Nine.

164 East 64th Street.

HE HAD BOUGHT a color TV set to substitute as a computer CRT screen because of the sound capability. The set was nominally of American manufacture, though most of the parts bore oriental symbols. Lots of things had changed in this country.

He reattached the back of the set, tightening the screws a few turns. The adjustments he had made were minor, but necessary. He turned the set around on the table and sat back.

He began the incantation in a low monotone, then modulated to a wavering chant. As he did this he performed accompanying hand gestures. The screen began to form vague images. He continued the recitation until the screen went blank again.

"Damn."

His fingers went to the keyboard of the computer terminal and punched a few keys. A table of numbers appeared on the screen and he consulted it.

"More nearer A-flat than A-natural," he muttered.

He picked up a small plastic disk, about the circumference of which a number of small holes had been punched. He put the device to his lips and blew. A musical note sounded.

"That's more like it." He hummed a note in tune with the one that the pitch pipe had emitted. "Yes."

He began the incantation again, this time in a slightly altered tonality. The CRT screen came to life with a flurry of random images, fleetingly visible, along with accompanying sounds. In time, the images congealed into a scene.

The angle of sight was high, looking down on a large bed. A man and a woman lay in it, the man half sitting, half reclining, bending over the woman, who lay with both legs dangling over the high edge of the bed. The man was dressed in kingly robes, she in a maidservant's gown and cap. The man nuzzled her neck as he fumbled with the ties of her bodice.

"Deems? Sorry to bother you -"

"What!" The man sat up suddenly. The woman squealed, jumped up, and ran off-screen.

"Who calls?"

"Up here, Deems. To your left."

The man looked first to the right, confusedly, then to the left. Then he tilted his head up and peered straight out from the screen.

"Incarnadine! What the devil - ?" He exhaled and rubbed his forehead, looking down. "Gods! You gave me a terrible start, Inky old boy."

"Sorry, Deems. I realize it's an awkward moment to reach you."

"Devil of a time. A man's hardly more vulnerable when he's dallying with a chambermaid." He chuckled.

"I'm only relieved it was you instead of -" He looked about conspiratorially; then, in a whisper " - instead of She-Who-Must-Be-Propitiated." Winking slyly he added, "If you know who I mean."

"How is ... Flaminia?"

Deems looked pained. "Healthy as an ox, I'm sad to report. She scrutinizes my every move, hides the liquor, keeps a tight fist on my finances, and complains that I don't pay enough attention to her."

"I'm sorry for you, Deems."

"Don't be, old boy. Otherwise, things are fine."

"How are things in fair Albion?"

"Middling indifferent. The northern barbarians threaten; the nobles carp about high taxes; the peasants squawk about ruinous quitrents; the royal treasury is just about depleted; trade imbalances are draining gold away from the country like shit through a sewer pipe -" He grinned broadly. "Same old story.

How goes it with you? Where are you calling from, by the way?"

"New York."

Deems was impressed. "How did you ever find the portal?"

"It took some doing. About six months of trying different things."

"Well, congratulations. How is the place? Did they ever get that global war settled?"

"Which one? There have been two of them in this century."

"Oh. Well, I forget just who the major combatants were. Actually I never cared much for that world."

"It's lost a lot of its charm in recent years," Incarnadine said.

"A shame. You're rather fond of the place, aren't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he went on to ask, "I say, is Trent still living there?"

"Yes, I found him, at the same location, in fact."

"Well, that's ... good, I suppose. Hm. All this time and not a word from him."

"He seems totally uninterested in maintaining any family ties."

"I thought as much," Deems said, shaking his head disapprovingly. "A contrary bastard, that one.

Always was."

Deems' image began to waver. Incarnadine made a few quick hand passes to correct the interference.

"What's wrong? Are you breaking off?"

"No," Incarnadine said. "If you remember, the Arts are somewhat of an iffy proposition in this world.

I'm still working the bugs out of some new methods. Complicating things is the fact that the energy potential between the various universes has shifted over time. I'm still dealing with the implications of that."

"Ah, yes, I do seem to remember there was a very good reason why I didn't like New York and its provinces. No magic at all. Which made it an unacceptable alternative to Perilous, which fairly oozes with the damnable stuff."

"You never took to the Arts in a big way. Did you, Deems?"

"Never cared for hocus-pocus," Deems said with a shake of his head. "Never wanted any part of it.

Makes me nervous."

"Although you need it occasionally."

"Occasionally," Deems conceded. "As do we all." He rubbed his belly and sighed.

"You've put on weight, elder brother."

Deems laughed. "Tell me something I don't know, little brother. I eat too much and drink even more.

The Arts I'll have none of; the Vices, every one." He laughed heartily again, revealing large white teeth.

When he was done he said, "What are you up to, Inky?"

"Something's going on at Perilous, I don't quite know what. I suspect meddling. If that's the case, I haven't a clue as to who's the guilty party."

"What sort of meddling?"

"A few of the spells sealing off some of the more troublesome aspects are completely gone. It could be that they deteriorated and simply fizzled out. It could also be that someone canceled them."

"And you suspected ... whom?"

"Trent, first off. One of the reasons I came here. I've been trying to detect evidence of major magical activity in this universe. So far the data are inconclusive. If Trent is responsible, however, he may have taken great pains to cover his tracks."

Deems nodded. "And you suspect me?"

"Brother, you're at the bottom of the suspect list. Everyone knows you could have had the throne, but turned it down. Why then would you conspire now to take the throne from me?"

"I know of no reason," Deems said flatly.

"Nor do I."

There was a pause before Deems asked, "Then why this communication?"

"I wondered if you had any ideas. If you'd heard anything."

"From who?"

"Ferne, for one. Have you seen her recently?"

"I haven't seen Ferne in a god's age."

Incarnadine nodded. "And Trent has never communicated with you in all this time?"

"I would have told you, just out of courtesy," Deems said.

"Just making sure, Deems. Trent says he wants to be left alone, and I have no reason yet not to take him at his word. But all the same, I have to be sure."

"I can assure you that I am not in league with our little brother Trent."

"I didn't say you were, Deems. In fact, I said I wanted your help."

"I'll do anything I can."

"Thank you. Ferne always liked Albion. Would you cast about and see if you can locate her there?"

"I'd be happy to, though I doubt she's here."

"Nevertheless, if you find her, please tell her I wish to see her."

"I will," Deems said. "Anything else?"

"Do you have enough Art to attempt calling Trent from your world?"

"No, I doubt it."

"Then, are you up for a short trip home?"

"Not exactly, but I will come if you insist."

"Then do, and be my guest. When you are here, use the Universal Projector to call him and sound him out. Tell me what you think. I need a second opinion, a second reading, if you will."

"Very well. I hope I can remember the spell that works that old contraption of Dad's. I haven't used it in years."

"Go to the library and look it up. Osmirik, the new librarian, will help you."

"It will be good to be back at Perilous again. I could use a change of scene." Deems scratched his black beard. "But won't Trent instantly suspect you put me up to it? I mean, calling him out of the blue, after so many years?"

"He may. I think he most probably will think I put you up to it. In fact, you can tell him I did. I want everything to be aboveboard, for now."

"As you wish. Do you suspect everyone? Dorcas as well?"

"Hardly Dorcas."

"Well, that more or less leaves Ferne, Trent, and me - and you say I'm out of the running."

"Ferne and Trent. Yes. They might be in it together. I find that not improbable. They always got along well together. In fact, Trent was the only one of us who was at all close to Ferne."

"It would seem a simple case, then, with only three possible solutions. It's either Ferne alone, or Trent alone, or both together."

"Or someone else entirely."

Deems scowled. "Who?"

"An outside force or agent of some sort."

Deems pursed his lips and looked pensive. "Hm. I suppose it's possible. Castle Perilous has never lacked for enemies."

"True."