King Throbius spoke with dignity: "You are free to depart; be happy on this account!"

"I am free, but to what purpose?" roared Mangeon. "How now will I occupy the long hours of day and night? With poetry? By observing the flight of butterflies? Your judgment was incorrect!"

King Throbius made a peremptory gesture. "I will hear no more! Be off to your ill-smelling hovel."

Mangeon threw his arms into the air and ran off across the meadow, to disappear up Wamble Way.

King Throbius returned to Madouc. "We must re-examine your case. Osfer, I suggest simulacra and the subtractive effect."

"Exactly my opinion, Your Highness! I have prepared for the process."

"Proceed, if you will."

Osfer placed three silver plates upon the table. Twisk watched with a frown of foreboding. "What is this new plan, and what does it entail?"

Osfer replied in soothing tones. "It is the most elegant and subtle procedure of all! Soon you will look into the face of Madouc's father."

Twisk frowned in annoyance. "Why did you not work this sleight before and spare me the anguish of the bloodletting?"

"It is not so simple as we might like it to be. Step forward, if you will."

"What? Not again! You shall have no more of my vital fluids! Do you wish me to become a wisp, a wraith, a desiccation?"

King Throbius called a sharp command and Twisk, writhing and moaning, at last allowed Osfer to draw off another three minims of her blood.

Osfer worked his thaumaturgy and up from the plate rose a simulacrum of Twisk's lovely head.

Next, Osfer signalled to Madouc. "Come!"

Madouc cried out: "I too am dangerously weak! If blood is needed, drain Sir Pom-Pom, or even King Throbius himself."

"This is an impractical suggestion," said King Throbius. "It is your blood which is needed! Quickly! We cannot waste all day!"

Madouc, scowling and wincing, allowed Osfer to draw three minims of her blood, from which Osfer contrived a second simulacrum.

"Now then!" said Osfer. "We proceed as follows: Madouc is the sum of Twisk and an unknown father. Therefore, if we subtract the influence of Twisk from Madouc, what remains will depict the visage of Madouc's father, at least in general terms and perhaps blurred by discrepancies. So, stand back all, since I must work with a delicate touch!"

Osfer moved the two representations so that they faced each other, then arranged four panels of grass cloth to form a screen around the two heads. "I now adjure all to silence! Any distraction will alter the precision of my work!"

Osfer arranged his instruments, uttered eight staccato syllables, and clapped his hands. "The spell has been effected."

Osfer removed the screens. One of the silver plates was empty. "Twisk's image has been subtracted from that of Madouc. What remains is the likeness of Madouc's sire!"

Madouc stared at the residual face. With only half the substance, it was vague and colorless, as if formed of mist. The features seemed to represent a young man with irregular features in a rather gaunt long-jawed face and a suggestion of reckless optimism in his expression. His hair was cut in the Aquitanian style, and he wore a short modish beard at the chin. The face, though not ill-favored, lacked a patrician cast. Even in its blurred condition, the face affected Madouc with a rush of warm impulses.

Twisk was staring at the face in fascination. Madouc asked: "What is his name?"

Twisk, now thoroughly out of sorts, made a capricious gesture and tossed her head. "His name? It might be anyone. The features are indefinite; it is like looking through the fog."

"Surely you recognize him?" cried Madouc. "He even looks half-familiar to me."

Twisk gave an airy shrug. "Why should he not? You are seeing what is drawn from your own face."

"Whatever the case, can you supply his name?"

Twisk said carelessly: "I am truly bored with this business! I can barely distinguish a face in yonder puddle of murk; how can I give it a name?"

"But is he not familiar to you?"

"I might say ‘Yes' and I might say ‘No'."

King Throbius spoke gently: "As Falael will attest, my patience knows a limit. Unless you care to sit on a post, scratching your lovely pelt with both hands, you will respond to questions quickly and accurately, without evasion or ambiguity. Am I clear on this?"

Twisk uttered a cry of poignant emotion. "Alas! How I am wronged, when my only concern is truth!"

"Please make your elucidations less abstract."

Twisk blinked. "Excuse me, Your Highness, I am not certain of your command!"

"Speak more clearly!"

"Very well, but now I have forgotten the question."

King Throbius spoke with a carefully controlled voice. "Do you recognize the face?"

"Of course! How could I forget? He was a gallant knight of verve and a most fanciful habit of thought! My ordeal at Idilra Post followed hard upon the encounter and swept it clean from my mind."

"Very well; so much is established. Name us now the name of this gallant knight."

"Quite possible! Sir Pellinore played the lute with delicate grace, and his songs were so sweet as to bring tears from a bear."

Madouc struggled to control her emotion. "Why did you not try to rescue poor Sir Pellinore, whom you loved so well?"

Twisk fluffed out her lavender hair. "My attention was engaged by other events, not the least being the affair at Idilra Post. One such as I lives from instant to instant, wringing every last drop of sklemik* from the adventure of life. So the hours and the days pass, and sometimes I cannot remember which was which or what comes next."

Madouc said without enthusiasm: "Regardless of your faults or follies, you are my mother, and I must accept you as you are, lavender hair and all."

"A dutiful daughter is not so bad either," said Twisk. "I am pleased to hear your compliments."

CHAPTER NINE

King Throbius grew weary and decided to sit. With a gesture he brought a throne from the castle and caused it to be placed directly at his back. The implets who carried his train scurried frantically lest the throne pin the royal cloak to the turf, with consequences painful to themselves.

King Throbius settled himself upon the throne: a construction of ebony riveted with rosettes of black iron and pearl, surmounted by a fan of ostrich plumes. For a moment King Throbius sat upright, while the implets, working at speed, though with quarrelling and bickering, arranged his train to its best display. He then leaned back to take his comfort.

Queen Bossum sauntered past on her way to the castle, where she would change to a costume suitable for the activities she had planned for the afternoon. She paused beside the throne and proffered a suggestion which King Throbius found persuasive. Queen Bossum continued to the castle and King Throbius summoned three of his officials: Triollet, the Lord High Steward; Mipps, Chief Victualler to the Royal Board; and Chaskervil, Keeper of the Bins.

The three responded with alacrity and listened in respectful silence while King Throbius issued his instructions. "Today is auspicious," said King Throbius in his roundest tones. "We have discomfited the troll Mangeon, and minimized his predilection for certain wicked tricks. Mangeon will think twice be fore attempting new affronts!"

"It is a proud day!" declared Mipps.

"It is a day of triumph!" cried Triollet fervently.

"I concur with both my colleagues, in every respect!" stated Chaskervil.

"Just so," said King Throbius. "We shall signal the occasion with a small but superb banquet of twenty courses, to be served upon the castle terrace, thirty guests and five hundred flicker-lamps. Address yourselves to the perfection of this event!"