Molly gave a small cry of delight, and even the Lady Amalthea moved a step nearer. Schmendrick stood with his fists shut and no triumph in his face. The skull said, “Come on. Ask me how to find the Red Bull. You can’t go wrong asking my advice. I’m the king’s watchman, set to guard the way to the Bull. Even Prince Lír doesn’t know the secret way, but I do.”

A little timidly, Molly Grue asked, “If you are truly on guard here, why don’t you give the alarm? Why do you offer to help us, instead of summoning the men-at-arms?”

The skull gave a rattling chuckle. “I’ve been up on this pillar a long time,” it said. “I was Haggard’s chief henchman once, until he smote off my head for no reason. That was back in the days when he was being wicked to see if that was what he really liked to do. It wasn’t, but he thought he might as well get some use out of my head, so he stuck it up here to serve as his sentinel. Under the circumstances, I’m not as loyal to King Haggard as I might be.”

Schmendrick spoke in a low voice. “Answer the riddle, then. Tell us the way to the Red Bull.”

“No,” said the skull. Then it laughed like mad.

“Why not?” Molly cried furiously. “What kind of a game‌—?” The skull’s long yellow jaws never moved, but it was some time before the mean laughter chattered to a halt. Even the hurrying night things paused for a moment, stranded in their candy light, until it stopped.

“I’m dead,” said the skull. “I’m dead, and I’m hanging in the dark watching over Haggard’s property. The only small amusement I have is to irk and exasperate the living, and I don’t get much chance of that. It’s a sad loss, because in life mine was a particularly exasperating nature. You’ll pardon me, I’m sure, if I indulge myself with you a little. Try me tomorrow. Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“But we have no time!” Molly pleaded. Schmendrick nudged her, but she rushed on, stepping close to the skull and appealing directly to its uninhabited eyes. “We have no time. We may be too late now.”

“I have time,” the skull replied reflectively. “It’s really not so good to have time. Rush, scramble, desperation, this missed, that left behind, those others too big to fit into such a small space‌—‌that’s the way life was meant to be. You’re supposed to be too late for some things. Don’t worry about it.”

Molly would have entreated further, but the magician gripped her arm and pulled her aside. “Be still!” he said in a swift, fierce voice. “Not a word, not another word. The damned thing spoke, didn’t it? Maybe that’s all the riddle requires.”

“It isn’t,” the skull informed him. “I’ll talk as much as you like, but I won’t tell you anything. That’s pretty rotten, isn’t it? You should have seen me when I was alive.”