r as the clockwork march of stars
or whirl of electrons, each laid an octagonal egg of pure gold.

Mapfabvisheen had trodden softly from the strongroom and thought
himself safe. And then, amazingly, frighteningly, and totally
unethically, from his viewpoint, the geese had begun honking loudly!

He had run, but not fast enough. The Giant had come stumbling from his
bed in response to the wild clamor and had caught him. And, according
to the contract drawn up between the Guild of Egg-stealers and the
League of Giants, a guildsman seized within the precincts of a castle
must serve the goose's owner for two years. Mapfabvisheen had been
greedy; he had tried to take both geese. Therefore, he must wait upon
the Giant for a double term.

Afterwards, he found out how he'd been trapped. The egglayers
themselves hadn't been honking. Mouthless, they were utterly incapable
of that. Mapfarity had fastened a so-called "goose-tracker" to the
strong-room's doorway. This device clicked loudly whenever a goose was
nearby. It could smell out one even through a lead-leaf-lined bag.
When Mapfabvisheen passed underneath it, its clicks woke up a small
Skin beside it. The Skin, mostly lung-sac and voice organs, honked its
warning. And the dwarf, Mapfabvisheen, began his servitude to the
Giant, Mapfarity.

Rastignac knew the story. He also knew that Mapfarity had infected the
fellow with the philosophy of Violence and that he was now a good
member of his Underground. He was eager to tell him his servitor days
were over, that he could now take his place in their band as an equal.
Subject, of course, to Rastignac's order.

Mapfabvisheen was stretched out upon the floor and snoring a sour
breath. A grey-haired man was slumped on a nearby table. His head,
turned to one side, exhibited the same slack-jawed look that the
Ssassaror's had, and he flung the ill-smelling gauntlet of his breath
at the visitors. He held an empty bottle in one loose hand. Two other
bottles lay on the stone floor, one shattered.

Besides the bottles lay the men's Skins. Rastignac wondered why they
had not crawled to the halltree and hung themselves up.

"What ails them? What is that smell?" said Mapfarity.

"I don't know," replied Archambaud, "but I know the visitor. He is
Father Jules, priest of the Guild of Egg-stealers."

Rastignac raised his queer, bracket-shaped eyebrows, picked up a
bottle in which there remained a slight residue, and drank.

"Mon Dieu, it