Yubi Das Finger: a Banker of the Bralsh, the insurance company so prominent in the affairs of Dalar ken Halvar. He travels the world in motley. Glass bells are suspended from his golden skullcap, and ceramic animals (seven score in number) are attached to his patchwork jacket and his trousers. Though he is dressed as a clown, he is in fact a diplomat, a negotiator, a conciliator and an arbitrator. The eccentricities of his dress are designed to distract attention from his face – a face which is a horrorworks of welted burn tissue.
The singing came from the stairway at the western end of the Hall of Time. It signaled the arrival of Yubi Das Finger, who lit his own entrance into the Hall of Time with two lanterns swinging from the bablobrokmadorni stick he carried over his shoulder.
Yubi Das Finger sang as he walked the length of the Hall of Time, a hundred paces from the head of the western stairs to the foot of the eastern stairs. As he drew close, Guest recognized him from their first encounter earlier that night, for there was no mistaking that extraordinary figure.
When he was within smelling distance of the Weaponmaster,
Yubi snapped at him with his green-dragon glove puppet. Guest flinched, more from fear of injury to his dignity than of injury to his flesh – though he still remembered the exceptional needle brightness of that puppet's teeth.
"So-ho, Guest!" said Yubi, greeting the Weaponmaster. "So-ho, Sken-Pitilkin!"
"Do I know you?" said Sken-Pitilkin, who had no recollection of meeting the motley-clad clown.
"Historically?" said Yubi. "I doubt it."
Then he skipped past the jade-green flanks of the demon Icaria-Scaria Iva-Italis, climbed a few steps up the eastern stairway, then paused, looked back and grinned. His teeth gleamed green, reflecting the light which glowed from the demon.
"Well, Guest?" said Yubi, with a mocking devilishness. "Are you coming with me to the sky?"
Yubi spoke the Galish, and spoke it with such a piercing clarity one might have thought him to be singing even then.
"Where a clown can go, so I," said Guest.
For the boy had had enough of mystery for one night. He had been tempted and taunted too long – argued at, argued over, teased, flirted with, seduced. He wanted a finalization for once – he wanted to shove for the answer, to be done with the preliminaries and to thrust for the truth. Something was up there, up in the secret region overhead, up in the abditory.
And Guest was going to find out.
Driven by such determination, the boy dared himself into biting distance of the demon Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis.
"Halt," said Iva-Italis. "That's far enough."
Waiting on the stairs, Yubi Das Finger grinned green. If a man says he is going to jump off a cliff, there are some people who will turn away, some who will try to dissuade him, and some who will watch.
Yubi chose to watch.
And Guest dared another step.
Something hit him. It struck – too fast to see. Down he went!
Thrown to the ground, bruised down to the skull-pattern tiles. He crunched down at the foot of the demon. It loomed above him, cold, cold, colder than needles, colder than ice. It was as green as the tallest of stars, and as high. Its monolithic slab sided height stretched upwards for a day and forever.
Then it growled.
The demon Iva-Italis growled long and low, making a sound like thunder trapped in a rock, like an enormous bumble bee locked in a block of iron.
Then Sken-Pitilkin saved the day. He saved it with the country crook which served him as a staff of power.
Did Sken-Pitilkin stand upon the tallness of his hind legs and call out great Words of power? No. Did he summon forth invisible grappling hooks to drag the boy to safety? No.
Instead -Sken-Pitilkin reached out with his country crook, hooked Guest Gulkan by the sword belt and dragged the boy to safety.
Doubtless this resolution is somewhat lacking in drama, and many will find it a disappointment – for it is acknowledged truth that many of those who read histories which feature one or more wizards do so largely to spectate at the spectacular.
But there is less of spectacle in a wizard's life than outsiders commonly believe, since a wizard's life is largely given over to Meditation; and study; and memorization; and diligent practice of the irregular verbs; and the darning of socks and the watering of pot plants.
For a wizard's powers are gathered with such effort that they are never expended lightly – for once having expended his power a wizard will be defenseless for days. Consequently, wizards do not exercise their powers except under circumstances of the gravest need; and, when faced with practical problems, they always first seek a practical solution.
Since Sken-Pitilkin was a wizard of Skatzabratzumon, he could in theory have used his levitational powers to grease Guest Gulkan's escape from the base of the demon. But it was more economical simply to drag the boy clear with a hooked stick – and just as fast, and just as effective.
With Guest dragged clear, Sken-Pitilkin supported him as he tottered the length of the Hall of Time to seat himself in his armchair, which was where the Guardian Hrothgar found him when that worthy came to relieve him in the gray of dawn.
By then, Sken-Pitilkin was long gone, thinking Guest safe.
But Guest was not safe at all, for the rigors of the night had brought about a relapse, and Guest was huddled in his armchair in a state not far from delirium, wet with sweat and shuddering with fever.
Hrothgar arrived in the company of the Rovac warrior Rolf Thelemite and the dwarf Glambrax, both of whom were alight with anticipation at the thought of serving Guest his breakfast. These friends of his were bearing gifts – a pot of mulled wine spiked with mustard, and a hot and steaming fish-meat pie with biting hot red peppers. The master-chef Pelagius Zozimus had conspired with them in the preparation of this special wake-up breakfast, but all went to waste, for Guest was in no condition to be sampling anything.
If Hrothgar was any judge – and, having seen a great many of his friends and colleagues die of influenza, he thought himself well-qualified to judge – then Guest was direly ill.
So nothing would serve but that the Weaponmaster should be evacuated from the Grand Palace – as the mainrock Pinnacle was commonly known to many – and returned to Hrothgar's house in the adjacent city of Molothair, there to be nursed anew by Horthgar's wife Una.
When Guest was somewhat recovered, Sken-Pitilkin visited him, and asked him how he felt.
"Not so bad," said Guest, affecting nonchalance. "I suppose the chill of the night was bad for me. If memory serves… why, I seem to remember an abominably long bout of standing about, of stamping my feet… though my memory is soggy | | "
"Hmmm," said Sken-Pitilkin, saying nothing more lest he provoke the boy to the needless effort of further clumsy lies.
"Here. I've got something for you. It's a letter."
"A letter?" said Guest.
"From Gendormargensis," said Sken-Pitilkin.
"From my father?" said Guest, brightening.
"No," said Sken-Pitilkin. "From Bao Gahai."
"Bao Gahai!" said Guest, in patent dismay. "What would I want with a letter from Bao Gahai?"
"Read it," said Sken-Pitilkin. "It may have news of your brothers."
"So it may," said Guest.
Then broke the seals on the letter and scanned it through, learning that Morsh Bataar was on the mend and that Eljuk Zala was diligently prosecuting his study of the irregular verbs in the absence of Sken-Pitilkin. Eljuk had prevailed upon his father to provide him with a new tutor, who was a text-master named Eldegen Terzanagel.
"Eljuk's scholarly passions are such," read Guest, quoting Bao Gahai, "that one fears him possessed of a secret ambition to be a wizard."
"Really," said Sken-Pitilkin, in neutral tones.
"Bao Gahai is quite deranged!" said Guest, ceasing to quote as he threw down the letter. "My brother Eljuk? A wizard?! Dogs will first sing down the stars and pigs become pigeons."
"Pigs will become pigeons?" said Sken-Pitilkin.
"It is a Rovac oath," said Guest, evidencing pride in its possession. "I learnt it from Rolf Thelemite."
"And Glambrax learnt it as well," said Sken-Pitilkin.
"Why, so he did!" said Guest in astonishment. "How did you know that? Have you psychic powers?"
"When you are older and wiser," said Sken-Pitilkin with a sigh, "you will learn that psychic powers are entirely unnecessary to divine the wit and intention of the very young."
That was the plain truth, for without any psychic powers whatsoever, the sagacious Sken-Pitilkin knew full well what approach Guest planned to take toward the matter of the demon Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis.
As the wizard of Skatzabratzumon had immediately divined, Guest Gulkan was bent on pretending that the events of his night of guard duty in the Hall of Time had been blurred into unintelligibility by the rigors of his fever. But Sken-Pitilkin was not fooled for a moment. The boy knew! He knew too much! So – must he then be killed?
Certainly he must be kept away from the demon Iva-Italis!
But how was Sken-Pitilkin to persuade the Safrak Bank to deny Guest further access to that demon? Banker Sod, the Governor who ruled Alozay and all the other islands of the Safrak archipelago, seemed disposed to trust Guest. After all, relations between Safrak and the Collosnon Empire were relaxed and friendly, and Guest was the son of the Collosnon Empire's ruler.
So how could Sod be persuaded to treat Guest with something of the distrustful rigor which is reserved for a hostile prisoner? Sken-Pitilkin thought about it long and hard, but could find no solution. At last he consulted Zelafona, whom he knew of old.
"As I helped you," said Sken-Pitilkin, alluding to the drama which had brought Sken-Pitilkin, Zozimus, Zelafona and Glambrax flee to refuge in Tameran some ten years earlier, "now it is your turn to help me."
"Speak," said Zelafona.
Then Sken-Pitilkin explained all, even – for he trusted Zelafona, for all that he was a wizard and she a witch – the matter of the Mahendo Mahunduk.
Yes.
The Mahendo Mahunduk. Sken-Pitilkin hesitated before touching on that most sensitive of subjects, but touch on it he did – and was chastened when he discovered that Zelafona already knew all about it.
"Clearly," said the old but elegant witch-woman, "you must keep the boy away from this demon-thing. Whatever its nature, its promises are impractical. In other words – it is a liar. Doubtless it means to use the boy, but the reward it offers is not within its power to give."
"Then what am I to do?" said Sken-Pitilkin.
"You must tell the Safrak Bank that Guest attempted to force a passage past the demon. You must tell the Bank that Guest tried to win a passage to the forbidden shrine above. Since the Bank is so protective of its holy of holies, I'm sure they will thereafter deny Guest Gulkan admission to the Hall of Time."
This proposal had the simplicity which marks true genius, and Sken-Pitilkin promptly put it into effect. Sken-Pitilkin demanded an interview with Banker Sod, was admitted into the iceman's presence, and gave him an edited account of the events of the night of Guest Gulkan's guard duty.
"I took myself up to the Hall of Time," said Sken-Pitilkin,
"meaning to take him a flask of soup which had been cooked by my cousin Zozimus. I knew him to be but recently recovered from influenza, hence thought him in need of such sustenance. While I was with him, he fell to boasting, as a boy in his folly will, and the upshot was that he tried to force a passage past the demon."
"And?" said Sod.
"And," said Sken-Pitilkin, "the demon knocked him to the ground."
Sod did not know whether to believe this account. On the face of it, the story was highly improbable. For the demon Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis did not customarily defend the privacy of the holy of holies by knocking people to the ground. Rather, the demon's custom was to fatally ravage anyone who attempted an unauthorized passage up the eastern stairs of the Hall of Time.
Clearly, Sken-Pitilkin was holding something back.
But what?
Sod first taxed Sken-Pitilkin directly, suggesting that he was not telling the truth, or at least not the whole truth.
"I am old," conceded Sken-Pitilkin, "and my memory is failing. It may be that I have misplaced some of the events of the night, or misrecalled them."
Sod did not believe him for a moment.
So the pale-skinned iceman took himself off to the Hall of Time, and there endeavored to interrogate Iva-Italis. A singularly unsatisfactory procedure, this! For the demon played mute, even when Sod threatened to withhold its monthly ration of those unfortunate rats which gave it such prolonged and reliable amusement.
Sod next interrogated Guest, who blandly claimed that the height of his fever had wiped out his memory.
This left Sod with a problem. Both Guest and Sken-Pitilkin had engaged in some kind of nefarious dealings with Safrak's demon. What had they done? What had they learnt? And should they be killed to preserve the Bank's safety? A difficult decision, this. For Guest was the son of the Witchlord Onosh, and Safrak wanted no war with the Collosnon Empire. Doubtless an accident could be arranged, but…
The unfortunate truth was that Banker Sod had become addicted to the cookery of Pelagius Zozimus, who delighted the Banker with his many ingenious recipes for preparing snails and slugs. Zozimus had only come to Alozay to help protect Guest Gulkan. If Guest died, then Zozimus would immediately leave, denying Sod the blandishments of his cookery.
Thus did a slug-chef's art help secure Guest's safety, at least for the moment. Sod contented himself by banning Guest Gulkan (and Sken-Pitilkin!) from venturing anywhere near the heights of the Hall of Time. Guest of course was still in some danger from Sken-Pitilkin, who nightly revolved the question of whether the boy knew too much. On recovering from his influenza, Guest had set himself to master the Toxteth tongue, and had taken to putting in extra work with his sword. From long acquaintance with the boy, Sken-Pitilkin could read his intent from the slightest clues, and Guest's ferocious attack on Toxteth was by no means a slight clue. Guest's behavior implied that he was preparing himself to join the Guardians. The boy now had it in mind to stay on Alozay as a hired sword. Once a member of the Guardians, a mercenary entrusted with the defense of the Bank, Guest would have further opportunity of intercourse with the demon Iva-Italis. Sken-Pitilkin knew that Guest felt denied, thwarted, cheated by the fact that his father had named his brother Eljuk to be the heir of the Collosnon Empire. Guest wanted power, and the demon Iva-Italis offered him just that – a wizard's power, to be easily won by a simple quest.
So -
The boy was driven by ambition, and the strength of that drive would see him win through to his demon, sooner or later, and there was no telling what would happen then.
Therefore Sken-Pitilkin thought further of murder.
But the wizard of Skatzabratzumon had developed a durable affection for Guest during the ten years of their classroom relationship, hence could not bring himself to casually despatch the boy. Besides, Sken-Pitilkin had told Lord Onosh that he would guard, guide and protect Guest on Alozay, and such a commitment could not be lightly brushed aside, for Sken-Pitilkin had his honor.
And there was another factor to be considered. Sken-Pitilkin was intrigued by the possibility of developing a practical airship, hence wanted to keep open his route to the demon Iva-Italis. Suppose Guest stayed on Alozay. Suppose Guest became a Guardian. Then the boy would grow older (definitely) and wiser (possibly). Once older and wiser, the boy would be more amenable to advice.
Counseled by Sken-Pitilkin, Guest might well abandon his impossible plans to be "made a wizard". He might consent to scheme with Sken-Pitilkin. Working together, they might be able to trick the demon Iva-Italis out of the knowledge necessary for a wizard of Skatzabratzumon to build a practical airship.
In such hope, Sken-Pitilkin restrained his hand, and set himself to wait.
Yet very little waiting had gone by before Sken-Pitilkin started to find himself increasingly impatient. To control the secrets of flight was the dream of every wizard of Skatzabratzumon. Sken-Pitilkin had made many experiments in that direction during his apprenticeship, and during the long years of his maturity he had spent generations trying to crack the problem.
He knew how to wait, yes, but would waiting serve his purpose? Was there any proven virtue in patience? Guest would grow older – that much was certain. But the Weaponmaster's ultimate acquisition of wisdom was strictly problematical.
And so, after thinking long and hard about the acroamatical revelations made by the demon Iva-Italis, Sken-Pitilkin started actively considering trying an experiment along the lines which the demon had suggested. Create a magical artefact. Expose some part of that artefact to the destructive normalizing forces of the universe. Then control the resulting destruction, trapping the destructive forces and using them for the purposes of flight.
Doubtless there would be dangers in such an experiment: but surely the potential rewards amply justified the risks.
Consider what it would mean were we able to fly.
Given the power of flight, we could transport goods with ease, high above the ravenous mountains and those over-fertile oceans so prodigious in their production of krakens and sea serpents. The sundry races of the world would be united by an undreamt-of ease of travel, and on close acquaintance would grow to know each other better, old hatreds dying as new friendships blossomed. The death of suspicion would mean an end to war. Better still, the greatest experts of all the world would be free to travel the globe resolving the sundry problems of humanity, thus ending the present Age of Darkness and ushering in a golden Age of Light.
Do not think, then, that Sken-Pitilkin was possessed of a reckless hubris when he decided to dare the construction of an airship. He knew the dangers. But here was an opportunity to to restructure the world and save all of humanity from its lesser nature.
Hence Sken-Pitilkin began to build small-scale model airships, designing these with a view to perfecting the art of sustained and controlled destruction. Sken-Pitilkin's experiments were not an unqualified success.
Upon his experiments he lavished the sap-days of the spring, the heat of summer and the fruitfullness of autumn. But, while he secured plenty of destruction, he was less than successful in the controlled management of that destruction. Finally, as winter was setting in, the eminent wizard of the order of Skatzabratzumon was summoned into the presence of Banker Sod.
"Sken-Pitilkin!" said Sod. "Sit!"
The wizard sat.
"Tell me," said Sod, "why do you think I've called you here?"
"Why," said Sken-Pitilkin, with guilty uneasiness, "I suppose, ah, to have me spy Guest's letters, perhaps. He got another epistle from Bao Gahai only yesterday. His brother Morsh is walking and riding, so says the letter, and as the boy was laid up last winter with a broken leg – "
"Don't toy with me!" barked Sod. "Sken-Pitilkin! I want to know! Are you responsible for the outbreak of explosions, tornados, waterspouts, hurtling debris and other such poltergeist- like activity which has of late vexed, troubled and disturbed our peace?" Sken-Pitilkin thought about it, then said:
"No."
It was, after all, Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis who had suggested that the secret of flight lay in the mastery of sustained and controlled destruction, therefore the demon Iva-Italis was (at least in Sken-Pitilkin's opinion) responsibly for the consequences of Sken-Pitilkin's experiments in that direction.
"No?" said Banker Sod.
"I have said it once," said Sken-Pitilkin, "and that should be sufficient."
Banker Sod looked at Sken-Pitilkin very hard, meanwhile drumming his black-nailed fingers on his desk. Then Sod came to a decision. He stopped drumming, and said:
"Very well. I accept your denial. You are not responsible for the recent incidents. But – I am making you responsible for making sure that they stop!" Sken-Pitilkin got the message, and the incidents ceased.
So peace came to the island of Alozay, though not to the world at large – for unrest was increasing in the Collosnon Empire, the tax revolt in Locontareth was gathering strength, and the empire was moving slowly but inevitably toward a state of civil war.