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Authors: L. Sprague deCamp
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dimming and dinnertime approached.
“ ’Tis too late to do aught today,” said Roska wearily. “The morrow will suffice.”
“But, madam!” I said. “If these villainous wights from across the sea be but a few days’ sail from our coast, should not this news take precedence over all else? As is said on my plane, one nail in the cracked board eftsoons may save ten anon.”
“Speak to me of it no more, Zdim. ’Tis a misfortune that Madam Mailakis chanced in at just that time, but I could not entreat her rudely.”
“But—”
“Now, now, Zdim darling! The subject is highly distasteful, and I would forget the whole sorry business in the pages of a book. Fetch from the library the copy of Falmas’ Love Eternal.”
“Madam Roska!” I said. “I endeavor to give satisfaction; but—if I may speak freely—I really think you should convene your Board of Syndics forthwith. Else we may all perish, including your noble self. I should be remiss in my duties, did I not point this out to you.”
“Dear Zdim! You are most thoughtful of my welfare. Awad! List the members of the Board and, after dinner, visit them. Tell them that tomorrow, at the third hour, I shall wait upon them at the Guildhall with urgent news.”
###
At the meeting, Jimmon, the Chief Syndic, said: “Are you that demon from the Twelfth Plane that was indentured to Doctor Maldivius?”
“Aye, sir.”
“What’s your name? Stam or something?”
“Zdim Akh’s son, sir.”
“Ah, yes. Extraordinarily ugly names, you Twelfth Planers have. Well, Roska, what’s this all about, eh?”
“Gentlemen,” she said, “you will recall that, last month, Doctor Maldivius sought to squeeze money from the Syndicate in return for news of a peril menacing Ir.”
“I remember well enough,” said a Syndic. “I still think it was a bluff; that he had no such news.”
“You know what a slippery character Maldivius was,” said another. “No wonder they made it too hot for him to stay in the city.”
“Aside from all that,” said Roska, “I’ve learnt what the menace is, and Maldivius exaggerated not.”
“Oh?” said several. They were a sleepy, bored-looking lot, most of advanced years and many fat. Now they sat up and showed signs of interest.
“Aye,” continued Roska. “A powerful scry stone has lately come into my hands, and my servant has seen the menace approaching. Tell them, Zdim.”
I described my vision. Some looked impressed; others scoffed: “Oh, come now, you don’t expect us to take the word of an inhuman monster?”
The argument raged for an hour. At last Roska said: “Has any of Your Excellencies a talent for scrying?”
“Not I!” said Jimmon. “I wouldn’t touch the stuff. Too much like witchcraft.”
Others echoed the sentiment until an old Syndic, clept Kormous, said he had dabbled in the occult arts in his youth.
“Then you shall come to my house instanter,” quoth Roska, “whilst Master Kormous undertakes the trance and tells you what he sees. Belike you’ll credit him.”
###
An hour later, Kormous sat in the chair before the Sapphire, whilst the other Syndics stood around. He spoke in a muffled voice, but as he did so the skins of the others paled.
“I—see—the—Paaluan—ships,” he mumbled. “They are—but a few leagues—from Chemnis. They—will make land—the morrow.”
One by one, the Syndics dropped their incredulity. One said: “We must post-haste back to the Guildhall, to consider our next acture.”
“No time; we’ll meet here,” said Jimmon. “May we use your withdrawing room, Roska?”
As they filed into the room, Roska said: “At least, now you’ll not deny me my seat on the Board on the frivolous ground of my sex.”
“No such agreement was made ere you warned us,” said Jimmon.
“Marry me, Roska darling,” said a Syndic, “and you’ll be a Syndic’s wife, which gets you all the glory without the toil.”
“Marry me,” said another, “and I’ll use my
“ ’Tis too late to do aught today,” said Roska wearily. “The morrow will suffice.”
“But, madam!” I said. “If these villainous wights from across the sea be but a few days’ sail from our coast, should not this news take precedence over all else? As is said on my plane, one nail in the cracked board eftsoons may save ten anon.”
“Speak to me of it no more, Zdim. ’Tis a misfortune that Madam Mailakis chanced in at just that time, but I could not entreat her rudely.”
“But—”
“Now, now, Zdim darling! The subject is highly distasteful, and I would forget the whole sorry business in the pages of a book. Fetch from the library the copy of Falmas’ Love Eternal.”
“Madam Roska!” I said. “I endeavor to give satisfaction; but—if I may speak freely—I really think you should convene your Board of Syndics forthwith. Else we may all perish, including your noble self. I should be remiss in my duties, did I not point this out to you.”
“Dear Zdim! You are most thoughtful of my welfare. Awad! List the members of the Board and, after dinner, visit them. Tell them that tomorrow, at the third hour, I shall wait upon them at the Guildhall with urgent news.”
###
At the meeting, Jimmon, the Chief Syndic, said: “Are you that demon from the Twelfth Plane that was indentured to Doctor Maldivius?”
“Aye, sir.”
“What’s your name? Stam or something?”
“Zdim Akh’s son, sir.”
“Ah, yes. Extraordinarily ugly names, you Twelfth Planers have. Well, Roska, what’s this all about, eh?”
“Gentlemen,” she said, “you will recall that, last month, Doctor Maldivius sought to squeeze money from the Syndicate in return for news of a peril menacing Ir.”
“I remember well enough,” said a Syndic. “I still think it was a bluff; that he had no such news.”
“You know what a slippery character Maldivius was,” said another. “No wonder they made it too hot for him to stay in the city.”
“Aside from all that,” said Roska, “I’ve learnt what the menace is, and Maldivius exaggerated not.”
“Oh?” said several. They were a sleepy, bored-looking lot, most of advanced years and many fat. Now they sat up and showed signs of interest.
“Aye,” continued Roska. “A powerful scry stone has lately come into my hands, and my servant has seen the menace approaching. Tell them, Zdim.”
I described my vision. Some looked impressed; others scoffed: “Oh, come now, you don’t expect us to take the word of an inhuman monster?”
The argument raged for an hour. At last Roska said: “Has any of Your Excellencies a talent for scrying?”
“Not I!” said Jimmon. “I wouldn’t touch the stuff. Too much like witchcraft.”
Others echoed the sentiment until an old Syndic, clept Kormous, said he had dabbled in the occult arts in his youth.
“Then you shall come to my house instanter,” quoth Roska, “whilst Master Kormous undertakes the trance and tells you what he sees. Belike you’ll credit him.”
###
An hour later, Kormous sat in the chair before the Sapphire, whilst the other Syndics stood around. He spoke in a muffled voice, but as he did so the skins of the others paled.
“I—see—the—Paaluan—ships,” he mumbled. “They are—but a few leagues—from Chemnis. They—will make land—the morrow.”
One by one, the Syndics dropped their incredulity. One said: “We must post-haste back to the Guildhall, to consider our next acture.”
“No time; we’ll meet here,” said Jimmon. “May we use your withdrawing room, Roska?”
As they filed into the room, Roska said: “At least, now you’ll not deny me my seat on the Board on the frivolous ground of my sex.”
“No such agreement was made ere you warned us,” said Jimmon.
“Marry me, Roska darling,” said a Syndic, “and you’ll be a Syndic’s wife, which gets you all the glory without the toil.”
“Marry me,” said another, “and I’ll use my
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