The account was far from complete, of course. Some of the racers seemed to drop out of the public eye for weeks at a time, their actions and whereabouts during such intervals a mystery. A few disappeared altogether. The two young Travornish contenders Trefian and Stesian Festinette had been spotted in Bizaqh weeks earlier-a dispatch relayed west to Aennorve's Lake Eev Circular Lake Eev Circular confirmed the sighting-and after that they had seemingly vanished from the world. And the Rhazaullean Ice Kings champion, Bav Tchornoi, last seen in the Dhrevate of Immeen, had likewise sunk out of sight, his fate unknown. confirmed the sighting-and after that they had seemingly vanished from the world. And the Rhazaullean Ice Kings champion, Bav Tchornoi, last seen in the Dhrevate of Immeen, had likewise sunk out of sight, his fate unknown.

The ultimate disposition of several other racers, however, was only too certain. Szett Urrazole, victim of a bombing in Lanthi Ume. Porb Jil Liskjil, killed in the Forests of Oorex. Mesq'r Zavune, eliminated from the compet.i.tion in Aveshq. At least Zavune had survived.

Over the course of the weeks the field had gradually narrowed until only a handful of the original contenders remained. And now, as the race finally neared its conclusion, only three of those remaining few appeared to entertain any real hope of victory.

Two of those three were Vonahrish. Both shared connections to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Vo Rouvignac leafed quickly through the binder. The oldest entries, chronicling the earlier phases of the Grand Ellipse, he skipped over, for he had read them many times and knew them almost by heart. Further into the collection he paused here and there to read briefly, but did not settle deeply into any particular article until he reached the most recent clippings, presenting the latest news of the three front runners. One translation from the Obranese of the Tuybuv Bvuskit Tuybuv Bvuskit, or Midnight Sun Midnight Sun, caught his eye and he read: It is reported that the Obranese merchant vessel Walrus Walrus, en route from Ukizik to Port Hjalmos, suffered heavy damages during a storm upon the Sea of Ice. Property of the Yeevo Trading Group, the Walrus Walrus carried a cargo of oil, ivory, bone, and pelts, most of which was jettisoned. The mishap delayed the ship's arrival in Hjalmos by some thirty-six hours, during which time it was widely feared that the vessel and all aboard had been lost. No fatalities among the crew have been reported, however. carried a cargo of oil, ivory, bone, and pelts, most of which was jettisoned. The mishap delayed the ship's arrival in Hjalmos by some thirty-six hours, during which time it was widely feared that the vessel and all aboard had been lost. No fatalities among the crew have been reported, however.The Walrus Walrus carried one pa.s.senger, a Grewzian national, the Overcommander Karsler Stornzof, currently furloughed from the Unified Army of the Imperium. A contender in the Grand Ellipse race, the Overcommander Stornzof has in recent weeks generally been regarded as probable victor. The carried one pa.s.senger, a Grewzian national, the Overcommander Karsler Stornzof, currently furloughed from the Unified Army of the Imperium. A contender in the Grand Ellipse race, the Overcommander Stornzof has in recent weeks generally been regarded as probable victor. The Walrus Walrus's misfortune, however, has cost the Grewzian compet.i.tor his favored status, and several independent bookmakers verify that the odds have altered accordingly. No statement from the Overcommander Stornzof is available at this time.

Vo Rouvignac leafed on through the binder. Mishap at sea notwithstanding, it was clear that the Grewzian continued to hold his own. Clipping after clipping reported sightings of all three front runners. In Obran. In Szar. In Lyuvbrow, where Girays v'Alisante had a.s.sumed a small lead for all of twenty-four hours. Then, all three spotted simultaneously in the train station at Hekkin.

Vo Rouvignac turned to the last item in the binder, an article clipped from the latest Hetzian Gazette. Hetzian Gazette.

GRAND ELLIPSE APPROACHES CONCLUSION.

The Grand Ellipse compet.i.tion, long the object of international attention, is finally drawing to its close. At least three of the racers have now crossed the border into Upper Hetzia, penultimate stage of their journey. Eyewitness reports confirm the arrival of the famous Grewzian war hero, the Overcommander Karsler Stornzof, whose appearance at the Bunckel railroad station was greeted with great popular enthusiasm. The Overcommander Stornzof was trailed by two compet.i.tors, G. v'Alisante and L. Devaire, both Vonahrish.The presence of so valiant a soldier has caught the national imagination, and everywhere he travels, the Overcommander Stornzof encounters cheering throngs eager to honor the visiting Grewzian hero....

Vo Rouvignac did not trouble to finish reading the account of the cheering throngs. He frowned, troubled as always by the political geography of the Grand Ellipse course, whose concluding arc carried the racers through Upper Hetzia, ostensibly an independent ally of Grewzland, but in fact ruled by a puppet dhreve firmly in thrall to the Imperium. In Upper Hetzia, near the end of the race, Karsler Stornzof enjoyed support, cooperation, and privilege, just when he could most use it. The Vonahrish contestants were scarcely apt to fare so well.

Still, it was too early to dismiss their chances. They were determined and resourceful, the two of them. And the presence of a male Vonahrish racer, Girays v'Alisante, doubtless served to deflect enemy attention and suspicion from Luzelle Devaire, granting her a slight advantage of which she probably remained unaware. Perhaps a significant advantage. In the event of enemy action, she would not be the target.

Upper Hetzia. The end clearly in sight. Only a few days' travel south to reach the border of the Low Hetz. Very soon now, one of those three racers would step across the threshold of the city hall in Toltz to close the Grand Ellipse and win the race.

And then?

Deputy Underminister vo Rouvignac rose from his desk. Returning to the open window, he stood there gazing southeast toward Haereste.

"CHILI-OIL EELS," Girays ordered. "And a bowl of lard-smackers. What will you have, Luzelle?"

"Nothing," she returned absently. Her eyes devoured the section of Wolktretz Station platform visible through the window of the buffet.

"You may as well order something now. As soon as my food arrives, you'll get hungry and you'll want some."

"Ummm."

Their waiter bowed and retired.

"If you're looking for Stornzof, you won't see him out there," Girays told her. "He must have picked up the Number 310 in Domi, and that one shunts him off to Kreglutz without ever touching Wolktretz. If he'd taken the Number 444, now, or even by some miracle managed to get himself aboard the Number 441-"

"How in the world do you remember these things?"

"Why, it's very simple." Girays looked surprised. "Haven't you looked at the schedule? Here, I'll show you-"

"No, thanks. The train schedule won't show me if Karsler's ahead of us or behind, and that's really all I want to know."

"No use stewing. Our own train should be along in forty minutes or so, and we'll hit Lis Folaze by nightfall. Stornzof probably won't do any better than that."

"Don't be too sure. Have you seen the way people around here fawn fawn on him?" on him?"

"People do that all over the place. Sublime war hero, and all that. Remember the time in Lyuvbrow when I made the night run and managed to take the lead? Well, I didn't keep it long, because the stationmaster at Voyn Junction held the train for Stornzof's benefit. Then there was that abject councilman in Hekkin with his champagne and fruit basket for the immortal overcommander-"

"Yes, but it's even worse than usual in this country. Upper Hetzia must be a nation of Grewzian worshipers."

"The Hetzians do well to appear so. The good Imperior Ogron has his heel planted firmly on their necks."

"Yes, and there're probably plenty of them eager to curry favor by serving the only Grewzian contestant. Karsler will probably get all kinds of-"

She broke off as the waiter reappeared, bearing chili-oil eels and lard-smackers. His face was square and so expressionless that she wondered at once if he had overheard any of the conversation. A curious uneasiness filled her, and she looked away from him. He placed the bowls on the table and withdrew.

Girays began to eat. "You were saying?" he inquired between bites.

"Only that Karsler's going to get all sorts of help in this country, and it's not right-"

"No it isn't, but there's not much we can do about it, and righteous indignation will only spoil your digestion. Speaking of which, help yourself to the lard-smackers. I know you want them."

"Not now, thanks."

"That isn't like you. Better watch that indignation."

"Can't help it. Lard-smackers are unhealthy, anyway."

"That hasn't been proved, and I don't choose to believe it."

There was silence for some minutes until Girays finished eating. Leaning back in his seat, he inquired, "Coffee?"

"No, it would just make me jumpier. I don't see our waiter around, anyway. Where'd he go?"

"Now that you mention it, he's simply disappeared. Fine service. These Hetzians are hopeless."

"Your Lordship is in an ill humor."

"My Lordship could do with a drink of water."

"Water? Plain water? Did I hear you correctly?"

"My gla.s.s is empty, and my mouth feels as if it were lined with wallpaper paste."

"Here, have mine." She pushed her gla.s.s across the table to him.

"Thanks." He picked up the gla.s.s, which instantly dropped from his hand to shatter on the tabletop. Girays muttered a quiet oath. Water began to drip from the table to the floor.

Luzelle contained her surprise. Such clumsiness was uncharacteristic of M. the Marquis; he must be tired or preoccupied. There were no waiters in sight to mop up the spill, the water was flowing everywhere, and Girays, accustomed to the solicitude of servants, was simply sitting there. Quickly she applied her napkin to blot up part of the puddle, and still he never stirred to help her. A little impatient, she commanded, "Give me your napkin."

Very slowly, very grudgingly it seemed, he glanced down at the napkin still lying in his lap. His right hand quivered a little, but otherwise did not move. After a moment he observed quietly, "Something is wrong."

"What do you mean?" Impatience gave way to concern. "Are you ill, Girays?"

"I cannot move my hands or arms. They've gone dead."

"Dead? What do you mean?"

"I tell you, my arms are paralyzed. They have lost all sensation." He appeared to exert effort. A crease deepened between his brows, and he reported, "Legs gone too."

"I don't understand. Are you sick, are you in pain?"

"No pain-no feeling at all. I have been drugged, I believe."

"Drugged? How? Who would-"

"It must have been in the food. Your claim stands vindicated-lard-smackers are demonstrably unhealthy."

"How can you joke at a time like this? What are we going to do? What if-" She did not let herself finish the question aloud. What if all your muscles are paralyzed? What if all your muscles are paralyzed? she had nearly asked. she had nearly asked. How will you breathe? How will you breathe? But there was no point in voicing any such ghastly possibility, and his breathing seemed unimpaired. His speech was intelligible, only slower than usual and a little indistinct. No, there was nothing wrong with his breathing. But there was no point in voicing any such ghastly possibility, and his breathing seemed unimpaired. His speech was intelligible, only slower than usual and a little indistinct. No, there was nothing wrong with his breathing. For now. For now. Aloud she merely observed, "We'll send for a physician." Aloud she merely observed, "We'll send for a physician."

"Useless, I fear."

"You don't know that. We may find someone with the right antidote-"

"In Wolktretz?"

"Well, we have to try!" Luzelle raised her voice to a shout. "HELP! Somebody, over here, HELP! We need a doctor, we need a doctor right NOW-"

The uproar drew the attention of every customer in the buffet, and brought the manager scurrying.

"What is this?" he demanded in decent Vonahrish, visibly torn between alarm and annoyance.

"This man is sick," Luzelle declared. "He has taken in something harmful-"

"Our food here is very good! Very fresh! Never has there been a single complaint!"

"Never mind about that. Just fetch a physician, at once."

"Whatever his trouble, it has nothing to do with our food here. I will swear to this before a magistrate."

"Send for a doctor! NOW!"

The manager called out a name, and an underling was there. Commands were issued in Hetzian, and the underling vanished.

"The doctor will be here, at your own expense, let it be clearly understood." The manager fixed a scandalized eye on Girays, whose face, partially paralyzed, presented a disturbing spectacle. "He cannot stay here. We will move him to the office. He will be more comfortable there."

You are all kindness. Your true concern does you credit, you miserable little worm. Holding her fear and anger in check, she answered, "Very well. Call someone to help. The waiter who served us. I want to ask him some questions anyway." Holding her fear and anger in check, she answered, "Very well. Call someone to help. The waiter who served us. I want to ask him some questions anyway."

"Which waiter is that?"

"Young but certainly no boy, heavyset, medium coloring, square face, sort of droopy-lidded eyes."

"There is no such person working here."

"Yes there is, I saw him."

"This is not one of our employees."

"Are you sure?" The question was rhetorical. Of course he was sure, and she could only wonder, Who? Who?

Just about anyone, really. Anyone set on a Grewzian triumph to conclude the Grand Ellipse.

The manager made noise, and one of his staff was there. Lifting Girays from his chair, they bore him from the buffet under the interested gaze of some dozen customers, several of whom were already pushing their plates away. They carried him into a small windowless office, placed him in the chair behind the desk, and then drew back to gawk at him.

"It is an epilepsy, yes?" inquired the manager.

"No," Girays whispered.

"But yes, I have seen such things before," the manager insisted. "It is certainly an epilepsy. This is not the fault of our food."

"n.o.body's accusing you of anything," Luzelle soothed him. "n.o.body says it is your fault-"

"You will sign a statement to this effect?"

"But somebody tampered with his food," she persisted. "If we could find the man who served it, he might know exactly what was in it, and then a doctor would have some idea what to do."

"The doctor will come," the manager a.s.sured her. "He will be here soon, and he will tell you that your friend suffers the epilepsy. Or perhaps a morbid degeneration of the spinal cord-this often happens. It is like an epidemic, these days."

"Perhaps it would be best if my friend is given a little peace and quiet now," Luzelle suggested very gently. If these Hetzian invertebrates did not withdraw immediately, she would start screaming at them. "If he and I could just stay in here with the door closed until the doctor arrives-"

"This is very wise," the manager replied, clearly eager to escape. "You keep him here, out of sight. The doctor comes soon. Until then, the door is closed."

The Hetzians withdrew. The stuffy office air seemed fresher without them. Luzelle looked at Girays, motionless in his chair, partially stricken facial muscles twisting his visage awry, and felt the tears scalding her eyes. She would not let them fall, she was not about to inflict her distress on him. a.s.suming a serene if concerned expression, she inquired, "What can I do to make you more comfortable, Girays? Would you like some water? Cushions? Would you be better off lying on the floor?"

"Water." He spoke with difficulty, but intelligibly enough.

A pitcher and mug stood on the desk. She filled the mug with tepid water and applied it to his lips. He swallowed hard, and part of the water went down his throat, while the rest spilled out over his chin. Conscientiously maintaining her calm demeanor, she patted his face dry with her handkerchief.

"Thanks. Watch," he said.

"Watch what?"

"Time?"

"Oh, your pocket watch." She took the watch from his vest pocket. "Twelve twenty-eight."

"Nine minutes. Train."

"Don't worry about that now. We'll catch the next one."

"No. Go."

"Impossible. You can't be moved before the doctor's taken a look at you."

"You go. Alone."