“Carbo-what?”

“Just giant ferns, no trees.”

“Art thou certain?”

“Well, that’s what the rest of the planet still has—but let’s check it, anyway… Fess?” Rod waited for the robot to answer, then frowned. “Fess? Fess, where are you? Come in, hang it!”

There was no answer.

“Can Fess ‘talk’ across time, Papa?” Magnus asked quietly.

“Well, we tried it once, and it worked—but Doc, uh, Dr. McAran was lending us a time-machine’s beam, then.” Rod didn’t finish the thought, but a cold lump of dread began to swell in his belly.

“But isn’t there a time-machine still running, here?”

Rod would have to beget brainy kids! “Don’t miss much, do you? Uh, Gwen, dear? I think it’s time we were getting back.” Or trying to.

Gwen looked up, startled. “Oh, aye!” She scrambled to her feet. “I had clear forgot about time! Why, Gregory must be squalling with hunger!”

“I have a feeling you should have weaned him sooner,” Rod mused.

The telepathic mommy picked it up from her kids. “What is this foreboding…? Oh.” She looked up at Rod. “Magnus fears the gate may be closed.” Her face firmed as she accepted it.

Rod felt a surge of admiration, and gratitude that he’d lucked into this woman. “There is that possibility, dear. Let’s check it out, shall we?”

Without a word, Gwen clasped little Geoff’s hand and followed after her husband.

Rod went slowly, holding Cordelia’s hand and letting Magnus stalk by his side, searching for the bent sapling on the one hand, and the split trunk on the other. There, and… there. And there was the big oak with the “X” on it.

He caught Magnus’s hand. “Take your mother’s hand, son. I think we’d better be linked up, just in case this works.”

Silently, Magnus caught Gwen’s hand.

Slowly, Rod paced toward the tree.

He stopped when the bark was grooving his nose, and didn’t seem disposed to melt nicely out of the way.

“Thou dost look silly, Papa,” Cordelia informed him.

“I never would have guessed,” Rod muttered, turning away. His eyes found Gwen’s. “It didn’t work, dear.”

“No,” she answered, “I think it did not.”

They were silent for a few minutes.

“Art thou certain ‘twas here, Papa?” Cordelia asked hopefully.

Rod tapped the tree-trunk. “X marks the spot. I should know—I put it there, myself. No, honey—whoever opened this particular door for us, has shut it.”

“At least,” Gwen pointed out, “I will not have to wait dinner for thee.”

“Yes.” Rod smiled bleakly. “At least we’re all here.”

“No, Papa!” Cordelia cried. “Not all here! How could you forget Gregory!”

“Believe me, I haven’t,” Rod assured her, “but I think whoever trapped us here, did.”

“Trapped us?” Magnus’s eyes went round.

“Don’t miss much at all, do you?” Rod gave him a bitter smile. “Yes, son, I think somebody deliberately set out to trap us here—and succeeded admirably.” His gaze travelled up to Gwen. “After all, it makes sense—and it’s about the only theory that does. There’s a storm brewing, between the Church and the Crown, back on Gramarye—our Gramarye, that is. And I’ve got some pretty strong hints that somebody from off-world’s been pushing the Church into it. So what happens? Church and Crown have a meeting this afternoon, a confrontation that should’ve blown the whole thing sky-high—and what do I do but foul up the plan by getting them both to see reason! No, of course whoever’s behind it would want me out of the way!”

Magnus frowned. “But why us, Papa?”

“Because you’re a very powerful young warlock, mine offspring, as anyone on Gramarye knows. And, if they’re going to all this trouble just to foist off a war between the Church and the State, you can darn well bet they don’t intend to have the State win! So the smart thing to do is to remove the State’s strongest weapons—me, and your mother, and you. Don’t forget, they lost one because of you, already, when you were only two. And Geoffrey’s three already, and Cordelia’s all of five! They’ve got no way of telling what any of you might be able to do.” Nor do I, for that matter. “So, as long as you’re setting the trap, why not catch all five of the birds-of-trouble while you’re at it?”

“But Gregory, Papa?”

Rod shrugged. “I’m sure they’d’ve preferred it if your mother’d carried him in here, too—but since she didn’t I don’t expect they’re going to lose much sleep over it. He’s not even a year old, after all. Even if he had every power in the book, what could he do with them? No, I don’t think they were about to keep the gate open just to try and get Gregory, too—especially if it meant that the five of us might escape! Speaking of Gregory, by the way—who’s with him?”

“Puck, and an elf-wife,” Gwen answered. “And, aye, fear not—she knows the crafting of a nursing-glove.”

Rod nodded. “And anything else she needs to know about him, I’m sure Brom will be glad to supply.”

“He takes so great an interest in our children,” Gwen sighed.

“Ah—yes.” Rod remembered his promise not to tell Gwen that Brom was her father. “Comes in handy, at a time like this. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he flits in from Beastland, just to take charge of Greg personally—and Baby couldn’t be safer inside a granite castle guarded by a phalanx of knights and three battlewagons. No, I think he’ll be safe till we get back.”

“ ‘Until?’ ” Magnus perked up. “Then thou’tt certain we can return, Papa?”

Well, Rod had been, until Magnus mentioned it—but he wasn’t about to say so. There were times when it came in handy, being telepathically invisible, even to members of his own family.

Damn few, though. And there were so many times when it was a curse, almost made him feel excluded…

He shrugged it off. “Of course we can get back! It’s just a problem—and problems are made to be solved, right?”

“Right,” all three children shouted, and Rod grinned in spite of himself. They were handy to have around, sometimes. Most times.

“Tell us the manner of it!” Magnus demanded.

“Oh… I dunno…” Rod let his gaze wander. “We don’t exactly have enough information to start building theories. We don’t even know where we are, in a manner of speaking, or what materials and tools are available—which might be handy to know, ‘cause it might come down to building our own time-machine. For that matter, we don’t even know if there’re even any people!”

“Then let us go discover it!” Magnus said stoutly.

Rod felt the grin spreading over his face again. “Yeah, let’s go!” He whipped out his dagger. “Blaze trees as we go, kids—we might want to be able to find our way back here. Forward march!”

I trust you had a pleasant journey, Father Uwell.”

“As usual, Your Grace.” Father Al dug gratefully into a pile of asparagus that appeared to be fresh. “Aboard ship, it was very pleasant—ample time for meditation. It was getting to the ship that was the problem.”

Bishop Fomalo smiled thinly. “Isn’t it always? I believe my secretary said you were from the Vatican.” The Bishop knew that full well; that’s why he’d invited Father Al to dinner. Not to impress him, but because that was the only half-hour open in the Bishop’s schedule.

Father Al nodded, chewing, and swallowed. “But I have no official standing, Your Grace. An informal trouble-shooter, you might say.”

The Bishop frowned. “But we have no troubles in my diocese—at least, none that would merit the Vatican’s attention.”

“None that you know of.” Father Al tried a sympathetic smile. “And it’s debatable whether or not it’s in your diocese.”

Bishop Fomalo seemed to relax a little. “Come, now, Father! Certainly the Vatican knows which solar systems my diocese includes.”