Jack Vance - Lyonesse

"Carfilhiot, of Tintzin Fyral!"

"For what reason?"

"He wanted your magic stuff."

"That is far-fetched."

"It is true. He was encouraged by the magician Tamurello, who would give Carfilhiot nothing."

"Tell me more."

"I know nothing more... Ah! You monster! I will tell you!"

"What then? Hurry, do not stop to think. Do not gasp; talk!"

"Carfilhiot is in Avallon, at the Black Bull... What now are you doing? I have told you all!"

"Before you die you must toast a bit, like Grofinet."

"But I have told you everything! Have mercy!"

"Yes, perhaps so. I have no real stomach for torment. Die then. This is my cure for sore knees."

Carfilhiot found Dr. Fidelius' wagon closed, but the team of two-headed horses was hitched to the wagon-pole, as if in readiness for departure.

Carfilhiot went to the door at the back of the wagon and pressed his ear against the panel. Silence, so far as he could determine, with the noise of the fair behind him.

He walked around the wagon, and discovered the boy and girl beside a small fire where they toasted skewers of bacon chunks and quartered onion.

The girl looked up as Carfilhiot approached; the boy kept his attention on the fire. Carfilhiot wondered briefly as to his detachment. A shag of golden-brown curls fell over his face; his features were fine, yet decisive. He was, thought Carfilhiot, a boy of remarkable distinction. His age was perhaps nine or ten. The girl was two or three years older, in the early springtime of her life, as gay and sweet as a daffodil. She looked up, to meet Carfilhiot's gaze. Her mouth drooped and she became still. She spoke, however, in a polite voice: "Sir, Dr. Fidelius is not here just now."

Carfilhiot came slowly forward. The girl rose to her feet. The boy turned to look in Carfilhiot's direction.

"When will he be back?" asked Carfilhiot gently.

"I think very soon," said the girl.

"Do you know where he went?"

"No, sir. He had important business, and we were to be ready to leave when he returned."

"Well then, everything is quite in order," said Carfilhiot. "jump into the wagon and we will drive directly to Dr. Fidelius."

The boy spoke for the first time. Despite his clear features, Carfilhiot had thought him pensive, or even a trifle daft. He was taken aback by the ring of authority in the boy's voice. "We cannot leave here without Dr. Fidelius. And we are cooking our dinner."

"Wait in front, sir, if you will," said the girl and turned her attention back to the sizzling bacon.

THE RIVER CAMBER, approaching the sea, joined the Murmeil and became an estuary some thirty miles long: the Cambermouth. Tides, swirling currents, seasonal fogs and sand bars which appeared and disappeared with changes of weather made for uncertain navigation in and out of Avallon Harbor.

Approaching Avallon from the south by Icnield Way, the traveler must cross the estuary, at this point two hundred yards wide, by a ferry, tethered to an overhead cable by a chain hanging from a massive pulley-block. At the south the cable was secured to the top of Cogstone Head beside the lighthouse. At the north it terminated at a buttress of concreted stone on River Scarp. The cable crossed the estuary at a skewed angle; the ferry leaving Cogstone landing was thereby propelled by the flooding tide across the estuary to the dock at Slange, under River Scarp. Six hours later, the ebbing tide thrust the ferry back to the south shore.

Aillas and his companions, riding north along Icnield Way, arrived at Cogstone halfway through the afternoon. Riding over the Cogstone ridge they paused to overlook the wide view which suddenly spread before them: the Cambermouth extending in a sinuous curve to the west where it seemed to brim over the horizon; the estuary to the east spreading wide to join the Cantabrian Gulf.

The tide was at the turning; the ferry lay at Cogstone Landing. Ships finding a fair insore wind drove into the estuary to the west spreading wide to join the Cantabrian Gulf.

The tide was at the turning; the ferry lay at Cogstone Landing. Ships finding a fair inshore wind drove into the estuary with all canvas spread, including a large two-masted felucca flying the flag of Troicinet. As they watched it edged toward the northern shore and docked at Slange.

The three rode down the road to the landing where the ferry waited departure only upon full flood of the tide.

Aillas paid toll for the passage and the three rode aboard the ferry: a heavy scow fifty feet long and twenty feet wide, well loaded with wagons, cattle, peddlers and mendicants on their way to the fair; a dozen nuns from Whanish Isle convent, on pilgrimage to the Holy Stone brought by St. Columba from Ireland.

At Slange Aillas went to the Troice felucca for news, while his friends waited. He came riding back in a state of despondency. He brought out the Never-fail, and exclaimed in frustration as the tooth pointed north.

"In truth," declared Aillas, "I don't know what to do!"

Yane asked: "So then, what is the news from Troicinet?"

"They say King Ospero lies sickly in his bed. If he dies and I am not on hand, then Trewan will be crowned king—which is as he planned... I should be riding full speed south at this instant, but how can I with Dhrun my son to the north?"

Cargus, after a moment's thought, said: "You cannot ride south in any event until the ferry takes you back to Cogstone. Meanwhile, Avallon is an hour's ride north, and who knows what we will find?"

"Who knows? Let us be off!"

The three rode hard along the final miles of Icnield Way, between Slange and Avallon, arriving by a road which bordered the common. They discovered a great fair to be in progress, though already it had gone into its waning stages. Beside the common Aillas consulted the Never-fail. The tooth pointed north to a target across the common and perhaps beyond. Aillas made a disgusted sound. "He might be out there on the common or a hundred miles north, or anywhere in between. Tonight we shall check to the edge of town, then tomorrow, willy-nilly, I ride south by the noon ferry."

"That is good strategy," said Yane, "and even better if we are able to find lodging for the night."

"The Black Bull yonder seems appealing," said Cargus. "A mug of bitter ale, or even two, will not come amiss."

"The Black Bull then, and if luck is with us, there will be room to lay down our bodies."

At their request for lodging the innkeeper first held out his hands in despair, then was nudged by one of the porters. "The Duke's Room is open sir. The company never arrived."

"The Duke's Room, then! Why not? I cannot hold a choice lodging the whole night through." The landlord rubbed his hands together. "We call it the ‘Duke's Room' because Duke Snel of Sneldyke honored us with his custom, and not twelve years ago. I'll take silver for the rent. During the Grand Fair, and for the Duke's Room, we ask a premium fee."

Aillas paid over a silver florin. "Bring us ale, out under the tree."

The three sat at a table and refreshed themselves in the cool breeze of late afternoon. The throngs had dwindled to a trickle of late-comers hoping to drive hard bargains, and scavengers. Music was quiet; vendors packed their goods; acrobats, contortionists, mimes and jugglers had gone their ways. The Grand Fair formally ended on the morrow, but already pavilions were being struck and booths disassembled; carts and wagons trundled off the common to the road and so away: to north, east, south and west. In front of the Black Bull passed the flamboyant wagon of Dr. Fidelius, drawn by a pair of black two-headed horses, and driven by a dashing young gentleman of striking appearance.

Yane pointed in amazement at the horses. "See the marvels! Are they freaks, or works of magic?"