'Hush!' said Guest, who thought that Levant's rightful mission on this quest was to hew firewood, draw water and peel potatoes, not to pass comment on the plans and performance of his social superiors. Thayer Levant did hush, though in all truth the knifeman felt himself well-qualified to pass comment. Levant had traveled the Circle of the Partnership Banks for a great many years as the servant of Plandruk Qinplaqus, hence thought himself an expert on that Circle and its cities; and, to him, his companions on this present quest were but rank amateurs in the art of traveling the world.
Once Levant had hushed, the silence became oppressive. Each of the questing heroes could hear the steady scrapage of boots against stone, the clinkage of metal, and the tiny sounds made by their tongues and their teeth, by the creaking of their kneecaps and the hush-wash of their breathing.
In the black and oppressive hush, wash after wash of smells assailed them. From somewhere came the smell of dung; then that of camphor; then a sweet, sickly perfume of the kind favored by women of ill repute, or by young women who have yet to learn the art of sophisticated restraint in matters of self-enhancement. In that darkness -
'Stop,' said the Witchlord Onosh.
All stopped.
'What is it?' said Guest.
'Something,' said Lord Onosh.
'What?' said Guest.
'Hush! Not so loud!' said his father.
'What is it?' said Sken-Pitilkin.
'A light,' said the Witchlord.
It was a dull, red light which lay ahead of them. It was so dull it was almost impossible to see. Sken-Pitilkin stared at it for a long moment, then abruptly strode forward. The light moved.
'The light's moving!' cried the Witchlord.
'Because,' said Sken-Pitilkin, with scathing scorn, 'it is in my hand. That's why it's moving.'
Then Sken-Pitilkin returned to his companions, bearing in his fist a stick of incense, which he waved rigorously before letting it fall. Like a dying star, the incense lay on the stones.
'Light,' muttered Lord Onosh. 'I wish we had light.'
Then the Witchlord bethought himself of the ring of ever-ice which he had taken from Banker Sod long, long ago on his first conquest of the island of Alozay. Lord Onosh now customarily wore that ring on a chain slung around his neck. Bethinking himself of that light, he produced it: but its feebleness could scarcely do more than illuminate his own face.
Not to be outdone, Guest Gulkan produced his mazadath. That amulet was a light more powerful than the Witchlord's ring of ever-ice, but it was insufficient to light the path.
'Hush down your lights,' said Pelagius Zozimus. 'They can but betray us. They cannot serve us.'
Both Witchlord and Weaponmaster accepted this admonishment from the slug-chef Zozimus, and, concealing their futile lights, they pushed on down the tunnel until they saw a familiar green glow ahead.
That steady-burning jadeness was sure sign of the presence of a demon. Or so thought these questing heroes! As it happens, they were right, though some experts hold that the eyes of a basilisk burn with just such a cold and steady green; and certain mariners aver that a kraken encountered at night will be seen to emanate a similar baleful light; and one of the brands of the moonpaint which comes from the city of Injiltaprajura is most definitely a thus-shaded green.
Still, in the confidence of encountering a demon, Guest Gulkan and his companions advanced, and found themselves in a vaulted octagonal chamber. Ranked around the walls of that chamber were niches in which stood timeprison pods identical to those of Alozay's Hall of Time – some occupied, others not.
'Time pods,' said Thayer Levant.
'And a demon,' said Sken-Pitilkin.
Indeed, in the center of that chamber stood a jade-green monolith identical in outward form to Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis, demon of Safrak. Thanks to a briefing from Iva-Italis, Guest Gulkan knew this to be the demon Ungular Scarth, a servant of the Great God Jocasta.
Illuminated by the green frostlight of the demon Ungular Scarth was the Great God Jocasta. As advertised, the Great God was a doughnut the size of a man's head. It was floating in the air within two shells of light. The inner shell of light was a dull red, the red of iron which has lately been removed from a furnace, and is cooling. The outer shell was blue – a sharp-burning blue which hurt the eyes and made Guest Gulkan think of the sun, and of teeth. (Why teeth? He could not tell, but that outer shell of blue-burning light made him think most decisively of saliva and teeth).
'It is a demon,' said the Witchlord Onosh, whose attention was given not to the Great God but to Ungular Scarth. 'But it is short for its kind.'
'Because,' said Guest, heavily, 'it is standing in water.'
So it was, as Lord Onosh saw a moment later. The demon Ungular Scarth was half-buried in oily sewer waters. For the octagonal chamber in which the demon and the Great God were imprisoned was awash with sewer-water.
Fortunately, a metal grille reached from wall to wall, and looked as if it would allow the intruders to dare the approach to demon and god without getting their feet wet. Guest tested the grille, found that it bore his weight, and advanced to the base of the demon. The grille appeared to have been custom-made, and to have been installed long after the demon took up residence in this octagonal chamber, for the demon rose up from a neatly- edged square hole in that grille. Guest Gulkan glanced down into the oil sewer waters, where hunks of unidentifiable material floated on the surface. The water was still, unmoving, fetid. In the chamber's sullen silence, Guest heard his father's breathing, which was uncommonly labored. He guessed that Lord Onosh was distressed by this place, and found its silence hard to bear.
To break that silence, Guest Gulkan addressed the demon Ungular Scarth.
'I am the Weaponmaster, Guest Gulkan by name,' said he. 'I am here to rescue the Great God Jocasta in fulfillment of my oath.'
'Greetings, Guest Gulkan,' says the demon, speaking to him in his native Eparget.
'And to you, greetings,' said Guest politely. 'Okay, what do we do now?'
'You cut through the fields of force which have trapped my master,' said Ungular Scarth.
'Okay then,' said Guest.
Then Guest drew his sword, and, striking with all the confidence of a hairy-arsed barbarian who has hacked off more heads than the world has fingers to count, he struck. He hacked with his sword, striking a mighty blow, a blow sufficient for the decapitation of dragons, the rupture of chains, or the lopping off of the limbs of a giant. But that blow availed the Weaponmaster not, for his sword bounced off the bubbles of force as if off the celestial armor of the greater war-gods.
'Gods!' said Guest.
'Come,' said Ungular Scarth. 'You did but tickle it. You can do better than that.'
'Better!' said Guest. 'I have struck with force sufficient for the murder of ten men simultaneously.'
'Then strike again,' said the demon.
So Guest struck. But his metal bounced from the blue-burning force field which imprisoned the Great God Jocasta.
'What are you?' said Ungular Scarth. 'Are you a child? I thought you a man!'
At which Guest was enraged, and hacked again at the force field. Again his metal bounced harmlessly from the sphere of force.
'Let me,' said Lord Onosh.
Upon which Guest stepped aside, with hot sweat dripping down his forehead – sweat which was consequent upon the combination of exertion and embarrassment.
Lord Onosh hacked at the force field. But, just like his son, the Witchlord made no impression on that blue- burning armor.
'It is too much for us,' said Lord Onosh.
Upon which the demon laughed.
'Ah,' said Ungular Scarth, 'but what did you expect?'
