The Unbeheaded King

Chapter Seven THE SOPHI'S TOWER

IN THE MONTH OF THE LION, JORIAN RETURNED BY COACH to Othomae. Since it was a holiday, the Feast of Narzes, Goania invited Jorian and Margalit to her house for dinner.

"You must needs take your chances on the victuals," she said. "Since Vanora disappeared, I have been trying to teach Boso to cook; but it is like teaching a horse to play the lute."

Aside from the fact that the beef was overdone, the repast did not turn out so badly as the wizardess had warned. Jorian said: "That was splendid, Boso! I see a lucrative future for you as cook in one of the big city inns, where the nobility come to eat, drink, dance, and ogle one another."

Boso dropped his usual surliness to scuff his foot on the floor. "Oh, I do try, Master Jorian," he simpered.

"But what of your plans for Estrildis?" said Goania.

"You go right to the point, my dear aunt," said Jorian. "I spent hours in Ardamai plotting with Kerin. He should be in Xylar, tending the clocks in the palace. When I get a letter saying 'The fish is hooked,' I shall set out with Karadur."

"Hai!" said Karadur. "You said not that you intended to entrain me with you, my son. I am verily too aged and fragile for another of these temerarious excursions—"

"Can't be helped," said Jorian. "Amongst other things, I shall need your help to locate that cursed crown for the bribe. It's been nearly three years since we buried it, and I am not sure I could find it by memory alone."

"But I am not capable of another long ride, in all weathers, on the back of some fractious quadruped!"

Jorian thought and said: "How if we went as a pair of Mulvanian mountebanks? You've seen these little groups, traveling about in wagons, telling fortunes and stealing farmers' chickens. I could buy a cart, which we can decorate like one of those gaudy Mulvanian vehicles. You can ride in it."

"Well, that would be—"

"Wait!" said Margalit. "I shall go, too."

"What?" cried Jorian. "This will be a rough, risky trip, my lady. Much as I esteem you, why should you—"

"Because my first duty is to my Queen, and I should be with you when you meet her again."

"I really see no good reason—"

"You will. The shock of seeing you may put her into a state where she needs my care. Besides, if you are disguised as a Mulvanian, she may not believe you to be her husband. You will need me to vouch for you."

They argued some more. But Jorian, though he thought Margalit's reasons flimsy, gave in. He was not really sorry to have her as a fellow traveler. He liked her immensely and admired her good sense and ability to cope with contingencies.

"Three would crowd one of those little carts," he said. "My sumpter mule can pull the cart, if I train him in. But I shall have to buy another horse." He looked worried. "I know not if my remaining funds will stretch so far."

"Fear not," said Goania. "I can always lend you enough to tide you over, provided you stop calling me aunt! I am no kin of yours."

"Very well, Au—Mistress Goania. It is good of you. And now, what parts shall we play in Xylar? Father Karadur can tell fortunes. I have some small skill at juggling and the sort of games of chance they play in traveling carnivals. That swindler Rudops, among the shady characters I hired to teach me their skills when I was planning escape, instructed me. And Margalit—why, 'tis plain you shall be a Mulvanian dancer!"

"But I do not know Mulvanian dances—"

"No matter. I have seen them in Mulvan, and Karadur and I can teach you."

'Think you not I am too tall to pass as a Mulvanian woman?"

"Not really; at least in Xylar, whither few Mulvanians go. The folk will have no standard of comparison."

"But stay! That is not all. A couple of years ago, a traveling troupe of Mulvanian dancers and singers passed through Xylar, and Estrildis and I attended a performance. As you might guess, they surrounded us with palace guards the whole time we were out of the palace. But the dancers, male and female, all danced bare to the waist."

"That's how they do it in Mulvan," said Jorian. "Even the dames of the highest caste go to parties thus, with designs painted on their torsos."

"I will not slither around thus indecently exposed) There was a to-do in Xylar; the priests of Imbal would have closed the show, or at least compelled the dancers to cover themselves. They were still disputing the matter in the courts when the troupe departed."

"My lady," said Jorian sternly, "you're the one who wishes to accompany us on this journey. Either prepare to dance with bare breasts or stay behind!"

She sighed. "If the priests of Imbal make trouble again, 'twill be on your head! But how shall we get skins as brown as Karadur's?"

"There's a fellow in the city, Henvin the Costumer, who sells wigs, dyes, and everything else to change one's appearance. Merlois took me to him," Jorian answered.

"Must one paint one's skin over every time one washes one's face?"

"Nay; I am told that these dyes do not begin to fade for a fortnight."

"You, my son," said Karadur, "must needs learn to wind a turban. Wait!" The Mulvanian shuffled out and returned with a long strip of white cloth. "Hold still!"

Karadur dexterously wound the cloth round and round, so that Jorian's short-cut black hair was almost hidden. Goania held up a mirror.

"I look quite the Mulvanian potentate," said Jorian. "All I need is a brown skin."

"Now," said Karadur, "let me see you do it!"

Jorian spent the next hour learning to wind the turban. The first few times, the headgear fell apart as soon as he moved, slumping into loops and folds on his shoulders. The others rolled in their seats with laughter. At last Jorian wound a turban that stayed in place even when he shook his head.

"You must also shave your countenance," said Karadur.

"What, again? But I like my whiskers!"

"In Mulvan, as you should know, only philosophers, holy men, and men of the poorest caste wear them. Moreover, you will recall that at the time of your escape from Xylar, you wore a large black mustache over a shaven chin; so the Xylarians would recognize you with that adornment."

"But a full beard like mine—"

"Ah, but recently Judge Grallon saw you with your present hirsute decoration, so it were unwise to appear thus bedight. We might encounter the judge."

Jorian sighed. "Just when I think I have achieved the acme of masculine beauty, you come along and spoil it. Margalit, think you not we should be returning inward?" He rose.

Goania said: "Better not enter the Silver Dragon with that thing on your head. We do not wish folk to know that Jorian and that great Mulvanian mystic, Doctor Humbugula, are one and the same."

"I'll do it off ere we go in. Ready, Margalit?"

Jorian bid a ceremonious farewell, bowing and practicing the gestures he had seen in Mulvan. Out they went. The night was dark and foggy, and there were no public street lamps near Goania's modest house. A lamp in the wizardess's hands, as she stood in the open door, pushed back the dark a little. When she closed the door, the darkness rushed back.

"Hold my arm, Margalit," said Jorian. "One can easily turn an ankle on these cobblestones. Damn, it's blacker than the pits of the ninth Mulvanian hell."

They felt their way slowly along. Jorian peered into the murk, thinking that he would feel very silly if they got lost on a simple walk of eight or ten blocks.

Then Jorian heard quick, soft footsteps behind him. As he started to turn, a terrific blow struck his head. The ground sprang up. Dimly he heard a shriek from Margalit.

Collecting his scattered wits, Jorian rolled over to bring his attacker into view. Against the dark overcast, he made out an even darker form swinging an ax in both hands. He thought he saw the ax rise above the form's head.

He knew he should have instantly thrown himself to the side to avoid the blow. But so weak and dazed was he that he could only blink stupidly as the ax started down.

A second form—that of Margalit, from its silhouette—gave the first one a push. He heard a low snarl of "Bitch!" and saw the attacker turn toward the woman. She sprang back to avoid a sweep of the ax, but slipped on the wet cobblestones and fell. The attacker turned back to Jorian, hoisting the ax for another blow.

Then another form loomed out of the dark. The intended blow went awry. Jorian climbed shakily to his feet to see two bulky bodies grappling, grunting, and cursing. One combatant caught the other's arm and twisted. The ax fell with a clang.

"I got him, Master Jorian!" panted Boso's grating voice. "Kill the bastard!"

Jorian felt about and gathered up the ax. For an instant he hovered about the struggling pair, peering to make sure he should not strike the wrong man. Both were stocky, burly men in rough, nondescript clothes, but in the fog-shrouded darkness he could not discern faces.

"What are you waiting for?" rasped Boso.

The direction of the voice at last told Jorian which was which. He brought the flat of the ax down hard on the head of his assailant; at the third blow, the stranger collapsed.

"Why'n't you slay him?" said Boso.

"I want to know who he is and what he's up to first," said Jorian. He turned to see how Margalit fared, but she had already regained her feet.

"Are you hurt?" Jorian asked.

"Nay, save for a bruised fundament. Who is this footpad?"

"That's what I mean to learn. Take one leg, Boso, and I will take the other. How did you arrive so opportunely?"

"I heard the lady cry out and rushed into the street," said Boso.

Halfway down the block, a golden rectangle appeared in the fog as Goania's door opened again and the wizardess stood in it with a light. Jorian and Boso hauled the body in and laid it out on Goania's floor, while she leaned over it with a lamp. The man was heavyset, with a strip of cloth covering his face below the eyes. Jorian set down the ax, an ordinary workman's tool, and jerked off the mask.

"Malgo the bailiff!" he exclaimed. "I owed him a few knocks, but wherefore should he strive to murder me?"

Goania poured a dipper of cold water on the man's face. Choking and coughing, Malgo returned to consciousness.

"We should tie him up," said Jorian. "He's a strong rascal."

"I'll see to that," said Goania. She went out and returned with a couple of lengths of rope. She spoke to these and, like tame serpents, one of them wrapped itself around Malgo's wrists and the other around his ankles.

"A couple of minor spirits, whom I have enlisted in my service," she said.

Jorian peeled off the turban. The cloth was slit in several places, where the edge of the ax had penetrated, and stained crimson, where blood had seeped from a scalp wound.

"My best turban cloth!" lamented Karadur.

"I'll get you another," said Jorian. "Henvin the Costumer probably carries them. I owe it to you, since those layers of cloth saved my worthless life." He turned to Malgo, now sitting on the floor with his back to the settee, glaring. "Now then, you, speak!"

"Screw you!" snarled Malgo.

"Why did you try to kill me?"

"That's my affair."

"Oh, is it?" Jorian smiled unpleasantly. "Mistress Goania, may I trouble you for assistance in opening up this mangy scrowle? I am sure you have some ingenious methods in your magical repertory."

"Let me think," she said. "There is a small Seventh Plane demon who is madly in love with me and will do aught I ask. Naturally I cannot accede to his wishes, not wishing to be burnt to a crisp. But if I loose him on Master Malgo, he will do some interesting things, beginning with the man's private parts."

"Oh, I'll talk," growled Malgo with fear in his eyes. "I wanted to slay you because you lost me my job."

"What?" said Jorian. "I had naught to do with that! I never even knew you had been dismissed."

"Well, I was, and I know you did it, by complaining to the Grand Duke."

"You're dreaming! I have not seen the Grand Duke, nor have I complained to his officers, though the gods know I had cause to. Who told you this?"

"I won't tell."

"Goania, how about the fiery imp of yours?"

"Oh, I'll tell, I'll tell. Just let not that witch set her spooks on me. Twas Doctor Abacarus at the Academy. I paid him a pretty penny to divine the cause of my dismissal, and he named you."

"You wasted your money," said Jorian. "Abacarus merely sought revenge on me for besting him in a dispute over a debt."

"I can tell you why Malgo was dismissed," said Goania. "I know the Grand Duchess Ninuis—we serve on the same committee to succor the poor—and she is a great gossip. She told me the examining magistrate caught Malgo buggering a young prisoner in his cell. For some legal reason they could not pin a criminal charge on Malgo, but they could toss him out of his post."

"There you are," said Jorian. "Now, what shall we do with this scum?"

"If it was me, I'd kill him," said Boso.

"A pious idea; but then we should have a body to dispose of. And perhaps the swine has friends, who would ask after him. I suppose he is an Othomaean citizen, but I am not."

"I'd still kill him," said Boso. "If any man tried to slay me—"

"I agree with your sentiments, friend Boso; but we must be practical. Any other suggestions?"

"We could surrender him to the law," said Karadur.

"Nay," said Goania. "Jorian has the right of it. Malgo has friends in high places, little though you might expect it. There is a nest of his kind, headed by Lord—but I will not name names. This lord has power, and doubtless his intervention set Malgo free. If we have him arrested, the legal mills will grind on forever whilst Master Malgo is out on bail to make another try."

Margalit said: "We hear a lot about the corruption in high places of Vindium; but from what I hear, 'tis just as rife here."

'True," said Goania. 'The difference is that the Grand Duchy has more effective means of covering its corruption in high places."

Jorian asked: "What's the source of Lord Nameless's power? Is Gwitlac the Fat one of Malgo's brotherhood—"

"Hush!" hissed Goania, looking nervously around. "Do not say things like that within the bourne of the Grand Duchy, unless you would destroy us all! But to answer your question: nay, the Grand Duke is normal in that respect. It is purely political; this lord is one of his strongest supporters. Ninuis loathes the man, but she has not been able to turn Gwitlac against him."

"We'll forget arresting Malgo, then," said Jorian. "It were more to the point to set the law on Abacarus; Malgo is but his tool."

"Aye, but the same objections apply. Abacarus would deny the whole thing, and what were Malgo's word against his?"

Margalit asked: "Could you feed Malgo a love potion or something, so that he would do whatever Jorian commanded?"

"I fear," said Goania, "that Malgo would not make a satisfactory servant, no matter what geases we put upon him. He might be made to obey Jorian, but that would not stop him from stealing Jorian's possessions, or holding a sodomitical orgy in Jorian's room in his master's absence. If we compelled him to love Jorian, his manner of expressing his love might not meet with Jorian's approval."

"You ought to make him suffer somehow," said Boso. "It's only right. If it was me, I wouldn't be a man if I let him off free."

'True," Jorian said. "But I am less interested in revenge than in getting him out of the way. We can't have him running loose here, and Goania does not think he can be reduced to useful magical slavery. Goania, can you put a spell on him to make him obey one command from me? Implicitly?"

"Aye, within limits."

"Going to make him kill himself?" asked Boso with a grin.

"Nay, though the idea has merit."

"That would not work anyway," said Goania. "The spell cannot make him contravene his basic instincts."

"How," asked Jorian, "would it be to command him to kill Abacarus? That would be a fair turnabout."

Goania said: "Be not hasty. Abacarus is a clever rogue. If I know him, he will have taken precautions. Let me send out my second sight."

She sat still, breathing deeply with her eyes closed. At last she said: "It is as I thought. He has set up a barrier that will dissolve your command when Malgo passes through it. Abacarus will then aim Malgo back at you, as in a game of paddle ball."

"Bouncing Malgo back and forth at each other could become tedious," said Jorian. He thought a moment. "I have something equally useful. Goania, how long will such a command obtain?"

"One to three months, depending on many factors."

"Then pray put it on him."

"Very well. The rest of you, leave me alone with Malgo. I will call when I have finished."

They trooped out to the kitchen. From the living room came sounds of chants and incantations in Goania's voice, and then a harsh, crackling voice that was neither Goania's nor Malgo's. Jorian killed time by telling a story. "I am sure," he said, "you have heard some of my tales of King Forimar the Aesthete. He nearly ruined Kortoli by neglecting statecraft to pursue the arts, such as music, painting, and verse, in all of which he made signal contributions.

"Then Kortoli was overrun by the armies of Aussar under Doubri the Faultless, a fanatical priest who wished to foist on other nations the puritanical austerity he had imposed upon his own land. The siege of Kortoli City was broken by the return of the naval squadron under Forimar's brother Fusonio.

"Forimar had sent Fusonio to Salimor in the Far East, ostensibly to establish trade relations, but actually to get rid of his brother, whose carping at Forimar's extravagance and neglect of public affairs vexed the king. But as the price for saving Kortoli, Fusonio forced his brother to abdicate in his favor.

"Anon, Fusonio thwarted a conspiracy by his brother to regain the throne. To prevent further attempts, Fusonio sent the ex-king to distant Salimor as ambassador. Fusonio would normally have dispatched his brother on a warship. But he had heard that the barbarians of Shven were assembling a fleet in the Bay of Norli to ravage the Novarian coasts. So he felt he had to keep the fleet at home.

"The conveyance of Forimar he trusted to a privateer, Captain Joelid, with orders to take Forimar to Salimor. Joelid bore letters of marque from Fusonio; but since Kortoli was then at peace, he was compelled to fill the role of peaceful trader.

"Fusonio sent a bodyguard of ten soldiers to act as Forimar's escort and, moreover, to see that he did not slip away at some intermediate port. The soldiers were young single men who had volunteered because they had heard tales of the beauty and availability of the Salimorese girls, who went about clad like those Mulvanian dancers whom Margalit saw. Fusonio also gave the officer of this detachment, Lieutenant Locrinus, a letter to the Sophi, asking that potentate to hold Forimar in genteel confinement all his life.

"So off went Captain Joelid, and off with him went Lieutenant Locrinus and the former King Forimar. Unable to find an adequate cargo in Kortoli, Joelid dropped down the coast to Vindium.

"At Vindium, Lieutenant Locrinus saw to it that the ex-king had no chance to sup ashore and escape. But he had no authority over Captain Joelid, who went ashore on his own business. After an unsuccessful day of cargo seeking, the privateer sought a tavern, where he fell in with a fellow sea captain from Salimor, one Dimbakan.

"Now, in visiting merchants and warehouses, Captain Joelid had heard of a deal very profitable to a skipper who could take immediate advantage of it. It involved a triangular trade amongst Vindium, Janareth, and Tarxia. The thought of these profits made Joelid's mouth water; but he could not sail to Janareth, to Tarxia, and back to Vindium and also carry Forimar to Salimor.

"So, when both Joelid and Dimbakan were well plied with the liquors of Vindium, they struck a deal. Joelid would turn over Forimar and his escort to Dimbakan, who was to leave for home in a few days. He would pay Dimbakan a part of the fee that Fusonio had paid him to take his brother to Salimor. He opened by offering one tenth; but Dimbakan, no stranger to chaffering, laughed in his face. After much haggling, they settled on two-thirds of the fee for Dimbakan.

"Next day, Joelid told Forimar and his men that they were going to Salimor, not on Joelid's privateering vessel, but on Dimbakan's ship, the Itunkar. Lieutenant Locrinus vehemently objected. But Joelid said he could make his choice: go ashore, sail with the Itunkar, or remain on Joelid's ship, about to leave for Janareth and Tarxia.

"As a privateer, Joelid carried a large crew for the size of his ship. These seemed a hard-bitten lot of rogues, who could easily turn to piracy if lawful occupations failed them. Lacking the force to overawe Captain Joelid, Locrinus grudgingly accepted the new plan. He and his men marched ashore, surrounding Forimar, and adown the waterfront until they came to the Itunkar. Two days later, Captain Dimbakan sailed.

"Forimar found himself aboard a long, narrow vessel, with outriggers to keep it upright in all weathers and two lugsails of curious shape. The voyage took a good part of a year, and Forimar was happy to disembark at the capital, Kwatna. He had learned enough of the language to get along with the Salimorese and now dressed as they did, in a simple length of cloth wrapped skirt wise about his loins.

"Since Fusonio's departure from Salimor, the Sophi who had reigned at that time had died and been succeeded by his son Mynang. The new Sophi received Forimar graciously and showed a lively interest in Novarian customs and technics.

"Forimar made a serious effort to discharge the office of ambassador in a creditable way. But he soon became moody and discontented, because there was little for him to do. Kortoli and Salimor were too far asunder to be concerned with each other's military alliances and adventures, and trading ships, selling metalware and glassware and buying tea and spices, arrived from Novaria only at intervals of months.

"So Forimar returned to his old love, art. He studied the Salimorian arts of painting, sculpture, and music. He was especially captivated by the Salimorian dance. A dancer of the royal troupe caught his eye, and he divined that neither was she indifferent to his regard. He persuaded the dancing master to present the girl, Wakti, to him. When he hesitantly said something about seeing her alone later, she replied:

" 'Oh, that is no matter, my lord. I shall come to your house tonight.'

Sure enough, when Forimar returned to his bedchamber after supper, he found a nude Wakti smiling invitingly.

"Although nearly forty, Forimar had never bedded a woman in his life. When he hesitated, Wakti asked him what was the matter. He confessed to being a complete tyro at love, whereupon she was convulsed with laughter, as if it were the funniest thing she had ever heard. But she said: "That is no matter, dear Ambassador Porimar.' For so the Salimorians called him, having no F in their language. 'Come hither and I will show you how.'

"Wakti's laughter had caused Forimar to lose some of his readiness; but Wakti revived it. Afterward Forimar said: 'Great Zevatas, what have I been missing all this time! But tell me, Wakti darling, what would happen if you should conceive?'

" 'Oh,' she said, 'that is no matter. We have an herb to prevent that. Now sleep for a while, and we will at it again.'

"So Forimar and Wakti became official lovers, a state on which all the Salimorese, from the Sophi down, smiled benignly. Forimar was deliriously happy. But since he could not make love to Wakti all the time, and his official duties were neghgible, he took more intense interest in the Salimorian arts.

"In Kortoli he had dabbled in architecture, bankrupting the nation by building costly temples and other structures. To Mynang he suggested erecting a lighthouse like that of Iraz, of which he had heard and seen pictures, but even taller and more splendid. The Sophi, spellbound by Forimar's exotic ideas, asked Forimar to draw up a plan.

"Forimar did so, and Mynang commanded his ministers to assemble workmen and materials forthwith. He also ordained a special tax to pay for this enterprise. This tax caused much grumbling amongst the common folk, on whom it bore heavily. But Forimar, in an ecstasy of watching his tower go up day by day and at night practicing Salimorian dances with Wakti in both the vertical and the horizontal positions, knew naught of this.

"Months passed and the tower, in a square on the waterfront, soared into the heavens. So impatient was the Sophi to see it that he caused the workmen to be speeded with whips. A little over a year after the laying of the first stone, the tower was complete but for the interior furnishings. Mynang decreed a holiday for the dedication of his tower.

"A platform was erected before the tower, whence the Sophi would make a speech. The square was decorated with flowers and colored cloth. Forimar took his place in the parade behind Mynang, who was borne in a gilded litter. The band stepped out, tooting and tweedling and banging. After them came the royal guard, and then the litter.

"The procession was approaching the square of the tower, where thousands of Salimorese had already assembled, when the earth gave a slight quiver. Forimar had been so busy with his arts and with making love to Wakti that he had never learned that Salimor was a land of frequent earthquakes. Most dwelling houses were therefore low, flimsy affairs of bamboo and palm-frond matting, which would whip back and forth when shaken but remain largely intact. A few of the nobility and the Sophi, only, dwelt in buildings of masonry.

"The earth lurched again, and the tower groaned and swayed. At once, the thousands in the square began to run away in all directions. The first fugitives who raced up the street on which the parade was marching collided with the band and swept the bandsmen along with them.

"Then came the main shock. The tower groaned louder and swayed wider. Then it crumbled into thousands of separate stones, pouring down from its height like drops in a waterfall, to strike the earth with a roar heard leagues away, smashing and rebounding and shaking the city of Kwatna almost as severely as the earthquake itself. Soon there was naught left of the tower but a huge pile of broken masonry, half hidden in a vast cloud of dust.

"Thanks to the warning shocks, the square had been pretty well cleared of spectators. Natheless, several score were killed, some by rebounding stones and some trampled to death in the rush. Many more suffered lesser injuries. Some other houses in Kwatna, including part of the palace, were shaken down with loss of life and property.

"The crowd that rushed through the street of the parade had knocked down Mynang's litter bearers, so that the Sophi was thrown out on the street. He tried to restore order, but none heeded him. A rumor ran through the crowds, that Sophi Mynang had displeased the gods and thus brought about the earthquake. Some blamed the Sophi, while others blamed his fiendish foreign crony, meaning Forimar. Mynang was recognized as he tried to get back to the palace. A mob, incited by a holy man, set upon him and tore him to pieces.

"Forimar might have suffered a similar fate, but amid the swirling crowds of Salimorese, screaming and foaming with excitement, a brown hand seized his wrist. 'Come quickly!' said a familiar voice, and Wakti dragged him through a doorway. He found himself in the house of friends of Wakti, who let her take him to a back room and hide him.

"Some Salimorese were giving thought to who should succeed Mynang in power. The late Sophi's eldest son was a boy by a concubine, six years old; the eldest by a legitimate wife was four. (The Salimorese did not allow the rule of women.) Each child had partisans, and for a day it looked as if the succession would be settled by civil war.

"Then Wakti reported to Forimar that a new leader had arisen. This was none other than the Captain Dimbakan who had brought Forimar thither from Vindium. Dimbakan harangued the crowds on the form of government he had observed in Vindium, namely a republic, with the chief officers elected at fixed intervals by the people, and no hereditary ranks of nobility. This idea was new to the Salimorese, but they took to it with enthusiasm. Dimbakan promised that, once in power, he would forthwith hold an election to decide whether to abolish the monarchy and whom to choose to run the state.

"In a few days, Dimbakan proclaimed himself regent in the royal palace. Mynang's sons had disappeared; whether slain or smuggled away, Forimar never learned. As time passed, people asked Dimbakan when he would hold that promised election; but he always had some plausible reason for not staging it just yet. Eventually he announced that, albeit reluctantly, he would yield to the unanimous wish of the people and declare himself the new Sophi. As to how unanimous this popular desire was, we have only Dimbakan's words as reported by Forimar.

"On a visit to the hidden Forimar, Wakti said: 'My love, since the royal dance troupe has been disbanded, and you can no longer make me generous gifts, I have decided to marry.'

"Forimar said: 'Do you mean to marry me? Oh, joy! Let us be about it instanterl'

" 'What!' cried Wakti, 'Me wed you, a fugitive foreigner? Good gods, what an idea! Nay; I have a good man picked out, a journeyman coppersmith. As for you, you had better take the first ship back to your own land, ere some fanatic recognize you.'

" 'But you said you loved me!' bleated Forimar.

" 'True; so I do. But that is no matter. What has love to do with marriage?'

" 'Back in Novaria, they are supposed to go together,' quoth he.

" 'What a barbarous land!' she said. 'Here marriage is the forming of family alliances, the pooling of resources, and the building up of a stable, self-supporting family unit. Such considerations form a much firmer base for happy longtime cohabitation than mere love.'

" 'You make marriage sound like a sordid commercial deal!' he said.

" 'And why not?' she retorted. 'To eat regularly is the most important thing in life—even more so than love, since one can live without love but not without eating—and a well-matched pair can eat better together than separately.

" 'Now, pack your gear, for a ship leaves on the morrow for Vindium. I will fetch a disguise, so you can pass safely through the streets'

"And so it was done. Some years later, King Fusonio visited Vindium. As usual, he sought a tavern wherein to mingle incognito with the common folk. In this tavern, he found himself seated near a group of fishermen, who could easily be identified by their smell. One slender, middle-aged fellow, with a graying beard, looked familiar. At length this nagging half-memory so irked Fusonio that he went to the other table and touched the man on the shoulder, saying: 'Your pardon, my friend, but do I not know you?'

"The man looked up, replying: 'I am Porimar of Kortoli, a fisherman in the crew of Captain—oh!' the man stared wide-eyed. 'I believe you do know me, and I also know you. Let us go where we can talk freely.'

"They found a secluded corner, and Forimar (or Porimar, as he now called himself) related his adventures. Fusonio brought Forimar up to date on events in Kortoli. The brothers were warily friendly. The king said: 'How do you like your present trade?'

"Forimar shrugged. 'Not bad. There is as much art, I find, in tracking a school of fish and managing a net as there is in painting a portrait or cobbling together a verse.'

'Is there aught you would like me to do for you—short of letting you back into Kortoli, that is?'

'Aye; give me the money to buy my own fishing smack and hire a crew.'

" 'You shall have it,' said Fusonio, and so it was done. And sometimes, when affairs of state were more than usually vexatious, King Fusonio wondered if, perhaps, his brother did not have the better lot of the twain. But when he thought of the hardships and hazards of a fisherman's life, he put aside such thoughts as sentimental romanticism. And he resolved to get such satisfaction as he could out of the rdle to which the gods had called him."

When Goania called, they came back to find Malgo standing blank-faced. The magical cords that had bound him now dangled harmlessly from the fist of the wizardess.

"Give your command, Jorian," said Goania. 'Take not too long about it."

"Malgo!" said Jorian. "Wilt obey my command?"

"Aye, sir," growled Malgo.

"Then you shall leave Othomae City forthwith, travel east to Vindium, and take ship as a deckhand for the Kuromon Empire, or the Gwoling Islands, or Salimor, on whatever ship thither bound has a berth open. Do you understand?"

"Aye, sir. Can I stop back to my room to get supplies for the journey?"

"Aye, but without needless delays. Now go!"

Like a walking corpse, Malgo shambled out the door and into the night. Jorian said: "By the time the command loses power, he'll be well on his way to the Far East. Once aboard ship, 'twill avail him naught to change his mind. If he survive the voyage, he could not get back in a year, by which time I hope to be elsewhere."

"Can I dress your wound?" said Goania.

"Nay, it is but a scratch. Betwixt my thick skull and Doctor Karadur's best turban, I have nought worse than a slight headache. And thanks for saving my life, Boso."

Boso scuffed his shoe. "Oh, that was nought. You once saved mine, when we fell into Lake Volkina. Besides, you said you liked my cooking."

On the way back to the inn for the second time, Jorian told Margalit: "It is strange. I've fought with Boso thrice—not mere words, but twice with fists and once with swords. It started when he learned I was the son of the man who built Othomae's chiming municipal water clock, thus ending his job as the city's gong ringer.

"Either of us might have killed the other, for he has the thews of an ox. I thought he hated me. At the same time, I did drag him out of that lake when the Goblin Tower fell; and now he saves me from being chopped up like kindling."

Limping from her fall, Margalit said: "I once read in the Aphorisms of Achaemo that one should treat every friend as if he might some day become an enemy, and every foe as if he might some day become a friend."

Jorian grinned in the darkness. "Good worldly advice. But I don't think I could imagine you as my enemy, Margalit."