"Ah ha ha! Our horses are like your fish. Pay on this instant four hundred and fifty gold crowns!"
"You cannot enforce this insane demand!" declared Dildahl. "Be off with you, or the stablemen will beat you well, and cast you into the lake!"
"Trouble yourself only to look along the road," said Harbig. "You will notice an encampment of twenty soldiers, from the army of Aillas, King of Ulfland. Reimburse us our stolen horses, or prepare to kick from the royal gibbet."
Dildahl ran to the door and with pendulous lower lip sagging, took note of the encampment. Slowly he turned back to Harbig. "Why have these soldiers come to Lake Quyvern?"
"First, to attack Ska and drive them from the region. Second, to burn the wicker crow and to liberate druid captives. Third, to investigate rumours of villainy at Kernun's Antler, and to hang the landlord if the charges seem well-grounded."
Dussel said sternly, "Once more: pay us for our horses or we will call for the king's protection!"
"But I own no such sum!" Dildahl grimaced. "I will return your florins; that must suffice."
"Bah! Not enough! We now take title to the inn, as you take title to your guests' horses, ‘in full and even exchange'. Dussel, at last you fulfill your dreams! You are the landlord-in-residence at a fine country inn! As a first step, impound all the coins in yonder drawer and the gold in Dildahl's strong-box."
"No, no, no!" cried Dildahl. "Not my precious gold!"
Dussel ignored the outcry. "Dildahl, show me the strongbox. Then you must go, and promptly. We will allow you the clothes on your back."
Dildahl still could not accept his fate. "This is an unthinkable turn of events!"
Harbig raised his eyebrows dubiously. "Surely you did not believe that you could continue robbing your guests forever?"
"It is a mistake! Somewhere there must be recourse!"
Harbig said: "Be grateful that you deal with us, not the sergeant of yonder platoon, who already has selected a tree and measured a rope."
Dildahl growled: "I detect strange coincidences. How do you know so much about yonder troop?"
"I am their captain. Dussel, if you must know, has been chief cook at Jehaundel, but with King Gax gone, his services are no longer required, and he has always hoped to keep a country inn. Dussel, am I correct in this?"
"In every respect! Now, Dildahl, show me the strong-box, then be on your way."
Dildahl set up a great moaning. "Have mercy! My spouse is afflicted in the lower limbs and cannot walk; the veins circle her legs like purple snakes! Must we crawl on our hands and knees in the dust?"
Harbig spoke to Dusseclass="underline" "Dildahl seems to manage well enough at the stove, and deals especially kindly with fish. Why not keep him at work as pot-boy and under-cook, while his spouse makes herself useful milking the cows, making cheese and butter, digging turnips, carrots and leeks, and working the soil, all from a kneeling position, to spare her sore legs? Entirely by the mercy of King Aillas, of course."
"Dildahl, what do you say?" demanded Dussel. "Will you serve me faithfully, without complaint or shiftlessness, at my direction?"
Dildahl rolled his eyes high, and clenched his fists. "If I must, I must."
"Very good. First, point out the location of your, or, better to say, my strong-box."
"It is under the flagstone of my private parlour."
"Now my parlour. You must move at once, out to one of the cottages. Then scour this floor until each plank glows the colour of new straw! I wish to see neither soil nor stain on the floor of the Lakeshore Inn, which is certain to become a rustic resort for the gentility of Xounges!"
II
TWITTEN's CORNERS, in the Forest of Tantrevalles, was the site each year of three fairs, to which came traders and buyers from all across the Elder Isles, human and halfling alike, each hoping to discover some wonderful charm or trinket or elixir to bring advantage to his life or gold to his wallet.
The first and the last of these so-called ‘Goblin Fairs' marked, respectively, the spring and autumn equinoxes. The second, or middle, fair started on that evening known to the druids as ‘Pignal aan Haag', to the fairies of Forest Tantrevalles as ‘Summersthawn', to the Ska archivists as ‘Soltra Nurre', in the language of primaeval Norway: a time marking the start of the lunar year, defined as the night of the first new moon after the summer solstice. For reasons unknown this night had come to be a time of unusual influences and oblique pressures from entities aroused to sentience. Wanderers of high places often thought to hear the echo of windy voices and the drumming of far galloping hooves.
At the inn known as ‘The Laughing Sun and the Crying Moon', hard by Twitten's Corners, the night was known as ‘Freamas', and meant a spate of incessant toil for Hockshank the innkeeper. Even before Freamas the inn was crowded with folk of many sorts who had come to mingle in unconventional camaraderie, to sell, to buy, to trade, or only to watch and listen, or perhaps to seek out some long-lost friend, or some defaulted enemy, or to recover an item of which they had been deprived; the yearnings were as disparate as the folk themselves.
Among these folk was Melancthe, who had arrived early to take up the apartment reserved for her use.
For Melancthe the fair was surcease from introspection, an occasion where her presence aroused little attention and less curiosity. Hockshank the landlord was casual in regard to his clientele, so long as they paid in good silver and gold, caused no nuisance, and exuded no vile, foul nor arresting odors, and his common room knew a wide variety of halflings and hybrids, oddities and nonesuches, as well as persons, like Melancthe, apparently ordinary in their qualities.
Arriving early on the day before Freamas, Melancthe went to watch construction of the booths around the periphery of the meadow. Many merchants already displayed their wares, hoping to engage the visitor of limited means before he spent all his coin elsewhere.
Melancthe went slowly from booth to booth, listening without comment to the excited calls of the hucksters, showing a faint smile when she saw something which pleased her. Along the eastern edge of the meadow she came upon a sign painted in green, yellow and white:
HERE ARE THE PREMISES OF THE NOTABLE AND SINGULAR
ZUCK
DEALER IN OBJECTS UNIQUE UNDER THE FIRMAMENT!
MY PRICES ARE FAIR; MY GOODS ARE OFTEN REMARKABLE!
No GUARANTIES; No RETURNS; No REFUNDS;
Zuck himself stood behind the counter of his booth: a person short, plump, round-faced, near-bald, with an innocent inquiring expression. A button of a nose and round plum-coloured eyes pointed at the comers hinted of halfling blood in his heritage, as did a sallow green cast to his complexion.
Zuck regularly sold at the fair, and specialized in materia magica: the substances from which potions and elixirs were generally compounded. Today his wares included a novelty. Between a tray of small bronze bottles and cubes of clear gum a single flower stood displayed in a black vase.
Melancthe's attention was instantly attracted. The flower was notable both for its odd conformation and its colours, so vivid and intense as to be almost palpable: brilliant black, purple, frosty blue and carmine red.
Melancthe could not remove her gaze from the flower. She asked: "Zuck, good Zuck: what flower is that?"
"Lovely lady, that I cannot say. A fellow of the forest brought me this single bloom that I might gauge the mood of the market."
"Who might be this wonderful gardener?"
Zuck laid his finger beside his nose and showed Melancthe a knowing grin. "The person is a falloy and of a distant nature; he insists upon anonymity, so that he will not be subjected to lengthy theoretical discussions, or stealthy attempts to learn his secret."