After mumbling incoherently and rubbing his eyes he saw Chloe, more desirable than ever, carrying a lamp which looked like a shallow teapot with a wick coming out the spout. It silhouetted her lithe young body be- neath the transparent stola.

She led him from the kitchen's discordant snores.

They tiptoed across the atrium to another room and Chloe blew out the lamp. Howie groped blindly before his questing hands found her again. She had removed her stola and rubbed against him in pristine nakedness.

Howie shucked his chlamys and they performed mu- tual explorations. Preliminaries ended abruptly and mat- ters became more serious.

Two hours sleep were not enough to make up for forty-eight hours without. Some minutes later those ex- ploring hands shook Howie rather abruptly. He yawned and sighed in the darkness, remembering the daylight glimpse of Chloe. Again the night-game began. The farther it progressed the more puzzled Howie became.

Chloe was small, with smooth firm flesh. Could these tremendous b.u.t.tocks be hers? Would her belly wrinkle and droop? Could those firm b.r.e.a.s.t.s yield like ma.s.ses of unbaked bread beneath his fingers?

He retreated to his side of the bed and sat, trying not to vomit. Was it the walleyed cook? No; she was shorter than Chloe. With a sinking feeling, Howie real- ized he had traded a master for a mistress,

He was feeling sorry for himself when he remem- bered Brother Willibald's remark about penance.

"I got myself into this," Howie gritted. "I'll get my- self out!" He threw himself back into bed and cleaved unto the unknown quant.i.ty.

Then something like a wet sandbag hit him in the small of the back and he knew no more.

On the Alice, all hands were gazing anxiously at the two Liburnians. "Go below!" Joe shouted. "We're going to jump and I don't want anybody washed overboard."

"Who steers?" Gorson asked.

"I do. Freedy, you ready?" he yelled down the scut- tle.

"All ready, sir."

The sail was all in, piled on deck in untidy mounds.

Time enough to furl it if the jump was successful. The Liburnians quickstroked and Joe knew they could, for a short time anyhow, make better time than the Alice under power. The jump had d.a.m.ned well better work!

"All right," he yelled, "throw the switch!"

The twisting, wrenching sensation was over in one subliminal flicker, like a misplaced frame in a movie.

The Liburnians had disappeared; the Alice was now in broad daylight and a calm sea.

Then he noticed Howard McGrath. The little G.o.d shouter was tangled in a heap of sail, and as he re- gained consciousness he began again his befogged and halfhearted attempts at lovemaking. Only when his head had cleared completely did he realize that the unesthetic heap of sail was not his recently-acquired mistress.

Howie stopped suddenly, and stared around at the speculative, amused faces of his shipmates as they strag- gled up on deck.

Howie's return was the last thing Joe had expected at that moment. Afterward he tried to a.n.a.lyze what went on inside his head at that moment. The young G.o.d shouter's appearance neither surprised nor mystified him. It must have been the sudden fruition of long sub- conscious cerebration-a mushroom of knowledge which

burst into awareness after days of patient, probing sub- terranean growth. In other words, intuition.

Sympathetic magic, Joe sneered, for his explanation was about as scientific as sticking pins in dolls or re- moving warts with separated bean halves. But, magic or not, Joe knew Howie had returned because he was part of the original ship's company. Something-aura, field, mystique-held them together and strove to re- place everything sooner or later back into its own proper time.

Joe thought of the teeming ma.s.s of time mongrels belowdecks with a little shiver of foreboding.

"Where are we?" Gorson asked.

"Search me," Joe said. "At least we're away from those f-" He stopped horrorstricken at the realization that he had been about to modify "Liburnians" with a present participle unbecoming an officer, gentleman, or professor of history. He'd have to watch himself if he ever hoped to lecture again.

Raquel came on deck. "Cuando estamos?" she asked.

Joe was amused that her precise Latin mind asked not where, but when they were. She stood upwind and her usual gamy stink was replaced by a fresh, unper- fumed odor of healthy female. Joe remembered the oarmaster's explanation of her former fetors and grinned.

Freedy's tiny mouth formed a report. "Everything looks fine. Still's in one piece. Nothing on the radio though; I swept every band."

Joe sighed, then brightened. After all, it had taken two jumps to get here. Maybe something limited them to thousand-year jumps. If so, they must be roughly back in Raquel's time. He looked around again. The sea rippled under a full sail breeze which drove them gently toward a bright, half-high sun. A slight ground swell hinted at shallow water but there was neither land

nor breakers. He looked at the compa.s.s and tried to fix the time of day.

It didn't look right. Reaching into the binnacle, he wiggled the gimbals. It wasn't stuck. He spun the wheel and the compa.s.s card swung obligingly. He eased back on course and looked at the sun again. The weather was too balmy; he wasn't in the Arctic. Where else could the sun swing so far north?

He groaned.

"What's wrong?" Cookie asked.

Joe pointed at the compa.s.s.

"Ah don't git it."

Gorson crowded up and peered into the binnacle.

"I do," he said sickly.

"Right," Joe said, "Only Mahan knows where, but we're in the southern hemisphere."

Gorson sighed tiredly. "You guys furl those sails," he said.

Joe nodded. "Run the jib and jigger up for steerage- way." He turned the wheel over to Guilbeau and went below.

Raquel stood in the doorway in his cubicle, silently watching as he pored over inadequate charts, looking for any salt water in the southern hemisphere which lay out of sight of land and shallow enough for a ground swell. The southern hemisphere was mostly wa- ter and they could be just about anywhere.

"You worry?" Raquel asked.

Joe turned to explain. "Do you know the world is round?" he asked.

"I have heard it said."

"Do you believe it?"

She shrugged. "I am still not sure whether I believe in you."

"Well, anyhow," Joe said, "I'm not sure when we are.

Maybe in your own time. But we're on the wrong side of the world."

"What will you dor

He shrugged. "Keep trying. What else can I do? I'm sorry I couldn't take you home."

"Home?"

"Your own time. Wouldn't you like to see your parents again? Didn't you have a young man before you left home?"

It was Raquel's turn to sigh. "So long . . ." she said.