“Your gas is gone, Jakob my friend, save when you overindulge in food or drink.
Radishes and cucumbers are your enemies, Jakob. Mind now, there is always a trade, a Price beyond this sack, and over that I have no control. If it is unbearable, return.”
Jakob arose, made his request and heard it granted, and traced out the lines of the other man’s face with his fingers. He departed with his sack, now empty. The two muskmelons were superb, indeed things of value.
“Bad breath, yes. Would you open your mouth and let me see the source, please?”
Bent close to look, Strick was half overcome by the foul odor that was his client’s complaint. He turned his head aside, took a deep breath, and looked closely into that mouth. He straightened. Shaking his head, he went to give
Wints quiet instructions. Strick returned to stand over this friend of
Shafralain, looked sternly down at him.
“Noble Volmas, you must have more love for both gods and self. The gods gave you those teeth. You have not cleaned them for years. Do so, man! In the meanwhile ah, thank you, Wintsenay. In the meanwhile. Noble, take this cup. Note the five seeds in its bottom. The cup also contains salt water. Aye, make a face-and drink! See that you swallow the seed. The Seeds of Malasaconooga are the source of my abilities.”
Strick remained standing, sternly watching, while the poor fellow drank off the salt water. Finished, he made choking noises and a dreadful face. A stem Strick held out his hand for the cup. He peered within. A seed remained. He heaved a mighty sigh, sent it back to be filled with water, and gave the finely dressed man with the great belly even sterner instructions. The noble drank. The fifth seed went down.