Late in the afternoon, Cugel chanced to observe the door to the tavern, just as the hetman came staggering forth, obviously much elevated by wine. Cugel called peremptorily down; the hetman stopped short, looked about for the source of the voice, shook his head in perplexity and continued across the plaza.

The sun slanted across Lake Vull; the whirlpools were spirals of maroon and black. Cugel's supper arrived: a dish of boiled leeks and a bowl of porridge. He inspected it with small interest, then went to the side of the cupola. “Send up the ladder!” he called. “Darkness comesl In the absence of light, it is futile to watch for Magnate or anyone else!”

As before, his remarks passed unheeded. Pint suddenly seemed to take cognizance of the situation and visited several sharp twinges upon CugeFs vitals.

Cugel passed a fitful night. As merrymakers left the tavern Cugel called to them and made representations regarding his plight, but he might as well have saved his breath.

The sun appeared over the mountains. Cugel's morning meal was of fair quality, but by no means up to the standard described by Hylam Wiskode, the double-tongued hetman of Vull. In a rage, Cugel bellowed orders to those below, but was ignored. He drew a deep breath: it seemed then that he was cast upon his own resources. But what of this? Was he Cugel the Clever for nothing? And he considered various means for descending the tower.

The line by which his food ascended was far too light. If doubled and redoubled so that it bore his weight, it would yield, at most, a quarter of the distance to the ground. His clothes and leathers, if torn and knotted, might provide another twenty feet, leaving him dangling in mid-air. The stem of the tower provided no foothold. With appropriate tools and sufficient time he might be able to chisel a staircase down the outside of the tower, or even chip away the tower in its entirety, eventually reducing it to a short stump from which he might leap to earth.... The project was not feasible. Cugel slumped on the cushions in despair. Everything was now clear. He had been fooled. He was a prisoner. How long had the previous Watchman remained at his post? Sixty years? The prospect was by no means cheerful.

Firx, of like opinion, jabbed furiously with barb and prong, adding to Cugel's woes.

So passed days and nights. Cugel brooded long and darkly, and contemplated the folk of Vull with great revulsion. On occasion he considered ringing the great gong, as his predecessor had been driven to do — but, recalling the penalty, he restrained himself.