attempt on Cugel’s virtue — which strangely abraded his sense of pride — nonetheless she wearied him with her constant errands, sending him into a hundred pink and lace-trimmed hells to fetch new shoes of seven-inch heels, or sweetmeats, or unguents, or wigs. So envenomed, he improvised hours of malicious court gossip for Dame Trunadora’s delight, regaling her as he chipped away at Pippy’s ammoniac feces, or prepared dainty morsels for Pippy’s delectation, or played the zithar (badly, his fingers being bandaged) in order that Pippy might be lulled to pleasant sleep by gentle melodies.
Though Cugel won Dame Trunadora’s good opinion, none of his ministrations seemed to improve Pippy’s opinion of him. The bird continued to bite him savagely, whenever it got the chance. Nor did it display any sorcerous abilities, not even to recite minor spells; its vocal repertoire was limited to ear-shattering shrieks and the single word “Hello”, upon which it descanted in varying pitch and with monomaniacal persistence for hours at a time, until Cugel wanted to beat his own head against the wall, if not Pippy’s.
Nor might Cugel steal much sleep in the three bare hours between waiting on either lady; for there was still the wine-cellar to be explored, until he was able to locate the secret exit. Three hours’ covert search, over as many days, by the light of a candle-stub, found it for him at last: a cobwebbed door behind a stack of empty crates, with its antique and curiously wrought key hanging beside. Another hour it took to lubricate the lock and hinges with kitchen-grease procured from the drudge; another hour to coax the lock into opening. Cugel peered down the dank passage beyond and smelt the air of the river, and congratulated himself.
Next afternoon, while on an errand to procure for Dame Vaissa three ells of checkered bombazine of Saponce, Cugel deviated from his duty long enough to visit the river-wharf where he judged the other end of the tunnel must lead. There he saw many little boats unattended, and smiled to himself. Having learned so much, he briefly visited a minor wizard’s stall in the marketplace, where, amongst the dubious potions and rank deceptions, he found what he sought, and purchased it with Dame Vaissa’s silver.
“Way, there! Make way for the most noble and gracious daughter of Deviaticus Lert!” roared Cugel, striding along before her slipping and puffing bearers. Dame Vaissa simpered from her high palanquin, and waved graciously at the other great folk being borne down the long aisle to Prince Kandive’s palace, where flambeaux set between the cypress trees illumined the way. Two great pink-flowered magnolias bloomed at either side of the forecourt’s entrance, and scattered lush petals on those entering through the immense gates that bore Kandive’s armorial crest cunningly worked thereupon.
Orange lights streamed from the high windows of the palace, so that the white gravel of the forecourt seemed a bed of red coals, darkened here and there by the shadows of the bearers who jostled for room before the several dismounting blocks. Cugel bounded up to the block nearest the palace doors, and bowed to extend his hand to Dame Vaissa. Bracing his heels against the brickwork, he hauled her forth from her palanquin, and the bearers groaned in relief.
So far, the night had proceeded as any other night since Cugel had entered Dame Vaissa’s service, but now, as Dame Vaissa swept toward the grand staircase on Cugel’s arm, there came a faint yet distinct note, like the cracking of an iron cauldron left too long dry over a fire. Dame Vaissa faltered in her progress, and lurched, so that she would have fallen but for Cugel’s solicitous arm.
“Oh, what is it? she cried. “Something’s the matter with my shoe!”
“Let faithful Cugel see, my lady,” he replied, seating her on the back of one of the stone wolves that guarded Prince Kandive’s doors. “Alas! It’s the left one. It would seem the heel has broken.” Yet Cugel knew well it did not
Dame Vaissa exclaimed in annoyance. “And on the night when Sciliand the Cross-eyed was to stand trial in the court of Love and Beauty! Now I shall be late. Oh, it’s too unfair!”
“Too unfair to come to pass,” said Cugel, with a knowing smile. “See, dear lady, what I have for you here, brought against just such an occurrence? Your second-best banqueting shoes. You may wear these now and miss not a moment of the fun.”
“But, good Cugel, they are the wrong color,” fretted Dame Vaissa. “These are scarlet, and do not suit my gown.” And this was true; she wore an ensemble of turquoise green trimmed with moonstones. Cugel, having planned for this complaint, replied:
“Ah! Then wear them only an hour, while your faithful slave runs back and fetches something more suitable. So you will miss none of your amusements. You have a pea-green pair with diamond heels, have you not?”
“The very thing!” said Dame Vaissa. “Yes, Cugel, do be a dear and fetch them for me. Wake Trunadora. She’ll let you out.” She giggled and added, “She needs no beauty sleep, that’s certain!”
Cugel fitted the red shoes on Dame Vaissa’s plump feet, and assisted her up the grand staircase and through the doors. Then he was off and running through the moonless night, with the broken shoes in his hand and laughter in his heart.
The gogmagog at the door eyed him in a surly manner, but admitted him to the house of Lert readily enough on hearing the entry password. Once within, Cugel cast the broken shoes on a divan in the hallway. One bounced off a satin cushion, clattering to the floor.
“Who’s there? cried a sharp voice. Dame Trunadora peered down her staircase, clutching her dressing-gown to her narrow bosom.
“Only I, madam, poor Cugel. I have a headache; your sister was so kind as to permit me to retire early.”
“Very well, then,” said Dame Trunadora, all suspicion melting from her voice. “Good night, worthy Cugel.”
“Pleasant dreams, madam.”
Cugel hurried deeper into the house, but failed to climb the stair to Dame Vaissa’s tower; rather he went straight up to the solarium, pausing only to dart into the lavatory for the stout sack he had hidden there.
Within the solarium all was silence and darkness, for the daughters of Lert would suffer no lamp to disturb Pippy’s slumbers. Cugel found his way between the potted orchids nonetheless, chuckling to himself as he made out the dark form of the green bird, silhouetted against the glass wall.
“Now, Pippy dearest,” he said, drawing forth the Spancel of Submission he had purchased at the wizard’s stall, “Bid farewell to your pampered life. From this day forth, you have a new master, and you shall see how he rewards insults to his person!”
Making a loop with the spancel, Cugel cast it over the green bird’s head, and drew it tight. “Now! Come to my hand, docile!”
He held up one wrist, with the other hand shaking open the sack into which he meant to fling the bird, that it might not escape as he fled with it down the tunnel to the river. Pippy lifted its head, opening glowing eyes. A moment it regarded Cugel, as though in wonderment. Then its hackles rose, a sure sign of bad temper.
“I bid you come—” Cugel broke off in horror as he saw the hackles still rising, as the bird increased in size and leaped from its iron ring. It landed on the tiles before Cugel, who backed rapidly away to the length of the spancel. He gave it a futile tug.
“I said I bid—” But the creature raised a hand — a hand! — and, with a diffident gesture, lifted away the spancel and cast it to the floor. It stood a head taller than Cugel now, its eyes burning like twin fires. The flickering witchlight of a spell’s dissolution showed Cugel the naked form and lineaments of a powerful man in early middle age.
Cugel would have taken to his heels then, but the mage made a peremptory gesture and Cugel found himself locked as in ice, barely able to breathe. An illumination filled the room. The mage spoke, in a voice like low thunder.
“Thief, you have sorely inconvenienced me! You have cost me a life of sweet and easy retirement. Shall I deprive you of yours? Or shall I devise some worse punishment?”
The mage summoned purple robes, which materialized to swathe his person. Then he clapped his hands and called, a sharp summoning cry. There came a scream from high within the house, changing in pitch as it continued, coming nearer, until the door to the solarium burst open. A bird flew in, a green bird with a yellow head, golden- eyed. It settled on the mage’s left shoulder. A moment later came another scream, a squawking commotion in the night. One of the glass panes shattered and admitted another bird, as like the first as might be in every respect save that it trailed a string of moonstones about its neck. Trembling, panting with exertion, it settled on the mage’s right shoulder.
