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Authors: L. Sprague deCamp
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whole thing if I hadn’t rescued your sister?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But what would have happened to Argimanda?”
“She’d have been eaten, stupid.”
“Wouldn’t that matter to you?” asked Hobart in slight surprise.
“Not particularly. My art comes first.”
“Hardly an altruistic point of view.”
Alaxius raised his eyebrows. “Of course I’m selfish! Didn’t you know? My fairy godmother saw to that.”
“Anyway, she seems to have given you veracity along with your other—uh—virtues.”
“Candor. I can’t help saying what I think, though it gets me into trouble constantly. Look here, this is all very dull. Wouldn’t you rather come up to the studio and pose—”
Hobart put up a hand. “Easy, Alaxius. What would happen if I disappeared?”
“Why—that depends. If it happened before you married my sister, I’d be the sole heir again, I suppose. But if Argimanda were your widow, the succession would pass to her, and then to any male children—”
“Okay, okay; it’s an immediate disappearance I’m interested in.”
Alaxius looked puzzled. “I don’t see what you’re getting at. I am certainly not going to murder you; haven’t the necessary qualities. And it would be unprecedented for the champion to disappear voluntarily—”
“This champion,” said Rollin Hobart grimly, “is about to establish a new precedent.”
Alaxius’ mouth dropped open, and he sat bold upright on the bed. When the full implications of Hobart’s statement sank in, the young prince’s eyes rolled up, and he fell back on the pillow. He had fainted.
7
The next morning, the trumpeter awoke Hobart again with his cacophonous racket. While Hobart was fumbling over the side of the bed for a shoe to answer this assault on his nerves, the fellow announced: “His Altitude, King Gordius of Logaia; Her Luminescence, Queen Vasalina; His Dignity, Prince Alaxius; Her Purity, Princess Argimanda . . .”
The whole Xerophi gang trooped in; Hobart pulled the covers up to his chin, thinking that his underwear would not give an impressive aesthetic effect. Speaking of aesthetics, he wondered momentarily whether Alaxius might have blabbed, despite the fact that it was to his selfish advantage not to . . . But a searching look at the prince’s face disclosed an expression of no more than usual superciliousness.
A member of the group whom Hobart had not seen was a gangling red-haired youngster. At his inquiring look, the queen said: “Don’t you know Aites, Rollin dear?”
“Aites? But he didn’t look at all like that when I saw him last!”
“Oh, but now he’s an adolescent! I thought you knew. How is your poor dear nose?”
“Better, thanks,” said Hobart, feeling it. The swelling was less, but the goose-egg lump on the side of the king’s head was still flourishing; His Altitude wore the Crown of Logaia cocked to one side as a consequence.
“Ahem,” said the king, “my dear Rollin, as a small token of my—uh—appreciation for your heroic action yesterday, let me present you with a small—uh—token of my appreciation.” He extended a package.
“I’m thrilled,” said Hobart sadly, not wanting to hurt the old codger’s feelings. The package contained the promised coronet: like the king’s crown but with a simple scalloped top border instead of the tall spikes with knobs on their ends. It fitted remarkably, and the Xerophi all went oh and ah and how well it becomes you.
He thanked them out. After breakfast he found the king with his feet up, a pipe in his mouth, and his crown askew, reading the Logaian Ephemerides. Gordius passed him the first section, which he had finished. It was printed in large hand-set type on obviously hand-made paper; the language appeared to be the same phonetically spelled English that he had seen before in Logaia. He asked the king how this came to be. Gordius merely said: “The people of this country of yours are civilized, aren’t they, son? Then they speak the
“Uh-huh.”
“But what would have happened to Argimanda?”
“She’d have been eaten, stupid.”
“Wouldn’t that matter to you?” asked Hobart in slight surprise.
“Not particularly. My art comes first.”
“Hardly an altruistic point of view.”
Alaxius raised his eyebrows. “Of course I’m selfish! Didn’t you know? My fairy godmother saw to that.”
“Anyway, she seems to have given you veracity along with your other—uh—virtues.”
“Candor. I can’t help saying what I think, though it gets me into trouble constantly. Look here, this is all very dull. Wouldn’t you rather come up to the studio and pose—”
Hobart put up a hand. “Easy, Alaxius. What would happen if I disappeared?”
“Why—that depends. If it happened before you married my sister, I’d be the sole heir again, I suppose. But if Argimanda were your widow, the succession would pass to her, and then to any male children—”
“Okay, okay; it’s an immediate disappearance I’m interested in.”
Alaxius looked puzzled. “I don’t see what you’re getting at. I am certainly not going to murder you; haven’t the necessary qualities. And it would be unprecedented for the champion to disappear voluntarily—”
“This champion,” said Rollin Hobart grimly, “is about to establish a new precedent.”
Alaxius’ mouth dropped open, and he sat bold upright on the bed. When the full implications of Hobart’s statement sank in, the young prince’s eyes rolled up, and he fell back on the pillow. He had fainted.
7
The next morning, the trumpeter awoke Hobart again with his cacophonous racket. While Hobart was fumbling over the side of the bed for a shoe to answer this assault on his nerves, the fellow announced: “His Altitude, King Gordius of Logaia; Her Luminescence, Queen Vasalina; His Dignity, Prince Alaxius; Her Purity, Princess Argimanda . . .”
The whole Xerophi gang trooped in; Hobart pulled the covers up to his chin, thinking that his underwear would not give an impressive aesthetic effect. Speaking of aesthetics, he wondered momentarily whether Alaxius might have blabbed, despite the fact that it was to his selfish advantage not to . . . But a searching look at the prince’s face disclosed an expression of no more than usual superciliousness.
A member of the group whom Hobart had not seen was a gangling red-haired youngster. At his inquiring look, the queen said: “Don’t you know Aites, Rollin dear?”
“Aites? But he didn’t look at all like that when I saw him last!”
“Oh, but now he’s an adolescent! I thought you knew. How is your poor dear nose?”
“Better, thanks,” said Hobart, feeling it. The swelling was less, but the goose-egg lump on the side of the king’s head was still flourishing; His Altitude wore the Crown of Logaia cocked to one side as a consequence.
“Ahem,” said the king, “my dear Rollin, as a small token of my—uh—appreciation for your heroic action yesterday, let me present you with a small—uh—token of my appreciation.” He extended a package.
“I’m thrilled,” said Hobart sadly, not wanting to hurt the old codger’s feelings. The package contained the promised coronet: like the king’s crown but with a simple scalloped top border instead of the tall spikes with knobs on their ends. It fitted remarkably, and the Xerophi all went oh and ah and how well it becomes you.
He thanked them out. After breakfast he found the king with his feet up, a pipe in his mouth, and his crown askew, reading the Logaian Ephemerides. Gordius passed him the first section, which he had finished. It was printed in large hand-set type on obviously hand-made paper; the language appeared to be the same phonetically spelled English that he had seen before in Logaia. He asked the king how this came to be. Gordius merely said: “The people of this country of yours are civilized, aren’t they, son? Then they speak the
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