As Cugel approached, the farmers, who seemed to be brothers, glanced over their shoulders, then returned unsmilingly to their contemplation of the broken wheel.

Cugel strolled up to the wagon. The farmers watched him sidelong, with such disinterest that Cugel's affability congealed on his face.

Cugel cleared his throat. "What seems to be wrong with your wheel?"

The oldest of the brothers responded in a series of surly grunts: "Nothing 'seems' to be wrong with the wheel. Do you take us for fools? Something is definitely and factually wrong. The retainer ring has been lost; the bearings have dropped out. It is a serious matter, so go your way and do not disturb our thinking." Cugel held up a finger in arch reproach. "One should never be too cock-sure! Perhaps I can help you."

"Bah! What do you know of such things?"

The second brother said: "Where did you get that odd hat?"

The youngest of the three attempted a thrust of heavy humor. "If you can carry the load on the axle while we roll the wheel, then you can be of help. Otherwise, be off with you."

"You may joke, but perhaps I can indeed do something along these lines," said Cugel. He appraised the wain, which weighed far less than one of Nisbet's columns. His boots had been anointed with ossip wax and all was in order. He stepped forward and gave the wheel a kick. "You will now discover both wheel and wagon to be weightless. Lift, and discover for yourselves."

The youngest of the brothers seized the wheel and lifted, exerting such strength that the weightless wheel slipped from his grasp and rose high into the air, where it was caught in the wind and blown away to the east. The wagon, with a block under the axle, had taken no effect from the magic and remained as before.

The wheel rolled away down the sky. From nowhere, or so it seemed, a pelgrane swung down and, seizing the wheel, carried it off.

Cugel and the three farmers watched the pelgrane and the wheel disappear over the mountains.

"Well then," said the oldest. "What now?"

Cugel gave his head a rueful shake. "I hesitate to make further suggestions."

"Ten terces is the value of a new wheel," said the oldest brother. "Pay over that sum at once. Since I never threaten I will not mention the alternatives."

Cugel drew himself up. "I am not one to be impressed by bluster!"

"What of cudgels and pitchforks?"

Cugel took a step back and dropped a hand to his sword. "If blood runs along the road, it will be yours, not mine!"

The farmers stood back, collecting their wits. Cugel moderated his voice. "A wheel such as yours, damaged, broken, and worn almost through to the spokes, might fairly be valued at two terces. To demand more is unrealistic."

The oldest brother declared in grandiose tones: "We will compromise! I mentioned ten terces, you spoke of two. Subtracting two from ten leaves eight; therefore pay us eight terces and everyone will be satisfied."