Hugh Cook - The Wicked and the Witless

So Sarazin, this help denied him, went to work, while Madam Sosostris got on with her knitting. After much painful labour, Sarazin's version of the book's opening lines ran as follows:

To feed four you will need half a basket of mushrooms, a cup of pork pieces, one bundle of vermicelli, some dragon-tongue sauce, some fresh asparagus and a hedge- hog. First wrap the hedgehog in clay and put it amidst coals to bake. Then take a pan of cast iron and-'

Sarazin, after racking his brain to extract some mystic meaning from this, closed the book angrily.

This is a joke' he said. 'And a very poor joke. This is a cookery book!' "Tis a wondrous book rich in things both rare and strange,' said Madam Sosostris, looking up from her knitting. The part of interest to you is near the end. It's marked by a wafer.' You could have told me that to start with!' said Sarazin.

'I was testing you,' said Madam Sosostris, 'to see whether you command any of the Art in your own right.' 'An idiot thing to do,' said Sarazin.

'Perhaps, perhaps not. For there are those in Selzirk who swear still that Sean Sarazin rode to Smork. That they were there. That they saw him, heard him, touched him, smelt him. Yet others of equal reputation swear he lay lifeless in Selzirk all the while. I do not believe the contradiction of stories suggests untruth. No: I believe it suggestive of magic at work.'

Then look elsewhere for that magic,' said Sarazin, 'for I've none of my own. Anyway, now you've tested me, how about translating this for me? You obviously know what it says.'

'Not at all. As I told you, I bought it from a pox doctor. 'Twas he who placed the wafer for me. I myself can read but little, and that weird script – why, that is known only to scholars like yourself.'

So Sarazin turned to the place marked by the wafer and began work in earnest. A bitter struggle he had, too, for it was hard to make sense of the tangled syntax of the complex Churl. He did not finish his translation till early evening. But he did not regret investing so much energy, for it made fascinating reading.

The book contained a prophecy which could be sum- marised thus:

– A prince of the Favoured Blood would be exiled from Selzirk in his youth, but would later return to the city.

– Wicked and witless men would unleash great dangers threatening the very survival of the city.

– The prince would see how to save Selzirk, but would be scorned and reviled by the city when he revealed the solution to Selzirk's dangers.

– He would endure great hardship and greater danger, earn himself the name Watashi, marry the princess of an ancient kingdom and wage a war against his own father, whom he would kill.

– His father's death would bring the prince the power he needed to save Selzirk. He would rescue the city from danger; the people would praise him with great praises, and his name would endure forever in glory.

Sarazin thought things through. Carefully. While Selzirk's law did not recognise him as a prince of the Favoured Blood, he truly thought of himself as such. His mother, Farfalla, had been consecrated as one of the Blood on becoming kingmaker. Prophecy might well accord her sons with rights, titles and prerogatives which the Consti- tution of the Harvest Plains denied them.

Certainly Sarazin had been exiled from Selzirk in his youth. Also, in a sense, he could be said to have killed his father. After all, if Sarazin had not agreed to go with Benthorn to attack the embassy at Smork, Fox would not be an outlaw. As an outlaw, he could not hope to live long.

So who were the wicked and the witless against whom Selzirk must be defended? Undoubtedly, the men of the Regency. The bureaucrats like Plovey. What about the prophecy's other points?

The prophecy spoke of hardship. Of great danger. That fitted. After all, Sarazin had endured poverty, scorn and fever in Selzirk. Had dared his life, blade against blade, with a genuine questing hero, Tarkal of Chenameg. That much had come to pass.

The name, though. That was a bit of a problem. Watashi? An odd word to conjure into a name. Perhaps that was why the fates had willed that he should see the prophecy now: so he could fulfil it by changing his name. Easily done!

But what about the next point? Marriage to the princess of an ancient kingdom? Chenameg was doubtless that kingdom, and Amantha that princess. But how could he woo her when his mother forbade him to leave Selzirk? Did he dare disobey her? She'd be fearfully angry. And he feared her dragon-wrath rages.

Before running such risks, he'd like some assurances as to the validity of the prophecy. He should talk it through with… well, someone like Elkin.

Though, if truth be told, in his heart of hearts he believed the prophecy already. He was already prince. Some day he would be king. Emperor. Lord of Selzirk! Master of the Harvest Plains! The prophecy did but confirm his own vision of the radiant future. -Hallelujah!

Thus thought Sean Sarazin. Staring hard at a flyspeck on the wall in an effort to control his face and betray nothing.

'Finished?' said Madam Sosostris, on seeing his blank, vacuous stare.

'No,' said Sarazin, thinking that the safest answer. The script is near impossible to read, the grammar worse, the words rare beyond my understanding. I am defeated.'

Then you must come again,' said Madam Sosostris, 'and study the book further.' And with that she showed him out into the street.

Sarazin did not ask if he could see Jaluba on his next visit, since such a display of interest could only tend to raise the price Sosostris surely intended to place on that delightful damsel. There had to be some pay-off for Sosostris in all this, there just had to. And how else could she make money out of Sarazin except by selling him Jaluba?

Theodora Turbothot (nee Thrug): wife of Troldot Heavy Fist' Turbothot.

Although she is an alumnus of the Santrim Institute for Feminine Arts, Theodora is not one of Selzirk's chaste and respectable matrons, but is instead a wanton foreigner, an import from far-distant Untunchilamon.

In truth, in terms of appetite, there are few women in the upper echelons of Selzirk's society who could compete with Theodora. With the exception, of course, of Farfalla, whose approach to the flesh is equally direct and vigorous.

Once out in the streets, Sarazin had the uneasy feeling he was being followed. However, there were so many people out and about in the early evening that it was impossible to tell for sure.

'Follow me, then,' muttered Sarazin, to whoever it was who might be tracking him.

And made his way to Jone, where he shortly entered his favourite tavern and called for a tankard of the best ale in town. At first he drank alone, wishing Lod was there to help celebrate the prophecy which promised Sarazin such a spectacular future. Then some of Lod's friends turned up, and, remembering Sarazin's earlier enquiries, asked if he had any news of their mutual acquaintance.

'I have,' said Sarazin. 'He rots in jail in Shin, in Chena- meg, waiting to come up on trial.' 'On what charge?' said one of Lod's friends. 'It is claimed he is a wastrel,' said Sarazin.

'A wastrel? Nay! He's a philosopher, man. Truth is his pursuit, and ever he seeks it in wine and in women. Have they no knowledge of things academic in Shin?'

'None,' said Sarazin, 'for they are but peasants. Come – may I buy you a beer?'

"You could,' said one of his interlocutors, "but only if you let us buy you three. We're in luck, see. The cards have been running our way. It's a night for celebration.'

Yes,' said Sarazin, with a sudden grin. He was thinking of his prophecy. 'It must be an omen. A good omen. We'll celebrate sure. But let's not forget our friend. Let our first toast be in honour of Lod.'