'And your point is?' Wearing a smile as wide as he could muster without cramping his jaw muscles, Oskar accompanied Tilgrick out of the yard, through a gate, and down one of the many paths that crisscrossed the farmer's tree-bordered fields.
They met the marchers in the midst of rows of thick, high growths each of which sported at its apex something like a maturing orange coconut. Up close, a relieved Oskar could see that none of the marchers carried anything resembling a weapon. There wasn't even a pitchfork or shovel among them. A few bore long feathers while others wielded large, delicate fans that were no doubt employed to ward off the heat and humidity. All regarded him curiously.
'Good afternoon, Nugwot,' Tilgrick began. 'As you can see, Myssa and I are having—'
'Woo-hoo-hoo!' the weathered elder interrupted. His chortling was quickly taken up by the rest of the gathering. 'They're big ones they are, yo-ho-ha! Especially that one with the axe, who I'll wager is no carpenter.' Ardent laughter rolled through the tightly packed throng, buoyant as distant thunder.
'They must be from the humorless Kingdom of Red,' snickered someone in the middle of the assembly, not forgetting to punctuate the comment with a tellingly sharp chuckle.
'No, no; not at all.' Raising his hands and grinning forcefully, Oskar hastened to reassure them. 'My friends and I come from beyond the Kingdom of Red, from a kingdom encompassing all colors. We mean no harm. We're just passing through, actually, on a little quest of our own.'
'He doesn't laugh,' chortled someone humorlessly.
'His smile seems forced,' declared another scornfully.
'They'll bring us down-oh,' insisted a third with a dynamic hoot and a holler.
Tilgrick rushed to his guests' defense. 'Hi-hi-how, you misjudge these good folk! 'Tis true they don't laugh outright as much as us, but can you blame them? They are to be pitied for not having the boon of being born in the Kingdom of Orange. Ha-ha-hoo, it is not for us to criticize those from other lands, but to help them experience that which we, hi-hi, enjoy as our birthright.'
'Har-hardy-hidy, we'll help them, for sure!' Nugwot's long beard jiggled as he spoke. 'No way will we let outsiders bring us down, curdle our milk, piss on our peavy, spoil our crops.' Turning to gaze at the milling, metronomically tittering mob, he urged them forward with a wave. 'We must help the strangers! Give them the marigolding!'
Oskar reached for his sword, but too late, as he was overwhelmed by the unexpected forward surge of the crowd. Going down beneath their raucously guffawing numbers, he felt something strike at his belly and gasped. Anticipating pain, he felt none. Expecting to see blood, he saw only his rippling shirt. Something ephemeral was caressing his stomach.
It was one of the fans, moving lightly back and forth. Something else struck him under an arm as small but field-strengthened hands pulled at him: one of the many long feathers the locals carried. Despite his fright, he found himself starting to giggle, then to chuckle. Within moments, he was laughing out loud, roaring uncontrollably, his body convulsing with unrestrained laughter. His arms jerked and his legs kicked, but he was firmly pinned by weight of numbers.
'The marigolding, the marigolding!' the gathering was chanting—all the while laughing relentlessly among themselves. They were determined to see that he had a good time, that he joined them in full, unrestrained mirth. With feathers and fingers and fans all working skillfully on his helpless body, he twitched and twisted, snared in the grip of unbridled jocularity. His lungs heaved and his throat ached, and still they tickled and prickled him.
Why, if this kept on, he thought through the coagulating haze of hilarity, he might very well laugh himself to death.
Just as he was about to pass out, the feathers and hands fell away, the shadows of compact, chortling bodies parted. Familiar faces gazed anxiously down into his own.
'Are you all right, Oskar?' There was no hint of merriment in Taj's stricken expression.
'Yes, grayfur, how are you doing?' This from Cezer, equally concerned but visibly puzzled. 'And what are you laughing about so hard? We thought they were cutting you to ribbons.'
Raising his exhausted body to a sitting position, Oskar caught sight of a beaming but concerned Myssa. 'Ask her.'
The squat woman's smile widened. 'Hi-dee-hee, they wanted to make sure your presence was in harmony with your surroundings. Next they would have brung the marigolding to the rest of you.' She nodded sagely in Samm's direction. 'Hi-yi-hoo, even to you!'
'They were tickling me.' Oskar rose shakily to his feet. 'Holding me down and tickling me.'
'I couldn't do anything.' Tilgrick was hard put to do more than grin regretfully. 'They wouldn't let me near. I could see what was happening, though-oh. Nugwot didn't care, the old jokester! In those not born to the kingdom, hee-hi-hee, marigolding can end in more than laughter.'
'Tell me about it.' Oskar clutched at his left side, which was throbbing with pain. 'Sometimes laughter hurts —hee-hee-ha.'
Sword drawn, Mamakitty was scanning the surrounding crops and forest. 'When we charged, they all melted into the trees.' Her gaze found Tilgrick. 'What will happen now?'
'They'll come back for you,' their host warned with a somber snicker. 'Already, Nugwot's acolytes will be spreading the word that there are strangers in the wood whose smiles are forced and who converse without mirth. They will gather so many farmers and townsfolk that even you, with your weapons of sharp metal, will be overwhelmed. Then,' he glanced apologetically at the still aching Oskar, 'you will all of you be well and thoroughly marigolded.'
'Hey, it's not so bad.' The dog-man groaned as he rose to his feet. 'For about two minutes. After that, it's a hilarious slice of hell.'
'Marigolding does not injure a true citizen of the kingdom,' Myssa informed them. 'Those who are not born to it, however, can'—she had to fight to mouth the unfamiliar word—'suffer.'
'We need to get away from here.' Shading her eyes, Cocoa contemplated the dense tropical forest that both blocked and marked the way eastward. 'We need to leave this place and exit this kingdom as fast as possible. It may be more overtly friendly than the Kingdom of Red, but it's no less dangerous.' To show she meant no ill will, she smiled warmly at Myssa.
'Yes, yes, ho-ho-hi,' agreed Tilgrick readily. 'You must flee quick—quick as you can. I am only a simple farmer, and Myssa and I somewhat a pair of outcasts. But there is one even crankier than us who lives nearby. A hermit who is shunned by all for his un-orangeish temperament. Forced to live alone, he has traveled far and learned many paths and routes we settled folk do not follow.' He turned to his wife.
'Myssa, my love, ha-ha-ho, take our guests back to the house.' He turned to Oskar. 'You must finish your eating and drinking, my friend. You will need your strength for the journey that lies before you. Post a watch, and I will seek out the hermit Wiliam. When I tell him that there are visitors here of a disposition similar to his own, I wager he will gladly guide-oh you.'
Oskar put a hand on the farmer's shoulder. 'How can we ever thank you, Tilgrick, for your help and hospitality?'
'You already have, hi-hee-har.' The stout homunculi's grin grew wider than ever. 'The totally absurd and ridiculous sight of you and your friends tickles me to the bottom of my soul, and will provide food for laughter for weeks to come!'
Oskar smiled warningly at Cezer, who looked about to say something. 'Vainless folk that we are, we're always pleased when we have the chance to present the gift of our ugliness to our friends.'
TEN
The recluse Wiliam, when he finally arrived with a proudly gleeful Tilgrick leading the way, proved to be not the gruff, gloomy dwarf Oskar had expected, but a rather kindly faced, lightly bearded fellow who was noticeably slimmer than the farmer. He reminded Oskar of a gerbil the cats had once chased through the house. Extending a hand, he barely made contact with the dog-man's.
