"It is true," the tall man said, solemnly. "I never do change. This is all a disguise." He took hold of a corner of his pointed, graying beard and peeled it off. Chuck gazed at it in surprise. Rather than being stuck to a backing like the false beards he was used to seeing, this one consisted of individual hairs.

The grizzled eyebrows followed, revealing straight, black brows that arched up and down as though relieved to be free. Next came most of the flesh from the slightly bulbous nose. What emerged from behind the various appliances was a man who resembled Sean Draper when he had first arrived in the Dreamland: long, narrow face, gray-blue eyes, black hair, straight brows, straight nose, and smile lines bracketing his lips. A handsome guy, Chuck admitted to himself without jealousy, and at least fifteen years younger than he thought. "It's been nice to pretend to be different, at least for a little while, although I admit that I'm happy to dispense with disguises and enjoy wearing my own face, such as it is."

"You're really pretty good looking," Persemid said. "What's the problem?"

Roan sighed. "At best, changelessness is an inconvenience. My lack of adaptation prevents me from escaping from some kinds of peril, when others would simply adapt."

Persemid regarded him pityingly, then looked ashamed of herself. Her embarrassment turned to defiance. "That doesn't explain why you've been pretending to be one of us."

"It was necessary," Roan said. "I'm on board because an attempt to disrupt these tours has happened before. There have been several attacks upon parties of travelers from the Waking World.

His Majesty doesn't think it can be accidental. Neither do I. I joined your group to uncover the conspiracy. I like to think I've been of some help so far."

"Are you a guide, too?" Persemid asked.

"Great Night, no," Roan said with a smile. "Sometimes I barely know where I am going myself. It's been a good experience for me to travel with Keir. Indeed, it's been a rare privilege."

Chuck frowned. "How did you get to be part of the group, then? You aren't from the Waking World, but you have a spirit guide and everything."

"Do you think we don't require as much guidance as you?" Roan asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

"We in the Dreamland are based upon your psyches, the fruit of your concerns. I thought Keir read me very well in choosing his shape. His choice of a dolphin was particularly apt. It seems to be a fish out of water, but in the end you discover," Roan said, with a wave like a conjurer, "that he's not a fish at all. A dolphin swimming through the air, of course."

"I've had so many questions I've wanted to ask since I heard about you," Chuck said, unable to believe he was in the presence of a local legend. He looked the man up and down. Roan seemed so . . .

normal. "How's it feel to be both the dreamer and the dreamed?"

Roan shook his head. "The Sleeper whom I resemble is the creator of the First Province, Celestia.

He only dreams me. Apart from having been born there, I have no direct contact with him. My luck is no better and no worse than anyone else's in the Dreamland. If I had, I might have an insight to who is behind these attacks."

"What about this Bergold guy?" Chuck asked, going over the others that had attached themselves to the Visitor party. "Everyone likes him-I like him-but that notebook of his is always out. He has a reason for everything that happens to us, good or bad. Is he the saboteur?"

"No," Roan assured him. "I promise you that. He's my best friend. Just as I told you on the first day, Bergold is a well-respected Historian at court. He's on a mission for the Ministry. He is seeking explanation for certain trends and persistent images. I know he is grateful for all the clarification about the Waking World that you offer. You're performing a great service."

"He knows you're you?"

"Oh, yes," Roan said. "I needed his help. If for no other reason, with details of the way Visitors behave."

Persemid eyed him suspiciously. "And is there really a princess?"

"There is," Roan said, his face lighting up, and Chuck thought that he could smell jasmine in the air.

"You saw her at the Big Hat."

"But she didn't know you."

"It was due to my disguise."

"It's not much of a disguise," Persemid said. "A beard or different color hair wouldn't fool anyone for long where we come from."

"Ah," Roan said, sadly, "but you don't understand the psychology of having the same face all the time in a country where everybody is different from minute to minute. People are accustomed to seeing me as I always am. Even a slight change will affect their perception to a level of cognitive dissonance."

"That's true," Chuck said. "They are used to seeing people changing. What they're not used to is people not changing."

"Doesn't your fiancee know where you are?" Persemid asked.

"She knows I am traveling, but not with whom. If I called attention to the group, it wouldn't matter if I could change. My use as an undercover agent would be over."

"But it could be gone now," she said. "It could be us."

"No," Roan said, with a smile. "It couldn't. I have been observing you for several days now. In any case this situation has been going on since before you came here. There is a movement from within the Dreamland to assault these newly incoming groups from the Waking World. Why, precisely, we do not know, but it must stop before there is a real disaster."

"But this is a routine tour," Chuck said, scratching his head with a thick finger. "We're not hurting anyone, or interfering with anything. We're just looking around."

"I know," Roan said, a frown creasing his handsome face. "That is what has been worrying me.

You provide no threat that we can discern, yet the attacks continue to grow more violent. We have captured hundreds of conspirators, but they refuse to name the organizer, or the spy who is providing them with information about your current whereabouts. As a result, I have had to keep an eye on all of you, to ensure your safety as best I can."

"It didn't do a lot to help poor Pip," Chuck said, flatly.

Roan bowed his head. "I am very sorry for the loss of Mistress Pipistrella. It would seem the conspiracy has achieved the proportions of an army."

"Sean's the one you should feel sorry for," Persemid said. "She really meant a lot to him. I thought you were responsible."

"We both did," Persemid added.

"I know," Roan said. "I had to risk alienating you to avoid revealing myself."

"And it was your voice I heard before the train went off the cliff!" Chuck was suddenly full of resentment. "You could have saved me from being beaten up in the Meditation Gardens."

Roan let a little smile touch his lips.

"I didn't need to. You managed the situation very handily. An elegant solution. Really Dreamish."

"Thanks, I think," Chuck said, deflated. "It was nothing I did on purpose."

"Where were you going in such a hurry?" Roan asked. "You looked as though you were being chased by nightmares."

Persemid paused, looking uncomfortable. Chuck knew she didn't want to talk about her personal problems, but letting Hiramus-or rather, Roan-in on the whole truth was their best protection.

"I'm pretty sure I'm dreaming Morit," she said. "I don't think I'd ever looked him straight in the eyes before. It happened by accident. When I did I saw things only I know. You don't have to hear about them."

"No," Roan said thoughtfully. "I am glad of the information, though. Thank you for telling me.

Morit is one of your creations, eh? The situation is unique, as far as I know. Bergold would probably have statistics on how often it's happened throughout history, but if you'll take my advice, you'll avoid making direct eye contact again. If Morit is a part of the conspiracy and discovers you are his direct creator, you will be in more danger than the others."

"Should we suspect him?" Chuck asked. "He's been really nice to us since Pip . . ." He couldn't finish the sentence. Roan understood.

"No more than anyone else," Roan said. "Alas, this transport is full of people who could be involved. I have been able to eliminate few of them."

"Well," Persemid said, letting out a gust of breath. The ship had stopped juddering, and was smoothly under way again. "You'd better put your makeup on again. People will be coming through here any moment."

Roan bowed to her. "You are quite correct. Thank you." He chose a forked, black beard from the collection on the floor and fastened it on.

"All right, Inspector, we're in this," Chuck said, watching him attach it. The hairs clung to Roan's chin without glue. "What do you need us to do?"

"Nothing active," Roan said, pressing on his mustache. "Keep your eyes open, and let me know your impressions, however unlikely they seem. If you are observant you may pick up information I can make use of. Make certain we are not observed before you approach me. I will be grateful for any help you can give."

He chose a monocle from the collection on the floor and screwed it into his left eye. When it was in place, he was Hiramus again, stiffly formal and much older. Chuck was impressed. For someone who couldn't change faces he sure could disappear into the simplest disguise. "The most difficult task you have ahead is to continue to act as though you believe I am your curt acquaintance, Master Hiramus.

Can you do that? If our quarry realizes who I am, they will withdraw and make no further attempts.

This time. We must catch him before something else terrible happens." Chuck and Persemid looked at one another.

"You want us to act as decoys," Persemid said.

"If you like to describe it that way," Roan said, with his wry smile.

"I don't like," Persemid said, frankly. "But I can cooperate for the greater good." Chuck's astonishment must have showed on his face. Persemid glared at him. "Don't look at me that way! I mean it."

"Well, I do, too," he said. "I just never heard anyone say anything like that before." Persemid made a face at him.

"Get used to it, if you're going to hang around with me."

Persemid and Chuck found Keir seated on a lounge chair on the afterdeck with a reflector held under his chin to catch the sun. The guide knew instantly that it wasn't Chuck's problems he was needed to help straighten out, because he became the silver-gray wolf and trotted over to lean against Persemid's legs.

She sat down on the deck chair with an arm around his furry neck and explained what she had seen.

The wolf listened, his soulful eyes fixed on her face. "So, I'm aware of Morit, now," Persemid finished. "I don't think I can ignore him. Is he really me?"

Chuck stood uneasily with his back against the bulkhead. Since he was there with Persemid's permission, he understood the wolf's unspoken words.

"Not you alone. He's one of the many collective constructs you put into this world," the crooning and whimpering said. "Morit is mostly yours. He espouses and mirrors your unhappiness. Your creative power reaches into numerous people, places and things in the Dreamland, all solving different parts of the problems you dream of. He's the representation of your anxieties, and those are very personal. I'm sure he means you no harm. Be friendly to him."

"I'm not going near him," Persemid said, firmly. "I know if our positions were reversed I'd hate him. I already know I don't like him. Does he hate me?"

The wolf's mental voice was gentle. "Not you alone," it repeated. "He has a grudge against all things more powerful than he."

Persemid frowned. "I hate having something like that at my back. I wish I could banish him, or make him disappear, or something."

"You can't do that," the wolf said. "Because you are not him, you couldn't live with yourself if you did."

Persemid looked up at Chuck ruefully. "He's got my number."

"Just look out," Chuck said. "Just be careful. I'll help watch your back."

"We'd better all be careful," Persemid said. Keir-the-wolf gave her a deep, knowing look, and curled up to sleep on his lounge. "Look at that. The audience is over."

Chapter 32

As before, the ship made directly for the seashore without stopping. This time Chuck was ready when the ocean liner became a train once again. This transformation was slow and leisurely, as the ship narrowed and elongated to fit on the tracks that led inland from the water's edge, heading into a broad river valley between rounded green mountains. Chuck kept half an eye on the spectacle, and the other half on Persemid. She was maintaining a safe distance from Morit. The Elysian did not appear to behave any differently toward her. Chuck began to hope that only Persemid had been aware of her revelation. Still, she was nervous about being left alone with Morit. She stayed close to one of the others she trusted: Bergold, Chuck, and now Hiramus, but it was Chuck who most often ran interference for her in close quarters, getting in the way if it looked as though she might have to make eye contact.

Chuck thought she was more than capable of taking care of herself. "After all," he'd told her over breakfast, "I'm the neophyte here, but I'm happy to step in and lend a hand. It's the least I can do."

"Thanks," Persemid had said. "I didn't think when I met you that you'd ever do anything so . . . - unselfish." She'd looked embarrassed to have said it, but the implied rebuke had been on Chuck's mind ever since. He'd earned that. He hoped now that people considered him a nicer person to be around. He'd do anything to undo his past faults, including letting her transform him as she needed, into a defensive wall or another form of distraction so that no matter which way Morit moved, he couldn't see Persemid or meet her eyes.

"Look," Chuck said, watching out the window. "We're coming to another border crossing." As it had been between Somnus and Oneiros, there were thousands of little spans bridging the deep gap to Elysia. "How strange," Chuck said. "Almost all of them are empty. No one's using them."

"Elysia has been stable for a long time," Morit said. "We feel safe enough that we don't have to trudge back and forth to prove our freedom."

"Very commendable," Bergold said.

"Mmm," Persemid Smith mumbled, not looking at him.

Morit was upset with her. He wondered if she was on to him and the conspiracy. He had heard it - rumored that Visitors could read minds, but as she hadn't brought the law down on him yet, he thought it was probably untrue. Just to make certain, he promised himself he would see to her destruction personally, if only to make certain that he had a free hand.

Chuck felt the train slowing down. The conductor came through the carriage.

"Ah, yes," he said, in answer to Chuck's question. "Just a last-minute check to make sure everything's all right in the province ahead."

Out the window, Chuck could just see the engineer climbing down the side of the cab. He swung one foot down toward the tracks, when the engine seemed to go mad. It grew twice as large as the other cars, and began bucking and snorting. Valiantly keeping his grip, the engineer climbed up to sit on the top and applied spurs to either side of the boiler with his heels.

"Hold on!" Chuck shouted to the others as he grabbed for a seat edge. The locomotive went insane, charging the rest of the way over the bridge and straight into Elysia. They heard a tremendous clang!

"We hit the frontier hard," said Bergold, clinging to the arms of his chair.

"We're running away!" Persemid exclaimed. The landscape outside the window blurred as they were thrown back into their seats. Mrs. Flannel started screaming. Chuck hung on, grim-faced.

A brown and tan figure pulled up level with their window. A cowboy on a galloping bay horse paced them along the side of the track. He pulled a lasso from his belt and began twirling it over his head. He threw the rope and lassoed the insane locomotive. The mount dug in his hooves, as its master tied the rope around its saddle horn, and it pulled the locomotive to a halt. The engine puffed and panted as the horse stood impassive, not even sweating.

"Good horse," the cowboy said, jumping out of the saddle without a backward glimpse, and started stalking toward the engine."Let us see what has happened," Hiramus said, rising to his feet. Chuck sprang up to follow him. If the disguised Roan needed him, he wanted to be on hand. Bergold came with them.

The engineer was examining the firebox as they approached. "It's been tampered with," he said.

"Someone put mad coal into its tender."

"Sabotage?" Chuck asked at once.

"Let's not look at it that way," the fireman pleaded. "We may have made a mistake refueling."

"It's all right now," the conductor said, stolidly. "We'll be in Frustrata in no time."