The Ghoul wasn't half bad, and she stayed with him for hours before the clang of the ship's bell recalled her to reality and summoned her to dinner. She made her way aft to the crew's mess hall, which was cramped, crowded, and moderately malodorous. The pa.s.sengers aboard the Karavise Karavise had a table to themselves, and she saw at a glance that the ship was infested with Grand Ellipse compet.i.tors. There were the Festinette lads, exquisitely turned out in matching navy-blue jackets banded with quasi-nautical gold braid. There was Bav Tchornoi, gloomier and redder of face than ever. Girays v'Alisante, looking Exaltedly nonchalant. Mesq'r Zavune, the debt-ridden Aennorvi speculator. Porb Jil Liskjil, the rich Lanthian merchant, aglow with pearl jewelry. A few other faces she recognized from city hall, in Toltz. And there sat Overcommander Karsler Stornzof, beside his unutterably aristocratic kinsman, the Grandlandsman Torvid. had a table to themselves, and she saw at a glance that the ship was infested with Grand Ellipse compet.i.tors. There were the Festinette lads, exquisitely turned out in matching navy-blue jackets banded with quasi-nautical gold braid. There was Bav Tchornoi, gloomier and redder of face than ever. Girays v'Alisante, looking Exaltedly nonchalant. Mesq'r Zavune, the debt-ridden Aennorvi speculator. Porb Jil Liskjil, the rich Lanthian merchant, aglow with pearl jewelry. A few other faces she recognized from city hall, in Toltz. And there sat Overcommander Karsler Stornzof, beside his unutterably aristocratic kinsman, the Grandlandsman Torvid.

She was not surprised to encounter Karsler aboard the Karavise Karavise, yet her heartbeat quickened. Their eyes met and her cheeks warmed. She felt and no doubt looked like a fl.u.s.tered goose. Girays was watching her, and her expression must have alerted him, for his dark gaze turned from her to fix unerringly upon the overcommander's face.

The men rose briefly as she joined them. Company manners Company manners, she thought. Wonder how long that will last? Wonder how long that will last? With Girays the courtesy was ingrained, but the majority of the contestants were unlikely to match M. the Marquis's breeding. With Girays the courtesy was ingrained, but the majority of the contestants were unlikely to match M. the Marquis's breeding.

There was a quick flurry of introductions, and she picked up the names of two more hitherto anonymous compet.i.tors. Founne Hay-Frinl was a tall, emaciated Kyrendtish blueblood with protruding ears and stammering speech. Dr. Phineska, a Strellian physician, boasted a rich ba.s.s voice and a suave manner.

Taking a seat between Mesq'r Zavune and Porb Jil Liskjil, she helped herself to flatbread, salt beef, fried goldtubers, boiled carrots, and sweetened stewed prunes; the same fare served to the crew-plain and dull, but decent and plentiful. There was good ale or vile coffee to accompany the meal, and she partook sparingly of the ale. The conversation interrupted by her arrival resumed, and distinctly awkward it was, conducted in sometimes fractured Vonahrish by a polyglot group of rivals mutually wary.

But the Festinette twins weren't wary in the least, she discovered at once. Nor were they reticent. Flushed with ale and hilarity, Stesian and Trefian bombarded the table with tales of their own merry escapades-their inspired pranks, their legendary feats of drinking, their infamous nocturnal forays. There was the outrageous affair of the Ostler's Three Daughters. There was the rib-tickling Concerto of Crazed Cats. There was the immortal Two-Week Brandy Binge. There was the scandalous episode of the Beautiful Baroness's Purloined Petticoats. There was...

"...And so," Stesian Festinette concluded one such narrative, "His Grace never knew how the three-legged cow found her way to the palace rooftop, and for weeks afterward kept on asking, 'D'you suppose she fell from the heavens?' And then he boarded over the skylight, to guard the stained gla.s.s against falling cows!"

The twins howled with laughter, and their listeners smiled politely, with the exception of Grandlandsman Torvid Stornzof, who appeared to have cultivated icebound deafness.

"My brother and I are mad, quite utterly mad, you see!" Trefian declared. "There's nothing we wouldn't dare, we're absolutely incorrigible! Really, the two of us should be locked up in a lunatic asylum."

"We're quite beyond redemption," Stesian concurred. "We can't help ourselves, we were simply born demented."

"Who but a pair of madmen would ever have thought of flooding the headmaster's office with eau de cologne?" Trefian demanded. "Gallons of cologne-"

"Vats of it!"

"Jasmine Seduction, was it not?"

"The place was awash!" awash!"

"And after that everyone knew knew we were completely crazy!" we were completely crazy!"

"Sometimes we amaze even ourselves." Stesian turned to his twin. "Remember the time we got hold of the false beards, and pa.s.sed ourselves off as the Demon Tax Collector, seen in two different places at once?"

"Those villagers were panicked panicked!"

"They're probably still talking about us!"

Both brothers sputtered uncontrollably.

Luzelle let her eyes wander. Clearly several fellow diners shared her opinion of the Festinette conversational blockade. Girays was engaged in a quiet exchange with Bav Tchornoi, who had brought his own silvery flask with him to the table. Grandlandsman Torvid, unequivocally turning his back on the loquacious twins, was chatting in Grewzian with his famous Stornzof kinsman. She allowed her eyes to linger on Karsler's face for an instant, then turned her attention leftward to Mesq'r Zavune.

They traded a few laborious pleasantries. His Vonahrish was poor, and her Aennorvi nonexistent. Despite communicative difficulties, she formed a favorable impression of the foreign speculator. He was soft-spoken, polite, and seemingly amiable. Within the s.p.a.ce of a few minutes she learned that he had left a wife and two children behind in Aennorve, that he wrote letters to them every day, that he was acutely homesick, and that he longed for a swift conclusion to the race.

Poor fellow, thought Luzelle, mindful of the financial disasters that mandated his partic.i.p.ation. He ought to have been at home.

She liked Mesq'r Zavune, but was relieved when the linguistically toilsome conversation concluded. Turning to her right, she quickly discovered that the Lanthian merchant Porb Jil Liskjil spoke perfect Vonahrish, and that he was willing to demonstrate his proficiency. Too willing.

In his own relentlessly sociable way he was almost as tiresome as the Festinette boys. Apparently he knew everyone there was to know in his home city of Lanthi Ume. His intimate friends numbered in the hundreds or thousands, and he seemed determined to recite the entire list.

"...Lord Har Fennahar, Lord and Lady Rion Va.s.sarion, the Lord Ress Drenneress, several other great courtiers, all of us there at Parnis Lagoon to view the regatta, a.s.sembled upon the ducal float and awaiting His Grace's arrival, when some fool of a retainer-one of Fennahar's, I believe-manages to tumble overboard. He hits the water with a great splash and the spray drenches Lady Va.s.sarion's gown, so naturally Her Ladyship screams out, 'Oh, you clumsy villain, you'll not set foot again upon this float, I forbid you to attempt it!' And when the oaf defies her, laying hands on the float and striving to pull himself from the water, Her Ladyship tears the shoe from her foot and with this makeshift weapon belabors the soggy wretch about the head, thus thwarting his efforts-you never saw so comical a sight!"

The tale lumbered to its conclusion. Other stories followed, other names and t.i.tles. Was he trying to impress her with all of this, and if so, why should he bother? Luzelle allowed her thoughts and eyes to rove. Girays was conferring with Dr. Phineska. The Festinette twins continued to hold forth loudly. The Grandlandsman Torvid still monopolized the attention of Karsler Stornzof. The food was dreary. The mess hall was airless. Bav Tchornoi was drinking himself stupid. The Shadow of the Ghoul The Shadow of the Ghoul could still conclude happily. The Grand Ellipse was less likely to conclude happily, unless someone did something to slow down Szett Urrazole's Miracle Self-Propelling Carriage.... could still conclude happily. The Grand Ellipse was less likely to conclude happily, unless someone did something to slow down Szett Urrazole's Miracle Self-Propelling Carriage....

"...A Cognitive feat worthy of the Select of old...."

Porb Jil Liskjil's insistent voice recalled her to the present.

"...But the concentrated power of Cognition has always distinguished the ancient and aristocratic House of Wate Basef...."

The House of what? Whose name was he dropping now?

"Cognition?" Luzelle echoed.

"That is our traditional Lanthian form of magic," Jil Liskjil told her. A flush of civic pride darkened his square face, emphasizing the white l.u.s.ter of the pearls at his earlobes. "In years gone by, when the city-state of Lanthi Ume was a great presence in the world, the military strength of the reigning dukes was enhanced by the Cognition of the resident savants, whose magic confounded all enemies. It's even said that the talents of such men facilitated construction of the original Lanthian and Umish island-cities. The power to comprehend the very essence of reality-a power that common folk call sorcerous-has always resided within certain Lanthian minds, and its cultivation yields astonishing results. You have perhaps heard of the Select of Lanthi Ume, Miss Devaire?"

"Oh, I think so." Luzelle frowned, dredging her memory. "Some sort of ancient secret society. Mythical, wasn't it?"

"By no means, my dear lady. A very real, very exclusive organization, once wielding immense political influence. Its membership embraced the most accomplished of savants, and admission was a coveted honor. Even now the Select continue, though their current function is largely symbolic. The practice of Cognition has fallen off in modern times, and the magic of our day can't equal the Cognition of old. It survives yet, however, and even in diminished form serves to-ah-disconcert the unwary." Jil Liskjil's eyes shifted to the Stornzof kinsmen for a fraction of a second and slid away again.

Luzelle nodded discreetly. "The Lureis Lightning?" she inquired.

He inclined his head, and her brows lifted. Newspapers everywhere outside the Imperium carried accounts of conquered Lanthi Ume's resistance to her current Grewzian overlords. The historically independent city-state submitted grudgingly to alien occupation, and a number of her citizens didn't submit at all. The incidents of homegrown Lanthian defiance were numerous, colorful, and commendable. The audacious acts of sabotage, the not-so-spontaneous riots, the seditious publications, the deadly nocturnal raids upon Grewzian offices, armories, and storehouses-these happenings were reported and lauded all over the world. Only a few of the most sensational of gazettes, however, dared suggest an arcane component to the Lanthian resistance.

Such plebeian journals and their far-fetched content were scorned by the literate, but certain celebrated happenings seemed almost to demand magical explanation. One such recent episode involved an impossibly prolonged and intense barrage of lightning bolts, firing down out of a blue sky at high noon to disrupt a Grewzian awards ceremony taking place on a barge at anchor upon Lanthi Ume's famous Lureis Ca.n.a.l. There had been no formal accusations, and yet- "Cognition sometimes lends its masters the ability to create atmospheric disturbances," Jil Liskjil informed her, sotto voce. "This talent often enriches the n.o.blest blood, the oldest Lanthian lines, and therefore it's reasonable to suppose that our city's anonymous heroes of the resistance must number among my own closest friends and a.s.sociates...."

"Let us pray that they remain anonymous, for now," Luzelle replied in a voice so low that only her closest neighbor could hear it, and accompanied by a warning glance across the table, where a glint of light off a monocle signaled the dangerous shift of the Grandlandsman Torvid Stornzof's attention. Porb Jil Liskjil, who had little to gain by advertising his supposed intimacy with the heroes of the Lanthian resistance to a Grewzian audience, subsided at once, while Luzelle continued smoothly and quite audibly, "You are right, Master Jil Liskjil-that Szarish woman's self-propelling carriage is sure to cause a sensation in Lanthi Ume. Has she landed yet, do you think?"

She had voiced a common concern, and all eyes turned to her.

"Szett Urrazole sailed aboard the Rhelish Mercenary Rhelish Mercenary, which is scheduled to reach Lanthi Ume at seven-fifteen tomorrow morning," announced Girays v'Alisante, characteristically well informed.

"We-we-shall be...hard-hard put indeed...to catch her," opined Founne Hay-Frinl, the effort of speech reddening his face.

"The Urrazole woman's strange vehicle gives her unfair advantage," Bav Tchornoi complained. "I think she breaks rules. She should be disqualified from compet.i.tion, yes. At the very least this carriage of hers should not race."

"No rules breaked by she," Mesq'r Zavune contradicted in his lamentable Vonahrish. "What rules? Travel Grand Ellipse all ways, all good."

"Unfair," Bav Tchornoi insisted, black brows lowering. "No one else has such a carriage. It is like magic, very like. This is not fair, not sporting, this magic of hers."

"Madam Urrazole's conveyance is unusual," observed Karsler Stornzof. "But could not legitimately be termed magical, I think."

"Indeed. You are an expert in the field of arcane phenomena, Overcommander?" Girays v'Alisante inquired, a shade too courteously.

"Scarcely an expert," Karsler replied without rancor. "But in childhood I learned to detect the distinctive concentrations of controlled energy causing those disruptions of normality that are so widely and so wrongly regarded as unnatural. Such training is part of a certain traditional form of Grewzian education, and I retain the knack to this day. I viewed Madam Urrazole's carriage at close range back in Toltz, and sensed no typically 'magical' convolutions of force. Her conveyance is remarkable, but essentially mundane."

"I see." Girays inclined his head, frowning slightly.

That's one for you, M. the Marquis. Luzelle smiled internally. Luzelle smiled internally. You try to make him look foolish, and only succeed in revealing your own ill nature. You try to make him look foolish, and only succeed in revealing your own ill nature.

"I hold the Szarish woman of little account." For the first time the Grandlandsman Torvid condescended to address his companions. "Her peculiar conveyance runs well enough on level roads, but how shall it fare on mountain pathways, in desert, in bog, fen, and forest? There the mechanism must fail, and its inventor acknowledge defeat. This foolish self-propelling carriage perhaps possesses the power to astonish ignorant minds, but nothing of lasting worth. It is a novelty, merely."

THE GRANDLANDSMAN TORVID withdrew from the mess hall as quickly as possible, for the food was execrable and the prattle of the foreigners even worse. In any case he had a task to perform. withdrew from the mess hall as quickly as possible, for the food was execrable and the prattle of the foreigners even worse. In any case he had a task to perform.

Up to the deck he betook himself, where the night air was chilly and sharp, and the stars overhead shone with a hard radiance, remote and clean. Withdrawing a black cigarette from a platinum case, he lit up and for a brief span stood there watching the skies. Presently, eyes still fixed on the stars, he reached into the breast pocket of his tailcoat to bring forth a perforated tube. Absently uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the lid, he shook the jittery tenant forth into his palm, and only then allowed his gaze to drop.

The little nightspeeder that he held lightly clasped quivered with eagerness to fly. The capsule containing a message printed in minuscule characters was well affixed to the creature's dorsal whip, and the night was providentially clear. The grandlandsman opened his hand, and the nightspeeder flew like shattered faith.

The resonance of a footfall upon the deck alerted Torvid, and he turned to confront a tall figure, at once alien and known to the marrow.

"I intrude, Grandlandsman," opined Karsler Stornzof.

"Not at all. I smoke, merely." A careless vaporous wave accompanied the disclaimer.

"What was it that flew from your hand, just now? I saw-"

"Nothing. A trick of the light." Torvid blew a perfect smoke ring.

There was a pause, then Karsler responded correctly, "According to your will, Grandlandsman."

Perhaps the younger Stornzof really believed him. Or else simply accepted the authority of the legitimate head of the House, which equated to belief. Either way, Karsler presented no immediate threat.

Threat. How curious to consider applying such a term to a member of the Stornzof family, an honored member at that. Karsler Stornzof was a hero and, as such, a considerable a.s.set. How curious to consider applying such a term to a member of the Stornzof family, an honored member at that. Karsler Stornzof was a hero and, as such, a considerable a.s.set.

"I will leave you to your diversions, Grandlandsman," Karsler intoned irreproachably, and turned to leave.

"Stop," Torvid commanded, and the other halted at once. "One moment, Nephew. A word of advice, if I may." He did not await reply, but continued, "I did not antic.i.p.ate the necessity of instructing you, but at this time find myself compelled to observe that a certain-how shall I say-careless good nature on your part is causing you to blunder."

"In what manner do you suppose me to have blundered?"

"You go out of your way to aid your rivals, at the obvious expense of Stornzof interests. You offer them a.s.sistance, you divulge personal information, you undermine your own position."

"You allude to the incident in Glozh."

"That was indeed the first of your errors. Had you not interfered upon that occasion, one of the racers would almost certainly have been eliminated from the compet.i.tion then and there."

"You cannot suppose I would stand by while a woman is molested?"

"Her welfare is hardly your concern. I trust you will not wax unduly sentimental over the nonexistent virtue of some random little Vonahrish actress."

"Miss Devaire is not an actress. She is a writer and a lecturer, I believe."

"She makes a living upon the public stage, does she not? It is of no consequence. What concerns me now is the quality of your judgment. You chose unwisely to prevent an occurrence that would have benefited you. You compounded your folly by apologizing-yes, literally apologizing-to this foreign woman for the actions of your own Grewzian countrymen. We do not bow the head to inferiors and outsiders, Nephew. You understand me?"

"I understand, but I do not agree," Karsler returned. "The lady was grossly insulted, the animals a.s.saulting her deserved court-martial, and an apology was more than indicated."

"Lady? Ah? I begin to understand. Your head has been turned by the Vonahrishwoman, then?"

"Not at all. She is very beautiful, but-"

"Her shape is quite good. So much I will grant," Torvid conceded negligently. "But she is very much the bourgeoise, conducting her small flirtations without skill or style. She plays the eyes with you continually, and there is little of subtlety in her performance."

"You are difficult to please, Grandlandsman."

"My standards are exacting."

"Miss Devaire strikes me as direct, spontaneous, and generally free of artifice. And I am accustomed to gauging character."

"Men's character, perhaps. But you know nothing of women."

"There were none at the Promontory," Karsler admitted.

"Indeed. And there you touch upon another of your own errors that duty obliges me to note. Not half an hour ago you spoke of your childhood training, informing an imbecilic foreign audience of your ability to sense arcane energy. What foolery is this? The education you received at the Promontory-the very existence of that retreat-all are private matters intended for Grewzian ears alone. The Elucidation, hallowed by time and tradition, is no fit topic for casual chat at table among strangers and enemies. This was worse than stupidity-it verged upon a betrayal of sacred trust."

Karsler Stornzof stiffened with anger, but remained punctilious as he replied, "I must respectfully disagree, Grandlandsman. I revealed nothing of the Elucidation, but only spoke briefly of my early education. I mentioned my ability to detect arcane activity, but that is a matter pertaining to myself alone, and no secret. I speak as I see fit of my own concerns, and do so with a clear conscience."

"Pah, you seek to impress the woman. Amuse yourself with her if you wish, but do not commit the sottise sottise of whispering secrets in her Vonahrish ear." Irritably, Torvid flicked his cigarette over the railing into the sea. "Now listen, I speak as the head of our House. You are an officer of the Grewzian Imperium, and a Stornzof. You know well where your duty lies. You are a seasoned soldier and surely recognize the danger of divulging information to the enemy. Guard your tongue, give these fools nothing, and the battle is surely yours." of whispering secrets in her Vonahrish ear." Irritably, Torvid flicked his cigarette over the railing into the sea. "Now listen, I speak as the head of our House. You are an officer of the Grewzian Imperium, and a Stornzof. You know well where your duty lies. You are a seasoned soldier and surely recognize the danger of divulging information to the enemy. Guard your tongue, give these fools nothing, and the battle is surely yours."

"But it is not a battle," Karsler observed with the slightest perceptible hint of dryness. "As you have noted, sir, I am a soldier, and therefore capable of distinguishing between a war and a sporting event."

"The distinction you seek to draw is one of degree, merely. A sporting event-a compet.i.tion of any sort-is simply war on a small scale," Torvid stated. "The battles on the Rhazaullean front-a game of chess-the Grand Ellipse-it is all a variation upon the same theme, and the guiding principle never alters. Victory at any cost, by any available means. That is what it means to be a Stornzof and a servant of the imperior. That is your heritage, Nephew-it is in the Stornzof blood. Your years at the Promontory have served you ill if they have not taught you that."

"My years at the Promontory have taught me much," Karsler replied noncommittally. "Sir, I have listened to your oration, and you have made yourself quite clear."

"Well? And?"

"And, a.s.suming there is nothing more you wish to say, I take this opportunity to bid you good evening. With all due respect, Grandlandsman." Inclining his head to the precise angle that family custom dictated, Karsler Stornzof withdrew.

Torvid resisted the impulse to order his nephew back, for there was little profit in prolonging an exchange that threatened to degenerate into a tiresome squabble. Extracting a fresh cigarette from his case, he relit and stood gazing expressionlessly out over the sea, blowing the occasional smoke ring in the wake of the vanished nightspeeder.

THE NIGHTSPEEDER ARROWED SOUTHEAST over the Sea of Silence. Guided by moon and stars, by its sense of natural forces or by unknowable internal stirrings, the creature sped on through the darkness. The hours expired. The moon conceded defeat and vanished. The stars wheeled overhead, and the messenger's speed never slackened. over the Sea of Silence. Guided by moon and stars, by its sense of natural forces or by unknowable internal stirrings, the creature sped on through the darkness. The hours expired. The moon conceded defeat and vanished. The stars wheeled overhead, and the messenger's speed never slackened.

The shadowed world turned invisibly on its axis, the black air gradually faded to charcoal, to slate, to steel, and down below the solid bulk of the great island-continent of Dalyon differentiated itself from the surrounding sea. The nightspeeder pressed on, the air lightened, and the Dalyonic coastline sharpened. Presently a small archipelago appeared, trailing the mainland like an afterthought. The nightspeeder descended, and the archipelago resolved itself into nine separate islands lazing in a curve around a great central harbor, all of the islands thickly bedizened with human architecture.

Lower yet, and the little lights glowing at doors and windows winked up through the fog-colored atmosphere, while the dark rifts running among the illuminated buildings looked like cracks marring ancient lacquer.

The world spun on, and now the sky was flushed with rose along the eastern horizon, and the color expanded, pumping pastel life into the morning mists that sprawled over land and water.

Lower, and the individual domes and turrets distinguished themselves. The glow along the horizon intensified, and the sun lifted over the edge of the waking world to flood the city with glory. Morning light glittered silver upon the waters of the arterial ca.n.a.ls, dotted with countless small craft cl.u.s.tered along innumerable private and public moorings. The sun struck daggers off the brightly tiled towers and rooftops of the fabled palaces, flashed upon the golden crystal ornamenting bridges of green marble, washed the small alleys and market squares with matinal brilliance. Lanthi Ume woke and breathed.

The nightspeeder's instincts bade it shun the day. Fortunately, its goal and refuge lay close at hand. Beyond the prosperous region of shining palaces and monuments sped the messenger, on into the ancient inner depths of the city, skimming low over crooked streets stirring to pungent life, barely clearing the scarred wooden bridges spanning stagnant ca.n.a.ls littered with refuse and crowded with disintegrating houseboats.

Straight to the most battered and disreputable of the houseboats flew the nightspeeder, through the open window and into the cabin, where two square-built, dark-clad proprietors sat eating fish chowder heated over a tiny alcohol stove.

Both men looked up, and one of them exclaimed with enthusiasm, in Grewzian, "Little Hilfi, back at last! Come to Papa!"

He extended his wrist, and Little Hilfi alighted at once. Papa caressed the winged creature for a moment or so, then very gently disengaged the capsule affixed to the dorsal whip. Setting Little Hilfi aside with care, he opened the capsule, extracted the message, unfolded it, and read swiftly. When he had done, he pushed the paper sc.r.a.p across the table to his companion, who also read.

The two men traded glances, and Papa remarked, "Seven-fifteen."

AT EIGHT O'CLOCK the big cargo vessel the big cargo vessel Rhelish Mercenary Rhelish Mercenary steamed into the Lanthian harbor, only forty-five minutes behind schedule-an exceptionally fine run. There was a moderate delay as the Grewzian inspectors at the waterfront came aboard to check over the relevant doc.u.ments, but the steamed into the Lanthian harbor, only forty-five minutes behind schedule-an exceptionally fine run. There was a moderate delay as the Grewzian inspectors at the waterfront came aboard to check over the relevant doc.u.ments, but the Mercenary's Mercenary's paperwork was in order, and official approval quickly granted. Unloading commenced. paperwork was in order, and official approval quickly granted. Unloading commenced.