"Not impossible," said Shimrod. "Tamurello is a man of peculiar predilections. From sheer perversity, he prefers evil to good. Someday he will press Murgen too far."
"That is my own opinion. Only last week I attended a conclave on Mount Khambaste in Ethiopia, where Tamurello was already in residence. During the important business he offended a Circassian witch who began to corrode Tamurello with Blue Ruin, and Tamurello was forced to make concessions, though later he cursed the witch with footlong toenails, so that now and forever she must wear special boots."
Shimrod's attention had been caught. "Last week, you say? And where did Tamurello go after leaving the conclave?"
"Perhaps he returned to Faroli; I am not sure."
"It is no great matter. I will see that you receive your tube in short order."
"Shimrod, I thank you!"
The mask lost its vitality. Shimrod replaced both mask and skull in the cabinet. He went to his map and inspected the blue point of light which so definitely had placed Tamurello in residence at Faroli over the previous two months.
Peering close, Shimrod discovered the source of the error. A small section of adhesive membrane had been applied to the map, immobilizing the blue glint in place.
Shimrod, turning slowly away from the map, examined each of the other instruments which, so he believed, kept a vigilant watch upon all phases of Tamurello's activities. Each, by one means or another, had been rendered useless, in such a way that a casual inspection might not reveal the failure.
Shimrod aroused Facque, the sandestin which, disguised as a gargoyle carved into the facing above the fireplace, guarded the workroom against intruders. "Facque, are you asleep?"
"Naturally not."
"Why have you not kept diligent watch?"
"If you please, I cannot properly answer negative questions. There are numberless acts which I have not performed; we could confer here forever while I detailed the deeds I have not done."
Patiently Shimrod asked: "Did you, then, keep vigilant watch over the workroom?"
"Yes, of course."
"Why did you not warn me of intruders?"
Facque made another peevish protest: "Must you again and again ask questions presuming non-existent facts?"
"Did you notice intruders, or better: who has during the past two months entered the workroom?"
"You, Murgen, and the female who has been sent here to bemuse and befuddle you."
"Has the woman come in alone, while I was not present?"
"On several occasions."
"Did she tamper with my map and my instruments?"
"She stilled the light in place, and interfered with other devices."
"Did she do anything else?"
"She made marks with a stylus in your Book of Logotypes."
Shimrod gave a startled exclamation. "Small wonder that my magic has lately been so flat! What more?"
"Nothing of consequence."
Shimrod removed the immobilizing film from the map; instantly the blue glint, as if to relieve pent pressures, darted in all directions back and forth, hither and yon, finally to settle once again upon the site of Faroli.
Shimrod addressed himself to his instruments, and after some difficulty restored their functions.
Once again he called out to Facque: "Awake!"
"I am awake. I never sleep."
"Has Tamurello, or anyone else, installed instruments of surveillance, or any other function, here at Trilda?"
"Yes. The woman may fairly be included into that category. Secondly, Tamurello has commissioned me to report upon your activities, and lacking instructions to the contrary, I have obliged him. Thirdly, Tamurello has attempted to use mayflies for purposes of espionage, but without any great success."
"Facque, I hereby instruct you, definitely and without qualification, to desist from reporting information of any sort to anyone save Murgen or myself: especially and specifically to Tamurello, or to any of his agents or instruments, or to the air at large, on the theory that it might by some means be collected and directed to the attention of Tamurello."
Facque said: "I am pleased that you have clarified this point. In short, Tamurello is not to receive information of any kind."
"Exactly so, and this includes both positive and negative information, or the use of coded silences, or the manipulation of any device, or signal, or musical selection from which Tamurello could elicit information. You must neither initiate, nor make response, in any wise whatever, and I include all types and permutations of communication I have overlooked.
"At last I understand your requirements," said Facque. "All is now in order."
"Not quite," said Shimrod. "I must decide how to deal with Melancthe."
"Spend no great effort in this regard," advised Facque. "It would be time wasted."
"How so?"
"You will find that the woman has left the premises." Shimrod rushed from the workroom, and looked everywhere, but Melancthe was nowhere to be seen, and Shimrod somberly returned to his workroom.
VII
TAMURELLO SELDOM APPEARED in his natural semblance, preferring an exotic guise for a variety of reasons, not the least of the which was sheer caprice.
Today, stepping out on a balcony above the octagonal garden court at Faroli, he was a frail and ascetic youth, somewhat languid, pale as new milk, with a coriolus of orange-red hair, the strands so fine and luminous as to be invisible. A thin nose, thin lips and blazing blue eyes suggested spiritual exaltation, as Tamurello intended.
Tamurello came slowly down a curving sweep of black glass steps to the courtyard. At the foot of the staircase he halted, then came slowly forward and finally, turning his head, chose to take notice of Melancthe, who stood to the side in the shade of a flowering mimosa tree.
The boy-man approached Melancthe, and it was she who seemed the more earthy and dank. She watched him with a still face; his ethereal but definite masculinity was a posture with which she could feel no possible sympathy.
Tamurello, halting, looked her up and down, then raised an indolent finger and turned away. "Come."
Melancthe followed him into a parlour and seated herself stiffly at the center of a sofa. From her point of view, Tamurello's guises were little more than clues to his mood. This boy-man puzzled rather than annoyed Melancthe. On the whole she cared not a pin as to how he showed himself, and now she put Tamurello's peculiar guise and its possible significance to the side of her mind. Other affairs were more important.
Tamurello again looked her up and down. "You seem none the worse for wear."
"Your tasks have been fulfilled."
"Even over-fulfilled! Ha hum, be it so! Now it seems that in my turn I must address myself to your concerns.
"As I recall, you are troubled because you cannot mesh yourself comfortably into the ways of the world. This is a legitimate source of dissatisfaction. You therefore want me to make changes in the world or, failing this, in you." The boy-man's lips curved in a thin smile, and Melancthe thought that never before had Tamurello affected so acrid a guise.
Melancthe said, simply: "You told me that my mind works at discord to the minds of other persons."
"So I did. Notably with persons of the masculine gender. This is Desmei's attempted revenge upon the cosmos, and particularly that segment with external genital organs. What a joke! It is only such innocents as poor Shimrod who must bear the brunt of Desmei's rage."
"In that case, remove her curse from my soul."
The boy-man studied Melancthe with grave attention. He said at last: "I fear that you crave the impossible."
"But you assured me—"
The boy-man held up his hand. "In all candor, I lack the skill, nor could Murgen himself do better."
Melancthe's beautiful mouth drooped at the comers. "Is not your magic useful in such a case?"