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academics, not beasts of burden, and they ran the library. When confronted by such an imposing creature in the flesh, Felix found the term wise-hoof came more naturally
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    to him than centaur. The horse part was chestnut; the tail was a pale sandy color, as were the hair and beard. Pignut dismounted, and Turpsik gave him a sheet of paper with the words to the anthem written on it. Then they haggled about the price.
    As the haggling became more heated, Felix turned to the wise-hoof. "Are you a librarian?" he asked.
    "Yes," said the wise-hoof.
    "So why are you carrying a japegrin around?"
    "You're a japegrin," the wise-hoof pointed out.
    Felix was torn between revealing his true identity so that he could ask the librarian about Betony or keeping quiet. He tried a middle course of action. "How many prisoners are they keeping in the library?"
    "Twenty or so."
    "And are they all OK?"
    The wise-hoof looked at Felix contemptuously. "No," he said, "they're not all OK."
    "What do you mean?"
    "Why are you interested?"
    "We're not all thugs, you know," said Felix desperately, remembering that there had been japegrins who'd sided against Snakeweed.
    "There have been a few ... accidents, I think Fleabane called them."
    "Has anyone been killed?"
    "Two of my colleagues. They tried to neutralize the incendiary
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    spell hanging over the library and got caught doing it. On-the-spot wand execution. The screams went on for rather a long time."
    "I'm sorry," said Felix.
    "That doesn't really help," said the wise-hoof.
    Pignut and Turpsik reached an agreement, with Felix's forthcoming performance of the anthem thrown in as a special offer. The contract was sealed with a ritual slapping of hands and the exchange of insults. Pignut and Felix climbed up onto the wise-hoof and rode out of the valley.
    After a while Pignut said, "I don't even know your name, song merchant."
    So Felix was a song merchant now, was he? But he couldn't call himself by his real name, it was far too memorable. "Sam," he said, which was the first alternative that came into his head.
    "Sam?"
    Bad choice, thought Felix.
    "Short for Samphire, presumably?"
    "That's right," said Felix, heaving a silent sigh of relief. This was short-lived, however, because it started to rain. Then he remembered the hood and put it on. The rain poncho in his backpack would have been more effective, but trying to explain fluorescent orange nylon would have been a nightmare.
    "Met Fleabane before, have you?" Pignut asked him. "No. What's he like?"
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    "Well ..." The japegrin sounded unsure whether to continue. Then he seemed to cast caution to the winds and said, "Between ourselves, he's not frightfully popular."
    "That's a bit of an understatement," muttered the wise-hoof
    "In fact," said Pignut, "a lot of folk are beginning to think he's worse than Snakeweed. Snakeweed was a con artist, not a brute. Oh, I know he used sinistroms, but only when he had to."
    Felix could hardly believe he was hearing this.
    "Kicking boots, heavy-duty wands, squawking-mad triple-heads, incendiary spells," Pignut went on. "Not to mention the disappearance of the king and queen. Gone on vacation, apparently." He laughed grimly. "If you believe that, you'll believe anything. Where's it all going to end?"
    "It won't end," said the wise-hoof. "Whatever Fleabane gets, he'll just want more. That's the way he is." He skirted a puddle and nearly slipped over in the mud. The rain was getting heavier. "People used to be satisfied with what they had before they started reading what everyone else had. Newspapers? Abuse-papers, if you ask me."
    Pignut turned his head and grinned at Felix. There was a drip of rain on the end of his nose. "I bet you're glad you're a japegrin and not a lickit or a tangle-child," he said. "It can't be much fun scratching a living in the outlying farmsteads they've all been sent to. Fleabane takes most of the produce in rent, and full stomachs are a thing of the past.
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    Not putting you off, am I?