"So," said Pulg, "you walked all the way to Krugenheim and then, to celebrate your safe arrival, you decided to plunge into the centre of the most lawless district in the whole city and get yourself mugged - was that the plan?"
Hans peered about him thoughtfully.
"Well I didn't know," he said. "It looks all right to me round here."
"Does it indeed?" said Pulg. "Well, let me set you straight on that point, my dear boy. This is the Untergarten, where the city watch never set foot in any numbers smaller than a snotball team. Pick up a stone here and you'll find half a dozen thieves hiding under it. You are lucky indeed that I was passing through this district on my way to conduct a matter of business or you would have been left for dead in that gutter down there."
"I might as well have been," said Hans, miserably. "They've taken my bag and my money - I've nothing left." Or have I? he thought to himself, remembering the flute with a flush of excitement. He felt for the inside pocket of his jacket and - yes - it was still there.
"What's the matter, my boy?" said Pulg. "A touch of indigestion?"
"No, I mean yes, that is..." Should he tell Pulg about the flute? Hans decided it was better to keep quiet about it. "It's just shock," he said, trying to act casual. "It isn't every day I get attacked in the street."
"Hmm," said Pulg, looking slightly suspicious. "Perhaps not in Hazelhof. But it might be a different story if you're left on your own in this city for very long. What are you going to do with yourself now? You don't have any money. Are you going to eat paving stones? Make a career out of lying in the gutter?"
"I'll get a job," said Hans defiantly.
"Oh yes," said Pulg. "No doubt you will. As a corpse working for a necromancer or some such sinecure. I'm offering you a more comfortable position, with the benefit of my guiding eye to oversee your interests. All this and a share in the future of Pulg's Grand Carnival. Fame and fortune can be yours. How can you refuse?"
Well, thought Hans, looking about him at the grimy street and the hungry looks on the faces of the bedraggled passers-by, perhaps I would be better off as a freak in this man's carnival than as a penniless traveller alone in a strange city. As a temporary measure only, of course. Until I can think of some way to make use of the flute and improve matters...
"All right," he said at last, even managing a feint smile for the benefit of his self-styled saviour. "I'll take up your offer."
"Excellent, my boy," said Pulg, grabbing Hans' hand in his and tugging it up and down in a handshake of extraordinary exuberance. "In days to come, when you and I are co-proprietors of the greatest carnival in the history of the world, you will look back on this afternoon with particular fondness. And for the time being I can offer you a salary of ten shillings a week and all the food you can eat. Subject to availability, of course."
"Now then, Folderol!" he bawled, mysteriously, turning away from Hans and admonishing the pavement with a mighty crack of the whip with which he had earlier, and so effectively, seen off the muggers.
"I hope he hasn't gone wandering off again," he said, turning back to Hans. "Now then, we must get you some food..."
"Look out!" said Hans, pointing in terror over Pulg's shoulder. "It'll kill us both! Run for it!"
It was coming at them down the street: a great hulk of a creature with large ungainly feet whose talons scraped along the pavement as it came. It had a long lizard-like scale-encrusted body and a pointed tail which whipped out to either side as it took its lumbering steps. Its head seemed to consist mainly of a mouthful of sharp teeth which it displayed, row upon row, to terrifying effect. And then there were the wings - huge bat-like appendages which might well have smashed the windows of the houses on either side of the street had the creature chosen to extend them to their full span. As it was, it carried them folded against its body, waggling about in the air as it advanced, as though it was carrying a giant bat on each shoulder.
Hans was ordering his legs to flee but for some reason they seemed rooted to the spot. In his mind's eye he saw the creature come for him and lift him up in that great mouth. He could almost feel the teeth piercing through his skin. And then, without conscious thought, his hand began to drift towards the inside pocket of his jacket. Of course, he realized, the flute! Did it work on animals, he wondered, or fabulous creatures like this one? He would soon find out. His hand closed around the smooth tube of bone...
And then something so astonishing happened that he forgot all about the flute. He just stood there with his mouth gaping.
Pulg had turned and approached the creature and begun to talk to it, grabbing hold of a length of chain around its neck, something Hans had previously failed to notice. The beast stood there peacefully with its head on one side, a long snake-like two-pronged tongue flicking out from between its teeth.
"Well then, Folderol," said Pulg, scratching the creature's neck affectionately. "Would you like to meet this new colleague of ours?"
"I like to have Folderol with me on my trips around the city," Pulg explained later, as they sat in The Purse and Pocket Inn. They were dining on cold meats and ale while they waited for Pulg's business contact to arrive. "It keeps the carnival in the public eye. Wyverns are dangerous creatures, of course, but if you catch them at an early age they can be trained well enough."
"And did you train Folderol yourself?" asked Hans, incredulous. He was still astonished to think of how he and Pulg had walked through the streets to the inn with the wyvern at their side without causing mass hysteria. Passers-by had steered their paths well clear of the creature and some had looked very nervous, but no one had actually fled in screaming panic. He supposed that the citizens of a city were used to seeing all manner of strange sights in their streets.
"I didn't train the beast myself exactly, no," Pulg admitted, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "It was, well, a friend. Well, a business associate, I mean. Ah, speaking of which..." He rose and beckoned across the inn to a thin weasel of a man who had just entered. "Herr Schickelzimmer!" he cried. "My very good fellow. Here - come and join us."
The man approached the table warily, staring rudely at Hans, and shaking Pulg's proffered hand with no great enthusiasm.
"Good day, Herr Schickelzimmer," said Pulg. "A fine afternoon, is it not?"
The weasel sat down and seemed to consider Pulg's pronouncement doubtfully. "Perhaps," he said eventually.
"Excellent," said Pulg, apparently unabashed, and, pausing only to introduce Hans ('my new colleague - a young man of great promise'), he launched himself into a detailed exposition on the subject of dung.
The weasel began to show some interest now, making notes in a small leather book and interrupting occasionally on some matter of detail: "Fifty bucketsfull, you say? Is that compacted or uncompacted? Will you require the loan of buckets?" and similar enquiries.
Hans soon decided he had little interest in the conversation and his attention began to wander round the room. The clientele all seemed fairly well-to-do: merchants and city officials or suchlike, he assumed them to be. They were sitting round in pairs or small groups, engaged in earnest conversations from which they only occasionally paused to take a bite of food or a thoughtful swig of ale. There was none of the raucous laughter and drunkenness which was so prevalent in The Woodsman's Arms back in Hazelhof. But then this was the afternoon, Hans reminded himself. Perhaps by evening, these merchants would be up and dancing on the tables.
One group in particular caught Hans's attention: three men who looked particularly well turned out, in fine velvet jerkins and full cloaks, who were sitting over by the door. They seemed to be talking quite animatedly and they frequently glanced across at the table where Hans and Pulg were sitting. Their glances did not appear to be friendly.
Hans decided he should think of some way to break into Pulg's conversation and discreetly mention these attentions. But he was never given the chance. At that very moment, the decorum of The Purse and Pocket was shattered by an outburst from the weasel, who stood up and be
gan to shout at Pulg in a thin, reedy voice which was nevertheless loud enough to echo through the room and silence all other conversation.
"I am a dealer in quality dung!" he cried, as though in response to some vast insult on Pulg's part. "I deal only in the produce of horses, donkeys and similar beasts of burden. I have no use for the droppings of griffons, manticores and giant frogs..."
"But, Herr Schickelzimmer," Pulg protested, "on the best scientific evidence, the dung of a griffon or a manticore is equally suitable for most common household and agricultural purposes to that of a horse or a donkey. I would go so far as to say..."
"Silence!" cried Schickelzimmer, so powerfully that Hans was frightened the thin reed of his voice would snap altogether. "I will have no more of this. You have been wasting my time, sir. All afternoon, we have been discussing details of a business arrangement and onlynow- only now do you disclose that the produce you offer is a hotch-potch of excrement from most of the animal species known to man. Some of these creatures are evil, sir. I will have none of it. Good day to you."
And with that, the weasel turned and stormed away, though Hans noticed that the group by the door exchanged brief words with him as he went. One in particular, a short bald fellow, grabbed the man by the arm, staring pointedly across at Pulg, who was busy trying to play down the incident.
"Such an excitable fellow," he was explaining to a man at an adjacent table. "We are discussing a simple matter of commerce and he carries on as though he has been crossed in love! Some of these people have no head at all for business."
"Herr Pulg!"
The cry came from the balding man, who had stood up and crossed to the centre of the floor. He now commanded the attention of the whole room. Pulg began supping with apparent nonchalance at his ale, but he was drinking alone. Everybody else was too eager to find out what would happen next.
"It has come to my notice," said the balding man, "and I think I am not alone in having noticed" (he paused briefly here to turn and glance at his friends by the door) "that you are quietly and insidiously advancing the forces of darkness in this city."
There were several audible gasps around the room. One young lad who had drunk too much became hysterical and had to be held down by his companions.
"You exhibit evil creatures to honest citizens," the balding man continued, apparently encouraged by this response. "You attempt to seduce them with exotic and lurid malformations of nature. You encourage children - yes, poor innocent children - to ride on their backs."
There were more gasps around the room.
"Where did he study drama, I wonder?" Pulg muttered in Hans' ear. "He's wasted in here. He should be out in the street, selling things."
But the bald man was apparently building to a climax now. He paused dramatically to wipe the sweat from his brow. "And now Herr Schickelzimmer, who has just departed The Purse and Pocket in justified outrage, informs us that you are planning to spread the produce of these hideous creatures throughout Krugenheim and its immediate vicinity. You have gone too far this time, Herr Pulg. People may be willing to overlook your seedy little sideshow but they will not permit the excrement of evil to be spread on their vegetables!"
His voice had risen to a thundering crescendo by the end of his speech but in its wake there were as many sniggers as gasps of outrage. The balding man glanced about him nervously. It had been going so well. What had gone wrong, he wondered? Could some of the speech have been rephrased slightly?
Pulg seized his chance to defend himself.
"Thank you for that expression of your views, Herr Grunwald," he said, rising to his feet and walking at a leisurely pace across the room. "But I think you misinterpret my attempts to educate the people of Krugenheim into the terrible threat posed by these creatures. Only through the study of the manifestations of evil in my carnival, I believe, can our citizens be made properly diligent in the battle against it."
"I would have thought that as a teacher yourself you would have understood that," Pulg continued, as he drew alongside the balding man, "but perhaps you are too busy organizing snotball contests to think very deeply about such matters as the rule of law." And with that he turned his back on Grunwald and swaggered away, scattering brightly coloured cards about the room as he went.
"A few free tickets for Pulg's Grand Carnival," he called back, as he crossed the threshold of the inn. "Come and acquaint yourselves with the menace which threatens us all!"
Grunwald was shaking with rage now, aware that the initiative had been snatched away from him.
"I shan't let the matter drop!" he called after Pulg. "I warn you that I have great influence at the city council!" But his words were lost in the general commotion as people scrambled around greedily for tickets. Hans took the opportunity to sneak quietly away in the wake of Pulg.
Outside, the street was a teeming mass of people. Hans was reminded of turning over a stone and finding an ant's nest underneath. He was worried for a moment that Pulg might have gone off and left him to fend for himself in the city but no, he soon saw the showman - conspicuous as ever. He was standing with two members of the City Watch beside the unmistakable figure of Folderol, who had been tied to a post outside the inn. The creature seemed to be amusing itself by sharpening its claws on the pavement and flexing its enormous wings. The sight was awe-inspiring but the Watchmen did not seem to fully appreciate it.
"Oh, quite harmless," Pulg was assuring them. "A positively benevolent animal! Only the other day, he saved a young child who would have been run over by a passing carriage... Ah, Hans, there you are!" he said, noticing the boy's approach. "Come on, we must be getting back now - there is work to be done!"
He untied Folderol's chain and began to lead the creature off down the street, raising his hat to the two Watchmen as he went. One of the soldiers saluted briefly in response but they were still looking very doubtfully at the animal.
"I am not happy, my boy," confided Pulg, as he and Hans walked along the street, the crowds parting at the sight of Folderol. "I fear that the mood of the city may be turning against me. It was all smiles and welcomes when I first came here, bringing a lot of excitement into their miserable lives. Now perhaps the novelty is wearing off and certain people are seeing their chances to work against me."
"Like that bald man, you mean?" asked Hans.
"Yes - his name is Grunwald, a local busybody," said Pulg, with a snort of derision. "A teacher and politician and Ranald knows what else. He claims to be a good influence on the youth of the city and wants to teach them all snotball to bring out their better qualities. Personally, I think they'd be better off hanging around street corners. But that's why he's set against me - all that stuff about 'evil' is just a cover. He wants me out of my property so he can use it for his kids and their stupid snotball matches."
"What is snotball?"
Pulg raised his eyebrows.
"Perhaps I was wrong about that village of yours," he said. "Perhaps it is in a forgotten valley at the other end of the world rather than twenty-five miles away. Well, you know what a snotling is, don't you?"
"It's a kind of rabbit, isn't it?"
"No, it's a kind of goblin - a small, smelly one. What they do is trap a snotling in a little wicker cage, the shape of a ball, and kick it around a bit on a patch of ground. It's supposed to encourage teamwork and good health, though not in the snotling of course."
Hans was astonished to hear of such a complex sport.
"In Hazelhof we just stand around and hit each other," he said. "It's called boxing."
"Indeed?" said Pulg, betraying a frown. "Is there no limit to human ingenuity? Ah, here we are then - home at last," and he led the way down a flight of steps to an unmarked door. Folderol looked at the steps with suspicion, first bending to sniff at them, then descending slowly and uncertainly like a child or an old man, unfolding its wings slightly for balance.
"If your claws weren't so enormous," said Pulg, scoldingly, as he unlocked the door, "you'd find you could get
around a bit better."
As they entered, Hans was overcome by a stench of dung and a noise of clamouring animals. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw that they were in an enormous room, much like the timber storehouses in Hazelhof, but this one was lined along all its sides with cages. Numberless pairs of eyes were staring at them from behind iron bars.
"The carnival!" Pulg cried, strutting across the floor, his cloak swirling behind him. "Ah, it does me good to be back here with these simple beasts, away from all the folly of humanity!"
The beasts began to roar and howl and chitter as though in reply to their master. Having acclimatized to the smell, Hans walked over to the nearest cages, staring in delight at their captives. He recognized a few of them: the snakes and the tiger, and this big black one over here seemed to be a giant beetle, but others were unfamiliar. He was about to ask Pulg to guide him round when he heard the clatter of boot-heels and a young woman came into sight. She wore a short jerkin with a belt around her waist, and nothing at all upon her legs except a pair of high leather boots. Hans' mouth gaped open. He had never seen anything like this woman before - she was even more interesting than the animals.
"We're not short of folly here either," the woman said, addressing Pulg. "Some of these animals are so stupid they can hardly eat and shit, let alone walk tightropes. And there are a couple of humans here too, in case you'd forgotten, who have to stay back and train the beasts while their master is away gallivanting about the city."
Pulg suddenly looked a bit less happy.
"A matter of business, Heidi," he said, in a tone which managed to be admonishing and placatory at the same time. "Only a matter of business would have drawn me away from here."
Heidi shook her head.
"But so often it's the business of getting thoroughly drunk at The Squandered Youth, isn't it, Herr Pulg? Well now you're here, you can take a look at the giant rat, if you'd be so good, oh master. I can't persuade him to jump through that burning hoop, no matter what I do to him."