In the morning at breakfast he spoke of the incident to the landlord, who showed no great interest. When it came time to settle his score, Cugel tossed one of the jeweled buttons upon the counter. “Fix, if you will, a fair value upon this gem, subtract the score and give me my change in gold coins.”

The landlord examined the ornament, pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side. “The total of the charges to your account exactly equals the worth of this trinket — there is no change forthcoming.”

“What?” stormed Cugel. “This clear aquamarine flanked by four emeralds? For a cup or two of poor wine, a porridge and sleep disturbed by the villainy of your pot-boy? Is this a tavern or a bandit lair?”

The landlord shrugged. “The charges are somewhat in excess of the usual fee, but money moldering in the pockets of a corpse serves no one.”

Cugel at last extracted several gold coins from the landlord together with a parcel of bread, cheese, and wine. The landlord came to the door and pointed. “There is but a single trail, that leading south. The Mountains of Magnatz rise before you. Farewell.”

Not without foreboding, Cugel set off to the south. For a space the trail led past the tillage of local peasants; then as the foothills bulked to either side the trail became first a track, then a trace winding along a dry riverbed beside thickets of prickle-bush, spurge, yarrow, asphodel. Along the crest of the hill paralleling the trail grew a tangle of stunted oak, and Cugel, thinking to improve his chances for going unobserved, climbed to the ridge and continued in the shelter of the foliage.

The air was clear, the sky a brilliant dark blue. The sun wallowed up to the zenith and Cugel bethought himself of the food he carried in his pouch. He seated himself, but as he did so the motion of a skipping dark shadow caught his eye. His blood chilled. The creature surely meant to leap upon his back.

Cugel pretended not to notice, and presently the shadow moved forward again: a deodand, taller and heavier than himself, black as midnight except for shining white eyes, white teeth and claws, wearing straps of leather to support a green velvet shirt.

Cugel debated his best course of action. Face to face chest to chest, the deodand would tear him to pieces. With his sword ready, Cugel might hack and stab and hold the creature at bay until its frenzy for blood overcame its fear of pain and it flung itself forward regardless of hurt. Possibly Cugel was more fleet, and might outdistance the creature, but only after a long and dogged pursuit.... It slipped forward again, to stand behind a crumbling outcrop twenty paces downslope from where Cugel sat. As soon as it had disappeared, Cugel ran to the outcrop and jumped to the top. Here he lifted a heavy stone and, as the deodand came skulking below, threw it down upon the creature's back. It toppled and lay kicking, and Cugel jumped down to deliver the death-stroke.