Chapter 8

Oliver sat up slowly and said to himself, "Wow, what was that all about?" He clutched his head where a precursor to a migraine was tapping busily. Something had gone very wrong. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew it was bad.

He stood up and looked around. The place was almost perfectly featureless, and even though there was

"Could you tell me where I am?"

The owl cocked his head to one side. "Difficult to say. It's rather a sticky wicket, old boy."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it's plain you've gotten yourself surrounded by an invisible fence."

Sir Oliver didn't believe in invisible fences. Not until he walked up and poked gingerly at its supposed surface.

His finger didn't go through it.

There seemed to be no way around it.

He mentioned this to the owl.

"Of course," said the owl. "That's because it's a sidetrack."

"A sidetrack? Where does it lead?"

"Sidetracks only go around in circles. It's in their nature."

"But that's not right. I can't get sidetracked now. I need to find a magic horse."

"Nothing like that here," the owl said.

"Actually, I'm looking for a golden candlestick."

"Sounds nice," said the owl, "but I don't have one."

"Even a magic ring would be nice."

The owl gave a guilty start. "Oh, the ring! I've got it right here."

The owl burrowed in his feathers, found a ring, and gave it to Oliver.

Oliver turned it in his fingers. It was a pretty ring, with a large sapphire in a plain gold setting. He thought he could see shadows move in the gem's depths.

"You shouldn't stare at that for too long," the owl said. "It's meant for doing magic, not for looking at."

"What magic? What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Haven't they told you?"

"No."

"Well, then," the owl said, "someone has been very remiss. I think you have every right to complain."

Oliver looked around, but there was no one to complain to. Only the owl.

"That's a Hell of a note," Sir Oliver said. "How am I supposed to have fine adventures if I'm stuck here?"

"We could play a hand or so of patience," the owl suggested. "To pass the time."

"I don't think so," Oliver said. "I don't play card games with birds."

The owl took a small deck of cards out from under his wing and began to shuffle them. He gave Oliver a quizzical look.

"Go ahead, deal," Oliver said.

Soon Oliver was engrossed in the game. He had always liked patience. It helped to pass the time.

"Your deal," said the owl.

Chapter 9

Back at the inn, Azzie wiped his crystal ball and gazed into it. It remained cloudy until he remembered to say, "Show me what Sir Oliver is up to." The crystal ball flashed to acknowledge the message, and the cloudiness was replaced by a scene of Oliver in a gray foresty place, playing patience with a screech owl.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Azzie said to himself. He needed Aretino here to lend a hand.

"Where's my messenger?" the demon inquired.

The door opened and a small person walked in.

"Take this note to Aretino at once." Azzie scrawled a note with his fingernail on a parchment pad: "Come at once." He folded it twice and handed it to the messenger.

"Where will I find him?"

"In Venice, no doubt, carousing on my money."

"Could I have a spell to get there with?"

"You're supposed to have your own spells," Azzie grumbled. "But take a general one off the table there."

The messenger pocketed several from a cut-glass bowl. "To Venice!" he said to the spell, and he was off.

In his rush, Azzie had not recognized Quentin, who had taken this chance to get himself into the action.

Chapter 10

In Venice, meanwhile, Pietro Aretino had found that Azzie's cash advance had come in very handy.

Aretino had always wanted to throw a really good party, one that would stand the dear old city on its ear and demonstrate yet again what a wonder Pietro Aretino was. This party had been going on for several nights and days — ever since Azzie had left.

Aretino had imported a German band for his festivities. The men had loosened their doublets and were drinking rather a lot. It was a gay and friendly time. Too bad it had to be interrupted by a messenger.

The messenger was quite young. A child, in fact, dressed in nightclothes, a handsome young boy with a full head of blond curls. It was Quentin, still slightly breathless from hanging on while the spell he had taken from Azzie whirled him over the Alps and down to Venice.

When the servant brought him to Aretino, he made a sweeping bow and said, "Aretino, I bring you a message."

"I really don't need it just now," Aretino said. "This is all turning out quite amusing."

"It's from Azzie," Quentin said. "He wants you to come at once."

"I see. And who are you?"

"I'm one of the pilgrims. You see, when my sister Puss, that's short for Priscilla, went to sleep, I decided to poke around a little myself. I wasn't really asleep, you see. I hardly ever am. So I went up to the second floor. I saw a door and I peeked in, and the next thing I knew, I was in the messenger business."

"But how are you able to get around?" Aretino asked. "You are a mortal like me, aren't you?"

"Of course. I took a handful of spells from Azzie."

"I hope that's true," Aretino said thoughtfully. "What does Azzie require of me?"

"Your presence, immediately."

"Where is he?"

"I'll take you to him. By magic spell," Quentin said.

"Are you quite sure those spells are trustworthy?"

Quentin didn't dignify this with an answer. He had gotten quite accustomed to spells in a short time, and he could hardly wait to tell Puss that traveling by domestic spell was no big deal.

Chapter 11

Azzie had planned to celebrate when Sir Oliver was finally on his way through the passageway, for it meant that his immorality play was well begun. All Aretino had to do was observe Oliver's progress and then record it. But no sooner was the knight launched than it became obvious that he was experiencing difficulties.

Azzie lost no time looking into what had gone wrong. He traced Sir Oliver's journey into the realm of faery, utilizing those telltale signs by means of which Evil is able to follow the progress of Innocence. And so Azzie went to the strange realm in the forest in which the lands of reality and those of faery were commingled.

After a long tramp through the gloomy corridors of the forest, Azzie came to a clearing. At the end of it he saw Sir Oliver, sitting on a log, with an owl perched opposite him. They were playing cards with a small, narrow deck, one just the right size to permit the owl to hold them in his claws.

Azzie didn't know whether to laugh or cry; he had intended Sir Oliver for great deeds. Azzie hurried over, saying, "Hey, Oliver! Stop kidding around and get going!"

But his words weren't heard, and he was unable to get closer than about twenty feet from the pilgrim.

Some sort of rubbery invisible wall blocked his path. The wall seemed to be soundproof as well, and perhaps was even able to block or distort vision waves, for Oliver was unable to see him.

Azzie walked around the invisible circle until he came to a point exactly opposite where Sir Oliver's gaze would have to fall if he chanced to look up. Azzie poised himself at that place and waited. After a moment, Oliver's eyes raised, and he seemed to look right through Azzie. He soon returned to his card game.