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The Wild Man

The Wild Man of Summersend wears breeches with hair belt; he eats grubs and honey. He tried eating locusts and honey but apparently you don’t get locusts in the woods. He spends his time vomiting grubs and accosting travelers. “Guilt!” he’ll shout, and hurl a mudball down the path.

“Hello, God-touched,” says the Knight respectfully, raising his visor to wipe away mud.

The Wild Man drops his next mudball and stares. “Whose face are you wearing?” he whispers.

“Nought but my own.”

“Whose face!” shouts the Wild Man, then sees the Knight’s burnished chest and remembers: ah, yes, the mirror’s.

The Page

She knows everyone in the world, and these are their names:

  • The Magician
  • The Popess
  • Strength and her friend Temperance
  • Star
  • Death
  • The Knight
  • The King
  • The Queen of Swords

And herself, of course, the Page. So when she meets the man in the worn blue coat she doesn’t know what to call him.

“I’m the Emperor, my child,” he says. “Emperor Norton the First. Not Emperor here, of course, just a state visit, a diplomatic consort mission envoy. Where am I?”

“The world,” says the Page uneasily.

“Ah,” he says, “but what do you call it?”

She calls it Summersend.

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