He complained of joint pains, dizziness, inexplicable echoes and shadows which spoke to him. Thus they decided to defer his enlistment into the armed forces for a full three years, 'that time may determine whether he is possessed by the demons of epilepsy'.
In secret, Sarazin smiled, for this was the outcome he had been seeking. But still he lay abed, busy with brain- work: brooding, planning and plotting. It was very pleasant to lie there warm and comfortable while autumn rains drummed against the shutters. However, on Farfalla's return his holiday ended. She listened to his recital of symptoms with every appearance of sympathy – then ordered him out of bed.
'Get fit!' she said. 'And fast! For you're joining the army in spring whatever the surgeons say.'
Next, a petition from Lod came to Selzirk by diplomatic courier. Unlike a certain notorious group of chaingang slaves, Lod had not had the good luck to be freed during the battle at Smork, but had been carried all the way back to Chenameg as a prisoner of his kidnappers. On reaching Shin, he had been imprisoned by his father on a charge of being a wastrel, a crime carrying a penalty of thirty years' penal servitude. Lod begged Farfalla to send Sarazin to Shin to be a character witness at his trial.
'I must go!' said Sarazin, when he learnt of this. 'Lod needs my help.' 'No,' said Farfalla. 'But he's my friend,' protested Sarazin.
True. Also, Amantha had returned to Shin, and Sarazin needed to follow to pursue his destiny.
'You are not going to Chenameg,' said Farfalla. The very thought is lunatic' 'But Lod needs my help.' 'What do you know of Lod?' said Farfalla.
Why,' said Sarazin, 'that he's a fine fellow with a spritely wit. I'd not want him dead.'
'Nobody wants him dead, but his father obviously wants him chastised. Who are we to argue with that? I got the boy's measure while he was here. Lod's an idle wit, a reckless gambler, a profligate whoremaster – in a word, the wastrel he's alleged to be.' 'You condemn him?' said Sarazin.
'I leave that to Chenameg's courts. But surely if you evidenced in Shin, you yourself would condemn him. For you know yourself of his idleness, his debts, his drinking, his debauchery.' lod wants me,' said Sarazin stubbornly. 'Then Lod,' said Farfalla, 'is a fool.'
And she sent a message back to Shin saying the petition was denied.
A day after this disappointment, Sarazin received a letter from Madam Sosostris inviting him to inspect the new book of prophecy which she had discovered. From Madam Ix, he already knew this book concerned a prince called Watashi; he could not deny that he was curious.
However, he suspected curiosity might cost him dear, and he was saving his dorths to finance a projected journey east to Shin. Despite Farfalla's interdict, he yet hoped to attend Lod's trial, save his friend, win Amantha's hand – and kill Tarkal, thus clearing the way to the throne of Chenameg.
The next evening, another letter arrived from Madam Sosostris. With it was a note written in the Rice Empire's Geltic in a familiar hand. All it said was: 'I will be there.'
This Sarazin could not resist. However, he could not hurry to Jaluba's charms immediately, for Farfalla required him to banquet that night with certain candidates for the kingship of Androlmarphos. Sarazin was abstracted throughout the feast, to his mother's great annoyance. She took him aside to say:
Those here tonight are all powerful people well worth cultivating. Charm them. Delight them. Impress them. Win their confidence. It may be worth your while.'
'I thought you didn't want me to play politics,' said Sarazin. 'It never hurts to make friends,' said Farfalla. You won't play politics with these people, but their friendship, if you can win it, may yet save your life.'
But Sarazin was too deeply engrossed with thoughts of Jaluba to pay much attention. He slept poorly that night, woke at dawn, and was soon off and away. laluba' he murmured. 'Heart of my heart. Dream of my dreams. Shortly, my darling, shortly. Soon…'
Thus murmuring, he hurried to the Sosostris lair. He was allowed in through the door without charge, but his attempts to see Jaluba were rebuffed.
'She has a headache,' he was told by Madam Sosostris herself, a much-scented heavily ornamented woman who shrouded her face with an inscrutable veil.
'I see,' said Sarazin, 'so this is a con! You've tempted me here on false pretences. Well, you're out of luck. You'll not gouge money out of me today, no, not so much as a dorth. I'm leaving.'
You misjudge us!' said Madam Sosostris. Is it my fault that Jaluba is ill? Her beauty is tender, like that of a flower. It bruises easily. You must have patience, patience. She will recover shortly, if not today then tomorrow. Mean- time… surely you wish to see this marvellous book which speaks of power and princes.' 'I cannot afford such marvels,' said Sarazin. 'But this is free,' said Madam Sosostris. 'Free?' said Sarazin. 'What do you mean by free?' 'I mean, there's no charge for it.' 'Then what are you demanding by way of donation?' 'I demand no donation.'
Colloquy continued further along these lines, for Sarazin was sure there had to be a catch. Somewhere. But, at length, he allowed the seer to usher him into a small uncarpeted upstairs room where an immense volume with a cracked leather binding lay on a reading desk. Open shutters showed the morning bluesky bright. Perhaps the autumn rains would resume on the morrow, but today was perfect. Sarazin took this as a good omen.
Now… why were there bars on the windows? 'What's with the bars?' said Sarazin.
This was built as a strongroom,' said Madam Sosostris, settling herself into a chair. You're staying?' said Sarazin, still standing. 'It is a valuable book,' said Madam Sosostris.
Sarazin hesitated, then drew up a chair and sat down at the reading desk. Touched the cracked leather. Opened the book, carefully. Breathed antiquity's dust. Gazed upon the ornate illuminated text, and knew at once that this could not possibly be a forgery worked up for his benefit.
A book of this quality, so painstakingly illuminated, took immense labour to create. Its colours glowed. The gold of gold, the silver of silver. Sky, leaf, river, sea. The orange of a dusty sunset, the purple of aubergine. The capital letters were works of art in themselves, each evolving itself into a plant, an animal or an element.
In wide white margins other fantasies ran amok. Trailing vines grew leaves, grew flames. Fish metamorphosed to dragons. Eagle-winged cats chased yelping dogs beneath trees from which skulls hung as fruit. A basilisk peered from beneath a rock, eyes smouldering. An armed and armoured warrior, mounted on a gryphon, assailed a gigantic wasp with a flaming spear. A huntsman with a vulture's head rode an oliphant, urging a pack of carrion- eaters to close with their helpless human prey. Fascinating.
Now Sarazin knew why his hostess was sitting there watching him. And why there were bars on the windows. This was a priceless treasure, whatever the text might say. And what might that be?
Turning his attention from art to content, he was dismayed to see that the elaborately decorated text was written in Churl in the antiquated Spiral Style. He could decipher it, but only with great difficulty.
'I don't speak Churl that well,' said Sarazin. 'Could you translate this into Galish for me?'
'Why, no,' said Madam Sosostris, 'for I know not what it says.'
'But you must,' said Sarazin. 'for Madam Ix had know- ledge of its contents. It's about princes and prophecy and such. How did she come by such knowledge except through you?'
'I bought this book from a travelling pox doctor,' said Madam Sosostris. 'He himself told me what was in it. But it was only the outline he gave me. I know no more than the outline.'
'I don't suppose I could take this book away,' said Sarazin.
'Impossible,' said Madam Sosostris. Then: Why do you ask?'
'There's someone who could help me with it. Epelthin Elkin.'
Ever since his collapse in the Voat Library, Sarazin had steered well clear of Elkin, believing the old scholar to have previously unsuspected powers. Powers that were poten- tially very dangerous. But he would rather risk further acquaintance with Elkin than grapple with the complexities of Spiral Style.
'Oh, Elkin,' said Madam Sosostris. The Archivist. No, I couldn't let you take it to him. Nor could I let you bring him here. If he saw a text so valuable he'd likely commandeer it for his own library.'
So Sarazin, this help denied him, went to work, while Madam Sosostris got on with her knitting. After much painful labour, Sarazin's version of the book's opening lines ran as follows:
To feed four you will need half a basket of mushrooms, a cup of pork pieces, one bundle of vermicelli, some dragon-tongue sauce, some fresh asparagus and a hedge- hog. First wrap the hedgehog in clay and put it amidst coals to bake. Then take a pan of cast iron and-'
Sarazin, after racking his brain to extract some mystic meaning from this, closed the book angrily.
This is a joke' he said. 'And a very poor joke. This is a cookery book!' 'Tis a wondrous book rich in things both rare and strange,' said Madam Sosostris, looking up from her knitting. The part of interest to you is near the end.
