The Pixilated Peeress

IV – The Desirable Dragon

During the following days, Thorolf's attention was often distracted by thoughts of Yvette. He saw her fine-boned face in the visage of every girl he passed on the streets. Afternoons, af­ter drill, he found himself lingering on the Street of Clockmakers, ostensibly absorbed in an elaborate as­tronomical timepiece in a merchant's showcase. By sil­vered disks, gilded hands, and moving mythological figurines it displayed not only the time but also the phases of the moon, the tides, and the motions of the planets.

Thorolf's examination of the clock was but a pretext for shooting furtive glances up Castle Hill to the for­tress where he had left Yvette. He realized that his fa­ther was right; he was falling in love.

He knew it was a folly. Yvette had told him plainly that her next husband must be of noble blood, an issue that she took with utmost seriousness; and he was just a plain citizen of the Commonwealth. Even if she ac­cepted, she was too arrogant and aggressive to make an endurable wife. She would insist that he move out of the barracks, buy a house, and hire servants; and away would go whatever money he might still save for his advanced studies.

Her candid confession of unchastity also bothered him. He had long assumed that he would marry a virgin and that they would explore the mysteries of love to­gether. This was still the common, socially accepted pattern of behavior in Rhaetia, where Doctor Mersius' contraceptive spell was not yet widely known. If many Rhaetians failed to live up to it, enough others adhered to it to make such behavior no cause for remark.

Thorolf was not much surprised by Yvette's candid admissions; he had long heard tales of the Carinthian nobility. But even if he overlooked this matter, the straitlaced Zurshnitters were cold to brides with color­ful pasts. Marriage to Yvette, even in the wildly im­probable case she would have him, had as favorable a prospect as a wrestling match with one of the fifty-foot serpents of Thither Ethiopia.

His first task was to get her away intact, in her proper form. This done, he thought that, from her free-and-easy ways in such matters, she might permit him some nights of lechery despite his lowly social standing on her scale. He avidly desired such a union, however ephemeral. But, inexperienced as he was, he doubted that he could so please her as to change her basic na­ture, which was too firmly set in the aristocratic mold.

Still, no matter how much he berated himself as a sentimental fool, Thorolf still loitered in the Street of Clockmakers, pretending an avid interest in clocks while stealing sidelong glances at the bodeful battle­ments above. At the end of a week, he could stand the suspense no longer. He trudged up the path to the castle and told a mailed guard:

"Kindly take a message to Doctor Orlandus. I am Sergeant Thorolf, and I wish to know the state of the patient I left in his care."

When the guard departed, the other guard said: "Bean't ye he who last week brought some gigantical bug to the castle?"

"You may call it that." said Thorolf.

The guard returned, accompanied by a stout, scowl­ing, red-haired man in a red robe. In no ingratiating tones, the redhead said: "Sergeant, the Master remem­bers you; but he cannot take time from his world-saving work to answer idle queries. Your Countess shall re­ceive you on the day appointed, a sennight hence. Good day, sir."

The man walked away. The sight of smiles on the faces of the two guards infuriated Thorolf; but he held himself in check. A fight would do no good and, more likely, harm. Instead, he bent his steps toward the head­quarters building of the Constabulary.

Gray-haired Chief Constable Lodar said: "The reason these wights roam abroad with swords unwired. Ser­geant, is that I have a command from above to turn a blind eye to their venial offenses."

"What's 'above'?" demanded Thorolf. "My es­teemed father?"

"Now, now, I would not mingle in a family dispute. Let's say that it came from those superior to me in the government."

"Have the Sophonomists infiltrated the Constabu­lary?"

"Not to my definite knowledge. Suspecting these men of ambitions inconsistent with proper duty, I have re­jected applications when I was certain of such affilia­tion. But I doubt not that we have some amongst us, as a consequence of the death of Master Eberolf."

"What befell him?" asked Thorolf.

The Chief Constable looked about and lowered his voice. "He was a former Sophonomist who turned against the Order. He went about denouncing them and warning of their ambition to seize the rule of Rhaetia. Well, one morn he was found in an alley, strangled. I assigned Constable Hasding to investigate. He said he was making progress; but one day he fell, or was pushed, from high in the Temple of Irpo and slain. I sought the file of information Hasding had gathered on the death of Eberolf; and lo, 'twas missing! I suspect that someone in the corps extracted it. Other papers, too, are not where they should be in the files."

"If Orlandus be so great a mage," said Thorolf, "what needs he with planting spies in your midst to filch papers? Why could he not effect his desires by spells?"

"Imprimus, I doubt he's so puissant a wizard as he pretends; that tale of having studied the wisdom of the East in Serica is surely false. At the time he claimed to be so occupied, he was a petty thief in Letitia. Sec­ondly, to make doubly sure that he cast no witchery upon us, I caused old Doctor Bardi to set up a protec­tive spell on all the Constabulary, to render us proof against illusions, transformations, demonic posses­sions, and similar japes."

"If Orlandus plant spies amongst your men, why canst not do the same with him? His guards are ordi­nary men, unlike those delta-possessed diaphanes."

Lodar smiled quietly. "If we had such nameless informers at work, think ye we'd admit to it?"

Acknowledging the hint with a smile and a nod, Tho­rolf asked: "Hast heard what befell the Countess of Grintz, when at her behest Bardi tried to cast upon her an illusion spell?"

"I heard it made her into an eight-headed dragon; but I set that aside as mere rumor. We have had no reports of such a monster gobbling our citizens; not that some do not deserve that fate. What, then, did hap­pen?"

Thorolf told his tale, adding: "As you see, dear old Bardi's work is not always to be depended upon."

"It seems to have worked for us," said Lodar. "We tested it, importing a wizard from Tzenric to cast the fellest spells in his armory upon Constable Prisco, who had volunteered."

"I'm happy not to have been in Prisco's boots. What befell?"

"The spell shed the wizard's attacks as featly as good plate armor sheds stones. The old fellow may not be so keen as a razor of the best trollish steel; but this time he was in the gold. We've sought to persuade the gov­ernment to hire a first-rank wizard full-time, to protect us and the army; but the Senate hath balked at the ex­pense."

"Gramercy for your news," said Thorolf. "Me-thinks I could use such a protective spell for dealing with Sophonomists."

Next day, Thorolf went to Bardi's house. When the last of Bardi's regular patients had departed, Thorolf told the iatromage:

"Doctor, I would that you gave me the same immu­nity spell that you cast upon the Constabulary. In six days I must needs fetch Yvette from Castle Zurshnitt. and you know what that may entail."

"Dear me!" Bardi mumbled. "I were glad to, my son, at my usual fee; but there's a difficulty."

"What is that?"

"I no longer have the spell to hand. 'Twas from a book—not one of mine, but one in the Horgus College Library. I copied it out on a paper, and anon I stowed this sheet betwixt the pages of one of those." A sweep of Bardi's bony hand indicated the disorderly rows of books on the sagging shelves.

"Well, why can't you simply take it out of the book in question?"

"Alas, I have forgotten which volume I placed it in."

Thorolf counted ten and then spoke with poorly con­cealed exasperation: "Then tell me which volume in the college library you took it from, and I'll make my own copy."

"Dear, dear, I have forgotten that, too!*'

"Well, you can go through every one of your own volumes until you come to it, can you not?"

"But that would waste days, and I could not afford the time, with the rent due in a week. Let me be for a few days; the title of one book or t'other will surely pop into mind."

Thorolf sighed. "Oh, well, let's go to dinner at Vasco's."

"Gramercy, albeit ye must not detain me there over-long. There is some reason why I must return to my house this even, but I cannot recall what it is."

"Ere we go," said Thorolf. "make sure your head be securely fastened, lest you forget it."

As they entered the Green Dragon, Vasco said: "Ser­geant Thorolf, some men were here asking after you this afternoon."

"What sort of men?"

"Six or seven, clad as traveling merchants; but be­neath their outer garments I espied the gleam of mail. The sword one wore was long enough to expose the chape below the hem of's cloak. They also inquired after your Countess."

"What did you tell them?"

"That I'd seen neither hide nor hair of you, or the Countess either, for above a sennight."

Thorolf exchanged glances with Bardi. "Did their speech betray their origin?"

Vasco chewed his lip before answering. "Meseems their speech bore the soft accents of Carinthia, albeit I'm no savant in such matters."

"Duke Gondomar's men, or I'm a Saracen," mut­tered Thorolf. To the innkeeper he said: "What is your choicest tonight, Vasco?"

At table, Thorolf discussed Duke Gondomar's persis­tent efforts to recapture his recreant betrothed. Bardi said: "If another magical menace threatened you, I might do something to protect you; but I am long past the age for swordplay. Belike ye could persuade a stout comrade-in-arms to accompany you in the city streets."

Back at Bardi's house, Thorolf was watching the iatromage putter among his books and paraphernalia when a fist assaulted the door.

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Bardi. "What I had for­got was that the Executive Committee of the Magical Guild meets here tonight."

"Who are they?"

"There's Sordamor, the Chief Executive Officer; he's the showy one. There's Gant. the drug-ridden one, who looks like a disheveled crow. And there's that smiling little villain Avain, our treasurer. But ye are not sup­posed to be here!" Bardi looked around. "Hide behind the curtain in yon alcove, and yarely!"

The alcove was dark save for the pale sheet of light that came through the crack in the curtain. Thorolf had to force himself in, since he had a buried fear of dark enclosures. When the soldier's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he looked around and almost jumped out of his skin. On a shelf at the back of the alcove, silhouetted against the oiled-paper window, crouched an enormous spider, with a body the size of Thorolf's two fists and hairy legs an ell in length.

Thorolf had snatched out his dagger when the sound of persons entering the sanctum made him freeze, glar­ing at the spider. It reminded him of the giant arach­nids, with bodies the size of casks, said to dwell in the Forest of Bricken.

When the spider on the shelf remained immobile, Thorolf essayed a cautious approach and observed no response. Eventually, by touching one of the legs with the point of his knife, he satisfied himself that what he saw was either a dead spider mounted by a taxidermist or a statue.

He put his eye to the crack between the curtains. Three of Bardi's fellow magicians were taking seats while Bardi set out goblets and a bottle. Thorolf sur­veyed the Executive Committee.

The tall, thin, shabby man who faced him must, he thought, be Gant the drug addict. His garb was that of a common workman: a rusty black tunic and hose be­neath a shapeless black hat. The fellow might have been a grave digger—or, from his unnatural pallor, one of a grave digger's clients.

Seated in profile to Thorolf was a big, handsome, clean-shaven man in gaudy raiment. Thorolf knew him by sight as Sordamor, who collected the fattest fees of any magician in Zurshnitt. His hose bore loud check­ered patterns, red and black on one leg and yellow and blue on the other. When he moved his head, the jewels in his emerald earrings winked in the lamplight.

By elimination, the remaining mage, facing Sorda­mor, must be Avain. He was older than the other two but younger than Bardi; short, bald, rotund, and radi­ating bluff honesty and sterling worth.

Bardi pulled the cork and poured. As they solemnly took their first sips, their host asked: "Well, Sorda­mor? "

"Marvelous!" said the loudly clad man. "Whence gat ye it?"

"From Kolos, in the Helladic Isles."

Thorolf's nose felt out of joint. During all his many visits to the iatromage's sanctum, Bardi had never of­fered him a treat of this rare vintage. Evidently it was saved for Bardi's fellow wizards.

The meeting was called to order. After tedious or­ganizational preliminaries—reading minutes, listening to the report of Avain as treasurer—the four engaged in a long wrangle over admission of one Alberic, a ma­gician recently settled in Zurshnitt after fleeing perse­cution in Locania.

"First thing ye know," said Bardi, "every one of these damned Locanian refugees will wish to join, even if they command spells no more puissant than one for finding a lost penny. Is competition not severe enough already?"

"But if we admit them not," said Avain, "soon or late they'll assemble to form their own rival guild."

" 'Twere not legal," protested Gant.

"Not now, true." said Avain. "But in concert they can suborn—or convert, if ye prefer—sufficient senators to force a change in the law, to recognize them as a legitimate guild."

"If we admit a horde of Locanians," mused Sorda­mor, "we shall be hard put to it to keep out Orlandus and his minions. I shudder at that prospect. If we flatly refuse him, he'll act like the bad fairy who wasn't bid to the naming of the royal infant."

"Ye, my friend," said Avain. "have a phobia anent Master Orlandus. Methinks he'd be an ornament to our assembly."

"An ornament who'd soon control us all, as a pup­peteer governs his marionettes on strings," croaked Gant. "He's a man of infinite ambition, not a magician of the first rank, and of no character whatsoever. His second, that ruffian Parthenius, is no magician at all but a mere bully-rook without a single familiar at his beck."

Bardi wheezed: "In my judgment, Orlandus began as a mere mundane mountebank, who added a few sleights of true magic to's repertory. Then he found he could make a fortune by peddling a fantastical tale. Ac­cording to this, supposed to be known only by holders of his bogus advanced degrees, a million million years ago the body his soul then indwelt witnessed the de­struction of reptilian man by the evil wizard Zong. A few million years later, Orlandus, in another incarna­tion, by a mighty spell caused the homeless spirits of these massacred folk to be incarnated in apes, of whom we are the descendants. For aught I know, he may have told that silly tale so oft that he's come to believe it himself."

Sordamor added: "From what I hear, Orlandus is somewhat of an idealist in his own ominous way. Since he thinks he knows what is best for all human beings, it's but right that he should become their universal, ab­solute ruler, to lead them whither they should go."

"Anyone can rob or murder and claim he did it for idealistic reasons," snorted Bardi.

"I'm sure Parthenius, at least, be no idealist," growled Gant. "but a common, sensual mundane, out for what he can get by force or fraud ..."

The argument went round and round inconclusively. Then ensued a discussion of Sordamor's project, to offer an annual prize, a golden medal, for the wizard who made the year's outstanding magical advance. A wran­gle over a proposal to establish a class of associate membership followed, and then a discussion of whether to raise dues.

This in turn was succeeded by a proposal to hold a magical convention in Zurshnitt, inviting wizards from near and far. All favored the idea enthusiastically until it came to apportioning the actual work of organizing, soliciting, contracting, publishing, and record-keeping. Then each magus proved too busy, or too infirm, or too often out of town to do the task justice. Bardi finally said:

"Let us push off these tasks on our younger mem­bers, who'll embrace them as a chance to innate their self-importance."

After three hours the meeting broke up. Nothing much had been decided save to place Alberic's appli­cation for membership before the next general meeting. When Bardi, having dismissed his guests, flung back the curtains before the alcove, he found Thorolf sitting on the floor with his back to the wall and sound asleep.

Six days later, Thorolf again approached the gate on Castle Hill. This time a gate guard said: "Master Tho­rolf Zigramson? Ye are expected. Pray wait here."

After a wait, the scarlet-robed, gold-capped person of Orlandus appeared. Smiling broadly, the Psycho-mage came up to Thorolf and warmly grasped his hand, cooing: "Thrice welcome, dear friend! You will be happy to hear that the lady be wholly restored. Hast the promised sum?"

Thorolf produced a heavy bag of coin and handed it over. Orlandus hefted the bag and tossed it to a guard. "Give this to Master Cadolant to count." He turned back to the gate and called: "Lady Yvette!"

The Countess appeared from the far end of the gate passage; Thorolf thought that she must have been stand­ing just out of sight inside the gate, awaiting Orlandus' call. Thorolf's eyes widened. Instead of the peasant blouse and skirt given her by the smith, she now wore a dove-gray cloak over a golden gown of ladylike qual­ity. A little round azure bonnet topped her golden hair, and her feet were clad in silken slippers suitable for a ballroom. Thorolf cast a questioning glance at Orlan­dus, who purred:

"Certes, good my Sergeant, you cannot expect me to turn my choicest diaphane out into the rough, rude world appearing like unto a beggar lass, now could you? It is a matter of honor. The cost shall come out of the emolument from Doctor Bardi and your esteemed self."

"But ..." said Thorolf, nonplused. "I under­stood ..."

"That I should keep her locked up here until the last penny were paid? Not so. She'll gladly go forth with her trusty friend and come back hither in due course. Won't you, my dear?" he added, turning toward Yvette.

"Yea, Master," she replied in a level, expressionless voice, like someone speaking an unfamiliar language. "Hail, Sergeant Thorolf! Wouldst care to show me the sights of Zurshnitt?"

"I shall be delighted," said Thorolf, bowing but with a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. Her blank, expres­sionless stare and fiat monotone were utterly unlike the vivacious, expressive, self-assertive Yvette whom he had brought to Zurshnitt. This, he thought, deserved investigation; but it would not do to betray his suspi­cions now.

"Sergeant!" said Orlandus crisply, "methought you'd have a carriage for her. Those silken shoon will not long endure the cobbles."

"I expected not—" began Thorolf.

"You thought she'd remain mewed up? A trivial mis­understanding. Since 'tis partly my fault, I'll lend mine own carriage, freshly imported from Sogambrium. When she return hither, you will I am sure provide suit­able transport."

He turned to command a gate guard. Presently a brougham, black with a golden coat of arms on either side, drawn by a pair of matched blacks and driven by a yellow-robed coachman, trotted out from behind the keep. With a charming smile, Orlandus said to Thorolf:

"You must return to visit. We shall have much to say to each other."

As the vehicle, with the coachman straining at the brake, inched its way down the winding road on the far side of Castle Hill, Thorolf examined the conveyance with interest. It was his first ride in such a carriage, of which there were only a few in Zurshnitt. These vehi­cles had come into vogue a few decades before among the nobility and the richer merchants. Owners of these newfangled conveyances at once began pestering their governments for improvements in streets and roads, to let them travel more comfortably than on the back of horse or mule, in horse litters, or in farm carts. One could now go by carriage all the way from Zurshnitt to Sogambrium or Letitia.

Thorolf spent the rest of the day in giving Yvette a tour of the Rhaetian capital, explaining its sights and monuments: "Now that, Countess, is a statue of our great patriot, Arnalt of Thessen, who routed the Carinthians at Gorbee and so laid the foundations of our Commonwealth ..."

"What is that?" asked Yvette, pointing to what looked like a large animal covered with tawny-yellow fur, lying in a gutter.

Delighted to see his love show a spark of interest in anything, Thorolf replied: "That's a troll. Methought you knew about them."

"I had never seen one. Is it alive?"

"Aye; you can see its ribs move. Probably sleeping off a debauch. A few dwell in the city, doing menial work requiring great strength; but when paid off they drink themselves tap."

"I see," she said, relapsing into her former state. To Thorolf's further expositions she answered only: "Yea, Sergeant," in a leaden monotone. Thorolf felt he was showing the town to an utter stranger inhabit­ing Yvette's fetching body. Moreover, this stranger had no interest in the sights of Zurshnitt. At last he said:

"My dear, yonder lies the famous Zoological Park of Zurshnitt. Wouldst care for a stroll therein?"

"Aye, Sergeant, if you wish." She looked at her feet. "But these light shoon are unsuited to walking. Couldst purchase me a pair of stout overshoes?"

"Hm. No shoemaker could make us a pair whilst we wait. But— I have it! There's a shop run by high-born ladies for charitable purposes. People give it their used goods, which the ladies sell cheaply and devote the money to good works. They may have a pair that would fit."

An hour later they descended from the carriage at the entrance to the zoo, with Yvette more substantially shod. Thorolf told the driver to wait, paid the admission fee, and escorted Yvette in.

"Now these," he explained, pointing to a group of huge, black, long-horned bovines, "are aurochs from the Vilitzian Forest, in the northern marches of the Em­pire. Albeit they resemble our domestic cattle, they are fierce and untamable. Over here is a unicorn from the Forest of Bricken, now a rare species." The mouse-brown beast indicated, munching hay and browse, was the size of a buffalo but of more porcine appearance. Its huge head was decorated with bony bumps and a spirally twisted single horn.

They moved on to the next enclosure, in which lay a large, pallid reptile, like a long-legged crocodile, cov­ered with short hairlike bristles. The animal sprawled immobile with closed eyes, only an occasional move­ment of its rib cage indicating life.

"That," said Thorolf, "is the Helvetian mountain dragon. There are still a few up in the troll country."

For once Yvette said something other than "Yea, Ser­geant." She replied: "Aye, Master Thorolf. The Em­peror hath a similar beast from Pathenia in his menagerie in Sogambrium."

"How looked it, Countess?"

"Much like yon reptile, save without the bristles and of a darker hue. As with other reptiles, the sight thereof provides but a minimum of enchantment, as it lies all day without moving a whisker. Since the day wanes, should you not proceed to your inn? A repast were welcome."

"A splendiferous idea! The park will soon close any­way. Let's back to the carriage."

As they turned away from the dragon's enclosure, Thorolf found himself confronting a group of men. There were seven, in the sober dress of traveling mer­chants, but strapping fellows who bore themselves like soldiers. One stepped forward. "Sergeant Thorolf, me-thinks?"

Thorolf bristled; these were probably the men who had sought him at the Green Dragon and therefore henchmen of the Duke of Landai. "And what if I be?" he said, sliding a hand toward his hilt. As a soldier of his rank on active service, Thorolf was not required to immobilize his blade with peace wires.

"My good sir," said the man, "we have a proposal that, of a surety, will capture your interest." The man made a gesture. Two of the group skirted around Tho­rolf and Yvette and leaped the low fence about the dragon's enclosure. Thorolf, fearing attack from be­hind, whirled in time to see one of the twain wrench open the cage door, while the other whirled a sling he took from beneath his clothes.

"Ho there!" shouted Thorolf. "Are you mad?"

The leaden sling bullet struck the mountain dragon in the ribs with a solid thump. The big emerald eyes snapped open; up came the fanged head. The dragon lurched to its feet and started for the open door. From its gaping jaws came a long, groaning bellow. The two who had aroused it ran.

Other visitors shrieked and stampeded away from the dragon's cage. Behind him, Thorolf heard a scream in Yvette's familiar soprano. Turning again, he saw two other pseudo-merchants dragging her off. She struggled, but the men easily bore the slight woman away. Behind Thorolf, the dragon roared as it emerged.

As the spectators fled, keepers converged on the site, shouting questions and demands. Two dragged up a large net, which they threw over the dragon's head and forequarters. Another struck one of the men dragging Yvette with a quarterstaff. Staggered, the abductor re­leased Yvette's arm, whereupon the Countess kicked the other kidnapper in the crotch.

"She-devil!" yelled the man, clutching his affected parts.

Trying to hasten to Yvette with drawn sword, Thorolf found his way blocked by a cluster of zookeepers, one of whom cried: "Seize him! 'Tis he who enlarged the dragon!"

"Fools!" shouted Thorolf. "Yon runagates loosed the beast, to kidnap the lady—"

He tried to push past the keepers; but they closed ranks before him. When one grabbed him, he knocked the man down with his free hand; but another threw a net over him. It was smaller than the net in which the dragon now struggled, writhed, and snapped but quite as effective in immobilizing its victim.

"Yvette!" yelled Thorolf. "Tell these idiots who I am!"

Mechanically she recited: "He is Sergeant Thorolf of the Fourth Rhaetian Foot."

"We care not if he be a general!" a keeper cried. "No man shall molest our animals!"

"Hold! What's all this?" demanded a new voice, that of a lean, gray-haired man. Thorolf recognized Berthar, the director of the Zoological Park. He and the keepers all broke into heated explanations at once, while Yvette stood silently.

"Release Sergeant Thorolf!" said Berthar. "I know him for a true man. Ye say a gang of ready-for-aughts sought to abduct this lady? Where are they now?"

"They vanished whilst your men were netting me," Thorolf spat.

"We shall sift this matter. But excuse me; I must see that our dragon be well encaged."

When the hubbub had died, Thorolf took Yvette to Berthar's chamber of office. The room had books and pa­pers piled on every horizontal surface, even the floor. Some of the piles were topped by the skulls of beasts that had dwelt and died in the park. A corner was oc­cupied by a glass-paned terrarium. Berthar waved his visitors to chairs and poured small goblets of wine. After Thorolf had told of the pursuit of Yvette by Duke Gondomar, Berthar said:

"I shall alert the Constabulary to watch for these rogues."

"I've already told Lodar," said Thorolf, "but an ad­ditional reminder were not amiss."

"Is the Countess hale?" asked Berthar, nodding to­ward the silent Yvette. "She seems as quiet as Arnalt's tomb."

Thorolf shrugged. "Unharmed in body; but she is under certain—ah—influences. How have you been, Berthar?"

The Director spread his hands. "Nigh nibbled to death by the ducks of daily life. It hath been so ever since my former wife ran off with that water-of-life salesman. Today, for ensample, within a few hours, our Pantorozian tiger died; a keeper succumbed to the de­lusion that he was a Mauretanian viper and went about wriggling on his belly and trying to bite people; and Banker Gallus demanded that I give his old horse a good home, albeit without providing funds to do so. Then, to cap it all, came the raid of those rogues who were fain to enlarge the dragon, I ween to furnish a diversion to cover their abduction of your lady."

Thorolf noted: "I do perceive that your post be not one for weaklings. How flourishes the park?"

The Director shrugged. "As usual. It were a dire calamity had our prize specimen escaped. Obeying its natural instincts, it would have snapped up a tasty cit­izen or two. Then nought would have dissuaded your thick-skulled military from slaying the beast, as if one mountain dragon were not worth a score of human be­ings."

Thorolf raised his eyebrows. "How reckon you that?"

"The mountain dragon is an endangered species, whereas the world swarms with humanity. Man is in no danger of extermination, unless it destroy itself by dev­ilish novel weapons like those Serican thunder tubes I hear of. It would serve the species right."

Thorolf gave a quiet laugh. "I never thought of it thus. Doubtless being human has warped my think­ing."

"No species outranks any other in the eyes of the gods!" Berthar leaned forward. "Thorolf, know ye that I have a special fund for the acquisition of rare speci­mens, from donations by some wealthy citizens? Could I but obtain a female mountain dragon, 'twere worth ten thousand marks to its captor."

Thorolf whistled. "A lot of money for one stupid, dangerous beast!"

"My great ambition is to breed the creatures, and our lone specimen is a male." Glancing at the closed door, the director lowered his voice. "I have a personal reason to boot. I have long been an active alumnus of Horgus College. My banker friends tell me that, an I can bring off this feat, they'll see me elected to the Board."

"Alas!" said Thorolf. "I fear my soldierly duties leave me little time for dragon hunting. Anyway, how should I know a female dragon? How does one tell?"

"The female lacks the crest and the hornlike knobs above the eyes of the male. Some still roam the higher ranges, in trollish territory. Here, let me give you a copy of my monograph on the beast. I plan a journey into mountain-dragon land, if I can get the trolls' per­mission. "

"Thanks. To hunt your dragon?"

"Nay; for that I lack the means. 'Twould need a nu­merous party, sure to arouse the trolls' suspicion. What I seek is less formidable." He pointed to the terrarium.

Thorolf bent over the glass enclosure, seeing a sur­face of pebbles, sand, and moss, with water at one end. In the water a finger-long black newt with red spots on its hide moved slowly about with languid waves of its tail.

"What's that?" asked Thorolf. "Some kind of liz­ard?"

"Nay; a salamander of a kind hitherto unreported from Rhaetia."

"What's the difference?"

"Lizards live wholly on land, whereas salamanders are hatched in water, like tadpoles, and dwell both in water and on land. The great Doctor Karlovius at Saalingen, who reduced the chaos of the animal world to orderly families, genera, and species, hath made the distinction clear. I seek additional samples; less im­pressive than a dragon, belike, but not without signifi­cance in the heavenly scheme. If it differ sufficiently from the lowland type, I may have an unreported new species. Meanwhile, I pray, bear my dragon offer in mind."

"I shall, if I ever return to academe."

"I've heard of your scholarly troubles. Couldst not apply to some other center of learning?"

"So I did; but each demanded my scholarly records. Then they wrote to Horgus, and the replies they gat did damn me." He rose. "Thanks for the drink. My lady hungers, so we shall be off."

Thorolf took Yvette to the Green Dragon Inn and sent Orlandus' carriage and driver away. Yvette limped slightly as they entered the inn. To Thorolf's question she replied:

"I hurt my toe when I kicked that scrowle in's man­hood. These shoon you bought me were too light for such footballery; next time I shall wear mountaineer's boots."

Thorolf asked Vasco if the room they had occupied before was vacant and engaged it for the night. Yvette stood silently by. Vasco gave the couple a sharp look, suppressed a smile, and handed Thorolf the key. "Wilt sup here, Sergeant?"

"Aye," Thorolf said. In the common room, Thorolf hung Yvette's gray cloak on a peg and held a chair for her. He almost whistled at the sight of the costly golden gown. It was a shimmery beaded affair, far too dressy for Vasco's, which was largely frequented by salesmen for Zurshnitt's far-famed clocks and cutlery. A large ruby brooch glittered between her small breasts; Tho­rolf could only guess that the diamonds around it were genuine.

Thorolf ordered a bottle of Vasco's best wine and then dinner. This time, she lagged behind him in drink­ing, while he watched her sharply. When he had drunk enough to feel the effects, he reasoned that, since he outweighed her two to one, she ought by now to be thoroughly besotted. Perhaps, he thought, the wine would subdue whatever entity had taken possession of her being and allow her natural self to break through. But, although she drank almost as much as he, she showed no effect whatever.

Through the repast, Thorolf kept up a running chat­ter, trying to elicit human reactions from Yvette. He told tales from Rhaetian history and legend; she merely nodded and said: "Yea, I understand." He told jokes, to which she smiled politely but without mirth. He made up versicles:

He even told jokes of the randy sort favored in bar­racks; which, being a prim Rhaetian at heart, he would not ordinarily have uttered in the hearing of a lady. Still she only smiled politely.

This, Thorolf decided, was a waste of time. Instead, he began questioning: "Tell me where you are quar­tered."

"In one of the little rooms on the second level, for advanced diaphanes," she said.

"Where are those cubicles? I've but once set foot in the castle."

"When erst you brought me thither, you ascended a stair and turned right to the Chamber of Audience, didst not?"

"Aye."

"Well, you must needs turn left at the top of the stairs instead and pass a row of chambers betwixt the left-side corridor and the outer wall. Mine is the second from the stair end."

"Couldst draw me a plan?" asked Thorolf, taking notepad and writing materials from his scrip.

"Nay; but if you will draw, I'll correct your sketch."

Soon, with some spillage of ink, Thorolf had a rag­ged plan of the second storey of the keep. He asked: "Hast a room to yourself?"

"Aye."

"Do you always sleep alone, or does Orlandus— ah ..."

"Nay; the charms of women's bodies beguile him not. Once he caught a guard sneaking into my chamber, hoping for a speedy lectual canter. The master had the fellow dragged away by male diaphanes."

"What befell the would-be lecher?"

"I know not; but later that night I heard masculine screams."

Thorolf changed the subject. "Now tell me what you do during the day—any ordinary day."

"We rise early to break our fast. Then the Master hath assigned me to the Record Room, where we keep files on Sophonomy's foes. 'Tis not so different from what my confidential clerk did when I ruled in Grintz. Each bit of news of the scoundrels is pricked down and placed in a folder. The folders stand in alphabetical order."

"Where is this Record Room?" asked Thorolf. He had visions of abstracting his father's dossier and thus breaking the Sophonomists' hold on the Consul.

" 'Tis in the crypt below the castle, directly beneath my sleeping chamber. The area combines two of the cells of the dungeon. The Master had the wall betwixt them knocked down and the room aired and scrubbed. 'Twere no bad place to work, save for the plaints and the rattling of chains of the prisoners in the other cells."

"Prisoners?" Thorolf came alert. "Whom, pray, does your Master confine against their will?"

"They are all probationers who have committed grave offenses. Not common, mundane Rhaetian citizens, if that concern you."

Thorolf filed the information for possible future use against the cult. When the repast was over, Thorolf led Yvette unresisting up the stair to the same handsomely furnished room. Inside, she said:

"I do recall this chamber, where you and I once at­tempted a night of pleasure—oh, it must be half a month agone. My memory thereof wavers phantasmally; I have a dream of living as some sort of devil-fish. Where sat we when something went amiss?"

Thorolf said: "I was on yonder settee, and you were giving me lessons in kissing." His heart thudded.

"Excellent! Seat yourself. Sergeant, and we shall re­sume where we left off."

She pushed him back until he sat down. Then pir­ouetting slowly, she shed the shimmering golden gown. The fine linen shift beneath it followed as she pulled it off a finger's length at a time, like a skillful courtesan arousing her client. She sat down on Thorolf's lap and kissed him until the blood pounded in his ears. The air was redolent of a costly perfume.

She stood up and stepped back, glancing at the va­cated lap. "Art ready?"

"Aye," he said thickly, wondering how he could stand up while still clad.

"Then you shall have your desire once a small matter hath been attended to." Her tone became as briskly businesslike as that of a Rhaetian banker.

"Eh? What's this?"

From her reticule Yvette brought out a sheet of pa­per, folded and refolded into a small packet. She spread the paper on the writing desk, saying: "You have but to sign this trivial engagement, and my body shall be yours. Here's pen and ink—and one thing more!"

She picked up the golden dress and detached the ruby brooch. "When you sign, I shall prick your thumb and press it to the contract."

"Damn!" muttered Thorolf. "Every time we ..." His irritation turned to ire. "Why on earth should I drip blood on this paper?"

"The Master insists. It validates the contract."

For a heartbeat, Thorolf's passion pulled him forward while his prudence held him back. Then he growled: "I'll sign nought without reading it first."

He settled himself on the writing chair and moved the candle closer to the paper. He read that the signer bound himself to apply for membership in Sophonomy, to enroll in the prescribed courses, diligently to pursue these studies for the glory of Sophonomy and the ben­efit of mankind, and to pay the required fees.

Thorolf looked narrowly at Yvette. She was still a gorgeous creature, but this crass and ominous bargain chilled his lust. That drop of blood would likely give Orlandus some magical hold upon him; if he displeased the Master, he, too, might be turned into an octopus.

"What is the purpose of this document?'" he asked, keeping his voice emotionless.

"To do the Master's will. I know no details; I do but know: no contract, no venery. Come, Sergeant, wouldst not show yourself as proficient at. this kind of riding as that upon your mighty steed?" She leaned over and began plucking at his ties, laces, and buttons, rubbing a small but firm breast against his cheek.

It revolted Thorolf that Orlandus' magic had reduced this queenly woman to a kind of fancy whoredom. Be crafty! he commanded himself as he turned away from the desk, saying:

"Yvette, my dear, this contract is a serious matter. I must think ere deciding." He stepped to the door. "I shall go for a walk in the night air. Wait not upon my return, but go to bed when you list."

"But—"

"If upon my return I have decided to sign, I shall rouse you. Good night!"