“What is this place?” Horus cries out.

The Steel General stands braced, as for an anticipated shock, but there is none.

“We are come to a place that is not a world, but simply a place,” says the Prince Who Was A Thousand. “There is no ground to stand upon, nor need of it here. There is little light, but those who dwell in this place are blind so it does not matter. The temperature will suit itself to any living body, because those who dwell here wish it so. Nourishment is drawn from this air like water, through which we move, so there is no need to eat. And such is the nature of this place that one need never sleep here.”

“It sounds rather like Hell,” Horus observes.

“Nonsense,” says the Steel General. “My own existence is just so, as I carry my environment around with me. I am not discomfited.”

“Hell,” Horus repeats.

“At any rate, take my hands,” says the Prince, “and I will guide you across the darkness and amid the glowing motes of light until we reach the ones I seek.”

They link hands, the Prince furls his cloak, and they drift through the twilitic landscape that is empty of horizon.

“And where is this place that is not a world?” asks the General.

“I do not know,” says the Prince. “Perhaps it only exists in some deep and shiny corner of my dark and dirty mind. All that I really know is the way to reach it.”

Falling, drifting a timeless time, they come at last to a tent like a gray cocoon, flickering, above/below/before them.

The Prince disengages his hands and places his fingertips upon its surface. It quivers then, and an opening appears, through which he passes, a “follow me” drifting back over his shoulder.

Brotz, Purtz and Dulp sit within, doing something which would be quite disgusting and unique by human standards, but which is normal and proper for them, since they are not human and have different standards.

“Greetings, smiths of Norn,” says the Prince. “I have come to obtain that which I ordered a time ago.”

“I told you he’d come!” cries one of the grayish mounds, twitching its long, moist ears.

“I acknowledge that you were correct,” answers another.

“Yes. Where's that frawlpin? I ought to refrib it once more, before…”

“Nonsense! It’s perfect.”

“It is ready then?” inquires the Prince.

“Oh, it’s been ready for ages. Here!”

The speaker draws a length of cold blue light from a sheath of black fabric and offers it to the Prince. The Prince takes it into his hand, inspects it, nods and replaces it within the sheath.

“Very good.”

“… And the payment?”

“I have them here.” The Prince withdraws a dark case from beneath his cloak and places it in the air before him, where of course it hangs suspended. “Which of you will be first?”

“He will.”

“She will.”

“It will.”

“Since you cannot decide, I will have to do the choosing myself.”

The Prince opens the case, which contains surgical apparatus and an extrusible operating light, as all three creatures begin to quiver in their places.

“What is happening?” inquires Horus, who has entered now and stands beside him.

“I am about to operate on these fellows, and I will require your enormous strength in assistance, as well as the General’s.”

“Operate? To what end?” asks the General.

“They have no eyes,” says the Prince, “and they would see again. I’ve brought three pairs with me and I’m going to install them.”

“This would require extensive neurological adaptation.”

“This has already been done.”

“By whom?”

“Myself, the last time I gave them eyes.”

“What became of those?”

“Oh, they seldom last. After a time, their bodies reject them. Generally, though, their neighbors blind them.”

“Why is that?”

“I believe it is because they go about boasting how, among all their people, only they are able to see. This results in a speedy democratization of affairs.”

“Ghastly!” says the General, who has lost count of his own Windings. “I’m minded to stay and fight for them.”

“They would refuse your assistance,” says the Prince. “-Would you not?”

“Of course,” says one of them.

“We would not employ a mercenary against our own people,” says another.

“It would violate their rights,” says the third.

“What rights?”

“Why, to blind us, of course. What sort of barbarian are you?”

“I withdraw my offer.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“What assistance will you require?” asks Horus.

“The two of you must seize upon my patient and hold him, while I perform the surgery.”

“Why is that?”

“Because they are incapable of unconsciousness and no local anesthetics will affect them.”

“You mean you are going to perform delicate surgery on them just as they are-exotic surgery, at that?”

“Yes. That is why I will need two of you to immobilize each patient. They are quite strong.”

“Why must you do this thing?”

“Because they want it done. It is the price agreed upon for their labors.”

“Whatever for? A few weeks’ seeing? And then-what is there to see in this place, anyhow? It is mainly dust, darkness, a few feeble lights.”

“It is their wish to look upon each other-and their tools. They are the greatest artisans in the universe.”

“Yes, I want to see a frawlpin again-if Dulp hasn’t lost it.”

“And I, a gult.”

“I, a crabwick.”

“That which they desire costs them pain, but it will give them memories to last for ages.”

“Yes, it is worth it,” says one, “so long as I am not the first.”

“Nor I.”

“Nor I.”

The Prince lays out his instruments in the middle of the air, sterilizes them and points a finger.

“That one,” he says, and the screaming begins.

The General turns off his hearing and much of his humanity for the next several hours. Horus is reminded of his father’s study; also of Liglamenti, on D’donori. The Prince’s hands are steady.

When it is done, the creatures have bandages over their faces, which they may not remove for a time. All three are moaning and crying out. The Prince cleans his hands.

“Thank you, Prince Who Was A Surgeon,” says one of the creatures.

“… for this thing you have done for us,”

“… and for us.”

“You are welcome, goodly Norns. Thank you for a wand well made.”

“Oh, it was nothing.”

“… Let us know whenever you need another.”

“… And the price will be the same.”

“Then I shall be going now.”

“Good-bye.”

“Farewell.”

“Adieu.”

“Good seeing to you, my fellows.”

And the Prince takes Horus and the General in hand, setting all feet upon the road to Marachek, which is but one step away.

Behind him there is more wailing, and things quite normal and proper for Norns are quickly and frantically done.

They are back in the Citadel almost before Horus, who knows what it is, has succeeded in drawing the blue wand from its sheath at the Prince’s side.

It is a duplicate of the weapon which sun-eyed Set had used against the Nameless, a thousand years before.