“Please, please!” interjected Wolfgang. “Some calm! Tranquility! My nerves are shot—liable to break down any minute!”
Magrit and Zulkeh fell silent, glaring at each other. Wolfgang picked up the conversation.
“Magrit, dear,” he said mildly, “what the wizard’s trying to say—with his usual charm!—is that all questions surrounding Joe are mysterious and convoluted. Not to mention dangerous! Nobody can really claim to be an expert on the subject. Well, except my dear aunt Hildegard, I suppose.”
“There is one recognized authority,” said Zulkeh, his calm returned.
Wolfgang pursed his lips. “Well, yes, there’s Uncle Manya. But he’s crazier’n a loon, you know. Would have been locked up years ago except his family’s so rich they can keep him on the estate—has a whole mansion to himself, I hear!”
A thought apparently came to the lunatic. “Wait a minute,” he mused. “What if he’s not really crazy? The Godferrets were never happy with him. Tried to kill him a few times, in fact! Nutty idea, of course—trying to kill a Kutumoff on Kutumoff soil. The Godferrets ought to have themselves institutionalized, the idiots! But maybe the General got tired of running assassins—told Uncle Manya to pretend he was a fruitcake, so his dogs could get a rest.”
“Sort of like you, you mean,” piped up Shelyid from his chair.
Wolfgang bellowed in outrage.
“Like me? What an insult! I’m a certified psychotic! The head psychiatrist at the world-famous asylum at Begfat has said so himself! Many times! And in any number of articles published in the most prestigious psychological journals!”
“You’re the head psychiatrist at the asylum at Begfat,” protested Shelyid.
“Yes, that’s true. What of it? The man’s still a giant in his field! One of the most respected figures in psychoanalytic circles the world over! Wolfgang the great psychiatrist says Wolfgang the big nut is a madman—who are you to question his word?”
Shelyid frowned, scratched his head. “There’s something about this that doesn’t make sense.”
Wolfgang now appealed to the wizard. “You know, Zulkeh, you really have to concentrate more on the psychological subjects in the boy’s education. Look at the poor tyke! Totally confused by the most basic concepts!”
Zulkeh waved the protest away. “Yes, no doubt. But for the moment, I must discuss a more pressing matter with my apprentice. Shelyid, have you followed this conversation?”
“Oh yes, mast—professor.”
The wizard glared fiercely at his apprentice, but the dwarf held his ground. “It’s in the contract!” he shrilled. Shelyid dug into his tunic, took out a booklet. “It’s right here—right in Article I. ‘The apprentice is henceforth to address the wizard as professor. Under no circumstances is the term master to be used, except under the following provisions: clause a: at such times as—’ ”
“Cease! Cease!” roared the mage. “Remind me not of that nefarious contract! That—that product of coercion!”
“And when was a labor contract ever squeezed from a greedy exploiter other than by coercion?” demanded the second.
Wolfgang interjected himself again. “Please, please! My nerves! My fragile grasp on reality! Even now I can feel it cracking!”
All fell silent. Then Zulkeh glowered and spoke again.
“What I was about to say, wretched dw—”
“No slurs based on stature!” piped the dwarf. “Article II, clause a.”
Zulkeh ground his teeth. “Misbegott—”
“No slurs based on genetic origins!” piped the dwarf. “Article II, clause b.”
Zulkeh face’s was now beet red. He leapt to his feet, gesticulating wildly. “Anthropophage of Reason! Creature of darkness! Georgia of the lowest sort! Base cur of low degree!” He continued in this vein for a minute or so.
When he was done, Shelyid brows were knitted in thought. “I think those’re all okay,” he said uncertainly. He appealed to Les Six: “Aren’t they?”
“Within the letter of the contract,” stated the third.
“Though ‘base cur of low degree’ rather bends the spirit,” opined the fourth.
Where this would have led will remain unknown, for ’twas at that very moment that Greyboar and Ignace came into the room. Ignace’s face was flushed with pleasure.
“Good news!” he cried. “The heat’s off in New Sfinctr! We can go back—in fact, we’re headed off today!”
Zulkeh’s attention was distracted. “But the King of Sundjhab and his heir are barely cold in their graves!” he protested.