to the slit. Inside was still dark, but the thread of light through the crack glanced from the golden fur on the hindquarters of a male troll, rhythmically rising and falling. He could not see the other occupant but inferred that Bza was enter­taining her disappointed suitor Khop.

Thorolf stealthily withdrew and sat down at a dis­tance, facing so that he could watch the tent out of the corner of his eye as he worked on arrow shafts. It was nothing to him if the mate whom Wok had foisted on him took her former betrothed as lover; in fact he rather approved. It would dissuade her, he thought, from de­veloping an amorous passion for her nominal mate. For all that she avowed him hideous, long propinquity could stimulate lust between the most unlikely pair.

A movement at the edge of his vision caught his eyes. A huge, burly young male troll emerged from the tent, glanced around with comical furtiveness, and slunk away. Thorolf pretended not to see him. Knowing the enormous strength of trolls, Thorolf thanked his paganist gods that he had not interrupted the tryst.

Another disquieting thought crossed Thorolf's mind. Suppose Bza conceived during these trysts? Would Tho­rolf be deemed the father and held responsible? He was hazy on trollish customs; but Rhaetia had stern laws on parental responsibility. Desertion of one's family, for instance, was punished by fifty lashes for the first of­fense, a hundred for the second, and so on upward until the offender expired.

It was high time that he attacked his problems in Zurshnitt. Any hue and cry over Bardi's murder should by now have died down. Besides, although inured to the hardships of life in a tent, Thorolf was getting tired of goat's meat, barley porridge, and weak beer.

After the evening meal, Thorolf sought out Wok, say­ing: "Chief, know you aught of the Sophonomists and their leader, the wizard Orlandus?"

Wok swelled his furry chest and smote it with his fist. "Vile catiffs! I hate them! If I had Orlandus here, I would twist his head off, slowly, and boil it for soup!"

"Why so?"

"He tells the stupid lowlanders we be evil beings, demons. When he hath power, he says he will kill us all—even the little ones because, he says, 'nits make lice'!"

"Hast heard him say this with your own ears?"

"Aye."

"So your tunnel under Zurshnitt has a branch be­neath the old Castle Zurshnitt?"

"How knew ye?" barked Wok.

"Simple reasoning. Now harken, O Chief. I and my father and many other Zurshnitters also hate and fear these Sophonomists. But they are clever and danger­ous. They put converts into posts in our government, where they steal documents. When people oppose Or­landus, he frightens them into silence, or casts a spell upon them, or bribes them, or harasses them with law­suits, or—"

"What is a lawsuit?"

Thorolf explained. Wok picked up a club, the head of which was a ball set with iron spikes. "If any low­lander tried that on me, I would see if his head was harder than this!"

"Such a program would not work amongst lowland­ers, any more than their laws and courts would succeed amongst trolls. Besides, Orlandus has servants pos­sessed by spirits called deltas, which obey him without question."

"What canst do?"

"I have a plan, and I need your help. First I must get in touch with my father, the Consul."

"How?"

"I shall write a letter. The next time you send a party to your border to trade with the Zurshnitters, they can give this letter to one of the merchants."

"Will this merchant pass it on to the Consul? Canst trust him?"

Thorolf shrugged. "My father will pay the messenger for the service; and one must betimes take a chance. Then he and I shall confer, alone at a place I know. He will have bodyguards, but I shall tell him to keep them away."

"Ah! Then I had better send trolls to guard you like­wise," said Wok.

Thorolf shook his head. "I fear not my father's men, since he and I are on good terms. Nobody else need know."

Thorolf's letter read: THOROLF TO CONSUL ZIGRAM, GREETINGS. WILT MEET ME AT THAT POOL ON THE RIS-SEL WHERE YOU TAUGHT ME TO FISH? WE HAVE MUCH TO DISCUSS. SET DATE AND KEEP YOUR ESCORT OUT OF SIGHT AND HEARING.

On a drizzling day in autumn, Thorolf set out for the pool at which he had first met Yvette of Grintz. Be­cause the peasantry might have heard he was wanted and seize him, he carried, folded up in his pack, a little one-man tent of hides. Under this he spent a damp, uncomfortable night.

During the afternoon of the second day he came to the Rissel. The fog made black ghosts of the trunks of the leafless trees and the wan fronds of the conifers. Away from the stream, the dominant sound was the constant drip of water.

Thorolf followed the river upstream to a rapid, where he could cross by leaping from boulder to boulder. Then he followed the riverbank down to the pool where he had been fishing when Yvette had manifested herself. As he came in sight of the misty flat, he saw a bulky figure, in official crimson, sitting on a folding stool and fishing. He speeded his approach, calling: "Father!"

The Consul heaved himself to his feet and embraced his son. "Well, Thorolf!" he said. "Thou lookst well."

"The simple mountain life, sir."

"But I fear thou also stinkest."

"Sorry about that; but where I've been there's no water deep enough to bathe in."

"Anyway, it joys me to see you alive and hale. Where hast been?"

"Living with the Sharmatt trolls. Is there a warrant out for my arrest?"

Zigram sank back on his stool, the feet of which set­tled into the watery soil beneath his weight. "Merely a summons as witness. Gunthram was hot to charge you with murder, desertion, and a treasonous plot with the Carinthians. I squelched that last accusation, pointing out that it came from the Sophonomists and should hence be handled with tongs; also that a band of rogues from Carinthia had attacked you in the Zoological Park—something to do with the fugitive Countess of Grintz."

"How about the murder? You know I'd never have harmed dear old Bardi."

"Lodar tells me they have taken in another suspect. The details I know not yet. As for desertion. I told Gunthram ye were on a secret mission for me."

Thorolf squatted, as living with trolls had accus­tomed him to do. "Where is Yvette now?"

The Consul shrugged. "As far as I know, your lady love is mewed up in the castle. None hath seen her since your departure. Now tell me the tale of your in­volvement with that lady. I have never had it straight— merely a hundred rumors, each contradicting the last."

"Very well, Father. See you this place? 'Tis where she and I first met ..."

Thorolf went through the story of his encounter with the unclad Countess, Bardi's magical blunder, and her subsequent capture by Psychomagus Orlandus.

"He has cast upon many followers," said Thorolf, "a spell that causes them to be possessed by a spirit, which enables him to command their implicit obedi­ence. If he bade them jump off a cliff, they would do it."

"Terrible!" muttered Zigram. "I wish someone would magic this accursed cult out of existence! As things now stand, I can do nought, for reasons ye know."

"If I rooted out this nest of vipers, wouldst give me all the protection your position commands?"

"Assuredly so! But ye must needs do a thorough job. If ye let Orlandus and a few of's creatures escape, they'd be back to plague us more. How would ye gain access to his lair, defended by stout fortifications, fanatical fol­lowers, and magical spells?"

"Methinks I have a way." said Thorolf.

"How? Through those mythical trollish tunnels?"

Thorolf winced, feeling the testicular cringe that the thought of entering a tunnel gave him. "I'll tell you nought that they could twist out of you. Speaking of my friends the trolls, knowst Orlandus' plans for them?"

"Aye. And I am he who tried to raise them to human rank! But the cultists have me in a cleft stick——"

A loud sneeze made both speakers start. Each looked at the other, saying, "Health!" before they realized that neither had in fact sneezed.

Thorolf sprang up and raked the landscape with a glance. Then he started away from the stream, saying: "Father, come see!"

Thorolf was watching, at his own eye-level, a pair of detached eyeballs hanging in midair. He could see the little red blood vessels forming a network around the interior of the eyeballs. As he watched, the eyeballs swiveled away and began to move off.

"Ho! Come back!" shouted Thorolf, reaching for his sword.

When the eyeballs continued to retreat, Thorolf bounded after them and swung his blade in a whistling arc. The sword met meat, and its unseen target pulled it down to the ground. Blood sprayed from an invisible source.

As Thorolf wrenched his blade loose, a faint, trans­parent human form, like a man-shaped fog, came slowly into sight. As it solidified, it became a man of medium stature and build, nude and clean-shaven, with a deadly wound where Thorolf's sword had cloven it between neck and shoulder, shearing down into lungs. The wound still bled, but the body showed no signs of life.

"Good gods!" Zigram exclaimed. "What's this, son? Hath some wizard made himself invisible to spy upon us?"

"I have a suspicion, Father. Bide you here whilst I seek evidence."

Thorolf soon returned bearing a pair of boots, breeches, and a yellow robe. He said: "Methought the knave would have hidden his garments nearby. Had he been invisible but his raiment not, we were as startled by an empty suit of clothes walking about as by the whole man. He was one of Orlandus' diaphanes, as the villain calls his pixilated victims."

The Consul said: "Doubtless he sent the fellow to follow me from the city. But why did the Psychomage not make the rascal's eyeballs invisible along with the rest of him? They enabled you to perceive and slay the fellow."

"My professor at Genuvia explained it. Sight comes from the mutual action of light rays and the eye. Were the eyeballs as transparent as the rest of him, the light would pass through unhindered, and the rogue were blind until the spell wore off." Thorolf held up the garments he had found. "Here's your evidence for legal action against the Sophonomists."

Zigram frowned. "I know not, son. If I bring action, Orlandus will claim this fellow acted on his own; and since the rascal's dead, that were hard to disprove. Be­sides, Orlandus hath the shrewdest attorney in Zursh­nitt, Doctor Adolfo, in his pay. Moreover, ye know what they'd do to my repute—"

"Oh, you mean that damned election!" snorted Tho­rolf. "Where's your courage, man? Which—"

"Stand!" came a new command. From downstream a group of men marched forward, swords in hand. They wore merchants' dress of plain browns and blacks, but bits of mail gleamed dully underneath.

"Who are ye?" barked the Consul, drawing his own blade. Beside him, Thorolf whispered:

"Try not to provoke a battle, Father. You're too old for swordplay."

"And who impugned my courage just now?" rum­bled Zigram. "I shall do what I must." Raising his voice, he called: "Wilchar! Odo! To me!"

The Consul's bodyguards came crashing through the bushes, armed, armored, and nocking arrows to bows. Zigram turned back to the newcomers. "Know that I am the Consul General of the Commonwealth of Rhaetia. Who are ye and what do ye here?"

"Let your Excellency not trouble himself," said the leader in the vernacular of Carinthia. "We seek two persons, to wit: Countess Yvette of Grintz and a knave who slew three of our comrades. That hulking man be­side you fits the description. Who are ye, sirrah?"

"Concern yourselves not with that," said Thorolf. "You are Duke Gondomar's men. using our sovereign Commonwealth as your private hunting preserve."

"None of your affair—" began the leader, but Tho­rolf interrupted:

"As for the Countess, she's where neither you nor I have access to her."

"Meaning she's dead?" cried the Carinthian.

"She might as well be, being in thrall to a magician. Now get back to your Duke and cease to pester us." Thorolf turned to the bodyguards. "If it come to blows, how many can you kill ere they close with us?"

"At this range," said Odo, "two surely and four probably. They are seven, and methinks we four could account for the rest."

"So find your horses and gallop for the border," said Thorolf, "counting yourselves lucky to get out un­scathed—"

"Hold!" said a new and toneless voice. A group of yellow-robed men approached from upstream with bared swords. The leader, who had spoken, continued in his flat, unmodulated tone: "We see ye have slain one of our number." He indicated the dead man. "Ye are all our prisoners. Resist not, or it will be the worse for you. Yield, and ye shall not be hurt."

Over a dozen yellow robes advanced, spreading out as if to surround both the Consul's men and the Carinthians.

Thorolf said to the Carinthian leader: "These are creatures of the sorcerer Orlandus. If they take us, he'll possess us, like them, with spirits that force us to obey his whims. We must join to fight them!"

"Shoot the yellows!" the Consul roared to his body­guards.

Instantly two bows twanged. At that range, the ar­rows struck the chests of two Sophonomists with such force as to sink up to the feathering and protrude from their backs.

Although staggered, the two struck recovered and came on as if nothing had happened. Zigram's body­guards got off two more arrows, with the same result. The Carinthian leader shouted to his men:

"They're walking corpses! Kill them!"

He sprang forward and struck a terrific backhand at the leading Sophonomist. The man's head flew off, struck the ground, and rolled. Spouting blood, the headless body continued forward, blindly slashing empty air.

"They cannot be slain!" wailed a Carinthian. "All's lost! Flee! Flee!"

As one, the party from Landai turned and ran, as fast as the weight of their mail allowed. They hastened downstream with a jingle and clatter of accouterments.

"Keep shooting!" shouted the Consul. The headless body finally sank to the sward.

Bows twanged, then swords were out and clanging. Thorolf's party formed a back-to-back group as the Sophonomists silently closed with them. Thorolf found them slow, clumsy fighters. He thrust one through and then, finding the fellow still in action, hewed his arm from his shoulder.

The man whose arm Thorolf had severed stopped to recover his sword with his remaining arm. Thorolf split his skull, whereupon the cultist slumped at last while two others pushed forward and tried to step over the body to get at Thorolf. While swinging swords with one hand, each of them reached out with the other to clutch at Thorolf. He hewed off both clutching hands, one at the wrist and the other at the elbow. Thereupon the two attackers dropped their swords and thrust their remain­ing hands toward Thorolf.

"They're trying to take us alive!" Thorolf cried, hacking two-handed at his maimed antagonists with chopping woodcutter's strokes. No matter how fiercely he and his allies fought, he thought, they were doomed by weight of numbers. As he thrust another through, the attacker seized the sergeant's sword with his free hand, ignoring the deep wound the blade made in his hand. Another aimed a blow at Thorolf's head, splitting his hat but not his scalp.

Another sound broke upon Thorolf's ears. From no­where a horde of yellow trolls erupted and charged, waving iron-headed spears, axes, and clubs. Yelling, they rushed upon the Sophonomists from behind. Of some they spattered the brains with mighty blows; oth­ers they hewed asunder or picked up and threw into the Rissel.

In a few minutes it was over. Zigram, Thorolf, Wilchar, and Odo stood panting and sweating amid a ring of bodies, most of them dismembered like beeves in a butcher shop. Blood spattered the garments of the sur­vivors as if it had been thrown at them by bucketsful. Nor was all the blood that of the Sophonomists; Thorolf had taken a slit in his skin along the ribs; his father had a wounded arm. The mailed bodyguards had fared bet­ter, but Wilchar's cheek bled copiously from a cut.

Looking up from tying bandages, Thorolf said in Trollish: "Hail, Gak! How come here?"

"Wok say, lowlanders play trick. Kill Thorolf. Tho­rolf good troll in lowlander body. Go watch. If see trick, help Thorolf!"

"Good!" said Thorolf. "This Consul. Troll friend. My father."

Gak ducked his head, grinned, and slapped Zigram on the shoulder, sending him staggering. "Ah! Good. Help us; we help you."

"Now both mine arms are lamed," grumbled the Consul, moving the bruised member. "What saith the troll?"

Thorolf translated. Zigram said: "Tell him I will do my best to get my bill anent trolls through the Senate. I owe it to his folk."

When Thorolf translated, and the trolls roared ap­proval, Zigram added with a smile: "Pray, no more friendly slaps! That last all but dislocated my shoul­der. "

"Now," said Thorolf, "surely you have all the evi­dence you need to command an attack on Castle Zurshnitt!"

"Think ye so? Gunthram's convinced that so many of our men are secret Sophonomists that when so commanded, theyd turn on their own officers instead. Think not but that we've considered the problem. More­over, Orlandus could use your Yvette as a hostage.

"I'll tell you! Proceed with this secret plan of yours. If by the time the election be over, Orlandus' flag still flies high, I'll see what I can do."

As Zigram and his bodyguards painfully prepared to mount and amble off, Thorolf said: "Father, how shall we communicate? We need something more regular than an occasional trading party."

Zigram shrugged. "I know not, son."

"Let's say you develop a burning thirst for trollish beer and have arranged to receive a keg thereof each week. We can have our missives exchanged with each load."

"That horrible stuff!"

"You could give it to your cat when no witnesses be nigh."

"And poison the poor beast? Anyway, she'd have better sense than to drink it."

"Well, send me some more paper, pray. I am almost bereft!"

Thorolf waved to the departing Consul and folded the garments that the invisible Sophonomist had worn. At least, Orlandus had not been so prescient as to realize that a naked spy in this cool, wet weather was likely to betray his presence by sneezing. He gathered his bundle and turned back toward the village of the Sharmatt trolls.