"Your valise is stealed in Aeshno?"

"Not exactly. But it's gone, and so I've been traveling for days without a change and I suppose, all things considered, that it pretty well serves me right, but it's getting pretty noisome, and I just couldn't stand it any longer, so I was ready to grab anything I could find, so long as it was clean clean-" She broke off, aware that she was babbling.

Probably Mesq'r Zavune understood no more than half of what she had said, for his brow was clouded as he repeated rea.s.suringly, "Very pretty for you."

"Thank you." She drew a breath and collected herself. "And you are looking very well, Master Zavune. You've made good time, since we disembarked in Aeshno."

"Ah. Time. Yes." He nodded. "In Aennorve I am home, I am among many friends. Much they help me. I am gived use of carriage, good horses, to carry me comfortable to Quinnekevah. I am having easy time of it in Aennorve."

"You must have enjoyed that."

"Muchly. Truth, so muchly that I myself make difficult to fly along."

"You mean, you were so happy to be home in Aennorve that it was hard for you to move on?" she translated.

"You have striked the nail. There in Aeshno I am with the Madame Zavune, the sons and small daughter Zavune. It is good but brief, so brief, and when do I see them all again?"

"Not so very long from now, I think. The race goes quickly."

"Today it does not. I am here in station this morning, six o'clock sharp, for eastbound train Number 344, the Flying Goatherd Flying Goatherd, and it does not come. I wait. No train. I wait. Still no train, somebody clips that goatherd's wings. I wait past noon, and now I am waiting for next scheduled train, Number 682, Bizaqhi Bullet Bizaqhi Bullet, scheduled depart one P.M. P.M."

"Yes, I'm waiting for the Bizaqhi Bullet Bizaqhi Bullet too." too."

"And waiting. And waiting. No train."

So much the better, Luzelle thought. Had you caught that morning train, you'd be miles ahead of me now. Had you caught that morning train, you'd be miles ahead of me now. Aloud she said only, "There is no help for it, unless you want to look for some other means of transportation." Aloud she said only, "There is no help for it, unless you want to look for some other means of transportation."

"No, no. Train is best, when it come. If it come."

"It will. All of these people"-her gesture encompa.s.sed the populous waiting room-"can't be wrong."

"I hope it. I hope too for something to eat, before long. I am not eating since dawn, but I dare not go from here in search of food. What if Bizaqhi Bullet Bizaqhi Bullet hits station while I am gone?" hits station while I am gone?"

"I've got raisins. Would you like some?"

"Miss D'vaire, you are G.o.ddess of mercy."

They walked on together. As they went, he consumed two packets of her raisins and a handful of blifilnuts. Conversation was agreeable, if labored, centering largely upon amusing or appalling recent experiences. She told him about the claynester ambush in the Iyecktori village, he told her of the outrageously crooked innkeeper along the Eastwest High Road. She had grown used to his thick accent, his fractured syntax, and his speech was increasingly comprehensible. The better she understood, the more clearly she perceived his longing for home, and once again she thought, Poor fellow, he shouldn't be here. Poor fellow, he shouldn't be here.

They walked on through clouds of somebody's foul cigar smoke, and she wondered if they might step outdoors into comparatively fresh air, if only for a moment. Her eyes jumped to the main doorway, and her breath caught.

Mesq'r Zavune followed her gaze. "Ah," he murmured sadly. "Surprise."

Two fellow Ellipsoids had caught up with them. Girays v'Alisante and Karsler Stornzof walked into Quinnekevah Station together. Side by side, in fact.

Karsler? Here? He should have been miles ahead by now, half a world ahead. What could have delayed him, how could he be here now? And with Girays v'Alisante, of all people? Here? He should have been miles ahead by now, half a world ahead. What could have delayed him, how could he be here now? And with Girays v'Alisante, of all people?

They couldn't have been traveling in company. Girays, who disliked Grewzians, would never voluntarily spend time or share s.p.a.ce with Karsler Stornzof. Their simultaneous arrival was surely coincidental.

It did not look coincidental. They were hurrying straight for the ticket window, and they were talking as they went. She could not begin to imagine the conversational topic, but Girays said something to which Karsler responded with a nod and a smile, and it all seemed very sociable indeed.

They were, she mused inconsequentially, dissimilar in almost every way; externally, at least. She willed herself not to stare.

"We give greeting?" Zavune inquired.

"What? Oh-later, perhaps," she replied. She found herself curiously uncertain. She would not have hesitated to approach either Karsler or Girays individually-in fact, she would have welcomed the chance-but confronting both at once seemed indefinably awkward. "I've walked enough, haven't you? Let's sit down."

He nodded, and they found s.p.a.ce on one of the benches at the rear of the room. She risked a covert glance at the ticket window, where Girays and Karsler stood engaged in some sort of exchange with the cashier. He was probably telling them in Bizaqhi that the trains were running endless hours behind schedule, and they did not understand him, but they would figure it out soon enough. They had not yet noticed her presence, and she was content to remain invisible for the moment.

Mesq'r Zavune was saying something or other, and she would never understand if she didn't concentrate. She turned back to him with a smile, waited while he laboriously constructed some polite query about her last series of lectures, and replied graciously. Innocuous conversation ensued. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Girays and Karsler seat themselves. Together. Very strange.

The skies visible through the dusty station window darkened, and the stars appeared. The lamps in the waiting room were lit, and presently the big clock on the wall chimed the hour of eight. Dinnertime, and she was more than ready. Reaching into her carpetbag, she groped in vain for a packet of raisins, a handful of nuts, or an apple. Not an edible morsel remained.

"I eat all your foods?" Zavune correctly interpreted her look of regret. "This is bad of me."

"Not at all. I'm not really hungry," she lied. Her stomach growled a contradiction.

"This is bad of me," Zavune repeated. "I must to try to repair."

"No, really-"

"Wait, please." He turned away to face his left-hand neighbor, another of those large, linen-capped Iyecktori women.

Luzelle could not make out what he was saying to the Iyecktori. Probably he did not speak her language, but Zavune was not letting that stop him, and the exchange appeared animated. No scowling disapproval or insults directed at him him, she noticed. A man was allowed to travel alone, without compromise of respectability. n.o.body minded his his uncovered hair. In fact, the Iyecktori was beaming a soupy, maternal, gap-toothed smile, the kind of expression usually directed at adorable urchins or gamboling puppies. Now she was reaching into the wicker hamper on the floor before her to bring forth a couple of napkin-wrapped bundles, which she pressed upon him. And when he attempted to give her money, she shook her head, handed him another little bundle, and actually patted his cheek. It was revolting, really. uncovered hair. In fact, the Iyecktori was beaming a soupy, maternal, gap-toothed smile, the kind of expression usually directed at adorable urchins or gamboling puppies. Now she was reaching into the wicker hamper on the floor before her to bring forth a couple of napkin-wrapped bundles, which she pressed upon him. And when he attempted to give her money, she shook her head, handed him another little bundle, and actually patted his cheek. It was revolting, really.

But she changed her mind when Zavune turned back to face her, unknotted the napkins, and invited her to share the contents, which included stuffed grape leaves, an herb loaf, and dried apricots. She ate, and her mood improved.

Thereafter conversation lagged and time stretched. She would have given worlds for a book or newspaper, but there was none. Finally-bored with waiting, tired of sitting, and sick to death of Quinnekevah Station-she closed her eyes against surrounding sights and promptly fell asleep, sitting there upright on the hard wooden bench.

A hum of voices and a stir of movement woke her. Luzelle opened her eyes. Her head was resting against Mesq'r Zavune's shoulder. He was asleep, his cheek pressing her hair. She drew back, and the disengagement awakened him. All around them people were rising from the benches and moving toward the departure gate. Evidently the train had arrived. Her eyes sought the clock. She blinked. The time was 2:11 A.M. A.M. Disgraceful. Disgraceful.

Stifling a yawn, she stood. Zavune did likewise. She scanned the room, and was instantly wide awake. For there, not forty feet distant, dark-bearded head towering above the crowd, Bav Tchornoi was pushing aggressively for the exit. He must have entered the station while she slept. Her eyes wandered on almost unwillingly, to light too soon upon the insistently splendiferous figure of Porb Jil Liskjil, whose jewelry caught and bounced the lamplight. And not only Jil Liskjil. For there was the Strellian physician, Dr. Phineska, one of the Grand Ellipse racers whose chances of victory she had dismissed at the start. And there was that Kyrendtish blueblood, the one with the protruding ears and the stammer-Founne Hay-Frinl. She had not caught sight of Hay-Frinl since Lanthi Ume, and had thought him eliminated from the compet.i.tion long ago. Yet here he was. The night was full of unwelcome surprises.

Sighing, she picked up her carpetbag and made for the exit. Zavune walked beside her. They went out onto the platform, and there was the train, venting steam, and there were the scores of long-delayed travelers scrambling to climb aboard. The compet.i.tion was intense, and many ticket holders were actually shoving or elbowing one another.

Wretched manners, thought Luzelle, and quickly remembered to amend, Different customs, different outlook. Not necessarily inferior, just different. Different customs, different outlook. Not necessarily inferior, just different. But it didn't mean she had to like them. But it didn't mean she had to like them.

She and Zavune went politely to the end of the amorphous line, there to wait their turn in decent western fashion. They boarded at last, and the source of pa.s.senger rivalry revealed itself. The train was full to bursting, and all the seats were taken. Along the aisles they stumbled, enc.u.mbered with their luggage, through car after car, and everywhere they went the seats were occupied, sometimes doubly so, with children sleeping across their parents' laps, and cages of live birds wedged in between seated bodies.

As they neared the back of the train, the aisles clogged up with the displaced unfortunates, forced to sit or recline atop their own baggage. A whistle screeched, the train pulled out of Quinnekevah Station, and progress waxed problematic. The third time she tripped over some anonymous rec.u.mbent form, Luzelle balked.

"Enough," she said.

"Of-?" Zavune prompted.

"Staggering around. There are no seats left. I'm staying here." She let fall her carpetbag.

"You give up, then?"

"I certainly do. On finding a vacant seat, that is."

"I am still look."

"Good luck, Master Zavune. And thanks for dinner."

"My pleasure, Miss D'vaire. And you good luck also." Suitcase in hand, Zavune lurched off.

She watched until he disappeared from view. Placing her carpetbag between her spine and the wall, she settled back against it with a sigh. Despite the makeshift cushion she felt the vibration of the train through every bone. The floor she sat on was filthy; fortunately, her Bizaqhi divided skirt was black. The car was dimly lit and quiet save for the luxurious snores of a.s.sorted sleepers. They were lucky, she reflected. She could never sleep in such a place. She dozed off quickly, and woke to the sound of the conductor's voice. His words were unintelligible but his meaning was clear, and she handed him her ticket at once. He clipped the pasteboard, gave her a stub, and moved on. She sank back against the carpetbag and let her eyes close. Her thoughts drifted, slowed, and smudged into dreams.

The train wheezed east through the night toward Zuleekistan.

She woke again at dawn. The lamps had burned out. Cool morning light flowed in through the windows. A few pa.s.sengers were already yawning, stretching, coughing, and cracking their joints. Luzelle was stiff and aching. Her eyes were scratchy-dry, and she was lightly powdered with cinders. She knuckled her eyes, brushed herself off as best she could, and rose. Stumbling three cars forward, she paused briefly to avail herself of a genderless convenience, blessedly unoccupied at such an hour. She finger-combed her hair, rinsed out her mouth with water from her own canteen, splashed more of the water across her face, then continued on, scrupulously overstepping inert bodies, to work her way toward the front in hope of finding the dining car open for business.

It was. A faint mew of relief escaped her. She wanted strong coffee to burn off the mental mists, and she wanted it at once. A few crescent rolls with fresh b.u.t.ter wouldn't hurt either. She entered to find the car all but deserted. Only two of the tables were occupied, one of them by a pair of familiar figures: Girays and Karsler. Together.

She halted. For a moment she even contemplated retreat, but then Girays spotted her there in the doorway, and the opportunity was gone. He looked her up and down, taking in her disheveled curls and Bizaqhi costume, and his lips quirked infinitesimally. Then Karsler glanced back over his shoulder-she had almost forgotten how blue his eyes were-and smiled at her. Her sense of awkwardness subsided a little. No choice now but to join them, but at least she would find out how the younger Stornzof had lost the lead procured by the intervention of his ice-statue uncle, who was presently...where? Returning the smile, she went straight to their table, exchanged greetings, and seated herself. A waiter approached and poured her a cup of coffee. The distraction was welcome, for she found herself oddly at a loss for words.

"Does anyone know why the train was so late?" was all she could think of to say.

"Bizaqhi version of normality, I suspect," returned Girays.

"Whatever the reason, v'Alisante and I are fortunate in the delay," observed Karsler. "Had the train run on schedule, we should not have reached the station in time to catch it."

"We might have found another two-seater," Girays suggested.

We? wondered Luzelle. wondered Luzelle.

"Ah, you jest, and yet you must concede-the two-seater was not so bad as the rotting barge on the River Arune," Karsler replied.

"What will it take to convince you that stink didn't come from the barge, it came from the mules?"

"I believe you are in error. Your view is not unbiased. You developed a p.r.o.nounced antipathy toward the mules after you were bitten."

"No, I'd developed it before I was bitten, but that alters nothing. My nose was keen enough, you must admit, to scent out the swindling ticket agent in Yellow Noki."

"Your perspicacity was commendable, but I do not think your olfactory sense was involved."

"I was speaking figuratively."

"I see. Shall I regard your comments concerning mules as similarly figurative?"

"Literal as a laundry list."

They seemed quite in tune, practically-chummy, Luzelle thought, and found the notion displeasing. She could hardly have said why. Her lips were compressed, and she conscientiously stretched them into a smile. Letting her eyes dwell on the robust scenery rolling by outside the window, she took a sip of coffee and remarked, "This is so very pleasant."

TAKE ME WITH YOU, Masterfire begged.

"Not this time, my beauty," Nevenskoi replied aloud. "You haven't been summoned."

Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!

"Not today. You wouldn't enjoy it anyway. I go to attend His Majesty, and you don't relish his society."

Want OUT, out NOW, more s.p.a.cE, bigger PLACE! Outoutout! PLEASEpleaseplease!

"I don't really think-"

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE! Masterfire leapt frantically up and down. Masterfire leapt frantically up and down.

"Oh, all right," Nevenskoi surrendered.

AAAhhh-I am big, I am huge, I am vast- "No. You may come with me, but only on one condition," Nevenskoi decreed. "You are small, no more than a tiny spark hiding in my pocket. No one may know you are there."

Nononono. I am bigbigbig!

"You are smallsmallsmall. Else you do not leave this workroom today. The choice is yours."

I am small. So saying, Masterfire dwindled, shrinking within seconds to the dimension dictated by his creator. Hopping flealike from the pit-of-elements, the bright spark hurried across the floor to Nevenskoi's foot, jumped to the hem of the adept's sweeping robe, thence ascending to the breast pocket, into which Masterfire vanished smokelessly. So saying, Masterfire dwindled, shrinking within seconds to the dimension dictated by his creator. Hopping flealike from the pit-of-elements, the bright spark hurried across the floor to Nevenskoi's foot, jumped to the hem of the adept's sweeping robe, thence ascending to the breast pocket, into which Masterfire vanished smokelessly.

"You are well?" asked Nevenskoi.

I am excellent, I am wonderful, I am Masterfire. Let us go now into bigger s.p.a.ce.

"Remember to stay out of sight."

Fervent telepathic confirmation.

Exiting the workroom, Nevenskoi made his practiced way along the subterranean corridor, up the secret staircase, through the storage closet and utility room, along the polished corridor to the king's own apartment, past the sentries and through the blue damask antechamber into the private study.

Miltzin IX, attired in a splendid dressing gown of midnight-blue silk embroidered with golden constellations, sat at the desk whose surface had not long ago supported the model of a futuristic city. The model was gone now, its place usurped by maps, charts, and intricate diagrams. Amid the parchment scrolls sat a platter containing the remains of His Majesty's lunch; pigeons stuffed with plums stuffed with truffled pate, Nevenskoi's eyes registered; potato-beet-turnip triple-helixes, b.u.t.terflied greens, red-cream ramekins, a bottle of Grand Zorlhov '39. His stomach stirred at the sight.

Hungry, came the soundless voice from his breast pocket. Eateateat. Eateateat.

Not now, he answered in silence, simultaneously mastering his creation and himself.

The king's curled head was bent over one of the charts, but he glanced up as his favorite human oddity entered.

"Ah, my dear fellow!" exclaimed Miltzin IX. "Come in and look at this. You will be amazed. It is a marvel. She She is a marvel." is a marvel."

"It? She?" echoed Nevenskoi.

"Her talents are truly remarkable, her natural gifts matched only by her cultivated intellect. Never have I encountered such an extraordinary being. She is my equal, Nevenskoi, I do not blush to own it-she is quite my equal. You will see for yourself when you meet her."

"Majesty, I require no persuasion," Nevenskoi rejoined suavely. "I am the lady's humble servant."

"If you think so now, just wait until you hear her speak!"

"Sire?" Nevenskoi took care to conceal his puzzled impatience. "If you will recall, I have been privileged to enjoy the young lady's discourse upon many a happy occasion."