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."

"The flowers, then, must grow somewhere in the forest nearby."

"Quite so. The flowers are sparse and each is more magnificent than the next."

"Then you have seen others?"

Zuck blinked. "As a matter of fact: no. The falloy is a great one for hyperbole, and avaricious to boot. However, I have insisted upon moderate prices for the sake of my reputation."

"I must buy the flower; what, in fact, is your price?" Zuck looked blandly up toward the sky. "The day is almost done, and I like to end with an easy sale, to serve as an omen for tomorrow. For you, lovely lady, I will quote an almost trifling sum: five crowns of gold."

Melancthe looked at Zuck in innocent surprise. "So much gold for a single flower?"

"Ah bah, does the price seem high? In that case, take it for three crowns, as I am in a hurry to shutter my booth."

"Zuck, dear Zuck: I seldom carry coins of gold!"

Zuck's voice became somewhat flat. "What coins then do you carry?"

"Look! A pretty silver florin! For you, good Zuck, for your very own, and I will take the flower."

Melancthe reached across the counter and lifted the flower from the vase. Zuck looked dubiously at the coin. "If this is for me, what remains for the falloy?"

Melancthe held the flower to her nose and kissed the petals. "We will pay him when next he brings us flowers. I want them all, every one!"

"It is a poor way to do business," grumbled Zuck. "But I suppose that you must prevail."

"Thank you, dear Zuck! The flower is superb, and its perfume likewise! It exhales a draught from the very shores of paradise!"

"Ah well," said Zuck. "Tastes differ, and I sense only a rather disreputable chife."

"It is rich," said Melancthe. "It opens doors into rooms where I have never looked before."

Zuck mused: "A bloom of such evocation is definitely undervalued at a single silver bit."

"Then here is another, to guarantee my interests! Remember, all the flowers must be sold to me, and me alone!"

Zuck bowed. "So it shall be, though you must be prepared to pay the fair price!"

"You shall not find me wanting. When does the gardener come again?"

"As to that, I cannot be sure, since he is a falloy."

III

WHEN DUSK FELL OVER THE MEADOW Melancthe returned to the inn, and presently appeared in the common room. She went to a table in the shadows. For her supper she was served a tureen bubbling with a stew of hare, mushrooms, ramp, parsley and wine, with a crust of new bread, a conserve of wild currants, and a flask of currant wine. A mote of dust drifted down from above to settle into the wine, where it formed a bubble.

Melancthe, observing the event, instantly became still.

From the bubble issued a small voice, so faint and soft that she bent forward to hear it.

The message was brief; Melancthe sat back, her mouth drooping in annoyance. With a touch of the forefinger she broke the bubble. "Once again," she muttered to herself. "Once again I must use my purple fire to warm this icy sea-green monument to decorum. But I need not mix one with the other—unless the caprice comes on me." She contemplated her flower and inhaled its perfume, while far away at Trilda, Shimrod, studying an ancient portfolio in his workroom, was visited with a shudder of uneasiness.