Vance,Jack - 03 - Cugel's Saga

Contents

BUNDERWAL EXPLAINED THE WAGER

"It is so simple as to be embarrassing. The door yonder leads out to the

urinal. Look about the room; select a champion. I will do likewise. Whichever

champion is last to patronize the urinal wins the game for his sponsor."

"The contest seems fair," said Cugel.

The two champions seemed in no hurry; they paused to comment upon the

mildness of the night, then, almost in synchrony, went to the trough. Cugel

and Bunderwal followed, one to each side, and made ready to render judgment.

The two champions prepared to relieve themselves. Cugel's champion,

glancing to the side, noticed the quality of Cugel's attention, and instantly

became indignant. "What are you looking at? Landlord! Out here at once! Call

the Night-guards!"

Cugel tried to explain. "Sir, the situation is not as you think! Bunderwal will

verify the case! Bunderwal?"

A BAEN BOOK

CUGEL'S SAGA

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book

are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely

coincidental.

thereof in any form.

A Baen Book

1

Baen Enterprises

8-I0 W. 36th Street

New York, N.Y. I00I8

First Baen printing, November I984

ISBN: 0-67I-559I7-6

Cover art by Kevin Johnson

Printed in the United States of. America

Distributed by

SIMON & SCHUSTER

MASS MERCHANDISE SALES COMPANY

I230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, N.Y. I0020

CONTENTS

I. FROM SHANGLESTONE STRAND TO SASKERVOY II

1. FLUTIC

2. THE INN OF BLUE LAMPS

II. FROM SASKERVOY TO THE TUSTVOLD MUD-FLATS

1. ABOARD THE GALANTE

2. LAUSICAA

3. THE OCEAN OF SIGHS

III. FROM TUSTVOLD TO PORT PERDUSZ I39

1. THE COLUMNS

2. FAUCELME

IV. FROM PORT PERDUSZ TO KASPARA VITATUS I85

1. ON THE DOCKS

2. THE CARAVAN

V. FROM KASPARA VITATUS TO CUIRNIF

1. THE SEVENTEEN VIRGINS

2. THE BAGFUL OF DREAMS

VI. FROM CUIRNIF TO PERGOLO 305

1. THE FOUR WIZARDS

2. SPATTERLIGHT

247

75

2

CHAPTER I FROM SHANGLESTONE STRAND TO SASKERVOY

1 FLUTIC

IUCOUNU (known across Almery as 'the Laughing Magician') had

worked one of his most mordant jokes upon Cugel. For the second

time Cugel had been snatched up, carried north across the Ocean of Sighs,

dropped upon that melancholy beach known as Shanglestone Strand.

Rising to his feet, Cugel brushed sand from his cloak and adjusted his hat.

He stood not twenty yards from that spot upon which he had been dropped

before, also at the behest of Iucounu. He carried no sword and his pouch

contained no terces.

The solitude was absolute. No sound could be heard but the sigh of the

wind along the dunes. Far to the east a dim headland thrust into the water, as

did another, equally remote, to the west. To the south spread the sea, empty

except for the reflection of the old red sun.

Cugel's frozen faculties began to thaw, and a whole set of emotions, one

after the other, made themselves felt, with fury taking precedence over all.

Iucounu would now be enjoying his joke to the fullest. Cugel raised his fist

high and shook it toward the south, "Iucounu, at last you have exceeded

yourself! This time you will pay the price! I, Cugel, appoint myself your

nemesis!"

For a period Cugel strode back and forth, shouting and cursing: a person

long of arm and leg, with lank black hair, gaunt cheeks, and a crooked mouth

of great flexibility. The time was middle afternoon, and the sun, already half-

way into the west, tottered down the sky like a sick animal. Cugel, who was

nothing if not practical, decided to postpone the remainder of his tirade; more

urgent was lodging for the night. Cugel called down a final curse of pulsing

carbuncles upon Iucounu, then, picking his way across the shingle, he climbed

to the crest of a dune and looked in all directions.

To the north a succession of marshes and huddles of black larch straggled

away into the murk.

To the east Cugel gave only a cursory glance. Here were the villages Smolod

and Grodz, and memories were long in the Land of Cutz.

To the south, languid and listless, the ocean extended to the horizon and

beyond.

To the west, the shore stretched far to meet a line of low hills which,

3

thrusting into the sea, became a headland. ... A red glitter flashed across the

distance, and Cugel's attention was instantly attracted.

Such a red sparkle could only signify sunlight reflecting from glass!

Cugel marked the position of the glitter, which faded from view as the

sunlight shifted. He slid down the face of the dune and set off at best speed

along the beach.

The sun dropped behind the headland; gray-lavender gloom fell across the

beach. An arm of that vast forest known as The Great Erm edged down from

the north, suggesting a number of eery possibilities, and Cugel accelerated his

pace to a striding bent-kneed lope.

The hills loomed black against the sky, but no sign of habitation appeared.

Cugel's spirits sagged low. He proceeded more slowly, searching the landscape

with care, and at last, to his great satisfaction, he came upon a large and

elaborate manse of archaic design, shrouded behind the trees of an untidy

garden. The lower windows glowed with amber light: a cheerful sight for the

benighted wanderer.

Cugel turned briskly aside and approached the manse, putting by his usual

precautions of surveillance and perhaps peering through the windows,

especially in view of two white shapes at the edge of the forest which quietly

moved back into the shadows as he turned to stare.

Cugel marched to the door and tugged smartly at the bell-chain. From

within came the sound of a far gong.

A moment passed. Cugel looked nervously over his shoulder, and again

pulled at the chain. Finally he heard slow steps approaching from within.

The door opened and a pinch-faced old man, thin, pale, and stoop-

shouldered, looked through the crack.

Cugel used the suave tones of gentility, "Good evening! What is this

handsome old place, may I ask?"

The old man responded without cordiality: "Sir, this is Flutic, where Master

Twango keeps residence. What is your business?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," said Cugel airily. "I am a traveler, and I seem

to have lost my way. I will therefore trespass upon Master Twango's hospitality

for the night, if I may."

"Quite impossible. From which direction do you come?"

"From the east."

"Then continue along the road, through the forest and over the hill, to

Saskervoy. You will find lodging to meet your needs at the Inn of Blue Lamps."

"It is too far, and in any event robbers have stolen my money."

"You will find small comfort here; Master Twango gives short shrift to

4

indigents." The old man started to close the door, but Cugel put his foot into

the aperture.

"Wait! I noticed two white Chapes at the edge of the forest, and I dare go no

farther tonight!"

"In this regard, I can advise you," said the old man. "The creatures are

probably rostgoblers, or 'hyperborean sloths', if you prefer the term. Return to

the beach and wade ten feet into the water; you will be safe from their lust.

Then tomorrow you may proceed to Saskervoy."

The door closed. Cugel looked anxiously over his shoulder. At the entrance

to the garden, where heavy yews flanked the walk, he glimpsed a pair of still

white forms. Cugel turned back to the door and jerked hard at the bell-chain.

Slow steps padded across the floor, and once again the door opened. The old

man looked out. "Sir?"

"The ghouls are now in the garden! They block the way to the beach!"

The old man opened his mouth to speak, then blinked as a new concept

entered his mind. He tilted his head and spoke craftily. "You have no funds?"

"I carry not so much as a groat."

"Well then; are you disposed toward employment?"

"Certainly, if I survive the night!"

"In that case, you are in luck! Master Twango can offer employment to a

willing worker." The old man threw open the door and Cugel gratefully entered

the manse.

With an almost exuberant flourish the old man closed the door. "Come, I

will take you to Master Twango, and you can discuss the particulars of your

employment: How do you choose to be announced?"

"I am Cugel."

"This way then! You will be pleased with the opportunities! . . . Are you

coming? At Flutic we are brisk!"

Despite all, Cugel held back. "Tell me something of the employment! I am,

after all, a person of quality, and I do not turn my hand to everything."

"No fear! Master Twango will accord you every distinction. Ah, Cugel, you

will be a happy man! If only I were young again! This way, if you please."

Cugel still held back. "First things first! I am tired and somewhat the worse

for travel. Before I confer with Master Twango I would like to refresh myself and

perhaps take a bite-or two of nourishment. In fact, let us wait until tomorrow

morning, when I will make a far better impression."

The old man demurred. "At Flutic all is exact, and every jot balances against

a corresponding tittle. To whose account would I charge your refreshment? To

5

Gark? To Gookin? To Master Twango himself? Absurd. Inevitably the

consumption would fall against the account of Weamish, which is to say,

myself. Never! My account at last is clear, and I propose to retire."

"I understand nothing of this," grumbled Cugel.

"Ah, but you will! Come now: to Twango!"

With poor grace Cugel followed Weamish into a chamber of many shelves

and cases: a repository of curios, to judge by the articles on display.

"Wait here a single moment!" said Weamish and hopped on spindly legs

from the room.

Cugel walked here and there, inspecting the curios and estimating their

value. Strange to find such objects in a place so remote! He bent to examine a

pair of small quasi-human grotesques rendered in exact detail. Craftsmanship

at its most superb! thought Cugel.

Weamish returned. "Twango will see you shortly. Meanwhile he offers for

your personal regalement this cup of vervain tea, together with these two

nutritious wafers, at no charge."

Cugel drank the tea and devoured the wafers. "Twango's act of hospitality,

though largely symbolic, does him credit." He indicated the cabinets. "All this is

Twango's personal collection?"

"Just so. Before his present occupation he dealt widely in such goods."

"His tastes are bizarre, even peculiar."

Weamish raised his white eyebrows. "As to that I cannot say. It all seems

ordinary enough to me."

"Not really," said Cugel. He indicated the pair of grotesques. "For instance, I

have seldom seen objects so studiously repulsive as this pair of bibelots.

Skillfully done, agreed! Notice the detail in these horrid little ears! The snouts,

the fangs: the malignance is almost real! Still, they are undeniably the work of

a diseased imagination."

The objects reared erect. One of them spoke in a rasping voice: "No doubt

Cugel has good reason for his unkind words; still, neither Gark nor I can take

them lightly."

The other also spoke: "Such remarks carry a sting! Cugel has a feckless

tongue." Both bounded from the room.

Weamish spoke in reproach. "You have offended both Gark and Gookin, who

came only to guard Twango's valuables from pilferage. But what is done is

done. Come; we will go to Master Twango."

Weamish took Cugel to a large workroom, furnished with a dozen tables

piled with ledgers, crates and various oddments. Gark and Gookin, wearing

smart long-billed caps of red and blue respectively, glared at Cugel from a

6

bench. At an enormous desk sat Twango, who was short and corpulent, with a

small chin, a dainty mouth and a bald pate surrounded by varnished black

curls. Under his chin hung a faddish little goatee.

Upon the entrance of Cugel and Weamish, Twango swung around in his

chair. "Aha, Weamish! This gentleman, so I am told, is Cugel. Welcome, Cugel,

to Flutic!"

Cugel doffed his hat and bowed. "Sir, I am grateful for your hospitality on

this dark night."

Twango arranged the papers on his desk and appraised Cugel from the

corner of his eye. He indicated a chair. "Be seated, if you will. Weamish tells me

that you might be inclined to employment, under certain circumstances."

Cugel nodded graciously. "I will be pleased to consider any post for which I

am qualified, and which offers an appropriate compensation."

Weamish called from the side: "Just so! Conditions at Flutic are always

optimum and at worst meticulous."

Twango coughed and chuckled. "Dear old Weamish! We have had a long

association! But now our accounts are settled and he wishes to retire. Am I

correct in this, Weamish?".

"You are, in every last syllable!"

Cugel made a delicate suggestion: "Perhaps you will describe the various

levels of employment available and their corresponding perquisites. Then, after

analysis, I will be able to indicate how best I can serve you."

Weamish cried out: "A wise request! Good thinking, Cugel! You will do well

at Flutic, or I am much deceived."

Twango again straightened the papers on his desk. "My business is simple

at its basis. I exhume and refurbish treasures of the past. I then survey, pack,

and sell them to a shipping agent of Saskervoy, who delivers them to their

ultimate consignee, who, so I understand, is a prominent magician of Almery. If

I shape each phase of the operation to its best efficiency — Weamish, in a spirit

of jocularity, used the word 'meticulous' — I sometimes turn a small profit."

"I am acquainted with Almery," said Cugel. "Who is the magician?"

Twango chuckled. "Soldinck the shipping agent refuses to release this

information, so that I will not sell direct at double profit. But from other

sources I learn that the consignee is a certain Iucounu of Pergolo. . . .Cugel,

did you speak?"

Cugel smilingly touched his abdomen. "An eructation only. I usually dine at

this time. What of your own meal? Should we not continue our discussion over

the evening repast?"

"All in good time," said Twango. "Now then, to continue. Weamish has long

supervised my archaeological operations, and his position now becomes open.

7

Is the name 'Sadlark' known to you?"

"Candidly, no."

"Then for a moment I must digress. During the Cutz Wars of the Eighteenth

Aeon, the demon Underherd interfered with the overworld, so that Sadlark

descended to set matters right. For reasons obscure — I personally suspect

simple vertigo — Sadlark plunged into the mire, creating a pit now found in my

own back garden. Sadlark's scales persist to this day, and these are the

treasures which we recover from the slime."

"You are fortunate in that the pit is so close to your residence," said Cugel.

"Efficiency is thereby augmented."

Twango tried to follow Cugel's reasoning, then gave up the effort. "True." He

pointed to a nearby table. "There stands a reconstruction of Sadlark in

miniature!"

Cugel went to inspect the model, which had been formed by attaching a

large number of silver flakes to a matrix of silver wires. The sleek torso stood

on a pair of short legs terminating in circular webs. Sadlark lacked a head; the

torso rose smoothly to a prow-like turret, fronted by a particularly complex

scale with a red node at the center. Four arms hung from the upper torso;

neither sense organs nor digestive apparatus were evident, and Cugel pointed

out this fact to Twango as a matter of curiosity.

"Yes, no doubt," said Twango. "Things are done differently in the overworld.

Like the model, Sadlark was constructed of scales on a matrix not of silver

wires but wefts of force. When Sadlark plunged into the mire, the dampness

annulled his forces; the scales dispersed and Sadlark became disorganized,

which is the overworld equivalent of mortality."

"A pity," said Cugel, returning to his seat. "His conduct from the first would

seem to have been quixotic."

"Possibly true," said Twango. "His motives are difficult to assess. Now, as to

our own business: Weamish is leaving our little group and his post as

'supervisor of operations' becomes open. Is such a position within your

capacity?"

"I should certainly think; so," said Cugel. "Buried valuables have long

engaged my interest!"

"Then the position should suit you famously!"

"And my stipend?"

"It shall be exactly that of Weamish, even though Weamish is a skilled and

able associate of many years. In such cases, I play no favorites."

"In round numbers, then, Weamish earns how many terces?"

"I prefer to keep such matters confidential," said Twango, "but Weamish, so

I believe, will allow me to reveal that last week he earned almost three hundred

8

terces, and the week before as much again."

"True, from first to last!" said Weamish.

Cugel rubbed his chin. "Such a stipend would seem adequate to my needs."

"Just so," said Twango. "When can you assume your duties?"

Cugel considered for only a moment. "At once, for purposes of salary

computation. However, I will want a few days to study your operation. I assume

that you can provide me adequate board and lodging over this period?"

"Such facilities are provided at a nominal cost." Twango rose to his feet. "But

I keep you talking when you are surely tired and hungry. Weamish, as his last

official duty, will take you to the refectory, where you may dine to your

selection. Then you may rest in whatever style of accomodation you find

congenial. Cugel, I welcome you into our employ! In the morning we can; settle

the details of your compensation."

"Come!" cried Weamish. "To the refectory." He ran limping to the doorway,

where he paused and beckoned. "Come along, Cugel! At Flutic one seldom

loiters!"

Cugel looked at Twango. "Why is Weamish so animated, and why must one

never loiter?"

Twango shook his head in fond bemusement. "Weamish is a nonpareil! Do

not try to match his performance; I could never hope to find another like him!"

Weamish called again: "Come, Cugel! Must we stand here while the sun goes

out?"

"I am coming, but I refuse to run blindly through this long dark corridor!"

"This way, then: after me!"

Cugel followed Weamish to the refectory: a hall with tables to one side and a

buffet loaded with viands to the other. Two men sat dining. The first, a person

large and thick-necked with a florid complexion, a tumble of blond curls and a

surly expression, ate broad beans and bread. The second, who was as lean as a

lizard, with a dark leathery skin, a narrow bony face and coarse black hair,

consumed a meal no less austere, of steamed kale, with a wedge of raw onion

for savor.

Cugel's attention, however, focused on the buffet. He turned to Weamish in

wonder. "Does Twango always provide such a bounty of delicacies?"

Weamish responded in a disinterested fashion. "Yes, this is usually the

case."

"The two men yonder: who are they?"

"To the left sits Yelleg; the other is Malser. They comprise the work-force

which you will supervise."

9

"Only two? I expected a larger crew."

"You will find that these two suffice."

"For workmen, their appetites are remarkably moderate."

Weamish glanced indifferently across the room. "So it would seem. What of

yourself: how will you dine?"

Cugel went to inspect the buffet at closer range. "I will start with a dish of

these smoked oil-fish, and a salad of pepper-leaf. Then this roast fowl seems

eminently edible, and I will try a cut off the rare end of the joint. . . . The

garnishes are nicely turned out. Finally, a few of these pastries and a flask of

the Violet Mendolence: this should suffice. No question but what Twango does

well by his employees!"

Cugel arranged a tray with viands of quality, while Weamish took only a

small dish of boiled burdock leaves. Cugel asked in wonder: "Is that paltry meal

adequate to your appetite?"

Weamish frowned down at his dish. "It is admittedly a trifle spare. I find

that an over-rich diet reduces my zeal."

Cugel laughed confidently. "I intend to innovate a program of rational

operations, and this frantic harum-scarum zeal of yours, with all shirt-tails

flying, will become unnecessary." Weamish pursed his lips.

"You will find that, at times, you are working as hard as your underlings.

That is the nature of the supervisorial position."

"Never!" declared Cugel expansively. "I insist upon a rigid separation of

functions. A toiler does not supervise and the supervisor does not toil. But as

for your meal tonight, you are retired from work; you may eat and drink as you

see fit!"

"My account is closed," said Weamish. "I do not care to reopen the books."

"A small matter, surely," said Cugel. "Still, if you are concerned, eat and

drink as you will, to my account!"

"That is most generous!" Jumping to his feet, Weamish limped at speed to

the buffet. He returned with a selection of choice meats, preserved fruits,

pastries, a large cheese and a flask of wine, which he attacked with astonishing

gusto.

A sound from above attracted Cugel's attention. He looked up to discover

Gark and Gookin crouched on a shelf. Gark held a tablet upon which Gookin

made entries, using an absurdly long stylus.

Gark inspected Cugel's plate. "Item: oil-fish, smoked and served with garlic

and one leek, at four terces. Item: one fowl, good quality, large size, served with

one cup of sauce and seven garnishes, at eleven terces. Item: three pastries of

mince with herbs, at three terces each, to a total of nine terces. A salad of

assorted stuffs: six terces. Item: three fardels, at two terces, to a total of six

10

Vance, Jack - 03 - Cugel's Saga

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