Later that day, King Evardo said: "Sir Harold, may I speak with you privily, whilst the Queen shows our new guests around the palace? In my cabinet, pray. This way. "
"Okay, Your Majesty," said Shea. "Spill it."
Seated behind a big desk, Evardo twiddled his fingers uncertainly. "This subject is a trifle awkward, but the Queen insists. Your comrade Bayard and his— ah—Mistress Ni Colum are plainly on intimate terms. But—ah—is their union legitimate;?"
"You mean, are they married?"
"Precisely, Sir Harold. You see, the Queen insists on the strictest standards, at least in the palace. Our new arrivals seem to expect assignment to the same quarters, but our rules cannot be stretched to cover— ah—irregular unions. Which is it in this case?"
Shea suppressed a snigger. "I don't know how they do it in the world of Irish myth. From what I recall of the legends—which may or may not accurately describe conditions in Eriu—they were pretty free and easy about sex, although puritanical about nudity. A chief could demand that a subject lend him his wife for a few nights.''
"Galloping Growleywogs!" cried Evardo in horrified tones. "We can't have that sort of thing here!"
"Of course not," said Shea soothingly. "Erin's a pretty barbarous world; I've been there. But my impression is that if a man and a woman set up house together, they were married by definition. You could say Walter and Boann were married by the local laws and customs of the place where they met."
Evardo frowned. "I know not how far that tale will go to convince the Queen, but I'll try. I was a little surprised when Doctor Bayard made no objection to being left here, as a kind of polite hostage, whilst you and Ruggedo set forth on your adventure."
Shea shrugged "Walter's an easygoing fellow who takes things as they come, and he's seen enough adventure not to feel a need to seek it for its own sake. I'm sure he'd have come if he'd been asked. And he'll have certain—ah—amenities here that I shall lack."
Evardo smiled. "I take it you mean Mistress Ni Colum. I deem myself broad-minded, but pray do not speak thus lightly on such matters to the Queen. She might take offense.''
As you say, sir. I, too, have a strong-minded wife."
"How goes your bolt cutter?"
"The first one worked badly. The smith says he has trouble spacing the pivot pins correctly. He's familiar with scissors and pincers with a single pivot, but five in one tool baffle him. He's working on another model now."
"If I remember aright," said Ruggedo's creaky old voice, "the entrance ought to be just over yonder ridge."
"That's what the chart shows," said Shea.
Shea finished his lunch, while Ruggedo put away the concertina on which he had been playing a melancholy tune.
"Then let's go," said Shea, with a pack on his back and his saber at his side. "You lead, since you know the country."
The somber crags of western Ev rose all around them, occluding the cloudy sky to right and left and before and behind. Ruggedo tramped ahead, seeming to gather strength from contact with his native soil. He briskly poled along with a bill from the royal armory of Oz, well stocked by King Evarelo after he became Royal Consort.
This was the weapon Ruggedo had chosen over an assortment of swords, axes, maces, pikes, halberds, crossbows, and arquebuses. (When Shea saw these primitive firearms, he regretted not having brought a pistol with him, since it might work in this milieu.) When Shea had questioned the choice of the bill, Ruggedo, drawing himself up to his full four and a half feet, challenged him to a practice bout, quarterstaff against wooden sword.
Padded and masked, the two squared off. In no time, Ruggedo poked Shea in the belly with the end of the quarterstaff. Shea demanded two out of three. On the second bout, he managed to drag out the match until Ruggedo began to pant and weaken, when Shea got him in the chest with a lunge.
Shea thought he had the third bout in the bag. But it had hardly begun when he received a crack over the head, which made him see stars despite the padding.
"You see, my boy," grinned Ruggedo, "it's not the particular kind of weapon so much as knowing how to use it."
Ruggedo's bill was a six-foot spear with a head that included, besides the foot-long steel blade, a hook on one side and a point on the other. It was shod with a pointed bronzen butt, which could be thrust with. Shea was girt with his saber. Ruggedo, marching ahead, snarled:
"Klumping Kaloogas, Sir Harold, hold that thing so it doesn't clank! The Long-Eared Hearer could hear us a mile away."
Shea grasped the scabbard in his left hand. This silenced the clank but also made his footing less certain. He stumbled over a rock and cursed beneath his breath, wishing he had something he could use as a walking stick. lie could have drawn his sword, but the thought of marring the needle point and razor edge he had painstakingly given it dissuaded him.
"Clumsy clodpate!" muttered Ruggedo.
They plodded along a winding trail, which led zigzag up one side of the ridge and down the other. Something flew overhead with harsh screams. It was neither a bird, a bat, nor a pterosaur but combined a little of all three.
The distance was greater than Shea had thought. After a time they stopped for a respite.
"Sir Harold," grated Ruggedo, "isn't 'Shea' an Irish name in the mundane world?"
"I believe it is. But my people have been American SO long it doesn't matter."
"Humph! That's what Himself the elf used to say. Claimed he was an American leprechaun from New Jersey. I'll never trust any being more than one-sixty-fourth Irish, after what that treacherous elf did to me. What did you do for a living in the mundane world?"
"Psychologist," panted Shea.
"What's that? And don't try to confuse me with fancy words!"
"A man who studies the workings of the human mind."
"Humph! If you be so learned and all, then tell me: Why does everybody hate me so?"
"That's a hell of a question to spring on a poor innocent foreigner!"
"Well? Do von mean that, with all your studies, you still can't answer a simple question?" Ruggedo snorted contempt.
"Well, now," drawled Shea, gathering his mental forces, "let's look into the matter. From all I've heard about you, you are two things that, together, account for the phenomenon. One: You're an unscrupulous, treacherous, selfish. greedy, lying, thieving scoundrel.
"You've been reading what those mundanes wrote!" cried Ruggedo. beginning to dance with rage. "They got half the story wrong and the rest distorted. That writer couldn't even spell 'gnome' right. A farrago of half'-truths, errors, and outright lies—"
"Hold on!" said Shea, raising his voice. "You haven't heard the rest, yet. If you want my answer, then shut up until I finish!"
Ruggedo, grumbling, subsided. Shea continued: "In the mundane world, we'd call you a paranoid sociopath. At the same time you're an irascible, ornery, cantankerous, ill-mannered, bad-tempered old grouch. Now one—"
"Lies! Vile calumnies!" yelled Ruggedo.
"Do you want the rest of my answer or don't you? All right, then, hold your tongue until you hear it! I was saying that some scoundrels are successful, provided they are also polite, affable, obliging, winsome charmers. In the mundane world we had a charming scoundrel of that kind, who knew something of the world I accidentally touched down in on my way to Oz. He became enormously rich despite being an even bigger villain than you've ever been.
"On the other hand, even a cantankerous grouch can be admired if he also practices honesty, kindness, generosity, and unselfishness long and hard enough. Why, do you wish no longer to be hated?"