The Practice Effect

1

On the morning after the evening of his second imprisonment, Dennis awoke with a crick in his neck, straw in his ear, and the sound of voices in the corridor outside his cell.

He tried to sit up, and winced as movement prodded his bruises. He sank back into the straw and sighed.

“Argh,” he said concisely.

It was surprisingly easy to recognize his surroundings. Although he had never been in a dungeon before, he had visited countless examples in stories and movies. He looked this one over, impressed with the verisimilitude.

Apparently it had been well practiced as a dungeon. It was dank, cold, and apparently lice-infested. Dennis scratched.

It even sounded like a dungeon, from the slow, monotonous, drip-dripping of wall seepage, to the hollow clacking of passing boots in the corridor and the gravelly voices of the guards.

“…don’t know why they had to bring in a strange-looking foreigner to help us down here. Even if he does come wit’ hoity-toity references,” he heard one voice say.

“Yeah,” another agreed. “We was doin’ just fine…a little torture, a few convenient accidents, light practice. But this place sure has been lousy since Yngvi arrived…”

The voices faded as the footsteps receded down the corridor.

Dennis sat up and shivered. He was stark naked—they weren’t about to make for a second time the mistake of leaving a wizard with his own property. He felt around for the one filthy blanket his captors had given him.

He found it wrapped around his cellmate. Dennis nudged the fellow with his foot. “Arth. Arth! You’ve got two blankets now! Give me back mine!”

The little thief s eyelids opened, and he stared at Dennis blankly for a moment before focusing. He smacked his lips.

“Why should I? It’s ’cause of you I’m here. I shoulda said good-bye an’ let you go your own way right after we got out of th’ stockade.”

Dennis winced. Arth was right, of course. He had been in a confused state when he screamed at the pixolet and the robot. It wasn’t the sort of thing a storybook adventurer would do.

But Dennis was a man. He was susceptible to the psychological pressures of his unusual and highly dangerous situation. He might think he’d adjusted to being stranded in a strange world with strange rules, sought by enemies for reasons he barely understood—then a disaster shook his equilibrium, making him disoriented, estranged, lightheaded.

But he couldn’t explain this to Arth. Not while he was freezing. Anyway, if they were to have any chance, they would have to cooperate. That meant making Arth respect his rights.

“I’m sorry about this mess, Arth. You have my wizard’s vow that I’ll make it up to you someday. Now, give my blanket back, or I’ll turn you into a frog and take both of them for myself.”

He said it so evenly, so calmly that Arth’s eyes widened in reaction. No doubt his opinion of Dennis had plummeted since the episode on the rooftop. Still, he remembered tricks the foreigner had pulled in the past.

Arth snorted in disgust and tossed Dennis the blanket. “Wake me when breakfast comes, Dennzz. Then see if you can turn it into somethin’ edible!” He rolled over the other way under his blanket.

Dennis wrapped himself as well as he could and tried to practice the blanket while he waited for Baron Kremer to decide his fate.

Time passed slowly. The tedium was punctuated by the occasional pacings of the jailers up and down the halls. The guards muttered constantly under their breath. Eventually Dennis was able to make out that they were repeating over and over a dolorous evaluation of the condition of their clients.

“Sure is dank an’ gloomy in here,” Guard One commented as he passed.

“Yep. Dank. Gloomy,” the other responded.

“Sure wouldn’t want ta be a prisoner. It’s awful down here.”

“Sure is. Awful.”

“Will you stop repeatin’ what I say? Do I have to do all th’ work? It’s really irritatin’!”

“Uh-huh. Irritating. Sure is…”

Anyway, it solved one mystery. The way they kept the dungeon in practice was by having cycles of jailers constantly comment on how terrible it was down here. Presumably the prisoners were too distracted to put up much resistance. Perhaps Kremer even hired local masochists to come down and enjoy themselves.

It was an unsavory corner of the Practice Effect Dennis wished he’d never learned about.

They finally came for him a couple of days later, after the evening swill. Dennis stood up as the wooden bolt was raised and the door swung wide. Arth watched moodily from the corner.

An officer in a severely elegant uniform casually entered the cell. Behind him stood two tall soldiers, whose conical bearskin headgear brushed the hallway ceiling.

The tall aristocrat looked familiar. Dennis finally remembered seeing him on the street on the day they were captured, arguing with the betrayer, Perth.

“I am Lord Hern,” the officer announced. “Which one of you is the wizard?”

Neither of them replied.

Lord Hern glanced at Arth, then made a decision. With a bored motion he indicated for Dennis to follow him.

“Good luck, Arth,” Dennis said. “I’ll be seeing you.” The little thief merely rolled his eyes and sighed.

The sun was setting behind the western mountains as they emerged on one of the lower parapets. Dennis shaded his eyes, so long had he been in the dimness belowground.

Two more guards fell in behind. Dennis was led down service corridors, then upstairs to an elegant hallway. None of the servants turned to look at the shabby fellow clutching a blanket around him who passed by.

Another pair of guards flanked a door at the end of the hall. They opened it at a nod from Lord Hern.

Dennis followed his escort into a well-appointed room without windows. There was a king-sized bed, with a richly elegant brocade covering. A pretty young servant was laying out an elegant dark brown outfit with puffy sleeves. Through a door on the opposite side came steam and the sound of water being poured.

“You will dine with the Baron tonight,” Lord Hern announced. “You will behave well. The Baron has been known to lose track of inconsiderate guests.”

Dennis shrugged. “So I’ve heard. Thanks. Will you be there?”

Lord Hern looked down his nose. “I shall not have the pleasure. I shall be on a diplomatic errand. Perhaps another time.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Dennis nodded pleasantly.

The aristocrat barely returned the nod. He left without another word.

Coylians, apparently, were an unenlightened and unsophisticated people. The guards merely looked curiously at the odd arm and finger exercise Dennis performed in the direction of the departing lord’s back.

He didn’t need to be told a bath was being drawn. Dennis drop-kicked the blanket over into a corner and made his way toward the sound of pouring water.

2

Cavemen, Dennis reminded himself again and again as he walked to the banquet room.

Remember, boy, they’re only cavemen.

It was hard to keep it in mind. The grand hallway was lined with brilliant mirrors alternating with ornate tapestries. His boots and those of his escort clacked on a mosaic floor that reflected glistening highlights from sparkling chandeliers.

Guards with sun-bright leather armor and gleaming halberds stood at even intervals, at rigid attention.

Dennis wondered. Was this an ostentatious display, keeping these men here when even their leisure time was more valuably spent practicing things?

Then it occurred to him that they were practicing something—this very hall. They were looking at the mirrors and hangings and each others’ uniforms, making them more beautiful by appreciating them. These guards, he realized, were undoubtedly selected less for their prowess than for their good taste!

His escort glanced at him as he whistled appreciatively.

As they approached two high, massive doors, Dennis tried to relax.

If the local honcho expects a wizard, my best chance is to act like a wizard. Maybe this Baron Kremer isn’t unreasonable. Perhaps I can strike a deal with the fellow—freedom for myself and my friends, and aid in fixing the zievatron, in exchange for teaching one of the maker guilds the principle of the wheel?

Dennis wondered if the nobleman would trade Princess Linnora for the “essence” of lighter-than-air flight.

The great doors opened soundlessly as Dennis was ushered into a broad dining room with a vaulted, open-beamed ceiling. The center of the chamber was dominated by an ornate table carved from some impossibly beautiful dark wood. Subdued light came from three rich candelabras. The crystal on the embroidered tablecloth sparkled in the candlelight.

Although four places were set, only servants were visible at the moment. One brought forth a tray with an assortment of beverages and offered Dennis his choice.

He needed something to calm his nerves. It was hard to keep in mind that a savage—a caveman—owned all this. Everything in the room was meant to make the guest know his place in a stratified society. In a room such as this on Earth, Dennis would be about to meet royalty.

He pointed to a bottle, and the servant poured the liquor into a crystal goblet the color of fire.

Dennis took the glass and wandered about the room. If he were a thief and had a working zievatron within reach, he could retire on Earth on just what he could carry in his hands.

Providing, of course, the things retained their current state when they left the ambience of the Practice Effect. Dennis smiled, imagining irate customers whose wonderful purchases slowly decayed before their eyes into the crude products of a kindergarten workshop!

The lawsuits could go on for years.

The sense of alienation was back again. It felt inexorable. And this time he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t be a help. He had to appear confident this evening, or risk losing whatever chance remained of ever getting home again.

In a contemplative daze he passed through elegant French doors onto the balcony. He looked upon the starry night, with two small moons casting their light on the drifting cumulus clouds, and brought the goblet to his lips.

The pensive spell was broken instantly as he gagged. He coughed and spat the stuff out onto the brilliant parquet floor. He wiped his lips on his lacy sleeve and stared in disbelief at the cup in his hand.

Once again he had been trapped by his own assumptions, In this kind of lavish environment he had expected fine vintages, not elephant piss!

From the shadows to his right there came musical, feminine laughter. He turned quickly and saw that someone else stood on the balcony with him; her hand briefly tried to cover a grin of amusement.

Dennis felt blood rush to his cheeks.

“I know how you feel,” the young woman hurried to say in sympathy. “Isn’t it awful? You can’t practice wine, and you can’t cook it. So these cretins put what they have in fancy bottles and are happy, unable to tell the difference.”

From his brief glimpses and the stories he had heard about the L’Toff, Dennis had built in his mind an almost elfin image of Princess Linnora—as someone fragile and almost ethereal. Up close she was, indeed, beautiful, but much more human than his imagination had drawn her. She had dimples when she smiled, and her teeth, while white and brilliant, were slightly uneven. Though she was clearly a young woman, sorrow had already planted faint lines at the corners of her eyes.

Dennis felt his voice catch in his throat. He essayed a clumsy bow as he tried to think of something to say.

“In my country, Lady, we would save such vintages as this one for periods of penance.”

“Such penance.” She seemed impressed with the implied asceticism.

“Right now,” Dennis went on, “I’d trade this rare goblet and all the Baron’s wealth for a good Cabernet from my homeland—so I could raise it to your beauty, and the help you gave me once.”

She acknowledged with a curtsy and a smile. “A convoluted compliment, but I think I like it. I admit, Sir Wizard, that I expected never to see you again. Was my help so poor?”

Dennis joined her at the rail. “No, Lady. Your help made our escape from the jailyard below possible. Didn’t you hear the commotion you indirectly caused that night?”

Linnora’s lips pursed and she turned away slightly, obviously trying not to laugh undemurely out loud at the memory.

“The look on my lord host’s face that night repaid any debt you owed. I only wish his net had remained empty this time.”

Dennis had it in his mind to say something stylishly gallant such as, “I could not stay away but had to return to you, my Lady.” But the openness in her gray eyes made it seem verbose and inappropriate. He looked down.

“Well, uh,” he said instead. “I guess even a wizard can get a little clumsy once in a while.”

Her warm smile told him he had given the right answer. “Then we shall have to hope for another opportunity, shall we not?” she asked.

Dennis felt unaccountably warm. “We can hope,” he agreed.

They stood quietly for a while, looking at the reflections of the moonlight from the River Fingal.

“When Baron Kremer showed me your possessions for the first time,” she said at last, “I was convinced that someone strange had come into the world. They were obviously tools of great power, though I could feel almost no Pr’fett in them.”

Dennis shrugged. “In my land they were common implements, your Highness.”

She looked at him closely. Dennis was surprised to notice that she seemed nervous. Her voice was subdued, almost hushed. “Are you then from the place of miracles? The land of our ancestors?”

Dennis blinked. Land of our ancestors?

“Your tools had so little Pr’fett,” Linnora went on. “Yet their essences were strong, like nothing else in the world. Only once before have I encountered the like—in the wilderness shortly before I was captured.”

Dennis stared at her. Could so many threads come together all at once? He took a step closer to Linnora. But before he could speak, another voice cut in.

“I, too, would be interested in learning about the wizard’s homeland. That, and many other things, as well.”

They both turned. A large shadow blocked part of the light from the banquet hall. For a brief instant Dennis had a sudden joyful impression he was seeing Stivyung Sigel.

But the man stepped forward.

“I am Baron Kremer,” he said.

The warlord had a powerful cleft jaw to complement his broad shoulders. His silvery-blond hair was cut just below the ears. His eyes remained in shadows as he motioned toward the glittering table within.

“Shall we dine? Then perhaps we’ll have a chance to discuss such matters as different types of essence…and other worlds.”

3

Deacon Hoss’k spread his arms in an expansive gesture, barely missing a glittering candelabrum in the process.

“So you see, Wizard, nonliving things were compensated for the advantages the gods gave to the living. A tree may grow and prosper and spread its seeds, but it is also doomed to die, while a river is not. A man may think and act and move about, but he is fated to grow old and decrepit with time. The tools he uses, on the other hand—the nonliving slaves that serve him all his life—only get better with use.”

The deacon’s exposition was a strange mixture of theology, teleology, and fairy tale. Dennis tried not to look too amused.

The roast fowl on his plate was a definite improvement on his dungeon diet, and he wasn’t about to risk going back to prison fare by grinning at the ramblings of his host’s resident sage.

At the head of the table, Baron Kremer listened quietly to Hoss’k’s pedantic presentation, occasionally serving Dennis with a long, appraising gaze.

“Thusly, within all inanimate objects—including even that which once lived, such as hide or wood—the gods imbued the potential to become something greater than itself…something useful. This is the way the gods chose to make plenty inevitable for their people…”

The portly, scholar was dressed in an elegant white evening coat. As he gestured, the sleeves fluttered, displaying a glimpse of a bright red garment underneath.

“When a maker later converts the potential of an object into essence” Hoss’k continued, “the thing may then be practiced. In this way the gods preordained not only our life-style but our blessed social order as well.”

Across from Dennis Princess Linnora picked at her meal. She looked bored, and perhaps a bit angry over what Hoss’k had to say.

“There are those,” she said, “who believe that living things have potential, too. They, also, may rise above what they are and become greater than they have been.”

Hoss’k favored Linnora with a patronizing smile. “A quaint notion left over from ancient superstitions taken seriously only by a few obscure tribes such as your own, my Lady, and by some of the rabble in the east. It manifests a primitive wish that people, families, and even species can be improved. But look around you! Do the rabbits, or rickels, or horses get better with each passing year? Does mankind?

“No, clearly man himself cannot be improved. It is only the inanimate that may, with man’s intervention, be practiced to perfection.” Hoss’k smiled and took a sip of wine.

Dennis couldn’t escape a vague feeling that had nagged him for an hour, that he had encountered the man before and that there was some cause for enmity between them.

“Okay,” he said, “you’ve explained why inanimate tools improve with use… because the gods decreed that it be so.

But how does a piece of flint, for instance, become an ax simply by being used?”

“Ah! A good question!” Hoss’k paused to belch good-naturedly. Across the table from Dennis, Linnora rolled her eyes, but Hoss’k did not notice.

“You see, Wizard, scholars have long known that eventual fate of this ax you mention is partly determined by the essence of making, imbued into it by an anointed master of the stonechoppers’ guild. The essence that is put into an object at its beginning is just as important as the Pr’fett, which the owner invests through practice.

“By this I mean that practice is important, but it is useless without the proper essence at the beginning. Try as he might, a peasant cannot practice a sled into a hoe, or a kite into a cup. An implement must start out at least a little bit useful in its designated task to be made better through practice. Only master makers have this skill.

“This is something not well enough appreciated by the masses, particularly lately, with all of this intemperate grumbling against the guilds. The rabble-rousers chant about ‘value added’ and the ‘importance of practice labor’ But it’s all ignorant foolishness!”

Dennis had already realized that Hoss’k was the type of intellectual who’d dismiss an urgent and unstoppable change in his society, blithely ignoring the forces that pulled all about him. His kind always fiddled while Rome burned, all the while explaining away the ashes with their own brand of logic.

Hoss’k sipped his wine and beamed at Dennis. “Of course, I don’t have to explain to a man such as yourself why it is so necessary to control the lower orders.”

“I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about,” Dennis answered coolly.

“Now, now, Wizard, you need not dissemble. From inspecting the items you have so kindly, er, lent us, I can tell so very much about you!” With an indulgent smile the man bit into a pulpy dessert fruit.

Dennis decided to say nothing., He had eaten slowly and spoken little this evening, aware that the Baron was watching his reactions closely. He had barely touched his wine.

Dennis and Linnora had shared glances as they dared.

Once, when the Baron was speaking to the butler and while the scholar addressed the ceiling expansively, the Princess puffed her cheeks and mouthed a nattering mimicry of Hoss’k. Dennis had had to struggle not to laugh out loud.

When Kreflner had looked at them curiously, Dennis tried to keep a straight face. Linnora assumed a mask of attentive innocence.

Dennis realized that he was well on his way toward falling in love.

“I am curious, Deacon,” Kremer said. “What can you divine about out guest’s homeland from only his tools and his demeanor?”

The Baron lounged back on his plush, thronelike chair. He seemed filled with a restless energy, carefully, calculatedly restrained. It showed from time to time as he crushed nuts in his bare hands.

Hoss’k wiped his mouth on his napkin-sleeve. He bowed his head. “As you wish, my Lord. First, would you tell me which of Dennis Nuel’s tools are of most interest to you?”

Kremer smiled indulgently. “The far-killing hand weapon, the far-seeing glass box, and the box that shows shining insects moving as dots.”

Hoss’k nodded. “And what do all of these things have in common?”

“You tell us.”

“Very well, my Lord. Clearly these implements contain essences wholly unknown here in Coylia. Our lady of the L’Toff"—Hoss’k inclined his head to Linnora—"has confirmed this fact for us.

“Although he has endeavored to hide the details of his origins, our wizard’s plain ignorance of some of the most basic facts about our way of life indicates that he comes from a distant land, easily beyond the Great Desert beyond the mountains—a land where the study of essence has developed along radically different lines than it has here.

“Perhaps essence itself is different there, such that the tools they practice are constrained to develop in totally divergent ways.” Hoss’k smiled, as if he knew he were making a daring speculation.

Dennis sat up in his chair. Perhaps this fellow is no dolt after all, he thought.

“The box of lights, in particular, tells me much,” Hoss’k went on, confidently. “The tiny trained insects it contains behind its clear cover are unknown in these parts. They are smaller than the tiniest firefly. What are they called, Wizard?”

Dennis sat back in his chair again, almost sighing aloud in disappointment. Cavemen, he reminded himself.

“They are called pixel array elements,” he answered. “They are made up of things called liquid crystals, which—”

“Living crystal elementals!” Hoss’k interrupted Dennis. “Imagine that! Well, I feared at first that the little creatures were dying under my care. After a time they grew dim, and I could find no airholes nor any way to supply them with food. Finally I learned—almost by accident, I will confess—that they recovered quite nicely when fed sunlight!”

Dennis couldn’t help reacting with a raised eyebrow. Hoss’k took note and grinned in triumph.

“Ah, yes, Wizard. We are not bumpkins or fools here. This discovery was particularly pleasing to my Lord Baron. Until that time his new weapon, the small “needle-caster” you so graciously provided, had stopped functioning. Now, of course, that tool is also fed its fill of sunlight every day as it is practiced.”

The portly scholar beamed as Baron Kremer acknowledged this coup with a faint smile and nod. Kremer obviously had plans for the needler. Dennis frowned but remained silent.

“Like the bugs in the wonder box,” Hoss’k continued. “Something inside the weapon must at intervals eat from the sun. Indeed, when the weapon is used one can hear the faint scamperings of captive animals inside it.

“I did find a little food door on that machine. And now we provide the creatures inside with the metal they apparently require besides sunlight.

“These demons of yours have expensive tastes, Wizard. My Lord has used up the price of several serfs just keeping the weapon in practice!”

Dennis kept his face impassive. The fellow was clever, but his deductions were diverging more and more from reality. Dennis tried not to think about how Kremer might be “practicing” his needler.

“And just what does all this tell you about my homeland?” he asked.

Hoss’k grinned. “Well, first off we have seen that part of your magic is in taking the essence of living things and imbuing them into tools before practice even begins. This suggests to me a society with less regard for the dignity of life than we have here in Coylia.”

Dennis couldn’t help smirking sardonically. Of all the fatuous conclusions to reach! He glanced at Linnora to share his feelings in a secret glance but was shaken by the look she gave him. She obviously didn’t think much of Hoss’k, but his latest deduction obviously disturbed her. She fingered her napkin nervously.

Couldn’t she tell that the scholar was only flailing around blindly?

Hoss’k went on. “Some time ago I took some of the items Dennis Nuel brought with him from his homeland—those that my Lord Baron did not require for other purposes—and put them in a dark closet, where they received neither light nor practice. I wished to observe them as they reverted to their original forms and find out what principles of essence were at the heart of each.

“To my shock I found that, after a few days, the tools stopped devolving altogether! Left in a dark room, his knife remains sharp as it was a week ago. Some of this may be due to the fact that it is made of a prince’s ransom in iron, but the fastenings on his clothing and backpack also remained frozen in intricate shapes that could have been made by no craftsman alive.”

Dennis glanced at Kremer. The Baron listened with hands clasped in front of him. Heavy brows cast his eyes into shadows.

Linnora’s gaze darted from Hoss’k to Dennis to Kremer with an expression of apparent anxiety. Dennis wondered what was going on. Was it something the fool had just said? He decided to stop this foolishness before it got any more ridiculous. “I don’t think you…”

But the scholar wouldn’t be interrupted. “The wizard’s things are positively amazing. Only once before have I encountered their like,” he said. “In our recent expedition into the western mountains north of the lands of the L’Toff, I and my escorts found a tiny house in the wilderness, all made of metal…”

Dennis stared at Hoss’k and felt his hands become fists. “You!” He knew, now, that he had seen the deacon one time before, on the tiny screen of the Shara Tech exploration ’bot. It was this fool, dressed in his red formal robes, who had overseen the dismantling of the zievatron!

“Ah,” the scholar nodded. “I see from your reaction that that little house was yours, Wizard. And that does not surprise me. For I found a little box in the side of the house, which opened under prying. And there I found a storehouse of incredible little tools! I took home a few to examine at my leisure and, while I have not been able to make them do anything discernible, they, like the items in your backpack, have not changed a whit since I acquired them!”

Hoss’k reached into his voluminous robes and pulled out a handful of small objects.

“A few of these came from a pair of rather large, ferocious demons we found guarding the little house. But they were no match for the thenners of my Lord’s brave guardsmen.”

Bits and pieces of shiny electronics spilled from his hand onto the table. Dennis stared at a claw arm from a “ferocious” little Sahara Tech exploration robot, and a broken elevatronics circuit board whose components alone were worth hundreds of thousands of dollars!

“Of course, we could not stay long enough to pursue a full investigation, you’ll understand. For that was when we encountered the Princess. It took our men two whole days to—ahem—track her from the little metal house to the rock cleft where she had become lost…”

“I wasn’t lost! I was hiding from your thrice-cursed northmen!” Linnora bit out.

“Hmm. Well. She claimed that she had come to the mountain glade because she sensed that something unusual had recently occurred in the area. I felt it wise to invite her to accompany our expedition back to Zuslik… for her own safety, of course.”

Dennis could barely contain himself. “So you’re the cretin who tore apart the return device,” he growled.

Hoss’k laughed. “Oh, Wizard, I completed the job of dissection, but our L’Toff Princess had already begun investigating the strange cabin when we arrived.”

He glanced at her to see if this was true, but Linnora only looked away, fanning herself. At that moment Dennis didn’t feel any favoritism. He gave Linnora some of the hot glare he had offered Hoss’k. Both of them had meddled where they had no business!

“Anyway, Wizard,” Hoss’k went on, “no harm was done, I’m sure. When my Lord Baron decides it is time for you to return to your homeland with your property, I’m sure we can return the metal I took and lend you all the help you’ll need in order to practice your little house back to perfection.”

Dennis swore softly in Arabic, the only way he could properly express his opinion of the idea.

Hoss’k seemed to sense some of the message, if not the meaning. His smile narrowed. “And if my Lord decides otherwise, why, then I will lead another expedition to the little house and reclaim all of that wonderful metal for my Lord’s treasury.”

Dennis sat back in stunned silence. If the airlock itself were ever actually moved, let alone dismantled, he would spend the rest of his life here!

Kremer had remained quiet during this exchange. Now he cut in.

“I believe we have strayed from the topic, my good Deacon. You were explaining to us what was so unusual about the tools once owned by our alien wizard. You said that they appear to remain unchanged, no matter how long they are left unpracticed.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Hoss’k bowed. “And there is only one way known to freeze a tool into its practiced form so it will remain in that condition forever, unable to revert to its starter state. In our land this technique is controlled only by the L’Toff.”

Linnora sat rigidly, not looking at Hoss’k or even at Dennis.

“The technique, as we all know, involves a member of the L’Toff race willingly investing a portion of his or her own life-force into the tool in question, spending a part of his or her life-span to make the Pr’fett permanent.”

Kremer spoke pensively. “A great gift, is it not, Wizard? The priests claim that the L’Toff were chosen by the gods…blessed with the talent to be able to make beautiful things beautiful forever.

“But all gifts have a price, do they not, scholar?”

Hoss’k nodded sagely. “Yes, my Lord. The talent has been a mixed blessing to the L’Toff. With their other gifts, it elevated them above other peoples. It also led to many unpleasant episodes of, well, what might be called attempted exploitation by others.”

Dennis blinked. This was all coming too fast, but even without reflection he could imagine how the L’Toff had suffered for their talent.

The Princess looked only at her own hands.

“Of course, the rest of the story is common knowledge,” Hoss’k said, chuckling. “Fleeing the greed of mankind, the L’Toff came to the western mountains, where an ancestor of our King Hymiel ceded them their present territory and made the old dukes of Zuslik their protectors.”

And Baron Kremer’s father deposed the last of the old dukes, Dennis realized.

“We were speaking of the wizard’s property,” Kremer reminded softly but severely.

Hoss’k bowed. “Of course. Now, what can we suppose when we find that the wizard’s property does not decay, does not devolve into crude starters? We are forced to conclude that Dennis Nuel is a member of the aristocracy of his homeland, a homeland in which both metal and life itself are cheap. Furthermore, it seems clear that the equivalent of the L’Toff in his country have been enslaved and put to use freezing Pr’fett within practiced objects so that they remain refined even when left unused for long periods. This exploitation has gone so far as to freezing even Nuel’s clothing. Here in Coylia no one has ever considered squandering the L’Toff talent on clothes—”

“Now just a darned minute,” Dennis cut in. “I think there are a few things that need to be—”

Hoss’k grinned and hurried on, cutting Dennis off. “—We must conclude, at last, that their expertise at different lands of essence—including the enslavement of little animals as integral parts of tools—plus this power over the L’Toff of their own land explains the wizardry of Dennis Nuel’s country.

“He may be an exile or an adventurer. I cannot say which. In either case our guest clearly comes from a most powerful and ruthless warrior race. This being so, he should be treated as a member of the highest caste while he remains here in Coylia.”

Dennis stared at the man, dumbfounded. He wanted to laugh, but it was too preposterous even for that!

He started to speak twice and stopped each time. It occurred to him to wonder if he should interfere at all. His initial impulse to protest might not be the right strategy at all. If Hoss’k’s sophistry led to the granting of high status and respect here, should he even interfere?

While he considered, Princess Linnora abruptly stood up, her face very pale. “My Lord Baron. Gentlemen.” She nodded left and right but did not look at Dennis. “I am fatigued. Will you excuse me?”

Her chair was withdrawn by a servant. She did not meet Dennis’s gaze, though he stood and tried to catch her eye. She bore stoically the Baron’s lips upon her hand, then turned and left, accompanied by two guards.

Dennis’s ears burned. He could well imagine what Linnora thought of him. But all considered, it was probably best that he had remained silent right now, until he had a chance to think about what was to be done. The time for explanations would come later.

He turned to see Kremer smiling at him. The Baron took his seat and sipped from a goblet whose lacquer had, over the years, developed into a magnificent, arsene blue.

“Please sit down, Wizard. Do you smoke? I have pipes that have been used every day for three hundred years. As we relax, I am certain we will find matters of mutual benefit to discuss.”

Dennis said nothing.

Kremer eyed him calculatingly. “And perhaps we can work out something that will benefit the lady as well.”

Dennis frowned. Were his feelings that obvious?

He shrugged and sat down. In his position, he had little choice but to deal.

4

“It’s a good thing the palace has lots of well-practiced indoor plumbing,” Arth said as he worked to join two ill-fitting pieces of tubing, binding them with wet mud and twine. “I’d hate to have to make our own pipes out of paper or clay and have to practice ’em up ourselves.”

Dennis used a chisel to trim a tight wooden cover to fit over a large earthen vat. Nearby, several kegs of the Baron’s “best” wine awaited another test run. The maze of tubes overhead was a plumber’s nightmare. Even the sloppiest Appalachian moonshiner would have shuddered at the sight. But Dennis figured it would be good enough for a “starter” distillery.

All they had to do was get a few drops of brandy to come out the other end of the condenser. A little final product was all they needed for it to be useful and therefore practicable.

Arth whistled as he worked. He seemed to have forgiven Dennis since being released from the dungeon and assigned work as “wizard’s assistant.” Now wearing comfortably old work clothes and being fed well, the short thief was enthralled by this extended making task, unlike anything he had ever done before.

“Do you think Kremer’s goin’ to be satisfied with this still, Dennizz?”

Dennis shrugged. “In a couple of days we should be producing a concoction that’ll knock the Baron’s fancy, two-hundred-year-old socks off. It ought to make him happy.”

“Well, I still hate his guts, but I’ll admit he pays well.” Arth jingled a small leather purse a quarter filled with slivers of precious copper.

Arth seemed satisfied for now, but Dennis had his private doubts. Making a distillery for Kremer was a stopgap measure at best. He was sure the warlord would only want more from his new wizard. Soon he would lose interest in promises of new luxuries and trade goods and start demanding weapons for his upcoming campaign against the L’Toff and the King.

Dennis and Arth had been at this task almost a week. Here and now, few spent much more than a day making anything. Kremer was already showing signs of impatience.

What would he do when the distillery was operational? Show the Baron how to forge iron? Teach his artisans the principle of the wheel? Dennis had hoped to keep one or two of those “essences” in reserve, just in case Kremer decided to renege on his promise. The warlord had vowed eventually to heap wealth on Dennis and provide him with all the resources he’d need to repair his “metal house” and go home. But he might change his mind.

Dennis was still ambivalent. Kremer was clearly a ruthless S.O.B. But he was competent and not particularly venal. From Dennis’s readings of Earth’s history, a lot of men who were revered in legends weren’t exactly pleasant people in real life. Although Kremer certainly was a tyrant, Dennis wondered if he was particularly terrible as founders of dynasties went.

Perhaps the best thing to do would be to become the fellow’s Merlin. Dennis could probably make Kremer’s victories overwhelming—and therefore relatively bloodless—and in so doing become a power at his side.

Certainly that would win him a freer hand, perhaps even to repair the zievatron and return home again.

It did sound like the right plan.

Then why did it feel so unpalatable?

He could think of at least one person who wouldn’t agree with his decision. The few times he had seen Princess Linnora since the banquet they had been at least two parapets apart, she escorted by her guards and he by his. She had nodded to him coolly and swept away with a swirl of skirts even as he smiled and tried to catch her eye.

Dennis could see now how Hoss’k’s logic at the banquet would sound compelling to someone raised in this world. The misunderstanding irked him all the more because it was so unfair.

But there was nothing he could do. Kremer was keeping her in Dennis’s sight but out of earshot. And he couldn’t insult the Baron in her presence—spoiling all of his plans— just to regain favor in her eyes, could he? That would be shortsighted.

It was perplexing.

He and Arth built their still in a broad court not far from the enclosed jailyard they had escaped from only weeks before. Except for their small corner, the broad field was taken up by drilling grounds for the Baron’s troops. Near the outer wall of sharpened logs, sergeants marched militia from the town and neighboring hamlets—practicing both the ragged weapons and their equally motley bearers.

Nearer the castle, regulars in bright uniforms used then-battle-axes and halberds to slice at chunks of meat hanging from tall gibbets. The gleaming blades sheared through meat and bone alike. The chops were collected in tubs and carted off by drudges to the palace kitchens.

Even the pair of guards assigned to watch Dennis and Arth kept busy. They took turns striking each other lightly with dull blades, working on their armor.

Overhead, the Baron’s aerial patrol went through their maneuvers. Dennis watched them dive and swoop around each other, as facile as the sprightliest gliders of Earth, staying aloft for hours at a time in the day thermals near the castle. They practiced throwing clusters of small, deadly darts at ground targets in midflight.

No one else on Coylia had anything like these gliders. The innovation was said to have come one day when the observation kite the Baron himself had been riding was cut loose in an assassination attempt. Practiced to perfection as a kite, the untethered airfoil instantly went into a spinning fall.

But instead of plumeting to his death, Kremer had been caught in a powerful winter updraft. Showing unusual imagination, the Baron had recognized almost instantly that something new was involved. He concentrated desperately on practicing the unwieldly glider, rather than resigning himself to certain death, and the amazing happened. To the awe of all those watching, he and the kite had shimmered for a few moments in the sparkling nimbus of a felthesh trance. The fabric contraption changed before everyone’s eyes into something which flew!

In the end, Kremer merely broke his leg, but he had discovered a new principle in the process.

Seventeen killed and maimed “volunteers” later, he had his corps of one-, two-, and even four-man gliders. They were getting better day by day. And although Kremer never again was able to produce another felthesh, his reputation was made throughout Coylia.

Dennis watched the gliders thoughtfully. The hangar shed was guarded, and the launching tower as well. But their greatest protection was the fact that Castle Zuslik contained the planet’s only supply of trained pilots. Even if some other lord managed to steal a glider, he wouldn’t be able to practice it in time to prevent it from decaying back to a pile of sticks and string and hides.

But unbeknownst to Baron Kremer, there was one more potential pilot on Tatir.

No, Dennis shook his head. You’ve chosen a plan. Stick with it.

Arth approached, holding up a piece of condenser. “Say, Dennzz, where does this thing you called a... a gizmo… fit? Does it go into the thingumbob? Or the doohickey?” Arth pronounced each name as he had memorized it.

Dennis returned to the task of fostering an industrial revolution.

5

“Master, you must get dressed for the party now.”

Dennis looked up from a sheaf of notes covered with the arcane notations of anomaly mathematics.

“Oh, is it time already, Dvarah?”

The servant girl smiled and gestured over to the ancient bed by the wall. Dennis saw that she had laid out a formal dinner suit. It had fancy sleeves and a wide, puffy collar.

The girl curtsied. “Yes, my Lord. And tonight you will dress in a manner befitting your station. These garments are over two hundred years old. And the practicer we found for you has been wearing them nonstop for over a week. They have just been laundered and are ready for you now.”

Dennis looked at the suit and frowned. It wasn’t just that the clothes were frilly and decadent for his tastes. After all, he was the foreigner here and should adapt to local fashions.

But he didn’t like to think that some poor citizen of Zuslik had been shanghaied into durance style—just to practice these clothes for him.

Dvarah had been assigned to Dennis after the dinner meeting with the Baron. The pretty, petite brunette brought him his meals and tended his sumptuous new quarters.

She coughed demurely. “Master, you really mustn’t keep my Lord Baron waiting.”

Dennis cast a brief, wistful glance back at the papers on his desk. It had been fun, almost relaxing, to play with the symbols and numbers, trying to figure out how the Practice Effect came to be. While lost in the equations, Dennis could almost forget where he was, and pretend he was, once again, a comfortable terrestrial scientist with nothing at all to fear, Kremer had actually been quite generous, by his own lights. He had, for instance, given Dennis all the paper he wanted for his studies. But he had stopped at letting Dennis have any of his Earthly equipment.

There was no use complaining. Dennis had to win the warlord’s trust. Without the wrist comp, for instance, all these calculations were inevitably futile. Eventually, he was sure, Kremer would let him have his gear.

He got up to dress. Kremer was bringing together all the burghers and guildmasters tonight, to show off his new wizard. Dennis would have to put on a good show.

Dvarah came over and began unbuttoning his shirt.

The first few times it had happened, Dennis had stammered and pushed her away. But that only seemed to hurt the girl’s feelings—not to mention her professional pride. When in Rome he realized at last, and learned to relax while having things done for him.

Actually, it was rather pleasant once he got used to it. Dvarah smelled nice. And over the past few days she had apparently become quite devoted to him. It seemed her duties included considerably more than he had taken advantage of as yet. His politeness toward her, and his reluctance to assert those privileges without considerable further thought, seemed to surprise and please her.

Dvarah was straightening his cravat as a knock came on the door.

“Come in!” Dennis called.

Arth stuck his head in. “Ready, Dennizz? Come on! We gotta get the brandy set up for the party!”

“Okay, Arth. Just a sec.”

Dvarah stepped back and smiled approvingly at her master’s elegance. Dennis gave her a wink and followed Arth out into the hall.

Along with two of the ever-present guards, there waited four burly men with a heavy cask on two rails. As the guards turned to lead the way, the bearers heaved and lifted the cask on their shoulders, following behind.

Dennis had considered inventing something to make their task easier. Then, on thinking about it, he decided to hold off for a while. The wheel was too much of an ace to play just yet.

“I got a message from th’ missus…” Arth whispered to Dennis as they walked down the elegant hallway.

Dennis walked steadily ahead, without missing a step. He asked, softly, “Are the others all right?”

Arth nodded. “Mostly. Guards caught two o’ my men... and Maggin found out what happened to Perth.” He spat the name as if it were something vile.

“Did Mishwa…” Dennis let the question hang.

“Yeah. He took care of the rat, all, right! Just before they conked him. Perth never got a chance to give away th’ exact location o’ the warehouse, so Stivyung an’ Gath were able to—”

Arth shut up as the grand doors to the ballroom swung wide before them. But Dennis got the general idea.

He was relieved his friends were all right. Perhaps in weeks, or months, he would have enough influence over Kremer to intercede for other prisoners. For now, though, he would rather not test it. Gath and Stivyung deserved a chance to make their own escape.

Dennis could only describe the party as a sort of quasi pot latch, with a dash of Louis XIV’s Sun King court thrown in.

The local elite were out in force, in a sea of elegant finery, but there was less dancing and socializing than there would be at a party on Earth. Instead, there appeared to be a whole lot of ceremonious exchanging of gifts. The rituals bemused Dennis. Here, it seemed, there was a complicated way in which status was maintained by giving things away. The more practiced the donated items were, the better.

Dennis was reminded of similar rites he had read of in preatomic New Guinea and in the Pacific Northwest. The gift-giving had little generosity to it but rather an aggressive bragging overtone heavily dependent upon status.

He saw the recipient of a particularly frilly, silky, useless-looking garment briefly blanche and stare in horror at what she had been given, before hurriedly putting on a casual expression and thanking the giver through her teeth.

Yes, it was very much like an ancient Earthly potlatch. But Dennis soon saw that the Practice Effect had twisted the ritual in strange ways.

It cost many man-hours to maintain a tool or an object at its peak of perfection, for instance. So unlike similar social arrangements on Earth, the gifts could be stockpiled in advance only at great cost to the giver. Their number was limited by the overall ability of a magnate’s servants and bondsmen to use things…and just before one of these parties the serfs must be run ragged practicing their masters’ best gifts.

Dennis moved about the grand hall, casually watching the rich people bow and make convoluted compliments to each other. They traded their gifts with elegant gestures of surprise and feigned spontaneity.

Arth had explained it to him. The receiver of gifts was caught in a bind. Covetousness was counterbalanced against caution. A rich man might desire a beautiful, ancient thing but fear the investment of man-hours it would take to maintain it. A gift received had to be displayed later, and any deterioration would bring terrible shame.

It was like watching an elegant pavane. Several more times Dennis saw unmistakable chagrin on the face of a recipient who had made a false move, and received too much.

At the station being manned by Arth, the brandy cask had just been opened. Servants were circulating small goblets of amber-colored fluid. A chain of gasps and coughing exclamations rippled across the crowd, just behind the waiters.

Dennis looked for Linnora. Maybe here, at the party, he would have a chance to explain to her that he was not from a land of monsters. He had to convince her that by playing a waiting game he could become so necessary to Kremer that one L’Toff prisoner would be meaningless to him in comparison. Dennis was certain he could win Linnora’s release within a few months.

But there was no sign of the Princess in the crowd. Perhaps later, he hoped.

The minor nobles and guildmasters—most of them sons and grandsons of men who had helped Kremer’s father seize power—moved about with their wives, followed by personal servants who modeled the gifts their masters had been given. It was like watching a crowd filled with sets of almost identical twins, only the sibling apparently bearing more riches always walked behind the less heavily laden, and the one wearing all the flashy junk never partook of food or drink.

Dennis had managed to beg off being assigned a “tail,” as the accompanying servants were called. It was bad enough knowing that someone, somewhere, was spending hours practicing Dennis’s formal outfits for him. He didn’t want to have to force another fellow to take on such a disgusting role, no matter how well accepted it was here.

Anyway, it helped establish Dennis as an anomaly. By now everyone knew he was a foreign wizard. The more conventions he broke, Dennis figured, the better the precedent and the less likely they’d try to hold him to other tribal stupidities.

Not stupidities, he reminded himself—adaptations! The patterns of behavior all fit when one thought of combining feudalism with the Practice Effect. One might not like them, but the rituals did make a certain amount of brutal sense.

“Wizard!”

Dennis turned and saw that Kremer himself was motioning him over.

Nearby stood Deacon Hoss’k in his bright red robes, and a crowd of local dignitaries. Dennis approached as he was bid and gave Kremer a calculatedly respectful nod.

“So this is the magician who has shown us how to practice wine into… brandy.” A richly dressed magnate held up his goblet in admiration. “Tell me, Wizard, since you seem to have found a way to practice consumable items, will you now teach us to turn cornmeal into rickel steak?”

The fellow laughed loudly, accompanied by several of those around him. He had obviously already had a fair sampling of Dennis’s first product.

Baron Kremer smiled. “Wizard, let me introduce you to Kappun Thsee, magnate of the stonechoppers’ guild, and Zuslik’s selectman for the Assembly of our Lord, King Hymiel.”

Dennis bowed just a little. “Honored.”

Thsee nodded slightly. He tossed back the brandy in his glass and motioned to a servant for more.

“You did not answer my question, Wizard.”

Dennis didn’t know what to say. These people had a fixed way of looking at things, and any explanation he gave would involve new assumptions the Coylian aristocrats were ill prepared to hear.

Anyway, at that moment he saw Princess Linnora enter the room, accompanied by a servant.

The crowd near the entrance parted for her. When she nodded and spoke to someone, the response was almost always an exaggerated, nervous smile. In her wake people frankly stared. She stood out brilliantly in the sea of flushed, anxious faces, cool and reserved as her mountain people were reputed to be.

“I am afraid that is not the way of it, my dear Kappun Thsee.”

Dennis turned quickly and saw that it was the scholar Hoss’k who had spoken, filling the long pause in the conversation. Dennis had had a brief illusion that it had been Professor Marcel Flaster, somehow transported directly from Earth, beginning one of his infamous, ponderous lectures.

“You see,” Hoss’k expanded. “The wizard has not improved wine into brandy. He has used wine much as your stonechoppers use flint nodules. He makes brandy by infusing it with new essence.”

Kappun Thsee’s eyes shone with ill-concealed greed. “The guild that gains the license to this art—”

Baron Kremer laughed out loud. “And why should this wonderful new secret be given to any of the present guilds? What, my friend, does chopping stone have to do with creating liquor with the flavor of fire?”

Kappun Thsee flushed.

Dennis had been trying to keep track of Linnora’s progress through the crowd. He quickly turned back as Kremer put his arm over his shoulder.

“No, magnate Thsee,” Kremer said, grinning. “The new essences brought to us by our wizard might be divided up among the present guilds. Then again, perhaps each should have its own, new guild. And who better to be guildmaster than he who brought these secrets to us?”

One of the women gasped. The other aristocrats stared.

In the silent moment Dennis suddenly saw with perfect clarity what was going on.

Kremer was manipulating them beautifully! Holding out the possibility of access to a whole set of new “essences,” he was accompanying the carrot with an implied stick. He already had the monopolistic guilds on his side. Now they’d positively be baying to do his will.

At the same time, Dennis realized that Kremer had just offered him more wealth and power than he had ever imagined.

He saw that even the ebullient Hoss’k was subdued, as if he were seeing Dennis in a new light—less as his own personal discovery and more, perhaps, as a dangerous rival.

That suited Dennis fine. The man had been the direct cause of stranding him on this crazy world. He had already promised himself to teach Hoss’k a lesson.

Dennis noticed that Linnora had come closer but was avoiding approaching the area where the baron stood. He turned to Kremer. “Your Grace, some may think that my brandy is nothing but a more potent form of wine. May I perform a demonstration to prove that it is, indeed, something truly different?”

Kremer nodded, betraying a faint smile.

Dennis called for a brandy-filled goblet and a small table to lay it on. Then he reached into the folds of one of his fancy sleeves and pulled out a bundle of small sticks, each painted at one end with a blob of crusty paste.

It had taken him days to hunt down and purify the right materials to perform this demonstration. It would be just the sort of thing to solidify his reputation.

“Baron Kremer spoke of the flavor of fire. From the way some of our local notables are weaving about the hall, it certainly seems that the blood in their veins has grown more than a little warm.”

The crowd laughed. Indeed, several magnates had already become tipsy, falling prey to other players of the gift-giving game. Their servants were stumbling under quantities of fine, ancient things that would ruin their masters in expensive practice time.

Dennis noticed that Linnora watched from a nearby pillar. She had smiled at the reference to the foolish guildsmasters.

Encouraged, Dennis went on.

“In this evening of marvelous gift-giving, I, a poor wizard, have little to offer. But to Baron Kremer I now offer the essence of… fire!”

He struck two of the little sticks together. At once the two ends erupted into flame.

The crowd moaned and pulled back in awe. They were rather crude matches, smoking and stinking of sulfur and nitrates, but that only made the display more impressive.

Dennis had seen the firemakers they used here. They were efficient but used that ancient principle of a rotating friction stick. Nothing in Coylia could do what he had just done.

“And now,” he added dramatically, waving the matches for effect, “the flavor of fire!”

He brought one of the matches down to the goblet.

A flickering blue flame popped audibly into place to meet it. The onlookers sighed. There was a long, stunned silence.

“The essence of fire… captured in a drink?” Dennis turned and saw that Hoss’k was goggle-eyed.

“A marvelous feat,” Kremer agreed, quite calmly. “It is akin, perhaps, to the fashion in which the wizard’s people enslave those tiny creatures within his little boxes. They have found a way to trap fire as well, it would seem. Wonderful.”

“But…but…” Hoss’k spluttered. “Fire is one of the life essences! Even the followers of the Old Belief agree with that. It is reserved for the gods who make and practice men! We may release the essence of fire from that which once lived… but we cannot trap it!”

Dennis couldn’t help it. He laughed. Hoss’k was nervously licking his tips, and seeing the deacon squirm gave Dennis a moment’s satisfaction. Here, at last, was some repayment for what the fellow had done to him.

“Did I not say it?” Kremer’s laughter boomed. “Dennis Nuel knows how to trap anything within a tool! What wonders might we expect if he is but given our full support?”

The crowd applauded dutifully, but Dennis could tell they were cowed. Their faces were touched with superstition and uncertainty.

Dennis glanced to his left, still grinning over giving Hoss’k the shock of his life. Then he saw Linnora, her face a mask of concern and fear.

The Princess favored Dennis with a withering glance, then swept about in a flourish to leave the hall, followed by her maid.

Now he recalled what Hoss’k had said about “the Old Belief” Apparently his little demonstration had reawakened her fear of those who abused life essences. Dennis cursed softly. Was there anything he could do here that wouldn’t be misinterpreted by her?

It had been the Baron who declaimed on what Dennis had done, he realized, at last. Kremer had put his actions in a light that boxed him in a corner, insuring that Linnora would misunderstand.

He was outclassed by the man. He could not oppose that kind of manipulative skill. How could there be any choice but to go along?

He only hoped that someday Linnora, too, would, understand.

6

A bit foggyheaded from the party, Arth and Dennis were late reporting to the still the next morning. When they arrived, they found that the crew had had a celebration of their own and left the still a shambles in the process.

The prisoners groveled, terrified of the wizard’s wrath.

Dennis just sighed, “Aw hell,” and set the men to work fixing the damage. Keeping busy helped him not think about his overall situation.

He had made progress in his plan to win influence over the warlord, Kremer. He still thought it the most logical plan— best for himself, for his friends, for Linnora, and even for the people of this land.

Yet the episode last night left him with a sour feeling. He worked hard, and tried to drive the memory away.

A little after noon, a bugle cried out from the front gate. The call was answered by trumpets on the castle tower. Troops in the yard hurried to fell into formation along a corridor from gate to castle.

Dennis looked at Arth, who shrugged. The little thief-cum-moonshiner had no idea what was happening.

Down a ramp from the keep came Baron Kremer and his entourage, their bright, centuries-old robes almost painful to look at in the sunshine. The tall plumed helm of Kremer’s cousin, Lord Hern, stood out in the crowd of courtiers.

They halted at a dais overlooking the massed companies and watched as the outer gate swung back.

In rode a small procession on horseback.

“It’s th’ embassy from th’ L’Toff!” Arth breathed.

They had been told such a party was coming. The L’Toff were searching for their missing Princess and no doubt suspected she was being kept here.

The rumors must have spread far and wide since the jailbreak, and especially since Zuslik’s aristocracy were let in on it, Kremer was publicly feigning innocence until it suited his purposes to do otherwise. But apparently he was no longer worried about suspicions.

For all of his apparent good favor with the warlord, Dennis had not been invited to attend the meeting of the welcoming committee. It was another sign of Kremer’s masterful insight into people. He clearly knew the foreign wizard was not trustworthy on the subject of the L’Toff Princess.

Dennis looked up at the third-level parapet, where he had often seen Linnora walk. She wasn’t in sight, of course. Her guards would keep her well secluded during the brief visit by her kinfolk.

He walked over to the low fence enclosing his work area and put a foot up on one of the rough wooden rails. He and Arth watched the embassy pass the arrayed soldiers to approach Baron Kremer’s platform.

There were five riders, all wearing soft cloaks in muted colors. They looked normal enough to Dennis’s eyes, though all five wore beards, unfashionable among Coylians. They seemed a trifle more slender than the people of Zuslik, or Kremer’s northmen. The five rode looking straight ahead, ignoring the xenophobic stares of the troops, until they came within a dozen yards of the dais where Kremer waited.

Two L’Toff held reins for the others as they dismounted and saluted the Baron.

Dennis could see Kremer’s face better than he could the emissaries’. He couldn’t hear what was said, but Kremer’s answer was obvious. The warlord smiled with unctuous sympathy. He raised his hands and shook his head.

“Next he’ll say he’s had scouts out scourin’ the countryside far an’ wide for their Princess,” Arth said.

Sure enough, Kremer waved an arm at his troops and at a squad of mounted horsemen. Then he pointed to the gliders circling patiently in the updraft over the castle.

“The two L’Toff on the right aren’t buyin’ it,” Arth commented. “They’d like to take th’ castle apart, startin’ with th’ Baron hisself.”

The gray-bearded leader of the embassy tried to stifle one of his companions, a brown-haired youth in dark-brown body armor, who shrugged off restraint and shouted hotly at the Baron. Kremer’s guards muttered angrily and shifted weight, poised for a nodded command from their Lord.

The young L’Toff looked contemptuously at the tense guards and spat on the ground.

Arth chewed on a grass stem speculatively. “I’ve heard it used to be the L’Toff were pacifists. But they’ve had to become fighters the past two hunnerd years or so, in spite of the protection o’ th’ King and the old Duke. Some of ’em are said to be about as good as th’ King’s own scouts.”

Arth pointed to the tall, angry young L’Toff. “That one may make it hard for the ambassador to get outta here without a fight.”

Arth sounded like he was handicapping horses. From what Dennis had heard, one of the major spectator sports here in Coylia seemed to be watching men hack each other to bits and betting on the outcome.

The Baron did not rise to the young man’s challenge. Instead he grinned and whispered to one of his aides, who sped away.

Kremer waved forward trays of refreshment, which he diplomatically sampled first. He had seats brought for his guests as the troops stepped back to create a broad aisle from the dais to the courtyard wall.

The L’Toff looked suspicious, but they could hardly refuse. They sat nervously near their host. As they turned his way, Dennis thought he saw, in the face of the angry young man, a family resemblance to Linnora.

He wondered if her fey sensitivity had informed the Princess that relatives were only a few hundred meters away.

Dennis had finally become convinced Linnora really had such a gift. Over a month ago the power had led her to the zievatron, where she was captured. It had enabled her to know him in the dark prison yard weeks later.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to keep her from falling under the spell of Hoss’k’s fallacious logic, or to let her see through Kremer’s manipulative explanations.

In any event, her talent was apparently intermittent and quite rare even among the L’Toff. Kremer didn’t seem afraid of it.

Arth clutched Dennis’s shoulder and gasped. Dennis followed his pointing finger.

A cluster of guards were dragging a prisoner from one of the castle’s lower gates. Dust rose from the struggle, for the captive was very big and very angry.

Dennis suddenly realized it was Mishwa Qan, the giant whose strength had been key to their breakout from jail. Mishwa bellowed and heaved against his bonds. When he saw they were leading him to a scarred, upright post, the battle became furious.

But the guards had been chosen carefully to be almost his equal in size. Dennis saw his old nemesis, Sergeant Gil’m, pulling a rope tied to Mishwa’s neck.

Kremer motioned the scholar Hoss’k forward from his entourage. Hoss’k bowed to the dignitaries and brought forth items to show them, one at a time. Dennis stirred when he saw that the first was his camp-watch alarm.

As the L’Toff stared at the lights on the screen, Dennis wondered what changes practice had wrought in the tiny machine since the last time he had seen it.

No doubt Hoss’k was pointing out how difficult it would now be for an enemy to approach the castle undetected.

Then he demonstrated Dennis’s monocular, showing the L’Toff how to use it, pointing out various objects. When the ambassador put the scope down he was visibly shaken.

Dennis felt a slow burning rise within him—a combination of shame and deep anger. In spite of the strategy he had chosen, for very good reasons, his natural sympathies were with the L’Toff.

Dennis didn’t like it one bit when Hoss’k turned and pointed directly at him. Kremer smiled and bowed slightly to his wizard. The Baron’s well-rehearsed personal guard shouted Dennis’s name in unison.

He scowled. If only there were some way of communicating with the L’Toff privately!

By now Mishwa Qan had been dragged to the post and tied into place. Dennis had already figured out that they planned to execute the man. He had witnessed many executions during the past week, and there was nothing at all he could do. Arth knew that as well and stood almost rock-still.

The guard, Gil’m, marched up to the overlord and bowed. Kremer drew something small from his robe and handed it to the trooper, who bowed again and turned to march back down the dais toward the prisoner.

Realization struck Dennis. “No!” he cried aloud.

Gil’m marched halfway to the target post. Mishwa Qan glared back at him, hands flexing uselessly under his bonds. The big thief shouted a challenge at Gil’m which everyone in the yard could hear, offering to take the trooper on blindfolded, with any choice of weapons.

Gil’m simply grinned. He lifted a small black shape.

Dennis felt a purple outrage. “No!” he screamed.

He vaulted the fence and ran toward the execution aisle, dodging one set of guards, then plowed through two more who ran to cut him off. He flattened one with a round house. Those on the dais turned to look at the commotion as one of Dennis’s own guards tackled him from behind. At that moment Gil’m aimed Dennis’s needler and pulled the trigger.

In the confusion only a few people were actually looking at the prisoner when the burst of tiny metal needles struck at hypersonic velocity. But everyone heard the explosion. Dennis heard Arth’s astonished gasp.

Fighting partway free of a pile of guardsmen, Dennis struggled up far enough to see a bloody stump where the target post had been sheared in half. Beyond that lay a gaping hole in the wooden wall.

The needler had, indeed, been getting practice. Gil’m grinned and held the weapon up to the sun.

A wave of revulsion and shame overwhelmed Dennis. He snarled and flailed at those around him, biting at one hand that grabbed near his face. Then a heavy object struck him from behind and turned off the lights.

7

Linnora stared at the little creatures that arranged themselves in such orderly rows on the face of the little box. At the far right they shifted and reformed with great rapidity, hopping into new positions almost faster than she could follow with her eyes. The group next to the left shifted their formations more slowly, and so on. At the far left, the tiny bugs were patient, and seemed to take about half a day to make their next move.

The little box wasn’t much more than four times the size of the first digit of her thumb. On each side it had two straps, one of which ended in little metal pieces whose purpose she had yet to divine.

Hesitantly, Linnora tried pressing a few of the many little nubs that protruded from the half of the box where no bugs danced. The bugs hopped into new patterns every time she touched one of the nubs.

A part of her wanted to laugh at the antics the little creatures went through—there was an urge to play and make them dance some more.

No. She put the little box down and withdrew her hand. She would not experiment with living things. Not without knowing what she was doing and having a clear idea of her purpose. That was one of the oldest credos of the Old Belief, handed down from parent to child from the earliest days of the L’Toff.

Only a deep conviction that they needed to be within the box to survive kept Linnora from breaking it to set the little slaves free.

That and a lingering uncertainty that they really were slaves.

The ordered patterns had a feeling to them…not joy exactly, but pride, perhaps. She sensed that very much had gone into the making of the little box and its tiny occupants.

There was more complexity here than she had ever encountered before one month ago.

If only I could know for certain, she sighed silently.

Deacon Hoss’k had made such a consistent and logical case! The wizard’s people must have used ruthless means to accomplish such wonders…especially to freeze the state of practice in each of these amazing tools. The lives of many of the equivalent of the L’Toff in Dennis Nuel’s homeland must have been sacrificed so these things would remain in unchanged perfection.

Or must they? Linnora shook her head, confused.

Could the whole logic of making and practicing be different somewhere else?

Once upon a time it had not been the same here on Tatir, according to the Old Belief. In ancient days, before the fall, it was life that had been perfectible, and tools had no powers at all.

That was what the stories said.

Resting her elbows on the dressing table, she let her face fall into her hands. Hope had been fragile since that day when Hoss’k’s men boiled out of the forest near the wizard’s mysterious little house. Now, with Kremer pressing his demands harder than ever, with the L’Toff searchers come and gone without contact, she felt more desperate than ever.

If only there were a way to believe in the wizard! If only he were the kind of man she had originally felt him to be, instead of serving Kremer and living high—in his plush new rooms with his pretty serving wench—proving himself a complacent syncophant to Kremer’s rising star like all the others!

She wiped her eyes, determined not to weep again. On the table before her the little bugs continued their mysterious dance, whirling on the right, shifting slowly on the left. Marking time.

8

Dennis woke up feeling as if his body had been used to practice baseball bats. The first few times he tried to move, he only managed to rock from side to side a bit. He hurt all over.

At last he succeeded in rolling to one side and got his eyes blearily open.

Well, he wasn’t in the luxurious quarters he had been assigned before. Still, he wasn’t in the dungeon either. The room had the rough-hewn, half-finished look of the newer, higher parts of the castle.

Guards stood by the door—two of Kremer’s northland clansmen. When they saw that he had awakened, one of them stepped out into the hall and spoke a few words.

Dennis sat up in the cot, groaning aloud just a little at the twinges. His throat was sore and dry, so he reached over to the rickety bedstand to pour himself a cup of water from an earthenware jar. His cut lip stung as he drank.

He put down the cup and settled back against the rough pillow, watching the clansmen watch him. He said nothing to the guards and expected no words from them.

His status had declined, apparently.

There were heavy bootsteps in the hallway. Then the door was flung back. Baron Kremer stepped over the threshold.

Dennis had to blink at the brilliance of the man’s clothing in the sunlight that streamed behind him. Kremer regarded Dennis silently, his dark eyes in shadow below heavy brows.

“Wizard,” he said at last, “what am I going to do with you?”

Dennis sipped again-from the cup. He licked his stinging lips gingerly.

“Uh, that’s a real toughie, your Lordship. Let’s see, though. I think I might have an idea.

“How about this? You’re going to help me and my friends, in utter sincerity and to the best of your ability, to return to our homes in good health, both mental and physical?”

Kremer’s slow smile was not particularly appreciative.

“That is a thought, Wizard. On the other hand, it occurs to me that the palace torturer has been complaining that his spare tools are getting out of practice. Only the main set has had any work the past month or so. Remedying that situation seems equally appealing.”

“You face a quandary,” Dennis sympathized.

“It is a difficult choice.” The Baron shook his head.

“I am certain you’ll work something out, though.”

“Are you, really? Ah! Such confidence from a wizard is inspiring. Still, the two options do seem mutually contradictory, I was wondering if you might be able to suggest a compromise solution. Just a hint, mind you.”

Dennis nodded. “A compromise. Hmm.” He scratched his stubble. “How about something midway in between, like me doing your bidding quickly and cheerfully, giving you whatever you desire, in return for which you will keep me in a moderate level of comfort, and string me along with minor rewards and vague promises of eventual freedom and power?”

Kremer smiled. “An amazing solution! No wonder they call you a wizard.”

Dennis shrugged modestly. “Oh, it was nothing, really.”

The Baron cracked his knuckles. “Then it is settled. You have two more days to complete the making of your beverage ‘distillery’ and to teach my servants to practice it. Then you shall begin work on something of more immediate practical value, such as more of the beautiful long-range killing weapons. If, as you claim, the animals needed to drive such devices are lacking in my realm, I shall require that you come up with something else of military value.

“Is our compromise clear, then?”

Dennis nodded. He was thinking, and he had had enough of bantered wisecracks for now. They hadn’t really helped all that much, anyway.

“One more thing, Wizard. Should you ever again embarrass me in front of outsiders, or attempt to thwart me in any way, you will find my torturers have planned something special for you. There will be no repeat of yesterday’s unfortunate demonstration. Am I understood?”

Dennis said nothing. He looked at the tall blond man in the resplendent costume, and nodded, barely.

The Baron acknowledged with a possessive smile. “You will be happy here, Dennis Nuel,” he promised. “Eventually— perhaps soon, if you behave well—we will improve your quarters again. Then you and I can talk as gentlemen once more. I would be interested in learning how your people persuade their recalcitrant L’Toff to become pliant. Perhaps Princess Linnora can be a test case.”

He grinned, then turned and left. The door closed, leaving Dennis alone with a single guard. For a long time there was silence; only the distant shouts of drilling troops carried up from far below.

The Earthman sat on his cot. He could almost imagine it perceptibly changing, minute by minute, into a better and better bed as he lay in it.

Logically, his options were still the same, only put off a little. In a year or two of feeding Kremer wonders he felt sure he could gain the man’s trust and gratitude, especially if he invented gunpowder for him, ensuring his conquest of all Coylia.

Dennis shook his head, making up his mind. He hadn’t thought about it much before, but there were few worse criminals on any world than the engineer who blithely and knowingly hands over to a tyrant the tools of oppression. Come plague or ruin, he wasn’t going to give Kremer gunpowder, or the wheel, or the secret of metal smelting, or anything else he could use to make war.

What options did that leave, then?

Only escape. Somehow he had to get out of here again.

9

Hot iron pincers closed upon his thumbs. A steaming stench rose where the flesh shriveled back, rolling away on black, curling ash.

Dennis moaned. He felt a wet splash against his face and he opened his eyes, breathing hard.

Arth looked down at him worriedly. “You were dreamin’, Dennizz. It must’ve been a bad one. Are you all right now?”

Dennis nodded. He had been taking a nap near their work area after supper. It was twilight already, out in the shadow of the castle.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I’m okay.” He got up and dried his face on a towel. He still felt shaken from the dream.

“I just got back from the jailyard,” Arth told him. “I said I wanted to go and personally pick the guys to run the new still.”

Dennis nodded. “Did you find out anything?”

Arth shook his head. “Nobody’s seen Stivyung or Gath or Maggin or any more of my boys, so they don’t seem to’ve been caught.”

Dennis was glad. Perhaps Stivyung would eventually be reunited with his wife and son. The news helped lift his spirits a little.

“So what’s the plan now?” Arth asked, too low to be overheard by the guards. “Do we try to make another balloon? Or do you have somethin’ else in mind, like that saw that can break through walls?”

After the execution of his friend, Arth was no longer tempted by life within the castle walls. All he wanted was to get away from here, to see his wife again, and to hurt Baron Kremer as badly as possible. The thief looked to the Earth-man with complete confidence.

Dennis wished he could share the feeling.

As twilight fell, a squad of soldiers climbed a pedestal in the courtyard where Dennis’s needler was kept during the day. When not being practiced or stored for the night, it was exposed to sunlight, always surrounded by at least six guards.

Dennis had run through a few calculations. Clearly the needler was approaching the theoretical limit of capability for that type of weapon. No matter how efficient it became, it could only throw slivers of metal with the amount of energy it could absorb through a five-square-centimeter solar collector.

That gave Dennis one more reason to get out of here. Kremer had talked of using the needler to blast down the walls of cities. Dennis didn’t want to be around when the Baron found out the deadly little weapon could be practiced only so far.

He watched the guards cautiously remove the needler from its little solarium. No. The device was guarded much too closely. He clearly wasn’t going to be able to reclaim his property and blast his way to freedom. There would have to be another way.

He had considered building a wheeled cart and practicing it into an armored car. Theoretically, it should be possible. But it could take months or years, at the rate things normally improved here. It just wasn’t feasible under the circumstances.

As dusk settled, the watch kites were pulled in. The Baron’s glider corps had already swooped down from their training flights for the night.

Dennis thought again about those glider sheds. They were lightly guarded. It took long training to learn to fly one of the gossamer-winged things, and Baron Kremer apparently assumed he controlled the only corps of qualified pilots in the world.

He was right. Dennis had never flown even a fixed-wing glider, not to mention one of these kite things. But he had taken a few private flying lessons in single-engined prop planes. He had always intended to go back and get his license.

The two kinds of flying couldn’t be that different, could they?

Anyway, he had seen lots of movies and talked to hang-glider pilots about how it was done. And he had taken courses in the physics of aerodynamics. The principles seemed simple enough.

“Have you managed to pick a way in and out of your room yet?” he asked Arth.

“Of course.” The small thief sniffed. “They bolt th’ door, but you can’t keep a fellow like me in a room that hasn’t been practiced as a jail.”

“Especially with the help of a little slippery oil.”

Arth shrugged. They had been careful to collect the stuff when nobody was looking, so they only had a little. Still, just a little bit of the perfect lubricant could go a long way.

“I can get about the cruder parts of th’ castle pretty well after dark. The hard part’s the outer walls, where they’ve got dogs, an’ sniffer beasts, an’ lights and guards by the dozens. I could pilfer half the stuff in Kremer’s banquet room if I knew I could get off the castle-mount with it.”

“Do you think you could snatch one of those?” Dennis nodded toward the shed where they had watched the pilots carefully fold their machines earlier.

Arth looked at Dennis nervously. “Uh, I dunno. Those gliders are kinda bulky…” He bit his lower lip. “Your question’s just… uh, hypothetical.” He carefully spoke the word Dennis had taught him. “Isn’ it? It doesn’ have nothin’ to do with your idea on how to escape from here, does it?”

“It does, Arth.”

Arth shuddered. “I was afraid you’d say that. Dennizz, do you know how many men Kremer lost before they learned to handle those things? They still lose nearly half their new pilots. Can you actually fly one?”

Dennis needed Arth’s help. To get it he would have to inspire faith. “What do you think?” he asked confidently.

Arth smiled slightly, tentatively. “Yeah, sure. I guess only an idiot would try to take off in one of those things, in th’ dark, without knowin’ what he’s doin’. I’m sorry, Dennizz.”

Dennis managed not to wince visibly at his friend’s way of putting it. He clasped Arth’s shoulder. “Right. Now, do you think you’ll be able to hide the glider until we need it? Kremer’s people don’t seem to understand inventory control, but they may miss it anyway.”

“No problem.” Arth grinned. “My room’s stuffed with heaps of cloth and lumber for our ‘experiments.’ The servants’ve got orders to give us any junk we want, whatever’s not sharp or made of metal. I can hide it in there easy.”

“Will you want me to help in the heist?”

Arth shivered. “Uh, no, Dennizz. Some things are best left to experts. You walk like a bull rickel tha’s lookin’ for a female under a house. No offense, but I’ll do it m’self. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“All right, then.” Dennis looked at the settling twilight. “Maybe you’d better retire a bit early this evening, Arth. You look pretty tired.”

“Huh? But it’s only…oh.” Arth nodded. “You want me to do it tonight.” He shrugged. “Ah, well, why not? That means we make th’ break tomorrow night?”

“Or the night after.” Dennis was under a time limit. Kremer would not be stalled much longer.

“Okay.” Arth had picked up the expression from Dennis. The little thief yawned exaggeratedly for the benefit of the guards. He spoke out loud. “Well, I think I’ll work on improvin’ my cot for a while!” He nudged Dennis with his elbow and winked. “See you in the mornin’, boss!” Then he added under his breath, “I hope.”

“Good luck,” Dennis said softly as Arth walked away, followed by his guard. Dennis felt bad asking him to risk his neck like this. But the fellow knew his job and would do it cheerfully. Dennis counted himself lucky to have him as his friend.

Nearby, a small stream of pungent liquor had begun to drip from the end of the condenser. If that kept up, the crew’s main job would be simply to watch and practice the distillery as a unit. The hard part was teaching them to change the wine mix properly.

Dennis found his thoughts drifting several parapets higher. Now that he was committed to trying an escape soon, he would have to settle his feelings about Princess Linnora.

If he was really serious about doing something for her, somehow during the next twenty-four hours he would have to get in touch with her, somehow regain her trust, and find a way to get her away from her guards for a rendezvous with the glider at the castle peak.

It sounded next to impossible.

He only hoped that she would give him a chance to explain if the time ever came.

The distillery crew huddled around the condenser, watching the slow drip-dripping of brandy into a flask.

Dennis caught some brandy on his fingers and shuddered as he sniffed, wishing nostalgically for the bottle of thirty-year-old Johnny Walker Swing that presumably still sat in his closet back at Sahara Tech.

He popped a few drops into his mouth and then sucked air. The stuff did have a bite to it, he had to admit.

The evening shift of practicers arrived to relieve the day crew. It was time to change the pot anyway, so he ran the Coylian prisoners through the routine several times to make sure they had it down right.

By the time they had finished, the stars were coming out. He made sure all was in order, then picked up his cloak from the railing. “I want to stretch my legs,” he told his guards.

The northmen bowed slightly and followed behind. Although his privileges had been sharply reduced, he was still at least officially a quasiguest…and a wizard. He had freedom of the yard so long as he was accompanied.

He strolled the long way, past the glider sheds and then the main gate. As he neared the section of the castle where the L’Toff Princess had her rooms, his doubts returned. Every parapet was rimmed with sharp stakes, practiced every day by teams of soldiers armed with slabs of meat. To land a glider upon one and take off again would be as impossible as climbing those sheer walls appeared to be.

Should he take an already risky plan and reduce its chance to negligible by trying to free Linnora as well? Would that be fair to Arth?

Dennis rounded a corner and felt his pulse rise. In the light from the flickering wall cressets, he saw a slim girl dressed in white holding onto the bars three levels up. The L’Toff Princess stared into the starry night, the breeze tugging at her filmy gown. As Dennis approached, his guards keeping a steady five paces behind, he saw the girl turn. Someone else had come out onto her balcony.

Dennis bent in the shadows to tie the laces of his boots, and he looked up as casually as he could. He saw Baron Kremer come forth and confront Linnora. She looked terribly small before him.

The warlord spoke to her and she shook her head in reply. She tried to turn away, but he grabbed her arm and spoke again, more sharply. Dennis still couldn’t make out what was being said, but he could catch the tone.

Linnora struggled, but Kremer only laughed and pulled her close, holding her against his broad chest in spite of her resistance.

One of the guards behind Dennis made a rough joke. Obviously they thought their Lord was giving the haughty tirbeswoman only what she had coming.

Dennis felt under his waistband. Four carefully selected smooth stones made a lump there. He hadn’t had any opportunity to practice his crude weapon. It would only be as good as he had made it. All told, it was not much better a makeshift sling than the cummerbund he had used for the same purpose at that last Sahara Tech party.

Still, he could probably get one or two stones off before the guards brought him down. And Kremer was a big target.

If I were one of Shakespeare’s characters I’d consider it worthwhile to die for a lady’s virginity, he thought. Or at least her honor.

Dennis’s shoulders sagged. Most of Shakespeare’s characters had been poetic idiots. Even if he succeeded in striking down Kremer, it would only buy Linnora a respite. At the cost of his own life.

It wasn’t worth it. Not when he might be able to get her out of here tomorrow if he were patient. He was willing to risk his life for her, but he would not throw it away uselessly.

There was the sound of ripping cloth.

He turned away so he wouldn’t have to witness it. At least by forcing the guards to follow him, he could spare the girl an audience to her humiliation. He walked away quickly, shoulders hunched. The guards chuckled as they followed.

He got ten paces, then a hint of motion in the sky caught his eye.

Dennis stopped. He looked to the south.

Something in the southern sky was blocking a small patch of stars. It moved in the night, faster than a cloud and more regular in outline, growing larger as it came closer. He squinted, but with his night vision ruined by the tower torches, he couldn’t make it out.

Then a smile came unexpectedly. Could it be…?

At the southern edge of the encampment there was a sudden outcry, then a clamor of anxious shouts. Men came running out of the barracks, struggling into armor as an alarm bell began to clang.

Out of the night gloom, into the light of the tower torches, a giant round shape suddenly loomed. It had two great eyes that shimmered and glared angrily. At the bottom of the huge, looming face was a great maw. A fire burned within.

“Ha-ha!” Dennis jumped and struck at the air with his fist. “Kremer didn’t catch the others! They practiced it, and it flies! It really flies!”

A giant globe of fabric and hot air hissed and cobbed over the outer wall, slowly gaining altitude. In a wickerwork gondola below the globe, the dim shapes of his friends were vague shadows against the flames.

Still, something seemed to be wrong with the balloon. It wasn’t rising as fast as Dennis would have hoped. And worse luck, it was headed right for Kremer’s castle! It looked like it would barely clear the palace peak!

“Come on, guys,” he muttered while his guards pointed fearfully, their eyes outlined white in fear. “Up! Rise up and get out of here!” Dennis stared hard at the balloon, practicing it at climbing.

And it did seem to rise faster now, gaining slowly. Tiny faces peered from the gondola down into the courtyard below. A few soldiers threw spears and stones but none quite reached the majestic, silent craft.

Dennis turned to see how Kremer was taking this. It would be great for something to stick in the tyrant’s imperturbable craw.

The Baron had let go of Linnora, who huddled against the wall, rubbing her bruised arms and weeping silently.

But unlike his men, Kremer did not appear frightened at all. Instead, a smile spread across his lips as he reached into his tunic.

“Oh,” Dennis said, realizing. “Oh, no you don’t, you son-of-a-bitch.”

He hurriedly unraveled his waistband as his guards cowered underneath the glowering shadow of the balloon. There was a thumping sound as two bags of sand exploded into spray nearby, sending men fleeing.

Dennis’s carefully selected stones popped into his hand. He ran toward the first parapet, stretching out his sash and praying he would be in time.

Kremer was savoring the moment, bless him, letting the crude aerostat approach as he fondled the Earthmade needler. Dennis measured out a length of waistband, dropped a stone into the fold, and began swinging the makeshift sling over his head.

Except for that evening at S.I.T., he hadn’t used a sling much since his Boy Scout days. If only he had been able to practice!

Kremer raised the needler and languidly aimed it at the great balloon just as Dennis cast loose.

The stone struck a parapet spike just in front of the Baron and ricocheted noisily into the night. Kremer jumped back in surprise. He looked about for a second, then saw Dennis in the lighted courtyard below, struggling to ready another stone.

Kremer grinned and aimed downward, at the Earthman. Dennis knew, in that telescoped moment, that there wasn’t time to get off another stone. He had barely begun his second swing when Kremer fired.

A hail of deadly slivers tore up the ground a few meters to Dennis’s right. Dennis blinked in surprise as he found himself alive. The reason was readily apparent. A small storm of blond hair and fingernails had struck the Baron, spoiling his aim a second time.

A little amazed but not yet counting his luck, Dennis swung the sling, looking for a clear shot. But now Linnora was in the way. The Princess was all over her captor, struggling to take the handgun from him.

Dennis’s arm was beginning to tire. If only she’d move aside now!

The balloon was directly overhead and moving fast. All the aeronauts needed was maybe another half minute to get away…

Kremer got a grip on Linnora’s arm and flung her down. There were scratch marks on his face, and at last he looked perturbed. Kremer cast Dennis a look that seemed to say his turn would come, and he lifted the needler to bear on the balloon.

Dennis’s guards must have caught on at last. He finished swinging even as he heard them running toward him. He felt a rightness as he let go of the second stone just in time.

The stone struck Kremer’s left temple at the same moment as the balloon reached the zenith, and several hundred pounds of guard tackled Dennis from behind.

As the ground came up to meet him, Dennis thought, I’ve got to stop meeting people like this.