Compleat Traveller in Black Read Online Free PDF Page A

which had been here a scant hour ago could not have removed itself to another location. Therefore it must be he who was misplaced; he had no doubt missed his way in the pleasant summery woodland, and would eventually return if not to the road he had first followed then to some other that intersected with it.
    He strolled along jauntily enough, not much worried by the turn of affairs, and whistled as he walked. Occasionally the hedges on either side parted after he had gone by, and eyes thoughtfully studied his retreating back, but since he did not notice it this fact failed to disturb him.
    At length the hedges ended, and with them the trees of the wood, and he emerged on a rutted track between two ploughed fields. On the near edge of one of these fields a man whose only clothing was a kerchief tied around his neck and whose legs were soiled to the knee with dirt was backing up a large obstreperous horse, harnessed to a cart whose contents were indeterminate but stank incredibly. Ignoring both reek and nudity as best he could, Bernard addressed the fellow in his politest tones.
    “Excuse me! Can you tell me the way to the London road?”
    The man considered for a moment. Then he spat in the earth where it was new-turned by his horse’s enormous hooves, and said bluntly, “No!”
    Well, that was at least an answer, if not a very helpful one. Bernard shrugged and wandered on.
    Again the grassy ride passed between hedges, and began to wind so that at any given moment only twenty paces of it were in clear view before and behind. From around a bend ahead a voice could be heard raised in song and growing louder. This voice was of intersexual quality, neither altogether male nor altogether female, and shrilled occasionally on the highest notes with shiver-provoking acidity.
    Shortly the singer came in sight, and Bernard found himself confronted by a young man, with silvery white hair cut short around his head, riding negligently on a gaily caparisoned horse that moved its head in time with the beat of its master’s song. His attire was extraordinary, for he wore a checkered shirt of red and yellow and loose breeches of bright green, the color of a sour apple, and his steed was if anything more surprising, inasmuch as it was skewbald of purple and pale blue. This rider accompanied his vocalizing on a small plucked instrument, the strings of which chirruped like birds.
    When he perceived Bernard, he abandoned his song in midphrase, let his instrument fall on a baldric to his side, and reined in his mount. Then he leaned forward, one hand on the pommel of his saddle, and fixed the pedestrian with bright hard eyes; these were violet.
    “Good morrow, stranger,” he said in a light tone. “And what’s your business here?”
    “I’m trying to find my way back to the London road,” said Bernard, trying to stop his eyebrows rising in astonishment at this spectacle.
    “There is no road of that name near here,” said the young man, and shook his head sorrowfully. “I know that to be a fact, for all the roads in this vicinity belong to me.”
    “Now this is all very well,” said Bernard, and forced a smile to show he was party to the joke. “But while it may amuse you to make such grandiose assertions, it does not amuse me to be denied essential guidance. I’ve lost my way somehow, through taking a wrong turning in the woods, and I badly need directions.”
    The young man drew himself upright and urged his horse forward – and it could be seen now that this was not a young man riding a horse, nor was there in fact a horse being ridden, but some sort of confusion of the two, in that the youth’s legs were not separated from his mount. They ended in fleshy stalks, uniting with the belly of that part of the composite animal resembling a horse.
    “This is weird!” thought Bernard to himself, but being mannerly he forbore to remark on the combination.
    The man-portion of the creature stared at him harshly, hand falling to his