“I’m Royal Wizard of the kingdom of Yurt,” I said gravely, “and this is the Royal Chaplain. I don’t need any extra income.”

The man was taken aback for a moment, but he seemed to have quick powers of recovery. “Well, then, maybe you know some other wizard who might be interested. Or maybe you’d even like to lend a hand yourself when the king doesn’t need you! I should put the proposition up to him myself, explain that this will really make Yurt a well-known place, not just a novelty as one of the smallest of the western kingdoms.”

“We’ll take the road down to the Holy Grove,” said Joachim, abruptly swinging back up into the saddle.

“But I haven’t even had a chance yet to tell you about all our souvenirs, Father!” the man said eagerly. “As you can see, we’re not quite ready for business yet, but in the next week or two we hope to have reproductions of the Holy Toe itself, figurines of a dragon-children always like things like that-and booklets telling of the life and miracles of the Cranky Saint.”

Joachim’s shoulders stiffened into rigidity, but he made no answer. Instead he kicked his horse sharply into a trot. I was right behind him. The man in the feathered cap waved cheerfully after us.

After three-quarters of a mile, as the road left the level plateau and began its steep descent toward the valley floor, I had suppressed silent laugher enough that I dared ask a question. Even for me, originally the son of a city merchant, this seemed to have gone much too far. “Had you known about all this?”

“The bishop made a brief reference to ‘some inappropriate activities’ at the site,” said Joachim, looking straight ahead. “But I hadn’t realized it was this bad. No wonder Saint Eusebius wants to leave.”

V

For the next twenty minutes, we had to give all our attention to our horses, keeping them at a slow walk as the steep road wound and twisted its way down the side of the valley.