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“And what is this great duty?”

“I must have a child. The barons of my country wish the formation of a dynasty. They desire an heir to sit in my stead when I am no longer here but gone West. Now I know a little of magic and know where I can learn more, so I am faring to Cockaigne and may even go as far as Gobi so I can learn the magic of making a son, and then I will return to my native land so that all my subjects may bow to the Prince of Cornwall.”

“Fine! Wonderful! A most laudable ambition. Allow me to help you. Ride the rest of today along the coast eastward. Towards evening, just as the mewing sea gulls proudly flaunt their preened feathers in the golden glitter of the setting sun, you will come to a very old castle inhabited by an equally aged man. Tell him who you are and that I sent you and he will be pleased to entertain you. In his most remarkable library you will find every book that has ever been written concerning the magic of child-making. If you wish to have a son you will find in these books a dozen, dozen methods.”

“Then I will not have to go to Gobi?” I questioned happily.

“You did not even have to come here,” he answered with a gay laugh, and, running down to the surf, dove mightily into the waves and swam toward Ireland. I looked at his footprints in the sand and saw they were like those of a goat. Here was a magical sign that this man, who certainly had shown his friendship for me on several occasions, was more than human.

That evening, soon before twilight, I arrived at the old castle and was welcomed into the library of the aged owner. Everything had turned out as foretold by the priest. The old man was friendly, though he had a peculiar smile when I informed him concerning the reason for my visit.

“Few come here on such a quest,” he commented, “though I admit that my collection of manuscript books is most unusual. You could spend the rest of your life here reading the marvelous lore concerning the thousands of methods of creating children.”

“I am astonished that there are so many!”

“It is easy to understand. For centuries learned men have sought to understand the mysterious forces of the spirit-world; none of them thought their lifework complete until they devised a new, startling and perfect method of creating babies in their caves, underground castle rooms where, far away from the disquiet of society, they lived and died.

“I suppose you have read most of them?” I questioned as I looked around the room and saw the hundreds of books.

“Very few of them. In my youth it was not necessary and in old age my eyesight failed.”

Satisfied that my stallion was well provided for, I ate a hearty supper and then slept well. The next morning I started to read concerning various methods whereby a man could make him a son. The idea of creating an homunculus pleased me, for it had seemed to me that a child, created by man only, without the contaminating influence of the female sex, must, of necessity, excel in wisdom. No doubt the Good Lord, in his all wisdom, must have had some reason for creating Mother Eve, the first woman, but, in my humble opinion, the world would have been a finer place wherein to live and man much happier had he omitted this final work. As I read on concerning the homunculi I found they were of small size but very intelligent, and I decided not to make one. He might know more than I and that would never do. Also I was certain that a little man, irrespective of his wisdom, would never be able to do battle as the Overlord of Cornwall if the Welsh invaded my lands.

After some weeks of continued reading it seemed best to make use of interlocking triangles, traced with the tusk of an elephant, and the earth inside the triangles well moistened with the blood of bats. Then the mystic phrase must need be whispered:

"Luro Vopo Vir Voarchadumia. ”

Following the use of this horrific slogan it would be necessary to wait till the various processes of fixation, deflagration, putrifaction and rubifaction began, matured and arrived at a satisfactory ending. Then, when the star Cantharis came to the meridian, the child would be found in the center of the two triangles, whose points interlocked.

What could be simpler?

All I needed was to obtain the tusk of an elephant and the blood of bats. I asked the ancient if he could help me. He told me that as far as he knew, there had been no elephants in the land for many centuries. He advised me to ride down to the white cliffs of Dover, explaining that there were large horses carved in the stone there and I might find an elephant skeleton. I took his advice but after a two week search found nothing but the bones of a very large bull. So I moodily rode back to the castle by the sea, where the old man met me joyfully, saying that while digging for fishworms in his garden he had found the remains of a very large elephant, had cut a tusk off the skull and had cleaned and sharpened the point. He had also caught some bats and bled them into a red crystal vase.

I thanked him but suggested that the magic might fail unless a young man found the tusk and personally bled the bats. “Methinks,” I said, “that since they are used to procreate a child, a young man should secure them, one in the prime of manhood, like myself.”

“Since you are creating this child without the aid of a woman, I do not think that age has aught to do with it. All of the manuscripts in my library which tell of such unisexual creations were written by ancient men in their dotage.” I thought this was a curious answer but after due consideration, decided he was right. In addition I also was feeling rather old by this time, not a doddering senile, but certainly far older than when I left my castle some weeks before.

Thereon I searched the castle till I found a small, dry dungeon, poorly lighted by a slotted window and surfaced with a dirt floor. This I smoothed off and, with the point of the tusk, drew the double triangle. Then I scattered the bat’s blood within the interlockings and whispered the horrible but evidently necessary words. After that there was nothing to do but wait for Cantharis to be in the proper position in the sky, which the old man had said would be in the space of ten months of twenty-eight days each. What a long time to wait! Of course the books in the library helped me pass the time and, on pleasant days, I went riding to exercise the stallion. I thoroughly enjoyed the library and read parts of every manuscript in it, though more and more I marveled at so many men in the world having children without possessing such methods of creation and not even knowing how to read. One day I praised the old man for his wisdom and his ability to select such wisdom, but he claimed no credit, simply replying that the manuscripts had been collected by a former owner of the castle who had club feet.

But l was worried. I had thrown the dice and risked all on a single toss. As the days passed I lost confidence and cursed myself for not having used a dozen magical methods of procreation at one and the same time. Then surely one would have come to a satisfactory ending. On the other hand, what would I have done if they had all worked favorably and I had a dozen sons, all created at the same time? Which one would have been the future Overlord of Cornwall? As it was now, it was win or lose, defeat or success. No wonder I had sorry dreams in which Leonora mocked me. tempting me with pursed mouth filled with kisses.

Finally the ten months of twenty-eight days each came to an end. All I would have to do was to open the door and pick the little boy from out the interlocked triangles. I tried to remember that I was a brave follower of all great magicians, but my hand shook slightly as I opened the dungeon door and illumined the dark room with a lighted pine torch. No child on the floor! Only a hissing snake that flicked its forked tongue toward me and sought safety in a rock crack.

Failure! Utter and complete failure! Months on anticipation. tiresome waiting and hard study, with naught but a snake to pay me for my pains! Heartsick. I toiled up the stone steps and staggered to my favorite chair in the library. Waiting for me was the priest, his feet handsomely shod in green leather pantofles.