The Enchantress of World's End

“—By night, they are anything but!” giggled Xarda.

“Exactly, my dear! Doubtless, living by this double standard engenders schizophrenia to some degree; but that is far more wholesome than a blocked, congested, sorely inflamed libido.”

Ganelon, plodding dully behind, began to catch their meaning.

“Do you mean to say,” he demanded, still puzzled, “that while by daylight the Chxians are moral, ethical, scrupulously honest, law-abiding and sober—?”

“At night they turn into a bunch of thieving, murdering sots and lechers,” the Sirix chuckled. Ganelon seemed shocked; the old magister, however, was fascinated. He began to pull his glimmering robes on over his nightwear.

“Come, children, let’s go down and enjoy the spectacle at first hand!”

“Are you sure we should?” said Ganelon, dubiously.

“Certainly. Why not? We are hardly likely to have our morals infected by the-example of the Chxians, and they can do us no harm in their present state. Since we certainly won’t get any sleep, what with all this clamor, we might as well get some fun out of it. Come —get some clothes on, and join me below!”

The taproom was transformed. From some hidden cellar, strong beverages had emerged and were being sold across the counter by the wainload. The long room was thronged, mostly by men in an advanced stage of inebriation, but there were more than a few women amongst them. None of these wore any clothes to speak of (unless a flower behind an ear, or a bit of jewelry here and there can be called “clothes”). They were either dancing with slow, wriggling, lascivious motions to the sultry atonal music of the pipes, or were busy being embraced, kissed and so on.

At least three fist-fights were in progress by the time Xarda, Ganelon and the Illusionist got downstairs, and one of these was developing into a splendid bar-room brawl. Ganelon was faintly shocked to see three or four civil monitors sitting at the bar, watching the miniature riot with expressions of sodden satisfaction on their faces. During the day, these same monitors in their stiff collars and uncomfortable tabards had been everywhere, suspiciously eyeing the populace, alert for the slightest signs of incontinence, indecency or inebriation. Now they were virtually wallowing in a den of sin, and seemed to be enjoying every minute of it!

The street outside was a shambles. Broken, looted shops gaped emptily; drunks slouched, snoozing in the doorways; thieves in black vizors with naked dirks lurked in every alley-mouth; men and women, reeling drunkenly in every conceivable state of disarray from gaudy carnival garb to total nakedness, staggered about giggling and embracing, dancing arm in arm.

A pungent cloud of mint-green vapor floated past from a band of sniggering, wobble-kneed loiterers. The Illusionist sniffed sharply, and laughed. “Crazy-weed! I didn’t know they still grew it in these parts. No, my dear, thank you very much for the compliment, but I fear a man of my centuries is somewhat past such things!” This last comment was made to a heavily painted woman whose bodice was open to the navel, and who strolled about openly soliciting the attentions of unengaged males.

Ganelon, towering above the throng by head and shoulders, stared about htm with an expression of gloomy disapproval of his glum features. I fear I shall never understand True Men, he thought to himself somberly.

Many a fight was in progress along the avenue, and some of the streets and squares they passed contained full-scale riots. Silvermane kept a wary eye out for trouble, and his hand was never far from a weapon, but nothing untoward happened to them during their tour of the streets of Chx. Any troublemakers still sober enough to walk could measure the heroic thews and towering height of the bronze giant, obviously, and decided to leave well enough alone.

“Tally-ho, there goes another riot!” laughed Xarda, as a growling mob went charging by, waving makeshift clubs in a belligerent manner. “And to think, earlier I was saying to myself that Chx was just about the dullest town I had every visited!”

The Illusionist laughed “Yes, my dear, quite a transformation, indeed! But / am wondering if this sort of thing goes on all night, or only for a pre-arranged period. Because if it does last until dawn, I am wondering what the poor Chxians do in order to get some sleep!”

Within another hour or so, the noise and bustle began to slacken sharply, answering the Illusionist’s question for him. Those citizens determined on wife-stealing, infidelity, rape or more outre sexual encounters had already stolen away to some dark, cozy places; and the rest of the citizenry were either dead drunk, or had been bludgeoned into unconsciousness in this or that riot, fist-fight or bar-room brawl. Soon the city was peaceful again, and the travelers returned to their inn to snatch a few hours of slumber before daybreak.

What with being up half the night, it was only natural that they overslept by several hours the next day. Indeed, the sun was well up into the noonward skies by the tune they roused themselves, washed, dressed, and came downstairs for some breakfast. The innkeeper, his gaudy carnival robes tucked away, looked stiff and solemn (and ever so slightly hung-over) in his modest daytime raiment as he served them a meager, spiceless but nourishing meal.