"A paradox?"

"No, no! Noisy in here. A pair o' doxies each his reward. The Society got a bargain. The arts are in their infancy here; Boondock is still so much a frontier that we have not yet developed distinguished hetaerae. But some of the most celebrated hetaerae in New Rome volunteered their services in exchange for transportation and the privilege of attending this convention."

Zebadiah was struck by a guided missile, female, from five meters. He managed to stay on his feet and took his first wife to the table, sat down by Hilda, pinched her thigh, pinched her glass, drained it, said, "You're too young to drink, little girl. Is this your father?"

"I'm her son," Jake answered. "Do you know Hazel Stone? If not, you should. We thought we saw you coming from the other direction."

"Shouldn't drink in the daytime, Jake. Waiter! Your servant, Ma'am. I've followed your series on 3-D since I was a kid and I'm honored to meet you. Are you covering this for Lunaya Pravda?"

"Heavens, no! LOCUS has an exclusive under the reasonable theory that LOCUS alone is competent to report this convention. Jerry and Ben are covering it for their various journals... but must clear it through Charles. I'm here as an expert, believe it or not-as an author of popular fantasy. Is the Galactic Overlord of my series real or imaginary and is there a difference? See next week's thrilling episode; the Stone family has to eat. Same thing all around, I think. You can tip him, Doctor Zebadiah, but there is no tab at the Director's table."

"And no tips," growled Lazarus. "Deliver my message to your boss again and tell that spinning arsfardel he has exactly three minutes before I invoke paragraph nine, section 'c.' Here comes your double, Zeb."

From behind the couple who, at half a klick, had been mistaken for Zebadiah and Ishtar, came out quickly a shorter, older, broad-shouldered man. All three were dressed Robin-Hood-and-his-Merry-Men style: buskins, breeks, leathern jackets, feathered caps, long bows and quivers of fletched shafts, swords and daggers, and were swinging along in style.

The shorter man hurried a few paces ahead, turned and faced their path, swept off his cap and bowed deeply. "Make way for Her Wisdom, Empress of eighty-thr-"

The woman, as if by accident, backhanded the groom. He ducked, rolled, avoided it, bounced to his feet and continued: "-worlds, and her consort the Hero Gordon."

Lazarus got up, addressed the groom. "Doctor Rufo! So happy you could make it! This is your daughter Star?"

"His grandmother," Her Wisdom corrected, dropping a quick curtsy to Lazarus. "Yes, I'm Star. Or Mrs. Gordon; this is my husband, Oscar Gordon. What is correct usage here? I've not been on this planet before."

"Mrs. Gordon, Boondock is so new that its customs have not yet calcified. Almost any behavior is acceptable if meant in a kindly way. Anybody causes real trouble, it's up to our chairman Ira Weatheral and advisers selected by him. Since Ira doesn't like the job, he tends to procrastinate, hoping the problem will go away. As a result we don't have much government and few customs."

"A man after my own heart. Oscar, we could live here if they will have us. My successor is ready; I could retire."

"Mrs. Gordon-"

"Yes, Doctor Long?"

"We-our chairman Ira especially-all know quite well who 'Her Wisdom' is. Ira would welcome you with open arms and resign in your favor at once- passed by acclamation and you would be boss for life. Better stick to the devil you know. But you are most welcome whenever you choose to visit."

She sighed. "You're right. Power is not readily surrendered; I'll probably wait for assassination."

Deety whispered, "Zebadiah... that bartender. Whom' does he look like?"

"Hmm- Brigadier Iver Hird-Jones?"

"Well, maybe. A little. I was thinking of Colonel Morinosky."

"Mrñm- Yes. No importance since it can't be either one. Mr. Gordon?"

"Call me 'Easy.' Or Oscar, Doctor Carter."

"I'm Zeb. Is that the Lady herself? The sword you were in the Quest for the Egg of the Phoenix?"

Gordon looked delighted. "Yes! The Lady Vivamus."

"Can't ask a man to draw a sword without a cause... but is the inscription close enough to the hilt that we could read it if you were simply to show steel?"

"No trouble." Gordon exposed the etched: Dum Vivimus, Vivamus!-gave them time to read it, clicked it to full return, and asked, "And is that the sword that killed the Boojum?"

"The Boo- Oh! The monster we call a 'Black Hat.' But we did not 'softly and silently vanish away."

"No, it did. That will be a point we'll discuss in the seminar panel: 'Techniques for Hunting Snarks.' You and I and Doctor Jacob and Doctor Hilda, with some others. André. Kat Moore. Fritz. Cliff. The Gordfather will moderate when he gets over his wheezes. Which he will-Tamara's treating hi- Oh, heavens! Oh, God, how beautiful!"

The "sky" had opened, for their table, and they found themselves looking at the Field of the Cloth of Gold, a half klick away and a few meters above them, on and up to high, high, high in the sky, the shimmering towers and palaces of Valhalla, with the Rainbow Bridge reaching from the field of honor to the distant gate of the eternal home of heroes.

Instead of the wooded horizon usually seen in that direction, the land lifted in terraces, each more colorfully beautiful than the last, until the highest was lost in pink and saffron clouds-and above them, much higher, Valhalla in Asgard.

"Pappy!"

"Yes, Athene," Lazarus said quietly. "Localize it. Me only. I have many people around me."

"That's better? No problems, just to alert you. Arthur and Isaac and Bob all arriving at once. Twelve minutes, plus two, minus zero."

"You're a smart girl, Teena."

"Put that in writing. Blandjor."

Lazarus said to the table at large, "My guests for those reserved spaces are arriving. I wasn't sure of Isaac; he gets bigger every year and reluctant to travel other than by water. Arthur had such a long way to come and communications are always uncertain. Bob I knew was here but there were duty matters interfering. Shall we listen to some of the opening plenary while we look at the beauties of the Norse Afterland? We don't want to look at the general session. But we can listen. When the tourney starts, give most of your attention to the hologram except during the Valkyrie ride. Snob! Give us the sound from the plenary session."

They got it at once, sound and fury signifying nothing. Under its cover Jubal Harshaw said to Zebadiah, "Before they get on that panel in front of an audience, think about this. How many 'Black Hats' or 'Boojums' are there?"

"Eh? I have no way of telling. In excess of twenty as a best guess but that excess could be many millions, also a best guess."

"But how many did you see?" Harshaw persisted.

"Oh. One. But more were a certainty."

"So? You would never get a Fair Witness to say that. What harm did it or they do you?"

"Huh? Tried to kill us. Bombed us out. Killed my cousin. Chased us off our home planet. Impoverished all four of us. What do you want? Plagues and locusts? The Four Horsemen?"

"No. You saw one. You killed it. It never laid a glove on you. Think about it. Before you testify. Let's listen."

"If you read it correctly it's all in the Bible. 'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.' Could anyone ask for a plainer statement of the self-evident fact that nothing exists until someone imagines it and thereby gives it being, reality? The distinction lies only in the difference between 'being' and 'becoming'- a distinction that cancels out when any figment-fact is examined from different ends of the entropy error-"

"Bishop Berkeley is presiding," Lazarus commented, "and would have shut this figment up save that the Bishop has laryngitis-imaginary, of course- and his parliamentarian, the Reverend Mister Dodgson, is too meek to shut anyone up. The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth, One Meter Wide and Two Meters Long."