Elder Isles - Madouc Part 18

"It has come too late," gloomed Madouc. "Poor Pymfyd lies dead in the ditch, and all through my insistence upon the Flauhamet fair!"

Twisk made an airy gesture. "Did you strike Pymfyd dead?"

"No, Mother."

"Then you need feel no remorse."

Madouc's distress was not fully relieved. "All very well, but Ossip and Sammikin who struck the blows feel no remorse either! They beat poor Pymfyd till the blood gushed; then they chased me and stole Tyfer. I have met you and I am overjoyed for this reason, but at the same time I grieve for Pymfyd and Tyfer."

Zocco chuckled. "Just like a female, singing both ba.s.s and falsetto with the same breath!"

Twisk turned Zocco a glance of mild inquiry. "Zocco, did you speak?"

Zocco licked his lips. "An idle thought, no more."

"Since you lack occupation, perhaps you will look into the vexations which Madouc has described."

Zocco said peevishly: "I see no reason to oblige either you or your unappealing brat of a daughter."

"The choice is yours," said Twisk graciously. She spoke to to Madouc: "Wefkins are unimaginative. Zocco, for instance, envisions a future of blissful ease, with never a pang of discomfort.

Right or wrong?"

"He is wrong indeed."

Zocco jumped to his feet. "I find that I have a few moments to spare. It will do no harm to take a cursory look around the landscape, and perhaps make an adjustment or two."

Twisk nodded. "Please report your findings on the instant!" Zocco was gone. Twisk examined Madouc from head to toe. "This is an interesting occasion. As I mentioned, I had almost forgotten your existence."

Madouc spoke stiffly: "It was not very nice of you to give me away, your own darling little child, and take another in my place."

"Yes and no," said Twisk. "You were not as darling as you might like to think; indeed, you were something of a rippet. Dhrun was golden-haired and sweet-natured; he gurgled and laughed, while you screamed and kicked. It was a relief to be rid of you."

Madouc held her tongue; reproaches, clearly, would serve no useful purpose. She spoke with dignity: "I hope that I have given you reason to change your opinion."

"You might have turned out worse. I seem to have gifted you with a certain queer intelligence, and perhaps an inkling of my own extravagant beauty, though your hair is a frowst."

"That is because I have been running through the woods in terror and hiding under a rotten log. If you like, you may give me a magic comb, which will order my hair at a touch."

"A good idea," said Twisk. "You will find it under your pillow when you return to Sarris."

Madouc's mouth dropped. "Am I to return to Sarris?"

"Where else?" asked Twisk, somewhat tartly.

"We could live together in a pretty little castle of our own, perhaps beside the sea."

"That would not be practical. You are quite suitably housed at Sarris. But remember: no one must learn of our meeting - King Casmir, in particular!"

"Why so? Though I had no intention of telling him."

"It is a complicated story. He knows that you are a changeling, but, try as he might, he has never been able to identify Suldrun's true child. Were he to know-and he would force the truth from you-he would send out a.s.sa.s.sins, and Dhrun would soon be dead."

Madouc grimaced. "Why should he do such a terrible deed?"

"Because of a prediction in regard to Suldrun's first-born son, which causes him anxiety. Only the priest Umphred knows the secret and he hugs it close, at least for the moment. Now then, Madouc, while this has been an interesting occasion-"

"Not yet! There is still much to talk about! Will we meet again soon?"

Twisk gave an indifferent shrug. "I live in a constant flux; I am unable to make fixed plans."

"I am not sure whether I live in a flux or not," said Madouc. "I know only that Devonet and Chiodys call me 'b.a.s.t.a.r.d' and insist that I lack all pedigree."

"In a formal sense, they are correct, if somewhat rude."

Madouc spoke wistfully: "I suspected as much. Still, I would like to know the name of my father and all the particulars of his personality and condition."

Twisk laughed. "You pose a conundrum I cannot even begin to solve."

Madouc spoke in shock: "You cannot remember his name?"

''No.

"Nor his rank? Nor his race? Nor his appearance?"

"The episode occurred long ago. I cannot recall every trifling incident of my life."

"Still, since he was my father, he was surely a gentleman of rank, with a very long and fine pedigree."

"I remember no such individual."

"It seems, then, that I cannot even claim to be a b.a.s.t.a.r.d of high degree!"

Twisk had become bored with the subject. "Make whatever claim you like; no one can disprove you, not even I! In any case, b.a.s.t.a.r.d or not, you are still reckoned to be Princess Madouc of Lyonesse! This is an enviable estate!"

From the corner of her eye Madouc glimpsed a flicker of green and blue. "Zocco has returned."

Zocco reported his findings. "Neither corpse nor cadaver made itself known, and I adjudged the issue to be moot. Proceeding eastward along Old Street, I discovered two rogues on horseback. Fat Sammikin sat high on a tall bay like the hump on a camel. Ossip Longshanks bestrode a dappled pony, with his feet dragging the ground."

"Alas, poor Tyfer!" mourned Madouc.

Twisk asked: "And how did you resolve the case?"

"The horses are tethered in the paddock. The rogues are running across Lanklyn Down pursued by bears."

"Sammikin perhaps should have been transformed into a toad and Ossip into a salamander," said Twisk. "I would also have verified Pymfyd's death more carefully, if only that I might observe the prodigy of a walking corpse."

Madouc suggested: "Perhaps he is not dead?"