Dying Earth #03 - Cugel's Saga by Jack Vance

Author:Jack Vance [Vance, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-06-24T17:19:25+00:00

“Halt!” cried Cugel, raising his sword. “I want no demonstrations!”

Faucelme chuckled. “Cugel, you are as brisk as a tittle-bird. Still, I think none the less of you. In this sickly world, the rash die young. Do not be frightened of the rope; I will be mild. Observe, if you will! To disengage the rope, call the order ‘Tzat’, and the rope returns to hand. So then!” Faucelme stood back and held up his hands in the manner of one who dissembles nothing. “Is this the conduct of a ‘sly and unpredictable villain’?”

“Decidedly so, if the villain, for the purposes of his joke, thinks to simulate the altruist.”

“Then how will you know villain from altruist?”

Cugel shrugged. “It is not an important distinction.”

Faucelme seemed to pay no heed; his mercurial intellect was already exploring a new topic. “I was trained in the old tradition! We found our strength in the basic verities, to which you, as a patrician, must surely subscribe. Am I right in this?”

“Absolutely, and in all respects!” declared Cugel. “Recognizing, of course, that these fundamentental verities vary from region to region, and even from person to person.”

“Still, certain truths are universal,” argued Faucelme. “For instance, the ancient rite of gift exchange between host and guest. As an altruist I have given you a fine and nutritious meal, a length of magic rope and perduration of the sword. You will demand with full vigor what you may give me in return, and I will ask only for your good regard —”

Cugel said with generous spontaneity: “It is yours, freely and without stint, and the basic verities have been fulfilled. Now, Faucelme, I find myself somewhat fatigued and so —”

“Cugel, you are generous! Occasionally, as we toil along our lonely path through life we encounter one who instantly, or so it seems, becomes a dear and trusted friend. I shall be sorry to see you depart! You must leave me some little memento, and in fact I will refuse to take anything other than that bit of tinsel you wear on your hat. A trifle, a token, no more, but it will keep your memory green, until the happy day of your return! You may now give over the ornament.”

“With pleasure,” said Cugel. Using great care he reached into his pouch and withdrew the ornament which had originally clasped his hat. “With my warmest regards, I present you with my hat ornament.”

Faucelme studied the ornament a moment, then looked up and turned the full gaze of his milky golden eyes upon Cugel. He pushed back the ornament. “Cugel, you have given me too much! This is an article of value — no, do not protest! — and I want only that rather vulgar object with the spurious red gem at the center which I noticed before. Come, I insist! It will hang always in a place of honour here in my parlour!”

Cugel showed a sour smile. “In Almery lives Iucounu the Laughing Magician.”

Faucelme gave a small involuntary grimace.

Cugel continued. “When I

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