‘But you have a mouth,’ said Gertrude. ‘Open it!’ Alfric yawned, w as souped, swallowed.
‘You were nine parts dead when found,’ said Grendel. ‘A blanket upon you, but nothing else. And a fever had you, oh yes, a wicked fever. But they brought you to me and we’ve cared for you nicely since.’
‘How was it,’ said Alfric’s mother, ‘that you came to be naked?’
‘I thought they had dogs,’ said Alfric. ‘The hunters, I mean. I heard them. Tracking me. I took off my clothes, meaning to confuse the scent. Mud, that was going to be next. Mud on my flesh for warmth and disguise. Slip round behind them, mud in the shadows. Finish the men, the dogs.’
‘But there were no dogs,’ said Gertrude.
‘Peace, woman,’ said Grendel. ‘We weren’t there. We don’t know what there was or wasn’t.’
‘Maybe there weren’t dogs,’ said Alfric. ‘Maybe I imagined them. But imagining’s no crime, is it?’
‘No,’ said Gertrude. ‘But it’s a crime to starve when there’s food here in plenty. Come on. Open your mouth!’
Alfric obeyed, and was fed, and thus began the completion of his recovery; and three nights later he felt strong enough to march upon Saxo Pall.
So forth from his father’s house went Alfric Danbrog, returning to Galsh Ebrek to declare his triumph in the third of his quests. A triple triumph! That meant he was king. The Wormlord would receive his gift; would praise him and crown him; and then would ride forth to meet his death at the hands of Herself.
So thought Alfric, exulting in visions of his own grandeur as he strode through the mud of the streets of Galsh Ebrek. Such was his intoxication that he walked right into a zana, and the wild rainbow stung him savagely. That sobered him somewhat; and he was sobered more to find no welcome in Saxo Pall, but, instead, hostile servants and surly guards.
‘What is going on?’ said Alfric, when Guignol Grangalet came forth to meet him. ‘Have I offended the throne in some way?’
‘That is not for me to say,’ said the Chief of Protocol evasively. ‘Best we go to the throne room.’
‘Indeed!’ said Alfric.
So there they went. But there was no sign of the Wormlord. Instead, a blonde and full-breasted woman sat upon the throne. It was Ursula Major, the Worm-lord’s daughter. Alfric was outraged to see her thus seated, but controlled his temper nicely.
‘Good evening, aunt,’ said Alfric, knowing full well that Ursula Major hated to be addressed as aunt. He bowed slightly then said: ‘Lo! I have brought the brave sword Kinskom!’
Loudly he declaimed those words; loudly and proudly. But, somehow, they fell flat.
‘Thank you for the sword,’ said Ursula coolly. ‘The gift is welcome.’
‘The gift has a price,’ said Alfric. ‘The price is the chair in which you sit.’
‘You have no chairs of your own?’ said Ursula. ‘How sad! Never mind. If yoti’re truly here to beg for a bit of furniture, no doubt my good man Grangalet can find you a stool to take home.’
Alfric did not appreciate this clumsy joke. He was starting to get angry.
‘I claim the throne,’ he said. ‘I am now rightfully king of Wen Endex.’
‘The king, are you?’ said Ursula Major.
‘I am,’ said Alfric, ‘unless the Wormlord has repudiated his words. Where is he? Where is the Wormlord? Is he dead?’
‘He is poorly,’ said Ursula Major.
Her dulcet voice was cool, controlled. Even so, Alfric heard her fear. She was frightened. Of him.
‘Poorly or not,’ said Alfric, ‘the king must see me, for I have brought him the third of the saga swords. We have an agreement.’
‘I know your agreement,’ said Ursula Major. ‘I know it, as does all of Galsh Ebrek. Like the rest of the city, I think it a madness. The kingdom cannot be ruled by a lunatic’s whim. So.’
‘So you’ve got the Wormlord under lock and key,’ said Alfric, half-misbelieving his ears.
‘My father is ill, yes, and confined to his bed,’ said Ursula Major. ‘When he recovers — if he recovers — he may have something to say to you. We are not pleased with the shameless way you have abused his mental weakness. Doubtless when he is in his right mind, he will be similarly displeased.’
‘You have no right to do this!’ said Alfric.
‘My lady rules as regent,’ said Guignol Grangalet. ‘She has every right.’
Alfric almost lost his temper entirely, then and there.
But he was a Banker Third Class, and thus a trained diplomat; and so had wit enough to temper his tongue to preserve his skin, and to retreat from Saxo Pall with all possible speed.
Once Alfric was free of the Wormlord’s castle, he marched up the s lopes of Mobius Kolb to the Bank, where he shortly presented himself t o Comptroller Xzu. ‘So,’ said Xzu, ‘here he is. The wolf-killer.’
‘You know about that?’ said Alfric.
‘All Galsh Ebrek knows about that,’ said Xzu. ‘Your father displayed a dead wolf in the marketplace. He claimed it to be the corpse of Wu Norn.’
‘It was,’ said Alfric. ‘I met him and killed him. He had a partner, too. He was… I’m sorry, the name escapes me.’
‘Pulaman the Tracker,’ said Xzu, who clearly had all the details written on his fingernails, as Bank parlance has it. ‘So you killed Pulaman. And Wu. A pity that Ciranoush Nom remains on the loose.’
‘Ciranoush, yes,’ said Alfric. ‘How is he taking it?’
‘In silence,’ said Xzu. ‘These days he’s much given to brooding, or so my spies tell me. Anyway. To business. You delivered the third of the saga swords to Saxo Pall, did you?’
‘I did,’ said Alfric. ‘I left it at Ursula Major’s feet, she being the regent, or so she claimed.’
‘Regent she is, at least for the moment,’ said Xzu. ‘Our problem now is how to get rid of her. Once she’s gone, we can place you on the throne and nobody will protest.’
‘There’s no way we can get rid of her,’ said Alfric. ‘Don’t be so defeatist!’ said Xzu. ‘If necessary, we can bring in mercenaries and h ave the bitch murdered.’
Alfric could scarcely believe his ears.
‘Yes,’ he said, cautiously, ‘but civil war might be the result. If one of the royal family is to be killed, it would be better if the Yudonic Knights did the killing.’
‘Then you must rally the Knights for that purpose.’
‘I lack sufficient stature. As yet. They might follow me in some things. Perhaps. But not in murder. Not murder of the king’s own daughter.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Xzu, thinking. ‘Well… does the Wormlord lack stature?’
‘I believe most of the Knights to hold him in high regard,’ said Alfric warily.
‘Then they will hold his will in high regard, doubtless.’
‘Yes,’ said Alfric. ‘But he has said nothing about murdering his daughter. Not to my knowledge. Nor do I believe I could successfully pretend that he has said any such thing.’
‘I do not ask you to,’ said Xzu. ‘Rather, I suggest you repeat the Wormlord’s own words to the Yudonic Knights.’
‘What words are those?’
‘Why, the man swore he would march forth against Herself, did he not? As soon as the saga swords were won, he would march.’
‘He did,’ said Alfric.
‘Then summon the Knights. Tell them the saga swords are won. Tell them it is their knightly duty to help the Wormlord to fulfil his oath. Play upon their dreams of heroic grandeur. Sing them songs. Bard them the deeds of heroes. Skop the swordblood. Make each man a man indeed. You know the way of it. You know your people.’ ‘To a point,’ said Alfric uneasily.
‘Better still, go to your father. Ask him to do the barding and talking, the blood-stirring and the glory- boasting. He has the knack of it.’
And Alfric remembered the Yudonic Knights who had gathered in Grendel’s bam at his father’s behest. Yes, his father could summon and rouse those men. His father knew the way of it.
‘Then,’ said Xzu, starting to get enthusiastic, ‘the Yudonic Knights will release the Wormlord from his confinement in Saxo Pall. He will march against Herself. And you, of course, will march with him.’
