"A castle?" Yarrow gave him a doubtful look. "Well, I'd suggest you do one of two things. Apprentice your- self to a good master or hire someone who knoWs what they're doing."

"Sound advice, but I'm afraid I can't do either of those," Jarrod said evenly, "but I'd be happy to pay you for your information."

"I see, pick my brains and then give the commission to someone else. It won't work, you know. Use inferior people and you'll get a botched job. Oh, it may look ail right when it's first up, but as soon as you move in the problems will start."

"That isn't the way of it. The site I have in mind is extremely remote and there's no way of getting a crew there."

"Then it can't be done," Yarrow said flatly, and took a long pull at his porter. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You're forgetting the Magic," Jarrod replied with a faint smile.

"Ah. So I did." He gave a faint shrug. "If you can do it all with Magic, what would you need me for?"

"I can't just look at a picture and reproduce it," Jar- rod explained. "Well, that's not quite true," he amended. "I could produce an illusion solid enough for you to have to open the door to get inside, but it would disappear the moment I stopped concentrating."

"This begins to sound interesting," Yarrow said, draining his tankard, "but it's poor advice I give on an empty stomach."

161.

Jarrod looked around and caught the innkeeper's eye.

The man came over, bowing and rubbing his hands.

"Master Yarrow and I would like some food." Seeing the renewed nervousness in the man's face, he said, "Perhaps you have a private room where we could con- duct our conversation."

"Oh indeed. Your Grace, if you and your guest would be kind enough to accompany me I can a.s.sure you of complete privacy. Perhaps some wine with your repast?

My wife does a very nice capon and there are those who swear that her syllabub is the best in Stronta." He was backing and bowing and motioning them to follow him all the while that he was talking.

"Does this happen to you all the time?" Yarrow asked as they followed.

"I very rarely frequent taverns," Jarrod answered.

The innkeeper ushered them into a small, comfort- able room on the second floor, bowed yet again and disappeared.

"Now, Excellence," Yarrow said as they settled in, "perhaps you could tell me a little more about this project."

"In the strictest confidence."

"Oh aye. This comes under the heading of a profes- sional secret and I didn't get to be a Master Mason by having a loose tongue." He smiled for the first time, "Besides, it isn't healthy to cross a Mage, especially one who is prepared to buy me a meal. I am about to be in your debt."

"Very well then," Jarrod said, and launched into an explanation.

Moresby Yarrow ate stolidly while he listened. Serv- ing girls came and went with platters and wine. The food was simple but well cooked and the wine was good enough to make Jarrod check his coin purse to see how much money he had brought with him. When the meal

162 and the dissertation were over. Yarrow pushed his chair back so that he could stretch his legs and belched con- tentedly.

"A pretty tale. Excellence," he said, "and an even prettier problem. It intrigues me. The first people to push to the edge of the Alien Plain, the G.o.ds know how many years from now, come across a splendid, well- fortified castle where no such buildings should be." He leaned back and patted his belly. "I like it. What I like even more is the challenge of imagining something prac- tical that will seem absolutely modern, oh, say a hun- dred years from now. Yes indeed, that's a commission worth taking."

"So you'll tell me what I have to know to build it?"

Jarrod said with barely concealed relief.

"I have no objection to that," Yarrow said with a self-satisfied smile. "The only trouble is that I don't know precisely what will be needed. Besides, we're go- ing about this with our feet over our heads. We need to talk to a designer of castles first. Once he has drawn his plans, I can build them."

Jarrod gave the mason a jaundiced look. "I really don't have the time to go around looking for experts. I need to know how many beams I need, how long they should be, how thick, what the best material for a roof is, how many chimneys I'll need. Surely you can tell me about those kinds of things."

"Not without plans I can't- Anyway, it won't take too long to find the man we need- He lives three streets from here. He's retired now, mostly because no one's building castles these days. His grandfather was the man who designed Stronta, the only star fort on Strand.

There hasn't been a more advanced design since. The talent skipped a generation; Chatham's father played the country gentleman and ran through the fortune his father had made. Chatham has his grandfather's gift,

THE UNICORN PEACE t 163

but he's never really had the chance to exercise it. There wasn't much building in the last years of the war and since then the styles have changed. Loves turrets with conical rooves, does Chatham."

"Is Chatham his first or his last name?"

"First. Chatham Greygor is the full version. Why don't you pay up and we'll go and see him."

A quarter of an hour later Jarrod found himself climbing the none too salubrious stairs of a three-story house in the "old quarter," as the town within the walls was now called. The houses on the street were separated from one another, and the grimy windows of the stair- well showed a small plot of land in back. This had ob- viously been a prosperous neighborhood in times gone by.

Greygor himself was tall and thin. His beard and the fringe of hair that survived were grey. A pair of spec- tacles without sidepieces clung precariously to the end of a long nose. His clothes were out of fashion by at least a decade and none too clean- They also appeared to have been made for a bigger man.

"Come in gentlemen," he said. "Pick a chair and push a moggy off it. I'd offer you refreshments, but I haven't had a chance to go to the market today and I won't have strong drink in the house. It ruined my father, you see," he said by way of explanation. He was clearly fl.u.s.tered by their arrival,

"Don't fret, Chatham," Yarrow said. "The Mage and I have just eaten."

"Mage is it?" Greygor asked.

"Aye, Mage Courtak."

"Courtak? Oh, the unicorn man. Yes, I've heard of you. An honor, Excellence." He gestured to a large armchair occupied by a large feline.

Jarrod went over and dislodged the fat tabby before

164 taking his seat. The cat promptly leaped back up, turned round a couple of times and curled up, purring-

"Robes make irresistible laps, I'm afraid," Greygor said diffidently, "especially dark ones."

"Don't worry," Jarrod rea.s.sured him, stroking the rumbling creature, "I'm fond of animals."

"That's all right then," the architect said, tipping an orange-and-white out of another chair. "People are funny about cats. Don't seem to realize how affection- ate they are. Too affectionate sometimes. That's why my drawing table is on a slant. All I have to do is unroll a piece of paper and they all want to sit on it."

"That's all very interesting, Chatham, but we didn't come here to talk about cats," Yarrow cut in.

"No, no, of course not." He paused, looking bewil- dered. "It's always good to see you, Moresby, but why have you and the Mage come?"

"The Mage has a commission that's right down your alley, but there are complications. I think I'd better let him explain."

So Jarrod outlined his plans again, more surely and swiftly this time. When he had finished, there was a long, long silence, broken, finally, by a drawn-out sigh from Greygor.

"It will be expensive," he said cautiously.