Book III in the series ...
In the land of Ar, on the eve of day of the Festival of the Indecisive Moon of Indeterminate Phase, Fort Maker of Fine Hardwood Didgeridoos hastened into the village, breathless with excitement.
“A three-leaf clover!” he shouted exultantly. “I found a lucky three-leaf clover!”
The villagers, although evincing postures of apostolic confusion, smiled knowingly. The wise Fort, Sage of Ar, was up to his old tricks. Festival-goers from afar, however, unfamiliar with the ways of Fort, only saw a raving old fool.
“A lucky three-leaf clover, petunia feathers!” declared Arigoth of Bor, employing the term of utmost disdain of his land.
“Indeed,” responded Fort in apparent agreement.
“Everyone knows that it is the four-leaf clover that is lucky,” Arigoth persisted, extending his arms in a great clatter of jewelry.
“Hmm,” responded Fort, scratching a sore on his flesh through a hole in his garment. A crowd now gathered about the two men.
“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” mocked Arigoth, with a great rustling of silk.
“I beg your indulgence,” Fort responded with utmost deference. “You are a man of high import. Alas, I am a man of little account.”
“For once, you speak with great veracity,” Arigoth replied, feeling very proud.
“If only my words could serve me as admirably all the time,” allowed Fort. “Perhaps you can take pity upon this babbling old fool, and we can settle this matter amicably and expeditiously.”
By now, a considerable crowd had gathered.
“Proceed,” said Arigoth, feigning great magnanimity.
“If you would be so kind,” said Fort, holding up his three-leaf clover, “as to show me your four-leaf clover?”
The wise man knows when to quit while he is behind. So said Fort on many occasions, and the crowd, knowing this, turned expectantly to the man from Bor. But Arigoth, hailing from afar and thus unfamiliar with the Sage of Ar, pressed his case: “What four-leaf clover?” the man expectorated with great contempt. “Everyone knows that four-leaf clovers scarcely exist.”
“Yes, yes,” Fort readily agreed. “Why then, do we pin our hopes on that which scarcely exists?”
The crowd politely roared with approval. The man from Bor, however, set his face in a grim countenance, demanding an explanation. The Sage of Ar was happy to oblige. “Behold the three-leaf clover,” he exclaimed, holding it aloft, “abundant and available. Behold my luck.”
This was too much for the man from Bor. “Lucky?” he erupted, unable to contain himself. “You, lucky?”
The crowd turned expectantly to Fort.
“Perhaps,” Fort acknowledged in a quiet voice, “I have not used my three-leaf clover wisely.” He plucked an abundant and available three-leaf clover from the ground and offered it to the man. “If you would be so kind as to show me how to make proper use of this?”
The man expressed puzzlement. “You mean make a wish?” he asked, accepting the clover.
“Yes,” said Fort. “Make a wish.”
“That’s easy,” said Arigoth, twirling his clover. “I wish for a twelve-fold increase in my wealth.”
“And your wisdom?” asked Fort.
“If you persist, and my wisdom,” said Arigoth.
“And a larger - ahem - personal endowment?” asked Fort.
The man made a gesture to strike down this impudent fool, but then, assaying the sentiment of the crowd, decided otherwise. “The size of my personal endowment is fine,” he responded with a great lack of authority.
“Indeed,” demurred Fort with great sincerity. “I have no reason to question either your endowment or your credibility. Please, allow me to continue.”
“Granted,” said Arigoth, with a great rattling of jewelry.
“Perhaps you can clear my confusion. Even in men of substantial personal endowment, is it not natural to wish for - a little bit more?”
“A little bit more,” the man conceded. “That is a perfectly natural wish.”
The crowd nodded in sympathy. Yes, they agreed. A little bit more was a perfectly natural wish.
“Let me see if I got this right,” said Fort. “You are wishing upon your three-leaf clover for a twelve-fold increase in your wealth, a proportionate increase in your wisdom, and - a little bit more?”
“That is correct,” said Arigoth.
Fort affected to ponder the matter. “That is asking a lot of a clover with but three leaves. You already appear to be a man of substantial wealth and wisdom. Perhaps you would choose to limit yourself to one wish?”
“So be it,” said the man impatiently.
“A little bit more?” prompted Fort with great delicacy.
“A little bit more,” the man acknowledged.
“Ah” said Fort. “A wish very worthy of a person of your stature. Woe is me, for I fear I wish most unwisely.”
“Judging by your appearance, I have no reason to dispute you,” the man responded. “Do, pray tell, satisfy my curiosity,” he continued in a mocking voice. “What would be your wish?”
Fort did not hesitate. “A crust,” he responded with great enthusiasm, holding up his clover. “A crust from the loaf in your sack. Would you be so kind as to indulge an old fool his wish?”
“What kind of a stupid wish is that?” replied the man, flinging him a crust.
Fort nibbled on his crust, head down, affecting deep thought. Then he stopped nibbling, and looked up, eyes staring straight into the seat of the man’s endowment. “My wish has been granted,” he said in a voice that carried into the far reaches of the crowd. “Do pray tell, satisfy my curiosity. How did your wish turn out?”