All three men were quiet for a few moments, chewing mouthfuls of beer or smoke, pondering the matter.

"I cannot help but infer," Hackworth finally said, "that the present lesson in comparative ethics-which I thought was nicely articulated and for which I am grateful-must be thought to pertain, in some way, to my situation."

The other men raised their eyebrows in a not very convincing display of mild astonishment. The Equity Lord turned toward Major Napier, who took the floor briskly and cheerfully.

"We do not know all the particulars of your situation-as you know, Atlantan subjects are ent.i.tled to polite treatment from all branches of H.M.'s Joint Forces unless they violate the tribal norms, and that means, in part, that we don't go round putting people under high-res surveillance just because we are curious about their, er, avocations. avocations. In an era when everything can be surveiled, all we have left is politeness. However, we do quite naturally monitor comings and goings through the border. And not long ago, our curiosity was piqued by the arrival of one Lieutenant Chang of the District Magistrate's Office. He was also clutching a plastic bag containing a rather battered top hat. Lieutenant Chang proceeded directly to your flat, spent half an hour there, and departed, minus the hat." In an era when everything can be surveiled, all we have left is politeness. However, we do quite naturally monitor comings and goings through the border. And not long ago, our curiosity was piqued by the arrival of one Lieutenant Chang of the District Magistrate's Office. He was also clutching a plastic bag containing a rather battered top hat. Lieutenant Chang proceeded directly to your flat, spent half an hour there, and departed, minus the hat."

The steak sandwiches arrived at the beginning of this bit of exposition. Hackworth began messing about with condiments, as if he could belittle the importance of this conversation by paying equal attention to having just the right goodies on his sandwich. He fussed with his pickle for a while, then began examining the bottles of obscure sauces arrayed in the center of the table, like a sommelier appraising a wine cellar.

"I had been mugged in the Leased Territories," Hackworth said absently, "and Lieutenant Chang recovered my hat, somewhat later, from a ruffian." He had fixed his gaze, for no special reason, on a tall bottle with a paper label printed in an ancient crabbed typeface. "M "McWHORTER'S O ORIGINAL C CONDIMENT" was written large, and everything else was too small to read. The neck of the bottle was also festooned with black-and-white reproductions of ancient medals awarded by pre-Enlightenment European monarchs at exhibitions in places like Riga. Just a bit of violent shaking and thwacking ejected a few spurts of the ochre slurry from the pore-size orifice at the top of the bottle, which was guarded by a quarter-inch encrustation. Most of it hit his plate, and some impacted on his sandwich. was written large, and everything else was too small to read. The neck of the bottle was also festooned with black-and-white reproductions of ancient medals awarded by pre-Enlightenment European monarchs at exhibitions in places like Riga. Just a bit of violent shaking and thwacking ejected a few spurts of the ochre slurry from the pore-size orifice at the top of the bottle, which was guarded by a quarter-inch encrustation. Most of it hit his plate, and some impacted on his sandwich.

"Yes," Major Napier said, reaching into his breast pocket and taking out a folded sheet of smart foolscap. He told it to uncrease itself on the table and prodded it with the nib of a silver fountain pen the size of an artillery sh.e.l.l. "Gatehouse records indicate that you do not venture into the L.T. often, Mr. Hackworth, which is certainly understandable and speaks well of your judgment. There have been two forays in recent months. On the first of these, you left in midafternoon and returned late at night bleeding from lacerations that seemed to have been recently incurred, according to the"-Major Napier could not repress a tiny smile-"evocative description logged by the border patrol officer on duty that night. On the second occasion, you again left in the afternoon and returned late, this time with a single deep laceration across the b.u.t.tocks-not visible, of course, but picked up by surveillance."

Hackworth took a bite of his sandwich, correctly antic.i.p.ating that the meat would be gristly and that he would have plenty of time to think about his situation while his molars subdued it. He did have plenty of time, as it turned out; but as frequently happened to him in these situations, he could not bring his mind to bear on the subject at hand. All he could think about was the taste of the sauce. If the manifest of ingredients on the bottle had been legible, it would have read something like this: Water, blackstrap mola.s.ses, imported habanero peppers, salt, garlic, ginger, tomato puree, axle grease, real hickory smoke, snuff, b.u.t.ts of clove cigarettes, Guinness Stout fermentation dregs, uranium mill tailings, m.u.f.fler cores, monosodium glutamate, nitrates, nitrites, nitrotes and nitrutes, nutrites, natrotes, powdered pork nose hairs, dynamite, activated charcoal, match-heads, used pipe cleaners, tar, nicotine, single-malt whiskey, smoked beef lymph nodes, autumn leaves, red fuming nitric acid, bituminous coal, fallout, printer's ink, laundry starch, drain cleaner, blue chrysotile asbestos, carrageenan, BHA, BHT, and natural flavorings.

He could not help smiling at his own complete haplessness, both now and on the night in question. "I will concede that my recent trips to the Leased Territories have not left me disposed to make any more." This comment produced just the right sort of clubby, knowing smiles from his interlocutors. Hackworth continued, "I saw no reason to report the mugging to Atlantan authorities-"

"There was was no reason," Major Napier said. "Shanghai Police might have been interested, though." no reason," Major Napier said. "Shanghai Police might have been interested, though."

"Ah. Well, I did not report it to them either, simply because of their reputation."

This bit of routine wog-bas.h.i.+ng would have elicited naughty laughter from most. Hackworth was struck by the fact that neither Finkle-McGraw nor Napier rose to the bait.

"And yet," Napier said, "Lieutenant Chang belied that reputation, did he not, when he went to the trouble of bringing your hat-now worthless-to you in person, when he was off-duty, rather than simply mailing it or for that matter throwing it away."

"Yes," Hackworth said, "I suppose he did."

"We found it rather singular. While we would not dream of enquiring into the particulars of your conversation with Lieutenant Chang, or of prying into your affairs in any other way, it did occur to some suspicious minds here-ones that have perhaps been exposed to the Oriental milieu for too long-that Lieutenant Chang's intentions might not be entirely honourable, and that he might bear watching. At the same time, for your own protection, we decided to keep a motherly eye on you during any later sojourns beyond the dog pod grid." Napier did some more scrawling on his paper. Hackworth watched his pale blue eyes jumping back and forth as various records materialized on its surface.

"You took one more trip to the Leased Territories-actually, across the Causeway, across Pudong, into the old city of Shanghai," Napier said, "where our surveillance machinery either malfunctioned or was destroyed by countermeasures. You returned several hours later with a chunk taken out of your a.r.s.e." Napier suddenly slapped the paper down on his desk, looked up at Hackworth for the first time in quite a while, blinking his eyes a couple of times as he refocused, and relaxed against the s.a.d.i.s.tically designed wooden back of his chair. "Hardly the first time that one of H.M. subjects has gone for a nocturnal prowl on the wild side and come back having suffered a beating-but normally the beatings are much less severe, and normally they are bought and paid for by the victim. My a.s.sessment of you, Mr. Hackworth, is that you are not interested in that particular vice."

"Your a.s.sessment is correct, sir," Hackworth said, a bit hotly. This self-vindication left him in the position of having to provide some better explanation of the puckered cicatrice running across his b.u.t.tocks. Actually, he didn't have to explain anything-this was an informal luncheon, not a police interrogation-but it would not do much for his already tatterdemalion credibility if he let it pa.s.s without comment. As if to emphasize this fact, both of the other men were now silent for some time.

"Do you have any more recent intelligence about the man named Chang?" Hackworth asked.

"It is singular that you should ask. As it happens, the whilom Lieutenant; his colleague, a woman named Pao; and their superior, a magistrate named Fang, all resigned on the same day, about a month ago. They have resurfaced in the Middle Kingdom."

"You must have been struck by the coincidence-that a judge who is in the habit of caning people enters the service of the Middle Kingdom, and shortly thereafter, a New Atlantan engineer returns from a visit to said clave bearing marks of having been caned."

"Now that you mention it, it is quite striking," Major Napier said.

The Equity Lord said, "It might lead one to conclude that the engineer in question owed some debt to a powerful figure within that clave, and that the judicial system was being used as a sort of collection agency."

Napier was ready for his leg of the relay. "Such an engineer, if one existed, might be surprised to know that John Zaibatsu is intensely curious about the Shanghainese gentleman in question-an honest-to-G.o.d Mandarin of the Celestial Kingdom, if he is who we think he is-and that we have been trying for some time, with little success, to obtain more information about his activities. So, if the Shanghainese gentleman were to request that our engineer partake in activities that we would normally consider unethical or even treasonous, we might take an uncharacteristically forgiving stance. Provided, that is, that the engineer kept us well-informed."

"I see. Would that be something like being a double agent, then?" Hackworth said.

Napier winced, as if he were being caned himself. "It is a cras.h.i.+ngly unsubtle phrase. But I can forgive your using it in this context."

"Would John Zaibatsu then make some kind of formal commitment to this arrangement?"

"It is not done that way," Major Napier said.

"I was afraid of that," Hackworth said.

"Typically such commitments are superfluous, as in most cases the party has very little choice in the matter."

"Yes," Hackworth said, "I see what you mean."

"The commitment is a moral one, a question of honour," Finkle-McGraw said. "That such an engineer falls into trouble is evidence of mere hypocrisy on his part. We are inclined to overlook this sort of routine caducity. If he goes on to behave treasonously, then that of course is a different matter; but if he plays his role well and provides information of value to Her Majesty's Joint Forces, then he has rather deftly parlayed a small error into a grand act of heroism. You may be aware that it is not unusual for heroes to receive knighthoods, among other more tangible rewards."

For a few moments, Hackworth was too startled to speak. He had expected exile and perhaps deserved it. Mere forgiveness was more than he could have hoped for. But Finkle-McGraw was giving him the opportunity for something much greater: a chance to enter the lower ranks of the n.o.bility. An equity stake in the tribal enterprise. There was only one answer he could make, and he blurted it out before he had time to lose his nerve.

"I thank you for your forbearance," he said, "and I accept your commission. Please consider me to be at Her Majesty's service from this moment forward."

"Waiter! Bring some champagne, please," Major Napier called. "I believe we have something to celebrate."

From the Primer, the arrival of a sinister Baron; Burt's disciplinary practices; the plot against the Baron; practical application of ideas gleaned from the Primer; flight.

Outside the Dark Castle, Nell's wicked stepmother continued to live as she pleased and to entertain visitors. Every few weeks a s.h.i.+p would sail over the horizon and anchor in the little bay where Nell's father had once kept his fis.h.i.+ng boat. An important fellow would be rowed ash.o.r.e by his servants and would live in the house with Nell's stepmother for a few days, weeks, or months. In the end, she always got into shouting arguments with her visitors, which Nell and Harv could hear even through the thick walls of the Dark Castle, and when the visitor had gotten sick of it, he would row back out to his s.h.i.+p and sail away, leaving the wicked Queen heartbroken and sobbing on the sh.o.r.e. Princess Nell, who had hated her stepmother at first, came to feel sorry for her in a way and to realize that the Queen was locked into a prison of her own making, even darker and colder than the Dark Castle itself.

One day a barkentine with red sails appeared in the bay, and a red-headed man with a red beard came to sh.o.r.e. Like the other visitors, he moved in with the Queen and lived with her for a time. Unlike the others, he was curious about the Dark Castle and would ride up to its gates every day or two, rattle the door handles, and walk all around it, staring at its high walls and towers.

In the third week of the man's visit, Nell and Harv were astonished to hear the twelve locks on the gate being opened, one by one. In walked the red-headed man. When he saw Nell and Harv, he was just as astonished as they were. "Who are you?" he demanded in a low, gruff voice.

Princess Nell was about to answer, but Harv stopped her. "You are the visitor here," he said. "Identify yourself."

At this, the man's face turned almost as red as his hair, and he strode forward and struck Harv across the face with his mailed fist. "I am Baron Jack," he said, "and you may consider that my calling card." Then, just for spite, he aimed a kick at Princess Nell; but his foot in its heavy metal armor was too slow, and Princess Nell, remembering the lessons Dinosaur had taught her, dodged it easily. "You must be the two brats the Queen told me about," he said. "You were supposed to be dead by now-eaten up by trolls. Well, tonight you shall be, and tomorrow the castle will be mine!" He seized Harv and began to bind his arms with a stout rope. Princess Nell, forgetting her lessons, tried to stop him, and in a flash he had grabbed her by the hair and tied her up as well. Soon both of them were lying helpless on the ground. "We'll see how well you can fight off the trolls tonight!" Baron Jack said, and giving each of them a slap and a kick just for spite, he strode off through the gate and locked the twelve locks again.

Princess Nell and Harv had a long wait until the sun went down and her Night Friends came to life and untied her and Harv. Princess Nell explained that the evil Queen had a new lover who intended to take the Dark Castle for himself.

"We must fight him," Purple said.

Princess Nell and all the other friends were startled to hear these words, for usually Purple was patient and wise and counseled against fighting. "There are many shades of gray in the world," she explained, "and many times when the hidden way is best; but some things are purely evil and must be fought to the death."

"If he were but a man, I could crush him with one foot," Dinosaur said, "but not during the daytime; and even at night, the Queen is a sorceress, and her friends have mickle powers. We will need a plan."

That night there was h.e.l.l to pay. Kevin, the boy whom Nell had defeated over tetherball, had learned everything he knew about being a bully from none other than Burt, because Burt had lived with Kevin's mom for a while and might even have been Kevin's dad, so Kevin went to Burt and told him that he'd been beaten up by Harv and Nell acting together. That night, both Harv and Nell got the worst spanking of their lives. It went on so long that finally Mom tried to step in and get Burt to calm down. But Burt slapped Mom across the face and shoved her down on the floor. Finally, Harv and Nell ended up in their room together. Burt was in the living room having a few beers and getting into a Burly Scudd ractive. Mom had run out of the apartment, and they had no idea where she was.

One of Harv's eyes was swollen shut, and one hand was not working. Nell was terribly thirsty, and when she went to pee, it came out red. Also she had burns on her arms from Burt's cigarettes, and the pain just kept getting worse.

They could sense Burt's movements through the wall, and they could hear the Burly Scudd ractive. Harv could tell when Burt had gone to sleep because a single-user ractive eventually went into pause mode if the user stopped racting. When they were sure Burt was sleeping, they stole into the kitchen to get some medicine from the M.C.

Harv got a bandage for his wrist and a cold-pack for his eye, and he asked the M.C. for something to put on their cuts and burns so they wouldn't get infected. The M.C. displayed a whole menu of mediaglyphs for different kinds of remedies. Some of them were premiums, which you had to pay money for, and there were a few freebies. One of the freebies was a cream that came in a tube, like toothpaste. They took it back to their room and took turns spreading it on each other's cuts and burns.

Nell lay quietly in bed until she could tell that Harv had gone to sleep. Then she got out the Young Lady's Ill.u.s.trated Primer. Young Lady's Ill.u.s.trated Primer.

When Baron Jack came back to the castle the following day, he was angry to find the ropes piled on the ground, and no bones cracked and gnawed by trolls. He stormed into the castle with drawn sword, bellowing that he would kill Harv and Princess Nell himself; but entering into the dining room, he stopped in wonderment as he saw a great feast that had been laid out on the table for him: loaves of brown bread, pots of fresh b.u.t.ter, roasted fowl, a suckling pig, grapes, apples, cheese, broth, and wine. Standing next to the table were Harv and Princess Nell, dressed in servants' uniforms.

"Welcome to your castle, Baron Jack," Princess Nell said. "As you can see, we your new servants have prepared a small snack that we hope will be to your liking." Actually, Duck had prepared all of the food, but as this was the daytime, she had turned back into a little toy along with all the other Night Friends.

Baron Jack's anger subsided as his greedy eyes traveled over the feast. "I will try a few bites," he said, "but if any of the food is not perfect, or if you do not serve me to my liking, I'll have your heads spiked on the gates of the castle like that!" and he snapped his fingers in Harv's face.

Harv looked angry and was about to blurt out something terrible, but Princess Nell remembered the words of Purple, who said that the hidden way was best, and she said in a sweet voice, "For imperfect service we would deserve nothing better."

Baron Jack began to eat, and such was the excellence of Duck's cooking that once he started, he could barely stop himself. He sent Harv and Nell scurrying back to the kitchen again and again to bring him more food, and though he constantly found fault with them and rose from his chair to give them beatings, he had apparently decided that they were worth more to him alive than dead.

"Sometimes he would burn their skin with cigarettes too," Nell whispered.

The letters changed on the page of the Primer.

"Princess Nell's pee-pee turned red too," Nell said, "because the Baron was a very bad man. And his real name wasn't Baron Jack. His real name was Burt."

As Nell spoke the words, the story changed in the Primer.

"And Harv couldn't use his arm because of the wrist, so he had to carry everything with one hand, and that's because Burt was a bad man and he hurt it really bad," Nell said.

After a long silence, the Primer began to speak again, but the lovely voice of the Vicky woman who told the story sounded thick and hoa.r.s.e all of a sudden and would stumble in the middle of sentences.

Baron Burt ate all day, until finally the sun went down.

"Bar the doors," said a high squeaking voice, "or the trolls will be after us!"

These words came from a little man in a suit and top hat who had just scurried through the doors and was now eyeing the sunset nervously.

"Who is that pipsqueak interrupting my dinner!?" roared Baron Burt.

"This is our neighbor," Princess Nell said. "He comes to visit us in the evening. Please let him sit by the fire."

Baron Burt looked a bit suspicious, but at this moment Harv set a delicious strawberry cheesecake in front of him, and he forgot about the little man entirely, until a few minutes later, when the high squeaking voice piped up again:

There once was a Baron named Burt Who was so tough he couldn't be hurt And could wrestle a bear; but I think After two or three drinks Like a child he'd throw up on his s.h.i.+rt.

"Who dares mock the Baron!?" bellowed Baron Burt, and looked down to see the new visitor leaning insouciantly on his walking stick and raising a gla.s.s as if to toast his health.

Your Majesty, don't be upset And please feel free now to get Into bed; for it's been a long day And you're in a bad way And your trousers you're soon going to wet.

"Bring me a cask of ale!" shouted Baron Burt. "And bring another for this upstart, and we'll see who can hold his drink."

Harv rolled two casks of strong ale into the room. Baron Burt raised one to his lips and drained it in single pull. The little man on the floor then did the same.

Two skins of wine were then brought, and once again both Baron Burt and the little man easily finished them.

Finally, two bottles of strong liquor were brought, and the Baron and the little man took turns drinking one swallow at a time until the bottles were empty. The Baron was confounded by the small man's ability to drink; but there he stood, upright and sober, while Baron Burt was becoming very drunk.

Finally the little man pulled a small bottle from his pocket and said,

For a young man, ale is fine While grown-ups much prefer wine Liquor's a thing That's fit for a king But it's kid stuff compared to moons.h.i.+ne.

The little man uncorked the bottle and took a drink, then handed it to Baron Burt. The Baron took one swallow and fell asleep instantly in his chair.

"Mission accomplished," said the little man, sweeping off his top hat with a deep bow, revealing a set of long furry ears-for he was none other than Peter in disguise.

Princess Nell ran back to the kitchen to tell Dinosaur, who was sitting by the fire with a long wooden pole, poking it in the coals and turning it round and round to make the point very sharp. "He's asleep!" she whispered.

Miranda, sitting in her stage at the Parna.s.se, felt an overwhelming sense of relief as her next line appeared on the prompter. She took a deep breath before she delivered it, closed her eyes, settled her mind, tried to put herself there in the Dark Castle. She looked deep into Princess Nell's eyes and sold the line with every sc.r.a.p of talent and technique she had.

Good!" said Dinosaur. "Then the time has come for you and Harv to flee from the Dark Castle! You must be as stealthy as you can. I will come out later and join you."

Please get out of there. Please run away. Get out of that chamber of horrors where you've been living, Nell, and get to an orphanage or a police station or something, and I will find you. No matter where you are, I'll find you.

Miranda had it worked out already: she could compile an extra mattress, put Nell on the floor of her bedroom and Harv in the living room of her flat. If only she could figure out who the h.e.l.l they were.

Princess Nell hadn't responded. She was thinking, which was the wrong thing to do right now. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out.

"Why are you putting that stick in the fire?"

"It is my duty to see that the evil Baron never troubles you again," Miranda said, reading from the prompter.

"But what are you going to do with that stick?"

Please don't do this. It's not the time to ask why. "You must make haste!" Miranda read, trying once again to sell the line as best she could. But Princess Nell had been playing with the Primer for a couple of years now and had gotten in the habit of asking endless questions. "You must make haste!" Miranda read, trying once again to sell the line as best she could. But Princess Nell had been playing with the Primer for a couple of years now and had gotten in the habit of asking endless questions.

"Why are you making the stick sharper?"