The fish came up to the bank, and when the man told him what had happened, the fish asked, “Is there anything making you angry that can’t be solved with the right information?”
“Probably not,” said the man.
“Well then, go get the information,” said the fish. “It must be lying along one of the seven roads that lead to the bottom of the cliff.”
“Seven roads,” cried the man. “It’s already getting along toward evening.”
“Then you’d better hurry,” said the fish.
Since the man had seen the riverbank from the top of the hill, he figured the roads must come from the river, so he walked along the bank in the proper direction until he came to a road that turned toward the cliff he could see through the trees. He ran very quickly along that road, stopping only once when the sun caught something shining in the undergrowth that turned out to be one of the legs of the image he had tossed from the top of the cliff. Well, one leg was one leg, but a leg wouldn’t help him, so the man went on down the road until it came right to the foot of the cliff and turned back toward the river at an angle.
So he ran and ran along this road, stopping only once when he saw something lying on the path, which turned out to be the other leg of the image he had thrown from the cliff top. Well, two legs was two legs, but the whole statue was better, so he went on running toward the river, where the road suddenly turned back toward the cliff again. On that road he found an arm, and on the next turn, another arm. And on the next turn, which was number five, he found the body, and on the next turn toward the river again, he found the head, which was all very well, but the book with the letters running across it was still missing.
It was almost dark when the man started on the seventh road, going toward the cliffs for the fourth time, and he was actually at the cliffs when he saw it, shining at him in the last of the sunlight. So he sat down and put the statue together, and when he put the book into his lap, he saw words there.
“How to cure your wife’s illness,” he read. And this was followed by a recipe for a medicine made out of very common plants that the man found on his way home.
That night, after he had given his wife the medicine, he looked at the book again. This time it said, “How to cure lameness in a donkey,” followed by a recipe for a poultice made out of very common things he happened to have around the house. And when he had done that, he looked at the book again, and saw the words “How to make ruined shoes like new again,” followed by a simple procedure the man was able to manage before he went to bed.
In the morning, the book told him of a widow living just down the road who had a pup she was giving away and who also had a bull she would let him use in return for the resultant calf. Then the book told him where he could find some discarded fence to mend his chicken coop. And last of all, the book told him what to do in order to be rid of his neighbor, a few very simple words having to do with misdeeds discovered and forces of law on the way, whispered in the neighbor’s ear.
The neighbor packed his cart and moved out before lunchtime. The man from Dabberding watched the cart go off down the road, the useless bull hitched to the back. Then the man from Dabberding remembered what the man-at-arms had said about the Keeper knowing everything in the whole world, so he knelt before the image and said,
“Keeper, you have been very kind to me, and I’m not angry anymore, and I want to do for you whatever you most desire. Please tell me what that is.”
Then he looked at the book, and the words ran across it, saying, “Roads out, roads back, seven roads was one road. Cow, donkey, dog, wife, shoes, fox, neighbor, seven cures was one cure. Two arms, two legs, body, head, book, seven parts was one Keeper. Let one person walk seven roads at once, go where they meet and find me there.” And with that, the Keeper vanished, leaving only the story behind.
“That’s the story,” I concluded.
“Sorry, Naumi, but it doesn’t tell me much.”
“It didn’t me, either,” I replied.
“When did you say the others are getting to Thairy?” he asked after a few moments.
“They’ll ostensibly come for the class reunion, but they’ll arrive several days early.”
“Well then.” Ferni dried his legs, saying thoughtfully, “I wish M’urgi were here. She had a very good head on her shoulders.”
I frowned, for the name teased at me. “M’urgi. Interesting name. Why don’t you go find her, Ferni?” I took a deep breath, managing a casual tone. “We have quite a bit of time before the reunion. Bring her along.”
Fernwold, wrapped in the towel, sat down on the stone bench beside the pool and fixed me with his “This is important” stare. “I was going to locate her anyhow, because of this other thing I wanted to tell you about. It happened a day or two ago. I was sitting in a tranship-tavern waiting for departure time, the way one does, not thinking about anything
