JOHN MORRESSY

FLOORED

WHEN GRUNJAK, LORD OF the Blighted Barrens, sent his first appeal for relief
from a spell that had left him covered from head to foot with boils, Kedrigern
read it with delight. "Couldn't happen to a more deserving man," he said.

Princess, who considered her husband to be a reasonably compassionate wizard,
was surprised but withheld comment even when a second appeal left Kedrigern
unmoved. "They'll improve his appearance," he said upon reading it, chuckling
with malicious satisfaction.

This time she could not remain silent. "A fellow human being is suffering under
a terrible spell. You owe it to the poor man to despell him."

"No one owes Grunjak anything, my dear," he replied, adding after a moment's
thought, "Except perhaps a good thrashing."

"What has the man done?"

Kedrigern sat back in his comfortable chair, made a little tent of his
fingertips, and said, "To me, personally, nothing. He lacks the temerity to
injure a wizard. But to others...it would be easier to tell you what he hasn't
done. Grunjak of the Blighted Barrens is known among those unfortunate enough to
be his neighbors as Grunjak the Gross, the Greasy, the Grisly, the Grim, the
Grungy, the Greedy, the Gruesome, and the Grotty, as well as numerous
non-alliterative epithets I would not repeat in the presence of a lady. To
describe him as a malevolent, vicious, brutal dolt, liar, coward, bully, and
thief would be shameless flattery. A curse of boils is mild recompense for his
misdeeds, and I see no reason to interfere with the course of justice."

Princess could read his moods. She said no more, but waited.

Grunjak's third appeal opened with the promise of a complete reformation. He
swore by every saint that once cured, he would forsake barbarity and brutality,
empty his dungeons and his coffers, abandon looting and lechery, and give up
senseless violence, extortion, and cruelty. He would repent, he would make good,
he would be a new and better man. Kedrigern paused in his reading to observe,
"An easy promise to make. A new Grunjak could hardly be a worse one"

Princess was not of the same mind. "You can't shrug this off," she said. "The
reformation of such an appalling man would be a great service to humanity. It
has to be done, and no one else is even trying."

The latter observation was not quite true. Zealous clergy had made several
attempts to bring the light to Grunjak, but every monk who set foot on his land
had been so severely battered that he was incapable of anything but silent
prayer for months afterward. The neighboring landowners were aware of Grunjak's
ways, but tolerant. "There he goes again," they would say at word of each new
atrocity. "Grunjak will be Grunjak." No punitive expedition was ever mounted
against him, or suggested. In all likelihood, the idea had never occurred to
anyone. Grunjak was, after all, one of them. Besides, his kingdom was poor and
his treasury, despite his rapacity, was trifling; there was nothing to be gained
by such an action but the satisfaction of doing right, an inducement easily
resisted by the local nobility.

Kedrigern looked up from the letter. "I don't want to try, either. Let him
suffer. He deserves it."

"You must help him. It's your professional duty," Princess said.

"He's a thoroughly rotten, ugly, nasty man."

"You can't expect all your clients to be beautiful unfortunate princesses."

"And why not?"

"Don't be difficult. You're not required to admire your clients, only to help
them."

"I prefer to let Grunjak help himself. He should be good at it -- he's been
helping himself to other people's property for thirty years. And besides, he
lives three days' ride from here in a particularly nasty stretch of country. You
know how I feel about travel."

"We all have to make sacrifices now and then," she said. "If you despell him,
he'll reform. He promised." "Grunjak is a notorious liar."

"Give him the benefit of the doubt. You owe it to society."

Kedrigern muttered something indistinct but unenthusiastic about society's claim
on him, settled deeper into the cushions, and read on in silence, frowning. When
he came to the end of the letter, he arose, tucked the missive into his tunic,
and announced, "Grunjak is receiving his just desserts. But if it will make you
happy, my dear..."

"It will."

"Then I'll go."

"That's very sweet of you," she said.

"Your happiness is my pleasure." He took her hand and raised it to his lips. He
considered it unnecessary to mention the wording of the postscript initialed
with an unsteady G: A fee of five crowns will be paid immediately upon cure.

Kedrigern left the next morning, alone, astride his great red-eyed, silver-homed
steed, an enchanted creature black as midnight, massive as an ox, and
intimidating as a crouching panther. Intimidation seemed to him a wise policy
when dealing with the likes of Grunjak.

He arrived late on the morning of his third day of travel. The trip was
completed without incident, delay, or pleasure. Grunjak's ugly hulk of a castle,
Ma Grossierete, rose from a low mound at the center of a desolate and windswept
wasteland. Under a sky the color of ashes, flat soggy fields extended to the
horizon, bare and lifeless save for a few feeble trees.

A trio of rancid-smelling brutes bade the wizard a sullen welcome and conducted
him directly to their lord's chambers, where Grunjak awaited him in a slipper
bath. Only Grunjak's head was visible, made even less attractive than usual by
the superimposition of a score of blazing red spots each the size of a
thumbnail.

Grunjak dismissed the guards. As soon as he and Kedrigern were alone, he moaned,
"Help me, wizard!"

"That's why I'm here, Grunjak,' said Kedrigern. "But first, I want your solemn
word that you'll abandon your wicked ways if I despell you."

"Oh, I will, I will, I swear it. I've learned a bitter lesson, and I'll never
forget it. May I suffer horrible torments if I go back on my word!"

"You will. Are the boils everywhere?" Grunjak groaned. "Even on the palms of my
hands and the soles of my feet."

"That's a very thorough curse. Who placed it?"

"A nasty hateful old farmer. We had just finished driving off his livestock and
loading up his grain, and were giving his serfs and children and grandchildren a
good beating when he burst out of his hovel and put a curse on me. Me, his lord
and master! We hadn't laid a finger on the old scoundrel. Hadn't even burned
down his ham. There's no gratitude in peasants these days, wizard. No loyalty.
No sense of duty. They're utterly selfish."

"There's to be no more of that once you're cured, Grunjak."

"There won't be. I had him hanged."

"You miss my point. I mean no more looting and beating and summary executions."

Grunjak gave a start, splashing water in all directions. His eyes widened in
pained disbelief. "But that's what makes me a leader!"

"No, it's what makes you a monster whom people wish to see covered in boils. I
should think you'd have grasped that fact. You must change your ways completely,
Grunjak. You must repent and become a new man."

After a long meditative pause, Grunjak muttered, "All right. I'll change."

"Swear."

"I swear I'll change. The very minute the boils disappear."

"Very well. Get out of the bath."

Grunjak, dripping wet and naked, bespangled with boils and bedecked with the
scars of past battles, was a sight to make even a hardened wizard wince.
Averting his eyes, Kedrigern dropped the contents of three small vials into the
slipper bath, recited the appropriate spell, and instructed Grunjak to immerse
himself once more, completely, and stay under for a slow count of ten.

When Grunjak broke the surface, his battered face was free of boils. "They're
gone! They're ail gone!" he spluttered.

"Of course they're gone. Didn't you believe I could manage it?"

"I did, I did, I never doubted you for a minute! You're a great wizard and I'll
sing your praises everywhere I go."

"Gratitude, Grunjak?" said Kedrigern, surprised. "Your reformation is off to a
good start. Just remember to stay reformed, or the boils will be back within the
hour. And now I'll take my five crowns and go."

Grunjak rummaged through the clothing that lay in a heap beside the slipper bath
and dug out a pouch. He handed it to the wizard. Kedrigern opened it and shook
out three golden crowns. He studied them for a moment, then said, "Where's the
rest?"

"You've got three crowns there."

"Three is not five."

"I can't give you any more, wizard. I swear it!"

"Men in my profession do not haggle, Grunjak. Your letter offered five. I
accepted. The fee, therefore, is five."

"I've never had that much in the treasury."

"Then you were very foolish and wicked to have promised it."

"I promised it before I reformed. You shouldn't have believed me. You knew that
I was wicked and deceitful."

"You were also covered with boils -- as you will be in a very short time unless
I get my five crowns."

"Those three crowns have emptied my treasury and left me penniless! The only way
I could manage five would be to go back to looting and plundering! You don't
want that, do you?"

"You really should have thought of that earlier, Grunjak. This puts us both in
an awkward position."

"I beg you, wizard, don't do anything in anger! Take the three crowns as part
payment, and we'll look around the castle and see if there's anything I can give
you to make up the balance. That's fair, isn't it?'

Kedrigern hesitated. In truth, five crowns was an enormous fee for a simple
despelling; three was quite adequate. But he had not set the amount; Grunjak had
offered it freely. Then again, a man covered with boils is hardly in a state of
mind to bargain. He can easily be victimized. Here was an opportunity to be
generous in a noble cause. A show of good will at the outset might do much to
encourage Grunjak's reformation.

"Very well, Grunjak. Dry yourself off and get dressed. I'm sure we can find
something."

For a time, it seemed likely that they would not. Grunjak's was a poor land; his
taste was execrable and his booty was scanty and in very poor condition: dented
cooking pots, cracked dishes, dirty old clothes, bent and rusty weapons and farm
implements, unsteady tables and uncomfortable chairs. Most of it looked to have
been taken not for any intrinsic value, but merely for the pleasure of looting.

As they picked through Grunjak's meager treasury, Kedrigern's hopes waned. His
thoughts turned to the futility of worldly greed. In a lifetime of remorseless
looting and plundering, Grunjak had accumulated a midden of rubbish. Taken all
together, it was not worth a tenth of a crown.

Grunjak's gravelly voice broke into his musings. "How about a carpet? A wizard
can always use a nice carpet. I bought this one from a knight --"

"You bought it? Paid for it?" Kedrigern asked, startled.

Drawing himself up indignantly, Grunjak said, "Of course I paid for it. I never
took advantage of my peers, only the weak and defenseless. It was so much
easier. But that's all behind me now."

"Good. About the carpet...."

"This knight had picked it up somewhere in the East. He said it was very
valuable, but I had problems with it, so I used it to plug a hole in the wall,"
he said, pointing to the wall where what appeared to be a wad of rags was
stuffed into a hole, held in place by a board nailed over it.

Kedrigern went to the carpet and laid a hand on it. He felt the tingle of magic.
It was so faint as to be almost imperceptible, but it was unmistakably present.

"What sort of problems did you have?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing serious. Nothing that would trouble a wizard. It used to move
around, that's all."

"Move around?"

"Every night I'd set it by the door, and every morning I'd find it lying in
front of the fireplace. The wind blew it about. This castle gets pretty breezy
in winter."

"Let's have a look at that carpet."

Grunjak jerked the board free with one violent yank, pulled out the carpet, and
spread it on the treasury floor. It was dirty and rumpled, but the colors had
held up well, and the design was quite attractive.

"That would go for three crowns in any market I know," Grunjak said with the air
of a connoisseur.

"Not without a good cleaning and major repairs. Look at the condition of the
tassels."

"Who notices tassels?"

"I do. And what about those holes?"

"I tried nailing it down, but it kept moving around anyway. Even if you knock
off a crown for the holes, it's still worth two."

Kedrigern was silent, calculating. The carpet definitely possessed some kind of
magic. It was prudent to make sure that magical objects were in the proper
hands, and there were no hands more proper than a wizard's. If the magic were
benevolent, it would be put to good use; if it proved nasty, the thing could be
despelled and cleaned up. And if the magic were exhausted, or nearly so, this
carpet would fit nicely in the great room before the hearth.

"Done, Grunjak," he announced.

By early afternoon he was on his way, the carpet rolled up and tied behind him.
His horse showed interest, but no discomfort. Kedrigern took this as a good
sign: enchanted things should be at ease with one another.

He arrived home in the early afternoon of a clear bright day. With the
assistance of his house-troll he unrolled the carpet on the lawn before the
cottage for a close inspection. Experience had taught him that it was wise to
determine the exact properties of magic objects before introducing them into his
household.

Princess flew out to greet him with a kiss and a fond embrace. At sight of the
carpet she gave him a puzzled look. "Wherever did you get that?" she asked.

"Part of my fee. It has some kind of magic."

"What kind?"

"I don't know yet."

She circled it once, slowly, examining it from a safe distance. "It certainly
isn't self-cleaning magic. Or look-your-best magic. The thing's a mess."

"Everything in Grunjak's castle is a mess. This is just a bit worse than most.
It was stuffed into a hole in the wall."

"What did he do to the tassels? A carpet looks so pathetic without proper
tassels," Princess said.

The carpet had apparently once possessed an impressive tassel of gold and silver
threads at each comer, but only vestiges of these splendid adornments remained.
Two had been badly burned, another neatly sheared off, and of the fourth only a
few strands survived.

"It's all ripped and bitten, too," said Princess with a shudder of distaste.
"Grunjak's palace must be overran with rats."

"It is, but they didn't make the holes. Those are nail holes. Grunjak nailed it
down. He said it used to move around."

"Maybe it's a scatter rug."

Kedrigern drew out his medallion. He raised it to his eye and studied the carpet
through the small hole at its center. Princess waited patiently for a time, and
finally asked, "Do you see anything?"

"It's definitely magical. The magic is very weak, though. Hardly perceptible,
even through the Aperture of True Vision." He tucked away the medallion, rubbed
his eye, then folded his arms and looked down on the carpet, speculating.

Princess tapped his shoulder. "Have you had lunch?"

"Only a bit of bread and an apple along the way."

"Before you get too deeply absorbed in this carpet, you ought to have lunch,"
she said. "I'll just fly in and have Spot prepare something."

"Of course! That's it, my dear!"

"There, you see? You were hungrier than you thought."

"No, no, no, I mean flight! Flying! This is a flying carpet!"

She looked at the carpet, then at him, then back at the carpet. "It's not flying
anywhere now," she said.

"It's very low on magic. Mistreatment and neglect will do that sometimes. Yes,
of course, a flying carpet. That would explain why it kept moving around
Grunjak's castle."

"From what you said of Grunjak, I should think a flying carpet would fly away
from him as soon as possible."

"It wasn't free to fly off. He acquired it legally, actually paid for it, so the
carpet was his."

Princess's interest was stirred. "If this is really a flying carpet it would be
a great convenience. It would have to be cleaned and patched up before I'd be
seen on it, but just think of the time and trouble it would save us. You might
even change your attitude about travel if you could just sit on a carpet and
go."

"I might indeed. Yes, it would be convenient. And comfortable. Plenty of room to
stretch out."

"There's even room for guests."

"And space for luggage. It has definite possibilities."

"Before we explore them further, let's have lunch," Princess said, taking his
hand and drawing him inside.

They enjoyed an unhurried meal, he describing the journey and the sights along
the way, embellishing freely since it had been fairly dull and uneventful
overall, she filling him in on her progress in spelling. Conversation soon
turned to the possibilities of their new acquisition. They knew of no spells for
cleaning, patching holes, and restoring tassels; but Spot had become quite
accomplished at household chores, and they felt secure entrusting the problem to
him, provided he was carefully instructed and closely supervised.

After a second mug of cider, they strolled out to examine the carpet's magical
properties in more detail. To their surprise, it was gone.

"Could it have blown away?" Princess asked.

"There's no wind at all. Hardly a breeze."

"Flown away?"

"That usually requires a verbal command."

"Do you think Spot might have eaten it?"

"I heard him in the kitchen all the time we were having lunch."

"Then where --"

"There!" Kedrigern cried, pointing to the lawn beneath the pair of great oaks
that stood near the cottage.

They hurried to where the carpet lay tidily spread out in the shade. Neither of
them spoke. They were too puzzled even to speculate on how it had changed
locations.

"This is fascinating," said Kedrigern. "It couldn't have blown here, no one gave
it a command and no one moved it .... I wonder ...." He cleared his throat and
in his most commanding voice said, "Carpet, if you have the power to speak,
speak to me!"

The carpet did not utter a word.

"I've never heard of a talking carpet. Not even a magic one," said Princess.

"Neither have I, but it doesn't hurt to try." Kedrigern thought for a time, then
said, "If you have a means of communicating, carpet, please employ it now."

Nothing happened at first; then, after a tense interval, the threads of the sole
surviving tassel gave a single feeble twitch.

"It's trying to express itself," Kedrigern whispered.

"It doesn't seem to have much to say," Princess replied.

"Well, if you'd been stuffed in a hole in the wall for heaven only knows how
many years and lost your tassels -- look! It's twitching again!"

"It can't tell us much by twitching."

But the frayed and enfeebled tassel was clearly limbering up. After a few more
tentative twitches, it curled itself around a twig and began to make scratching
motions in the soil. Kedrigern rushed into the cottage, emerging moments later
with a pen, an inkwell, and a sheet of parchment. He laid the pen close by the
tassel.

At once the emaciated tassel tossed the twig aside and coiled about the pen. The
wizard then placed the remaining writing implements in easy reach, stepped back,
and said, "Did you move yourself here?"

The carpet dipped the pen in the inkwell, shook off a few excess drops, and
wrote in shaky script, Yes, Master. Sorry.

"Why?"

I feared I would fade in the sunlight, causing disappointment to my benevolent
Master. Ordinarily I do not act unbidden, but --

"No need to apologize," Kedrigern broke in. "It was thoughtless of me to put you
there."

Oh, no, no, Master, you must not blame yourself. It was sheer audacity on my
part, the carpet scribbled.

"Nothing of the sort. You're a flying carpet, and you flew. That's nothing to
apologize for."

But I flew without your leave, Master. Without your command, I drew upon already
much depleted reserves of magic that should have been dedicated entirely to your
service. I did a shameless selfish thing. I deserve unraveling.

"Ah. I begin to comprehend," said Kedrigern. "Grunjak kept putting you in places
where you might get burned, or faded, or tom, and you kept moving away. It was
pure self-preservation."

Precisely so, Master.

"And moving without a command draws on your reserves of magic."

It practically drains them, Master.

"Well, you needn't worry about such treatment here, Carpet. Do you have a name?"

Kurdestan is my name. My beloved master and beautiful mistress may call me
"Stan" if they so choose.

"All right, Stan. First thing we'll do is give you a good cleaning and air you
out. No beating, I promise you. We'll take you for a spin every now and then,
but we won't nail you to the floor or stuff you in holes."

The carpet, which had risen several inches off the ground at Kedrigern's promise
of better treatment, sank at the mention of flying. Its descent was accompanied
by a soft sighing sound, and the tassel wrote the single word Alas.

"Why `Alas,' Stan? Don't you enjoy flying?"

Oh, wise and kindly master, I loathe flying. I wish only a proper place on a
decent, solid, honest wooden floor.

"But people would walk on you," said Princess.

Yes! Yes! wrote the carpet in huge exuberant letters.

"Do you mean to say you like the idea of having people walk all over you, and
put tables and chairs on you?"

Oh, yes, most kindly and perceptive lady! Even spills would not be taken amiss.
That is the way of the carpet. The tassel paused, then with a flourish wrote,
Some were born to fly; some achieve flight; some, like me, have flight thrust
upon them.

"Don't get dramatic, Stan," Kedrigern said.

Princess regarded the carpet with bewilderment. "I don't understand how you can
complain. Flying is wonderful!"

For a beautiful lady with gossamer wings, it may be so. But carpets are carpets.
They were not meant to fly about the world, they were meant to lie on floors, If
carpets were meant to fly, we would have been Liven wings.

"You've been given magic. That's even better," said Princess. When the carpet
made no response, she demanded, "Well, isn't it?"

After a thoughtful interval, the carpet wrote,/:or birds and insects, flying is
a way of life. For people, it is a pleasing diversion./:or carpets, it is a
painful ordeal. The cold and dampness of the upper air loosen our knots and
accelerate fading. Over time there is serious shrinkage.

Princess bit her lip and looked chagrined. The possession of a flying carpet
delighted her, and she hated to relinquish the convenience it afforded. But she
was too tender-hearted to force her household furnishings to fly against their
will.

Kedrigern said, "If you hate flying so much, why did you become a flying carpet,
Stan?"

I had no choice in the matter, wise and benevolent Master. I was one of a large
family. My brothers and sisters went to decorate the palaces of sultans. I was
bought by a sorcerer, enchanted, and sold to an emir who made use of me to spy
on his neighbors. He was blown off by a high wind one stormy night, and l flew
on, masterless, without goal or purpose, until I became soaked with rain and was
forced down near an encampment of nomads. They took me in and treated me with
kindness. For a long time I fulfilled the true purpose of my kind, though I lay
on sand rather than a proper floor. Then I was seized by an avaricious emir.
Since that evil day, I have passed through many hands and suffered great
indignities and unspeakable cruelties. I was sold to a Frankish knight who
brought me home to his castle. He beat me regularly and at last sold me to
Grunjak. And now you have delivered me.

"There'll be no more cruelty, we promise," said Princess gently. "But we really
would like you to fly from time to time. I do my own flying, but my husband has
to travel on horseback, and a long journey can be so fatiguing."

I shall serve you loyally, the carpet wrote. But its tassel drooped and the pen
moved sluggishly.

"Well, let's give it a try," said Kedrigern, settling himself cross-legged on
the carpet. "Go, Stan!"

Urged on with such elan, the carpet shot forward like a bolt from a crossbow.
Kedrigern tumbled heels over head and rolled off the rear and onto the grass.
"Come back here!" he howled.

The carpet, well off in the distance by now, did a tight turn and circled back
to the foot of the oak tree, where it stopped abruptly at Kedrigern's side and
floated gently to the ground. The wizard rose, brushed himself off, and seated
himself once again, keeping well forward. "This time, control your exuberance,"
he said. "Go slowly. Once around the house and yard, and don't get more than a
foot off the ground."

The carpet rose and moved forward at a dignified pace, slightly faster than a
walk. It accelerated as it proceeded along the tree line, picked up more speed
as it swung around the cottage and the outbuildings, and was moving at a good
clip as it made its last turn and headed across the yard toward the oaks.

The door yard was enclosed by a very sturdy two-rail fence. The lower rail was
just a bit more than a foot off the ground. The top rail was about head-high to
a man seated on a flying carpet. They were headed for the fence at alarming
speed.

Kedrigern had been enjoying the trip. His attention was on the exhilarating
sensation of flight, not the fence, and only a warning shout from Princess, who
was flying above, following him, alerted him to the danger.

"Stop!" he cried.

The carpet stopped at the instant of command. Kedrigern did not. He continued
his forward progress at a speed only slightly diminished, inserting himself
neatly between the rails, skimming along the grass on his face, and coming to a
stop not far from his starting point.

The carpet sank close to the ground and began to back off slowly. Kedrigern
climbed to his feet, shook his head, felt his limbs, and brushed himself off. He
looked around. His expression was grim. Catching sight of the carpet trying its
best to ease unobtrusively around the corner of the house, he pointed and cried,
"You! Assassin! Get back here at once, do you hear?"

So low now that it brushed the grass in its passing, the carpet moved slowly
toward him and stopped at his feet. It did not settle, but remained just a hair
off the ground, trembling slightly. Kedrigern looked down on it, his arms
folded, his jaw set severely. He said nothing. Princess fluttered to his side
and placed a hand on his arm. Still he said nothing.

"We promised no cruelty," she said.

"You promised. I said nothing of the son."

"Yes, you did. You promised no beating."

Kedrigern gave an exasperated sigh. The carpet edged a bit closer and, dipping a
corner, attempted to dust off his boot.

"There," said Princess. "It's sorry."

"So am I. I should have left it to plug the wall in Grunjak's castle."

"Don't frighten it."

"I don't mean to be cruel, my dear, but this carpet is not cooperating. It
represents a large portion of my fee, and I see no way that I'll ever get to put
it to proper use."

"With a little cleaning and patching it would look nice in front of the
fireplace in the great room. It would be happy there, too."

"I suppose so. But if all I wanted was a carpet for the great room, I needn't
have gone all the way to Grunjak's for it."

"Surely you wouldn't want an ordinary carpet on your floor. You're a wizard. You
have standards to maintain."

"I also have my life to preserve. This thing would have knocked my brains out
against the fence rail."

"Don't blame the carpet. It was doing what it's supposed to do."

"Yes, but it doesn't want to do what it's supposed to do, and I think it's
deliberately creating problems." Glancing down, he said, "You don't want to fly
me around, do your Not me, not anyone. Tell the truth, Stan."

The carpet slunk to where the pen and inkstand stood. Taking up the pen, it
wrote. All I want is to be a real carpet. I want to lie on a nicely waxed floor
in front of a roaring fire. Not too close. The sparks can be very distressing.

"I thought as much," said Kedrigern. He remained silent for a time, looking
thoughtfully down on the carpet, and finally said, "Let's go inside. Princess
will show you where to lie down. And see to it that you stay put."

"What are you going to do?" Princess asked.

"I'm going to look through my spelling books. There may be a way to work this
out to our mutual satisfaction."

It was some months later that a solitary figure dressed in the robes of a
pilgrim made his way to the little cottage on Silent Thunder Mountain. Kedrigern
was in the door yard, seated amid cushions in his most comfortable chair,
meditating in the autumn sunshine. The pilgrim hailed him wearily in a gruff but
kindly voice.

"Greetings to you, pilgrim," the wizard replied, rising and going to the gate.
"May I offer you something?"

"A sip of water. No more."

"How about a crust of bread?"

The pilgrim weighed the offer, then said, "As long as it's stale."

Kedrigern studied the gaunt, dusty figure for a time, then said, "Have we met?
You look familiar."

"I am that wretch who once was known as Grunjak the Gross, the Greasy, the
Grisly, the Grim, the Grungy, the Greedy, the Gruesome, and the Grotty."

"Ah, yes, of course, Grunjak. You've lost some weight."

"I eat very little these days. I am on pilgrimage to atone for the evil life I
once led. I have much atoning to do, but perhaps some day I shall be known as
Grunjak the Good."

"The boils haven't returned, have they?"

"No, my reformation is genuine. I've come to thank you."

"Glad to have been of help. Where are you headed?"

"To the shrine at Campostella. After that, to the Holy Land"

"Well, you're certainly not the old Grunjak."

"I am such a reformed man that I also wish to apologize for attempting to cheat
you of your promised fee."

Kedrigern waved his words off. "Don't give it a thought. As a matter of fact,
that carpet you gave me was a magic carpet."

"Indeed? I am happy to learn of it. Has the carpet been sold at a great and
well-deserved profit to yourself?"

"No. The poor thing hated flying. It's just an ordinary carpet now. It cleaned
up very nicely. We've repaired the nail holes and replaced the tassels. It's
lying in front of the fireplace, if you'd care to have a look."

"I have forbidden myself the comfort of entering under a roof until my
pilgrimage is complete, but I thank you for your kind offer. Your words have
gladdened my heart, wizard."

"Can I offer you anything more, Grunjak? A sip of water and a bit of stale bread
hardly seems --"

"No, no, nothing more," said the pilgrim, waving a sun; browned hand. "I must be
on my way. So much to atone for, so little time. Farewell, wizard."

As the dusty figure trudged off down the mountain, Kedrigern looked after him
with great satisfaction. Here was proof of a job well done. The Grunjak case,
undertaken with such reluctance, had turned out to be one of his great
successes.

He watched until the pilgrim disappeared around a bend in the road, then he
returned to the chair and seated himself once again.

"Time to go inside," he said, with a friendly pat on the chair arm. "Once around
the grounds, then to the usual spot in the great room. And mind you keep low
going through the doorways, or I'll take the magic off and give it back to Stan.
All right, let's lift off."