Men came running to ask the Mayor if they should pursue to rescue the magician, but he shook his wet head, saying, “I hardly think it will be necessary. If our guest is the man he claims to be, he should be able to take care of himself quite well. And if he isn’t‌—‌why then, an imposter taking advantage of our hospitality has no claim on us for assistance. No, no, never mind about him.”

Creeks were running down his jowls to join the brooks of his neck and the river of his shirt front, but he turned his placid gaze toward the pasture where the magician’s white mare glimmered in the darkness. She was trotting back and forth before the fence, making no sound. The Mayor said softly, “I think it might be well to take good care of our departed friend’s mount, since he evidently prized her so highly.” He sent two men to the pasture with instructions to rope the mare and put her in the strongest stall of his own stable.

But the men had not yet reached the pasture gate when the white mare jumped the fence and was gone into the night like a falling star. The two men stood where they were for a time, not heeding the Mayor’s commands to come back; and neither ever said, even to the other, why he stared after the magician’s mare so long. But now and then after that, they laughed with wonder in the middle of very serious events, and so came to be considered frivolous sorts.

Chapter 5

All that Schmendrick remembered later of his wild ride with the outlaws was the wind, the saddle’s edge, and the laughter of the jingling giant. He was too busy brooding over the ending of his hat trick to notice much else. Too much english, he suggested to himself. Overcompensation. But he shook his head, which was difficult in his position. The magic knows what it wants to do, he thought, bouncing as the horse dashed across a creek. But I never know what it knows. Not at the right time, anyway. I’d write it a letter, if I knew where it lived.

Brush and branches raked his face, and owls hooted in his ears. The horses had slowed to a trot, then to a walk. A high, trembling voice called out, “Halt and give the password!”

“Damme, here we go,” Jack Jingly muttered. He scratched his head with a sound like sawing, raised his voice, and answered, “A short life and a merry one, here in the sweet greenwood; jolly comrades united, to victory plighted—”

“Liberty,” the thin voice corrected. “To liberty plighted. The L sound makes all the difference.”

“Thank ’ee. To liberty plighted. Comrades united‌—‌na, na, I said that. A short life and a merry one, jolly comrades‌—‌na, that’s not it.” Jack Jingly scratched his head again and groaned. “To liberty plighted‌—‌gi’me a little help, will ye?”

“All for one and one for all,” the voice said obligingly. “Can you get the rest yourself?”