“I am. Pleased to make your acquaintances, Jim, Floyd and Steengo.”

“Likewise. If you have a moment I have a picture here I would like you to look at.” I hit the high points of our spiel as I passed the pic over. He only half listened, but did put all of Isis attention on the photo. Turning it around at arm’s length, squinting farsightedly to make it out.

“Of course’. I thought so.” He handed it back to me. “Some markets ago, I forget exactly how many, one of these odorous simpletons traded it to one of my assistants. We buy anything that might be of scientific interest for the specialists to examine. It didn’t look like much. But I gave it to old Heimskur anyway.”

“Well that takes care of that then,” I said, tearing the photo up and dropping the pieces. “We’re doing our concert tonight-I can get you a ticket if you want one.”

The artifact was instantly forgotten-as I hoped, although it took some time for us to extract ourselves from the attentive embrace of our fans. Only by saying that it was rehearsal time did we manage to break away.

“Don’t we look for the thing any more?” Floyd asked worriedly. A good musician, but I think drink was eroding his brain cells.

“We have the man’s name,” Steengo said. “That’s what we look into next.”

“How?” Floyd asked, still suffering from semi-paralysis of the neural network.

“Any way we can,” I told him. “Make friends. Drop names. Drop Heimskur’s name among the others. We find out who he is and what he does. Now, as we stroll, I’ll report in.”

Tremearne and Madonette listened carefully to my report. He overed and outed but she stayed to chat.

“Jim, it’s time I left my hole in the wall and visited the other half of the city. It must be safe… ”

“We hope that-but we don’t know that. And there is no point in your taking any chances as long as the thing we are looking for is here. Enjoy the break. And don’t do a thing until we find out more here.”

We found lunch waiting in our quarters. Fruit and slices of cold meatloaf on silver plates, covered with crystal domes.

“Great!” Floyd said, chomping down a slice.

“Probably minced sheot shank,” Steengo said, suddenly gloomy.

“Food’s food and I never consider the source.” Floyd reached for another slice just as our golden greeter appeared.

“A pleasure to see you musical Rats enjoying yourself. When you have eaten your fill I have a request for the presence of Rat Jim.”

“Who wants me?” I asked suspiciously through a mouthful of sweet pulp.

“All will be revealed.” He put his index finger along his nose, winked and rolled his eyes. Which silent communication I assumed meant something like you’ll find out soon enough. I had no choice. And I had lost my appetite. I wiped my fingers on a damp cloth and followed him yet another time.

Iron John was waiting for me at the door of the Veritorium where we had all seen the puzzling holoflic.

“Come with me, Jim,” he said with a deep voice like distant thunder. “Today you will see and understand all of the revelation.”

“I’ll get the others… ”

“Not this time, Jim.” His hand closed gently but firmly onto my shoulder and I had little choice but to go along with him. “You are wise beyond your years. An old head on a young body. Therefore you are the one who will be helped the most by your understanding of this mystery that is no mystery. Come.”

He sat me down but did not join me; yet I was aware of his presence close by me in the darkness. The mist roiled and cleared and I was once again by the lake.

There was only silence in the forest around the ducky pond. As the last ripple died away the young man turned crud left without looking back. Trod the dead leaves beneath. the trees until he emerged and saw the king before him.

“There is something I must do,” he told the king, nor would he say any more. The king saw that the man’s dog was gone – the man himself was unharmed. He had many questions but , did not know how to speak them. Instead he followed the young man back to the castle. In the courtyard the young man looked around, then spotted a large leathern bucket.

“I need that,” he said.

“Take it.” The king dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Remember I have helped you. One day you must tell me what you found in the woods.”

The young man turned in silence and made his way, alone, back to the dark pond. There he dipped the bucket into the water and hurled its contents into the ditch nearby. Another and another. He did not stop but worked steadily at bailing out the pond. It was hard, slow work. Yet the sun never set, the light never changed, the young man never stopped.

After a great period of time the water was almost gone and something large was revealed lying in the mud on the bottom of the pond. The young man kept emptying the water until he revealed a tall man who was covered with reddish hair, like rusty iron, from head to foot. The large man’s eyes opened and he looked at the young man. Who beckoned to him. With a heaving shake the rusty man rose from the pond’s bottom and followed the young man away from the pond and through the woods.

To the castle of the king. All of the soldiers and retainers fled when they appeared and the king alone stood before them.

“This is Iron John,” the young man said. “You must imprison him in an iron cage here in the courtyard. If you lock the cage and give the key to your queen the forest will be safe again for those who walk through it.”

Mist rose and darkened the scene. It was the end.

The red-furred hand was heavy on Jim’s shoulder – but it did not bother him.

“Now you understand,” Iron John said, newfound warmth in his voice. “Now you can release Iron John. Welcome, Jim, welcome.”

I wanted to say that I felt more confusion than comprehension. That I was experiencing something, yet not understanding it. Instead of speaking my feelings aloud I suddenly found that my eyes were brimming with tears. I did not know why although I knew that they were nothing to be ashamed of.

Iron John smiled at me and, with a great finger, wiped the tears from my damp cheeks.

“What was all that about?” Floyd asked when I returned to our quarters. He was jazzing with his trombonio, a complex and gleaming collection of golden tubes and slides, which made some very interesting sounds indeed. Most of them, regrettably, of an ear-destroying nature.

“More training film,” I said, as nonchalantly as I could. I was surprised to hear a certain quaver in my voice as I spoke. Floyd tootled on, unaware of it, but Steengo who appeared to be asleep on the couch opened one eye.

“Training film? You mean more about the pool in the forest?”

“You got it in one.”

“Did you find out what was in the pool? The thing that dragged the dog down?”

“A stupid story,” Floyd said, and tootled a little fast riff. “Although I do feel sorry for the dog.”

“It wasn’t a real dog,” Steengo said. He looked at me, seemed to be waiting for me to speak, but I clamped my jaw shut and turned away. “Nor was it a real pool.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, looking at him.

“Mythology, my dear Jim. And rites of passage. It was Iron John at the bottom of the pool, wasn’t it?”

I jumped as though I had been zapped with an electric shock. “It was! But-how did you know that?”

“I told you I read my mythology. But the thing that really disturbs me – not this training film as you call it – is the fact that Iron John is here in the flesh, solid and hairy.”

“You’ve lost me,” Floyd said, looking from one to the other of us. “A little explanation is very much in order.”

“It is,” Steengo said, swinging his feet around so he sat up straight on the couch. “Mankind invents cultures – and cultures invent myths to justify and explain their existence. Prominent among these are the myths and ceremonies of the rites of passage for boys. The passage from boyhood to manhood. This is the time when the boy is separated from his mother and the other women. In some primitive cultures the boys go and live with the men-and never see their mothers again.”