The sun dropped past the horizon; mournful colors filled the sky. Shimrod climbed to the top of a stony mound. He placed down a small box, which expanded to the dimensions of a hut. Shimrod entered, closed and barred the door, ate from the larder, then reclined on the couch and slept. He awoke during the night and for half an hour watched processions of small red and blue lights moving across the forest floor, then returned to his couch.
An hour later his rest was disturbed by the cautious sc.r.a.pe of fingers, or claws: first along the wall; then at his door, pushing and prying; then at the panes of the window. Then the hut thudded as the creature leapt to the roof.
Shimrod set the lamp aglow, drew his sword and waited.
A moment pa.s.sed.
Down the chimney reached a long arm, the Color of putty. The fingers, tipped with little pads like the toes of a frog, reached into the room. Shimrod struck with his sword, severing the hand at the wrist. The stump oozed black-green blood; from the roof came a moan of dismal distress. The creature fell to the ground and once again there was silence.
Shimrod examined the severed member. Rings decorated the four fingers; the thumb wore a heavy silver ring with a turquoise cabochon. An inscription mysterious to Shimrod encircled the stone. Magic? Whatever its nature, it had failed to protect the hand.
Shimrod cut loose the rings, washed them well, tucked them into his pouch and returned to sleep.
In the morning Shimrod reduced the hut and proceeded along the trail, which stopped short on the banks of the River Tway; Shimrod crossed at a single bound. The trail continued beside the river, which at intervals widened into placid ponds reflecting weeping willows and reeds. Then the river swerved south and the trail once more north.
Two hours into the afternoon he arrived at the iron post which marked that intersection known as Twitten"s Corner. A sign, The Laughing Sun and The Crying Moon hung at the door of a long low inn, constructed of rough-hewn timber. Directly below the sign a heavy door bound with iron clasps opened into the common-room of the inn.
Entering, Shimrod saw tables and benches to the left side, a counter to the right. Here worked a tall narrow-faced youth with white hair and silver eyes, and-so Shimrod surmised-a proportion of halfling blood in his veins.
Shimrod approached the counter. The youth came to serve him. "Sir?"
"I wish accommodation, if such is available."
"I believe that we are full, sir, owing to the fair; but you had best ask of Hockshank the innkeeper. I am the pot-boy and lack all authority."
"Be so good, then, as to summon Hockshank."
A voice spoke: "Who p.r.o.nounces my name?"
From the kitchen came a man of heavy shoulders, short legs and no perceptible neck. Thick hair with much the look of old thatch covered the dome of his head; golden eyes and pointed ears again indicated halfling blood.
Shimrod responded: "I spoke your name, sir. I wish accommodation, but I understand that you may be full."
"That is more or less true. Usually I can supply all grades of accommodation, at varying prices, but now the choice is limited. What did you have in mind?"
"I would hope for a chamber clean and airy, without insect population, a comfortable bed, good food and low to moderate rates."
Hockshank rubbed his chin. "This morning one of my guests was stung by a bra.s.s-horned natrid. He became uneasy and ran off down the West Road without settling his account. I can offer you his chamber, along with good food, at moderate cost. Or you may share a stall with the natrid for a lesser sum."
"I prefer the room," said Shimrod.
"That would be my own choice," said Hockshank. "This way, then." He led Shimrod to a chamber which Shimrod found adequate to his needs.
Hockshank said, "You speak with a good voice and carry yourself like a gentleman; still, I detect about you the odor of magic."
"It emanates, perhaps, from these rings."
"Interesting!" said Hockshank. "For such rings I will trade you a high-spirited black unicorn. Some say that only a virgin may ride this creature, but never believe it. What does a unicorn care about chast.i.ty? Even were he so nice, how would he make his findings? Would maidens be apt to display the evidence so readily? I think not. We may dismiss the concept as an engaging fable, but no more."
"In any case, I need no unicorn."
Hockshank, disappointed, took his departure. "
Shimrod shortly returned to the common-room, where He took a leisurely supper. Other visitors to the Goblins Fair sat in small groups discussing their wares and transacting business. Little conviviality was evident; there was no hearty tossing back of beer, nor jests called across the room. Rather, the patrons bent low over their tables muttering and whispering, with suspicious glances darted to the side. Heads jerked back in outrage; eyeb.a.l.l.s rolled toward the ceiling. There were quivering fists, sudden indrawn breaths, sibilant exclamations at prices considered excessive. These were dealers in amulets, talismans, effectuaries, curios and oddments, of value real or purported. Two wore the blue and white striped robes of Mauretania, another the coa.r.s.e tunic of Ireland. Several used the flat accents of Ar-morica and one golden-haired man with blue eyes and blunt features might have been a Lombard or an Eastern Goth. A certain number displayed the signals of halfling blood: pointed ears, eyes of odd color, extra fingers. Few women were present, and none resembled the maiden Shimrod had come to meet.
Shimrod finished his supper, then went to his chamber where he slept undisturbed the night through.
In the morning Shimrod breakfasted upon apricots, bread and bacon, then sauntered without haste to the meadow behind the inn, which was already enclosed within a ring of booths.
For an hour Shimrod strolled here and there, then seated himself on a bench between a cage of beautiful young hobgoblins with green wings, and a vendor of aphrodisiacs.
The day pa.s.sed without notable event; Shimrod returned to the inn.
The next day also was spent in vain, though the fair had reached its peak of activity. Shimrod waited without impatience; by the very nature of such affairs, the maiden would delay her appearance until Shimrod"s restlessness had eroded his prudence-if indeed she elected to appear at all.
Midway through the afternoon of the third day, the maiden entered the clearing. She wore a long black cloak flared over a pale tan gown. The hood was thrown back to reveal a circlet of white and purple violets around her black hair. She looked about the meadow in a frowning reverie, as if wondering why she had come. Her gaze fell upon Shimrod, pa.s.sed him by, then dubiously returned.
Shimrod rose to his feet and approached her. He spoke in a gentle voice: "Dream-maiden, I am here."
Sidelong, over her shoulder, she watched him approach, smiling her half-smile. Slowly she turned to face him. She seemed, thought Shimrod, somewhat more self-a.s.sured, more certainly a creature of flesh and blood than the maiden of abstract beauty who had walked through his dreams. She said: "I am here too, as I promised."
Shimrod"s patience had been tried by the wait. He made a terse observation: "You came in no fury of haste."
The maiden showed only amus.e.m.e.nt. "I knew you would wait."
"If you came only to laugh at me, I am not gratified."
"One way or the other, I am here."
Shimrod considered her with a.n.a.lytical detachment, which she seemed to find irksome. She asked: "Why do you look at me so?"
"I wonder what you want of me."
She shook her head sadly. "You are wary. You do not trust me."
"You would think me a fool if I did."
She laughed. "Still, a gallant reckless fool."
"I am gallant and reckless to be here at all."
"You were not so distrustful in the dreaming."
"Then you were dreaming too when you walked along the beach?"
"How could I enter your dreams unless you were in mine? But you must ask no questions. You are Shimrod, I am Melancthe; we are together and that defines our world."
Shimrod took her hands and drew her a step closer; the odor of violets suffused the air between then. "Each time you speak you reveal a new paradox. How could you know to call me Shimrod? I named no names in my dreams."
Melancthe laughed. "Be reasonable, Shimrod! Is it likely that I should wander into the dream of someone even whose name I did not know? To do so would violate the precepts of both politeness and propriety."
"That is a marvelous and fresh viewpoint," said Shimrod. "I am surprised that you dared so boldly. You must know that in dreams propriety is often disregarded."
Melancthe tilted her head, grimaced, jerked her shoulders, as might a silly young girl. "I would take care to avoid improper dreams."
Shimrod led her to a bench somewhat apart from the traffic of the fair. The two sat half-facing, knees almost touching.
Shimrod said: "The truth and all the truth must be known!"
"How so, Shimrod?"
"If I may not ask questions, or-more accurately-if you give me no answers, how can I not feel uneasiness and distrust in your company?"
She leaned half an inch toward him and he again noticed the scent of violets. "You came here freely, to meet someone you had known only in your dreams. Was this not an act of commitment?"
"In a certain sense. You beguiled me with your beauty. I gladly succ.u.mbed. I yearned then as I do now, to take such fabulous beauty and such intelligence for my own. In coming here I made an implicit pledge, in the realm of love. In meeting me here, you also made the same implicit pledge."
"I spoke neither pledge nor promise."
"Nor did I. Now they must be spoken by both of us, so that all things may be justly weighed."
Melancthe laughed uncomfortably and moved on the bench. "The words will not come to my mouth. I cannot speak them. Somehow I am constrained."
"By your virtue?"
"Yes, if you must have it so."
Shimrod reached and took her hands in his. "If we are to be lovers, then virtue must stand aside."
"It is more than virtue alone. It is dread."
"Of what?"
"I find it too strange to talk about."
"Love need not be dreadful. We must relieve you of this fear."
Melancthe said softly: "You are holding my hands in yours."
"Yes."
"You are the first to hold me."
Shimrod looked into her face. Her mouth, rose-red on the pale olive of her face, was fascinating in its flexibility. He leaned forward and kissed her, though she might have turned her head to avoid him. He thought her mouth trembled under his.
She drew away. "That meant nothing!"
"It meant only that as lovers we kissed each other."
"Nothing truly happened!"
Shimrod shook his head in perplexity. "Who is seducing whom? If we are working to the same ends, there is no need for so many cross-purposes."
Melancthe groped for a reply. Shimrod pulled her close and would have kissed her again, but she pulled away. "First you must serve me."
"In what fashion?"
"It is simple enough. In the forest nearby a door opens into the otherwhere Irerly. One of us must go through this door and bring back thirteen gems of different colors, while the other guards the access."
"That would seem to be dangerous work. At least for whomever enters Irerly."
"That is why I came to you." Melancthe rose to her feet. "Come, I will show you."
"Now?"
"Why not? The door is yonder through the forest."
"Very well, then; lead the way."
Melancthe, hesitating, looked askance at Shimrod. His manner was altogether too easy. She had expected beseechments, protests, stipulations and attempts to force her into commitments which so far she felt she had evaded. "Come then."
She took him away from the meadow and along a faint trail into the forest. The trail led this way and that, through dappled shade, past logs supporting brackets and shelves of archaic fungus, beside cl.u.s.ters of celandines, anemones, monks-hood and harebells. Sounds faded behind them and they were alone.
They came to a small glade shadowed under tall birch, alders and oaks. An outcrop of black gabbro edged up from among dozens of white amaryllis, to become a low crag with a single steep face. Into this face of black rock an iron-bound door had been fitted.
Shimrod looked around the clearing. He listened. He searched sky and trees. Nothing could be seen or heard.
Melancthe went to the door. She pulled at a heavy iron latch, drew it ajar, to display a wall of blank rock.
Shimrod watched from a little distance with a polite if detached interest.
Melancthe looked at him from the corner of her eye. Shimrod"s unconcern seemed most peculiar. From her cape Melancthe brought a curious hexagonal pattern, which she touched to the center of the stone, where it clung. After a moment the stone dissolved to become luminous mist. She stood back and turned to Shimrod. "There is the gap into Irerly."
"And a fine gap it is. There are questions I must ask if I am to guard effectively. First, how long will you be gone? I would not care to shiver here all night through."
Melancthe, turning, approached Shimrod and put her hands on his shoulders. The odor of violets came sweetly across the air. "Shimrod, do you love me?"
"I am fascinated and obsessed." Shimrod put his arms around her waist and drew her close. "Today it is too late for Irerly. Come, we will return to the inn. Tonight you will share my chamber, and much else besides."
Melancthe, with her face three inches from his, said softly, "Would you truly wish to learn how much I could love you?"
"That is exactly what I have in mind. Come! Irerly can wait."
"Shimrod, do this for me. Go into Irerly and bring me thirteen spangling jewels, each of a different color, and I will guard the pa.s.sage."
"And then?"
"You will see."