CHAPTER VIII.
A Commercial Philosophy Elaborated. The Wizard Demurs. An Interview With a Subordinate of the Law. The Sheriff’s Return. The Unsatisfactory Results Therefrom. The Wizard Seeks Counsel!
The next morning, with Shelyid in tow, the wizard set out for the depot of the GGNESWC& etc., desiring, before making further plans, to assure himself that the coach to Prygg would depart on schedule the following day. Arriving at the depot, he made his way to the ticket vendor’s window. No sooner had the wizard identified himself than the ticket vendor exclaimed: “So! You chose to surrender yourself, did you?”
“I beg your pardon?” queried the mage.
“Sirrah, it has been brought to my attention that you were among the passengers who arrived in the last coach from Goimr.”
“Indeed so.”
“It has also been brought to my attention that the aforementioned coach was robbed whilst you were aboard.”
“Indeed so—a scabrous event!” The light of understanding dawned in the wizard’s eye. “Ah, good sir, it pleases me no end to see the concern with which your company views its customers’ woes. An excellent policy, this, to offer recompense to those of your passengers who have suffered indignities while enjoying the hospitality of your firm! Know, my good man, that you are fortunate indeed to find yourself employed by so progressive a—”
“You suffer from a gross misapprehension. It is not you, but we, who are the injured party in this affair, and thus the recipients of restitution.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“As a passenger on a vehicle owned and operated by the Great Grotum etc., etc., & etc., you are liable for any damage (physical, financial, mental, moral, emotional, spiritual, natural, supernatural, or immaterial) inflicted upon said vehicle and its contents (animate or inanimate, sentient or senseless) and, by extension, upon the Great Grotum etc., etc., & etc.” As the wizard stared on, in a rare speechless moment, the ticket vendor picked up a scroll and began droning:
“For permitting a coach of the GGNESWC& etc. to be robbed, you are hereby fined one hundred and fifty ducats.
“For allowing—”
“Preposterous!” cried the mage, his wits returned. Gesticulating wildly, the thaumaturge thrust his face at the ticket vendor.
“This is absurd! Utterly absurd! You have lost your corporate senses! I am in no fashion responsible for your miserable coach!”
“That statement is not merely incorrect,” sniffed the ticket vendor, “it is positively grotesque. You are, in fact, legally responsible in this matter, having made of your own free will a contract to that effect with the Great Grotum etc., etc., & etc.”
“Art mad! I made no such contract—I merely purchased a ticket!”
“I see. Obviously you are ignorant of the fact that the moment one consummates any transaction with any subsidiary of the Consortium, one automatically agrees—at that very instant—to the full provisions of the Consortium Cosmological Contract.”
“I was not informed of any such provision!”
“To be sure. This point, however, is hardly germane.” The ticket vendor resumed his reading of the scroll.
“For allowing a messenger of the GGNESWC& etc. to be interrupted in the performance of his duties, you are hereby fined seventy-five ducats.
“For allowing a servant of the Lord to be slandered and his piety subjected to denigration, you are fined fifty ducats.
“For allowing a belted knight of the realm to have his manhood and noble reputation subjected to gross indignities, you are fined sixty ducats.
“For allowing a female passenger on a vehicle operated by the GGNESWC& etc. to be seduced by a non-paying individual, you are fined forty ducats, per seduction—a total of two hundred ducats.
“For allowing other passengers on the GGNESWC& etc. to be robbed, you are fined thirty-five ducats per passenger—a total of two hundred and ten ducats.
“For—”
“I protest! Why should I be held responsible for other passengers? Why should they not be held responsible for their own mishaps—and mine, for that matter?”
“They have,” replied the ticket vendor, “and have been fined accordingly. I might add that two of the passengers, Il Conde de la Manteca and his wife La Contessa—ridiculous titles!—refused to pay the fines, and have accordingly been incarcerated.”
“But she’s a nice lady!” cried Shelyid.