Schmendrick kicked her ankle as hard as he could, for the listeners were beginning to hiss like embers, and a few were rising to their feet. He asked again, “What is it you wish of me?”

“You are on your way to Haggard’s castle, I believe.” Schmendrick nodded. “Ah,” Drinn said. “Now, a clever magician would find it simple to become friendly with Prince Lír, who is reputed to be a young man of eagerness and curiosity. A clever magician might be acquainted with all manner of odd potions and powders, poppets and philters, herbs and banes and unguents. A clever magician‌—‌mind you, I said ‘clever,’ no more‌—‌a clever magician might be able, under the proper circumstances…” He let the rest drift away unspoken, but no less said.

“For a meal?” Schmendrick stood up, knocking his chair over. He leaned on the table with both hands, breathing harshly. “Is that the going rate these days? Dinner and wine the price of a poisoned prince? You’ll have to do better than that, friend Drinn. I wouldn’t do in a chimneysweep for such a fee.”

Molly Grue gripped his arm, crying, “What are you saying?” The magician shook her hand away, but at the same time he lowered one eyelid in a slow wink. Drinn leaned back in his chair, smiling. “I never haggle with a professional,” he said. “Twenty-five pieces of gold.”

They haggled for half an hour, Schmendrick demanding a hundred gold pieces, and Drinn refusing to offer more than forty. At last they settled at seventy, half to be paid then and half upon Schmendrick’s successful return. Drinn counted out the money on the spot from a leather pouch at his belt. “You’ll spend the night in Hagsgate, of course,” he said. “I would be pleased to put you up myself.”

But the magician shook his head. “I think not. We will go on to the castle, since we’re so near it now. The sooner there, the sooner back, eh?” And he grinned a crafty and conspiratorial grin.

“Haggard’s castle is always dangerous,” Drinn warned. “But it is never more dangerous than at night.”

“They say that about Hagsgate too,” Schmendrick replied. “You mustn’t believe everything you hear, Drinn.” He walked to the door of the inn, and Molly followed him. There he turned and beamed at the folk of Hagsgate, hunched in their finery. “I would like to leave you with this last thought,” he told them. “The most professional curse ever snarled or croaked or thundered can have no effect on a pure heart. Good night.”

Outside, the night lay coiled in the street, cobra-cold and scaled with stars. There was no moon. Schmendrick stepped out boldly, chuckling to himself and jingling his gold coins. Without looking at Molly, he said, “Suckers. To assume so lightly that all magicians dabble in death. Now if they had wanted me to lift the curse‌—‌ah, I might have done that for no more than the meal, I might have done it for a single glass of wine.”