Chapter 25

GLYN'ETH AND DHRUN had joined Dr. Fidelius at the Glassblowers Fair in Hazelwood. For the first few days the association was tentative and wary. Glyneth and Dhrun conducted themselves as if walking on eggs, meanwhile watching Dr. Fidelius sidelong that they might anticipate any sudden irrationalities or quick fits of fury. But Dr. Fidelius, after assuring their comfort, showed such even and impersonal politeness that Glyneth began to worry that Dr. Fidelius did not like them.

Shimrod, watching the two from his disguise with the same surreptitious interest they gave him, was impressed by their composure and charmed by their desire to please him. They were, he thought, an extraordinary pair: clean, neat, intelligent and loving. Glyneth's native cheerfulness at times broke free into bursts of exuberance which she quickly controlled lest she annoy Dr. Fidelius. Dhrun tended to long periods of silence, while he sat gazing blankly into the sunlight, thinking his private thoughts.

Upon leaving the Glassblowers Fair, Shimrod turned his wagon north toward the market-town Porroigh and the yearly Sheep-sellers Fair.

Late in the afternoon Shimrod drove the wagon off the road and halted in a little glen beside a stream. Glyneth gathered sticks and set a fire; Shimrod erected a tripod, hung a kettle and cooked a stew of chicken, onions, turnips, meadow-greens and parsley, with mustard-seed and garlic for seasoning. Glyneth gathered cress for a salad, and found a clump of morels which Shimrod added to the stew. Dhrun sat quietly by, listening to the wind in the trees and the crackle of the fire.

The three dined well, and sat back to enjoy the dusk. Shimrod looked from one to the other. "I must make a report to you. I have traveled Dahaut now for months, plying from fair to fair, and I never realized my loneliness until these last few days that you two have been with me."

Glyneth heaved a small sigh of relief. "That is good news for us, since we like traveling with you. I don't dare say it's good luck; I might start up the curse."

"Tell me about this curse."

Dhrun and Glyneth told their separate tales and together reported the events they had shared. "So now we are anxious to find Rhodion, the king of all fairies, so that he may remove the curse and give Dhrun back his eyes."

"He'll never pass the skirl of fairy pipes," said Shimrod. "Sooner or later he'll stop to listen, and, rest assured, I too will keep lookout."

Dhrun asked wistfully: "Have you ever yet seen him?"

"Truth to tell, I have been watching for someone else."

Glyneth said: "I know who he is: a man with sore knees, which clack and creak as he walks."

"And how have you come by that knowledge?"

"Because you cry out often about sore knees. When someone comes forward, you look into his face rather than his legs, and you are always disappointed. You give him a jar of salve and send him away still limping."

Shimrod showed a wry smile to the fire. "Am I so transparent?"

"Not really," said Glyneth modestly. "In fact, I think you are quite mysterious."

Shimrod now laughed aloud. "Why do you say that?" "Oh, for instance, how did you learn to mix so many medicines?"

"No mystery whatever. A few are common remedies, known everywhere.

The rest are pulverized bone mixed with lard or neat's-foot oil, with different flavors. They never harm and sometimes they heal.

But more than sell medicines I want to find the man with the sore knees. Like Rhodion he comes to fairs and sooner or later I will find him."

Dhrun asked: "Then what will happen?"

"He will tell me where to find someone else."

From south to north across the land went the wagon of Dr. Fidelius and his two young colleagues, pausing at fairs and festivals from Dafnes on the River Lull to Duddlebatz under the stone barrens of Godelia. There were long days of traveling by shaded country lanes, up hill and down dale, through dark woods and old villages.

There were nights by firelight while the full moon rode through clouds, and other nights under a sky full of stars. One afternoon, as they crossed a desolate heath, Glyneth heard plaintive sounds from the ditch beside the road. Jumping from the wagon and peering among the thistles she discovered a pair of spotted kittens which had been abandoned and left to die. Glyneth called and the kittens ran anxiously to her. She took them to the wagon, in tears over their plight. When Shimrod gave her leave to keep them, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, and Shimrod knew he was her slave forever, even had it not been the case before.

Glyneth named the kittens Smirrish and Sneezer, and at once set about training them to tricks.

From the north they fared into the west, through Ammarsdale and Scarhead, to Tins in the Ulfland March, thirty miles north of the awesome Ska fortress at Poelitetz. This was a grim land and they were happy to turn east once more, along the Murmeil River.

The summer was long; the days were bittersweet times for each of the three. Strange small misfortunes regularly troubled Dhrun: hot water scalded his hand; rain soaked his bed; as he went to relieve himself behind the hedge he fell into the nettles. Never did he complain, and so earned Shimrod's respect, and Shimrod, from initial skepticism, began to accept the reality of the curse. One day Dhrun stepped on a thorn, driving it deep into his heel.

Shimrod removed it while Dhrun sat silent, biting his lip; and Shimrod was moved to hug him and pat his head. "You're a brave lad. One way or another we'll end this curse. At the very worst it can last only seven years."

As always, Dhrun thought a moment before speaking. Then he said:

"A thorn is only a trifle. Do you know the bad luck I fear? That you should tire of us and put us off the wagon."

Shimrod laughed and felt his eyes grow moist. He gave Dhrun another hug. "It would not be by my choice: I promise you that. I could not manage without you."

"Still, bad luck is bad luck."

"True. No one knows what the future holds."

Almost immediately after a spark flew from the fire and landed on Dhrun's ankle.

"Ouch," said Dhrun. "More luck."

Each day brought new experiences. At Playmont Fair, Duke Jocelyn of Castle Foire sponsored a magnificent tournament-at-arms, where armored knights played at combat, and competed in a new sport known as jousting. Mounted on strong horses and wearing full regalia, they charged each other with padded poles, each trying to dislodge his adversary.

From Playmont they traveled to Long Danns, skirting close by the forest of Tantrevalles, arriving at noon and finding the fair in full swing. Shimrod unhitched his marvelous two-headed horses, gave them fodder, lowered the side panel of the wagon, to serve as a platform, raised on high a sign: DR. FIDELIUS THAUMATURGE, PAN-SOPHIST, MOUNTEBANK

Relief for Cankers, Gripes and Spasms SPECIAL TREATMENT OF SORE KNEES

Expert Advice: Free He then retired into the wagon to don his black robes and necromancer's hat.

On each side of the platform Dhrun and Glyneth beat drums. They were dressed alike, as page-boys, with low white shoes, tight blue hose and pantaloons, doublets striped vertically in blue and black, with white hearts stitched to the black stripes, and low crush-caps of black velvet.

Dr. Fidelius stepped out on the platform. He called to the onlookers: "Sirs and ladies!" Here Dr. Fidelius pointed to his sign. "You will observe that I style myself 'mountebank.' My reason is simple. Who calls a butterfly frivolous? Who insults a cow with the word 'bovine'? Who will call a self-admitted mountebank a fraud?

"Then, am I for a fact mountebank, fraud and charlatan?" Glyneth jumped up to stand beside him. "You must judge for yourselves.