'This is a hopeless case,' said his sister. 'You'd better see a pox doctor.' 'For what?'
'For a cure for love. We've got a pox doctor working in the temple now. He's quite nice.''Is he good in bed?' said Drake.
'He's a wizard, stupid. They don't go in for that kind of stuff.'
'Oh,' said Drake. 'Somehow . . . somehow I don't think a pox doctor would help me.'
But, that night, he endured grim dreams of blue leprosy. He dreamed of Zanya, of her body studded with blue sores, just as King Tor's leather clothing was studded with iron. He dreamed of Zanya suffering long, slow months of decay, eventually becoming ulcerated, blind, gangrenous. Then dead. He woke in a sweat.
And, that very morning, he fronted up to the temple for an interview with their pox doctor, who was a wizard of the order of Nin, one of the weakest of the eight orders of wizards. His name was Miphon. The temple of Hagon, hoping to end an unpleasant outbreak of gonorrhoea, had lately imported him to Stokos to advise on sexual hygiene. Miphon had given much valuable advice with respect to the use of condoms, and was almost ready to leave the island.
On being admitted to Miphon's presence, Drake saw the wizard was fairly old – maybe aged about thirty. He wore businesslike leathers and a broad-brimmed hat which sported a single feather. Being nervous, Drake started the interview by being rude.'Why are your eyes green?' he said.
Miphon was unsurprised by this brusque demand for information. Guessing at Drake's unease, Miphon made allowances for it.
'My eyes are green,' said he, 'because I am descended from the elven folk. My great-grandfather was of the People.'
So he spoke. But, as the Book of Wisdom puts it: 'Much is spoken, but little is truthed.' Drake, who knew as much, took Miphon's claim with a grain of salt.
T see from your face that you disbelieve me,' said Miphon. 'But I can prove myself. Thanks to my elven ancestry, I am fay. I can read minds. I can tell who you are, what you are, and what you want.''Tell, then,' said Drake, disbelieving.
'You are Drake Douay, a swordsmith's apprentice,' said Miphon. 'You love the fair Zanya Kliedervaust, who resides in the leprosarium on the outskirts of this town of Cam.'Drake had never had his mind read before.He was shocked. Startled. Stunned. Awed.
'My . . . my lord,' said Drake. 'I… I did not mean to be rude. I have never met an elven lord before. It was – the clothes confused me. I thought great people to dress greatly. Man, if you dressed with more style you'd get much more respect.'
'The leathers serve,' said Miphon. 'Would you seek to embellish wisdom with gaudy silks and golden baubles? Do the postures of fashion improve veracity?''Embellish?' said Drake. 'Veracity?'
He had learnt a great many very long words and complicated ideas in his theory classes, but there were still enormous gaps in his education.
'To embellish is to decorate,' said Miphon patiently. 'Veracity is another word for truth.''Great is the wisdom of the elven lords!' said Drake.
T did not say that I was an elf,' said Miphon, 'only that I am of elven descent. Not all of the powers of the People are mine. Only some.'
Actually, there is less magic in the world than most folk think, and certainly less magic than Miphon claimed. For – regardless of the truth or otherwise of his claim to elven descent – the wizard Miphon was most certainly not fay. He was not telepathic. (Well, he could read the minds of rocks, stones and the lesser animals – such as the mole, phoenix, basilisk, badger, rat, mouse, dragon, gryphon, rabbit, cow and codfish – but such skill is of very little practical use.)So how did he know about Drake?Simple.
Drake's sister had already seen Miphon to brief him in depth regarding her brother's name, appearance and mission.
'Have no fear,' said Miphon, 'for I will do you no harm, even though I am mighty in power. Instead, I will tell you how to resolve your problem.''You will cure me of love?' said Drake.
'Yes,' said Miphon, handing Drake a little tablet. 'Dissolve this in water to make a philtre which is a certain cure for love. Drink the philtre by the light of a full moon. Turn round widershins. Kneel down. Kiss the ground three times, each time saying the name of the woman you love. Then work as hard as you can for the next thirty days, doing every task your master sets you – or twice as much, if possible. That will cure you of love, for certain.''Does the moon have to be full?' said Drake.
'Oh yes,' said Miphon. 'For this magic is animated by the power of the moon herself. Only by the full moon can such power be conjured.'Drake was very impressed.This was great magic indeed!
In truth, the tablet contained nothing but a little salt and sugar. But Miphon, who was a great believer in the power of the placebo, had found he could cure a truly staggeringrange of conditions with such little tablets. 'Happy?' said Miphon.
'Well … if you can give me this kind of pill . . . why not a philtre to make the lady love me?'
'If you must have the lady,' said Miphon, 'then woo her. Pledge your love with poetry and flowers. Visit her daily. Let her know the sincerity of your devotions. Speak to her prettily, and persist. To destroy is easier than to create. Magic can destroy your love easily – but cannot create love for you in her.'
'It's all very well to talk of wooing,' said Drake. 'But how can I? She's in the leper colony. It's death to enter – particularly with that blue leprosy on the loose.'
'Leprosy is hard to catch,' said Miphon. 'As for blue leprosy – that's a different disease entirely. A kind of pox, only to be caught when man lies with woman. It's slow to develop, sometimes taking years to appear. That's why the nature of the disease is seldom properly understood.''I see,' said Drake.
'Trust me,' said Miphon. 'If you visit the leper colony, you'll likely come away unscathed. Yes, even if you visit a hundred times. Do you have any other questions?'
'Only this,' said Drake. 'Do wizards pork women? Or do they go for men?'Miphon refused to be upset by this rudeness.
'We limit every indulgence,' said Miphon gravely. 'We must, because of the demands of the Balance.''What is this Balance?' said Drake.
'Many have asked,' said Miphon, 'but few have been answered. You know your future now. You have magic to cure you of love, if you wish. If not – then woo the lady.'
And with that, Drake had to be content.
That very evening, Miphon quit Stokos on a dirty, wallowing brig taking coal from Cam to Narba. The next morning, Drake was discussing the wizard with his sister, and saying what a marvellous mind-reading elf he was, when she broke into peals of laughter.
'He's no elf!' she said. 'There's no such thing as elves.' ' Then how did he know who I was?' said Drake.' How did he know what I wanted?' 'How do you think?' said she. Drake put his mind to it.
And, since his mind had been rigorously trained in logic (and rhetoric, debate, analysis, and half a dozen other useless things besides) he soon came up with an answer which was claw-sharp and correct.
'Well,' saidDrake, 'sothatwizardwasatleastthree-parts sham. So what about his tablet? What about his advice?'
' The answer to the tablet is easy,' said his sister.' See what an alchemist makes of it.'
So Drake went looking for an alchemist. He should have known better. After all, as part of his apprenticeship theory he had already learnt that there is no truth in alchemy, astrology, poetry, politics, paternity or weather forecasts. But Drake was young – and there is much the young can only learn the hard way.
Drake found an alchemist soon enough: a muttering, gnomish old man named Villet Vate, who had a dark narrow shop which he shared with moths, woodlice and a multitude of spiders.' Come in, come in!' said Vate.
And Drake entered the shop; breathed its mysterious atmosphere of menthol, cajuput oil, cloves and camphor; breathed dust as well, and sneezed; gazed, open-mouthed, at mysterious stills, alembics and antique devices of unknown function.