She weighed her words with care.
“He is bound never to sleep two nights in the same bed, nor eat a second meal from the same table. And this has been his doom for a thousand years.”
Now for a great while Melilot sat motionless, save insofar as the play of fire- and lamplight kept up a constant illusion of movement through- out the room. Finally he had to stifle a yawn. But behind his plump, inscrutable face it seemed his mind had been working hard enough, albeit along lines that were familiar in Sanctuary more than any other place.
“Would this not imply that he cannot be kept in jail?” he suggested.
“Why, you-!” Jarveena leaped to her feet, brandishing her mug as though to brain him with it. Only a warning hiss from the gander beyond the ceiling prevented her. But her face was aglow with fury as she sat down again. “Is that all you can think about? How would you like to be in his shoes?”
“Not at all,” the fat one answered candidly. “I’m sorry; I hadn’t thought the matter through … To what is owed this fearful geas, then?”
“I’ve no idea. Moreover, nor does he.”
“But that’s ridiculous!” Melilot stared at her. “You mean he won’t admit-“
“I mean precisely what I said!” Do you think I haven’t pestered him with questions? Do you think I haven’t put him under oath? He has sworn by all the gods and goddesses whose names I recognize, plus one or two I never ran across before, that he believes the curse to be unjust. He says, and I’ve been able to confirm, that he has consulted every magi- cian whom he could afford to pay, and none has given him surcease. What is more, none has contrived to relieve his misery by telling him the curse indeed is warranted. Were he aware of what he is accursed for, he might at least attempt an expiation. Can you think of a crueler fate than his? He is being punished-endlessly, horribly punished-for something he has no memory of having done! Is he not truly to be pitied?”