Hugh Cook - The Wicked and the Witless

'A witch, of course,' said Glambrax. 'A death-hag. A nightwalker. You're lucky, oho, lucky you met her near death, my child.' 'Lucky! She – that-'

Sarazin thumped his head against the wall of the barn. This was intolerable!

'Doubtless you got a bit of a shock this morning,' said Glambrax. 'But, face it – -any woman you have will end up that way. There's no such thing as immortal youth. Only difference is, most decay so slowly you've got time to get used to it.'

'I don't understand this,' said Sarazin. 'How come she knew my name? How come the monster – was that part of her game?'

'Oh, she saw you coming, you might say,' said Glam- brax. 'Oh yes, she saw you coming.'

Then, whistling in a cheerful way, he quit the stable. Sarazin slumped down on the straw, cold, hungry, depressed, humiliated and disgusted with himself, with mortal flesh, with life, the world and the universe. He indulged himself in self-pity and despair until he was roused by the smell of smoke. Fire? Was something burning?

He quit the barn – and found the house aflame, with Glambrax capering up and down in front of it.

The house went up with a roar, vomiting smoke and spitting flame. A flight of blood-red bats burst from beneath the eaves, screaming in shrill, demented voices as they fled. Rats scarpered across the mud, making for the forest.

Sarazin ran towards the cottage, half-imagining he could extinguish the fire. He plunged into the billowing smoke. Its stench sent him staggering backwards, retching. Eyes bleared by smoke, he looked round wildly and saw Glambrax laughing.

You!' said Sarazin, in fury. Tell! How did the house catch fire?' 'I set it alight,' said Glambrax. 'I never told you to!' You never told me not to.'

There were things of mine lost somewhere within,' said Sarazin. What kind of things?' said Glambrax. 'There was – oh never mind.' 'A ring, perhaps?' said Glambrax.

There was – suddenly! – a silver ring on a silver chain dangling from his fingers. 'Give me that!' said Sarazin, grabbing for it. Glambrax jerked his hand away. 'First you have to promise,' said Glambrax.

'Promise? Promise what? Give me my property, mannikin!'

'Ah,' said Glambrax, darting away. 'Promise first. To honour your oath.' What oath?' 'See!' said Glambrax. You've forgotten already!'

Belatedly, Sarazin remembered. He had sworn to keep Glambrax with him as his servant. For life. A disastrous mistake! For, as he saw all too clearly, the dwarf was unlikely to be an asset to his lifestyle.

'I have given my oath on the matter already,' said Sara- zin. 'If you trust not my oath, what good is a promise?' 'So it remembers,' said Glambrax, cackling. 'It remembers!'

Yes,' said Sarazin, bitterly, 'and I remember this, too. My oath was extracted from me under false pretences.'

Was it?' said Glambrax. 'Oh no, I don't think so. I heard the lady say herself her time with you would be but brief. Your authority to think otherwise was but that of your own ego.' Sarazin thought back to the day before and remembered.

Yes,' he said. You're right. But I – I – oh, never mind. Give me my valuables.'

Satisfied, Glambrax handed over the ring of invisibility. And the magic mudstone. And the bottle. 'The candle!' said Sarazin. 'Give me the candle!'

What do you want with a stub of old candle?' said Glambrax. 'Never you mind about that. Give it!'

The dwarf rummaged in his pockets and yielded up the green candle which Sarazin treasured away. Then Sarazin asked: 'Why did Zelafona make you mine?'

'Oh,' said Glambrax, 'she wouldn't want me alone in the world. I'm her son, you see. Her first born. Her only born.' 'A likely story!' said Sarazin. 'But true,' said Glambrax. 'But true!'

Well,' said Sarazin, 'if you're to be my servant, then start making yourself useful. Make ready my horse.'

With that said, Sarazin sploshed away through the mud to the forest where he relieved his bowels and his bladder. When he returned, he found Glambrax standing atop the barn, looking around in all directions. 'What are you doing up there, clown?' said Sarazin. 'Searching for your horse, master,' said Glambrax. 'It's in the barn, half-wit!' said Sarazin. 'Nay, master. There's no horse within.'

Startled by this intelligence, Sarazin panicked into the barn. He found his noble steed within and led it outside. Glambrax was still on the roof.

'What do you think this is?' demanded Sarazin. 'That?' said Glambrax. "That is a pony, unless I'm mistaken.'

'It's my horse!' said Sarazin. 'Get down from there so I can kick you.'

'Oho!' said Glambrax. 'A tyrant, is it? Will it kick me for not finding cat when it sends me for dog? Will it boot me for not bringing water when it asks after wine? That is no horse you have there. That is but a pony, ill-fed, ill-bred, ill- broken, aye, and dying of the glanders unless I'm mistaken.'

You claim your mother a witch but I think her more likely a lawyer,' said Sarazin in disgust. 'Either that, or you were fathered by a passing solicitor. Come down here this instant!'

So saying, Sarazin pointed at the mud at his feet. Without a moment's hesitation Glambrax jumped. Landing feet together on the precise spot indicated. Sending mud flying in all directions. One of those directions was Sarazin's.

Then Sarazin finally realised, with dismay, that he had acquired the worst kind of servant imaginable: that is, one who will do exactly what he is told.

You and me,' said Sarazin, breathing heavily, 'are going to have to go a long way together. So don't give me any trouble or I'll throttle you.' Yes, master,' said Glambrax, meekly. Then grinned. Then giggled.

Until Sarazin, provoked beyond endurance, kicked him to obtain his silence.

Shortly, with Glambrax saddled up behind him, Sarazin was on his way again. Hoping he could somehow find his way to Shin and to King Lyra's palace. Hoping his long- suffering pony could make the distance before it collapsed and died. He had stolen the horse for this journey; he now made a vow that, next time he played horse thief, he would get himself something more worth the stealing. Where are we making for?' said Glambrax.

'Shin' said Sarazin. 'That's somewhere to the east, I think.'

Whether it is or isn't,' said Glambrax, 'you'll never find it this way. East is a vague direction, is it not? Vague as a quarter of the sky. An unknown city is but a lightless star in that quarter.'

'I don't need your pessimism,' said Sarazin, who found Glambrax's comments uncomfortably accurate.

'I talk not pessimism but sense,' said Glambrax. Head north till you pick up the Velvet River, then follow the river upstream to Shin. Shin is by the river, is it not? So that way we can't get lost, can we?'

This advice was so sound that Sarazin was sure there must be something seriously wrong with it. But, in the end, he turned his horse to the north, thinking it worth a try.

Place: Shin, capital of Chenameg. Stands on southern bank of Velvet River. Eastern end of North Road lies directly across river; a ferry runs between city and road. Most notable features: King Lyra's palace (known as the Great House); associated Great Hall; Phoenix Temple; four lumber yards; sawmill; ferry house. Population: 2,467 on the day of Sarazin's arrival in the autumn of Alliance 4325.

When Sarazin reached Shin, Thodric Jarl was there waiting for him. By then, Sarazin had worked up the most marvel- lous story about his heroic defiance of the terrorists who had kidnapped him, and his escape from the same. Glam- brax corroborated the tale, which was well received by almost everyone in the city. Only Lod had his doubts.

'I don't believe such dog-snot nonsense,' said Lod, when Sarazin was admitted to the dung-smelling jail where his friend was incarcerated, awaiting trial on charges of being a wastrel. 'But it's true,' protested Sarazin, 'all true.'