"Good heavens!" she exclaimed.

"We've made 'im an honorary constable, 'aven't we, Inspector?" said Sergeant Sherwood.

"There's no 'arm in 'umorin' 'em, sometimes." Inspector Springer smiled to himself. "If it's to your advantage."

"Kroofrudi hrunt!" said Captain Mubbers as he was led away.

The city shuddered and groaned. A sudden darkness came and went. Jherek noticed that everyone's skins seemed ghastly pale, almost blue, and the light gave their eyes a peculiar flat sheen, so that they were like the eyes of statues.

"Cripes," said Sergeant Sherwood. "What was that?"

"The city —" Mrs. Underwood whispered. "It is so still. So silent." She moved closer to Jherek. She gripped his arm. He was pleased to comfort her. "Does this often happen?"

"To my knowledge, no…"

Everyone had stopped moving, even the Duke of Queens, below. The Lat grunted nervously to one another. The mouths of the majority of the constables hung open.

Another great shudder. Somewhere in the distance a piece of metal rattled and then fell with a crash, but that was the only sound.

Jherek pressed her towards the stair. "We had better get to the ground, I think. If that is the ground."

"An earthquake?"

"The world is too old for earthquakes, Amelia."

They hurried down the steps and their action lent motion to the others, who followed.

"Harold must be found," said Mrs. Underwood. "Is there danger, Mr. Carnelian?"

"I do not know."

"You said the city was safe."

"From the Lat." He could scarcely bear to look at her deathly-pale skin. He blinked, as if blinking would dispel the scene, but the scene remained.

They reached the Duke of Queens. The Duke stroked his beard, which had gone a seedy sort of purple colour. "I stopped by at your palace, Jherek, but you had gone on. Inspector Springer told me that he, too, was looking for you, so we followed in your wake. It took a while to find you. You know what these cities are like." He fingered his whistle. "Wouldn't you say this one was behaving a bit oddly, at present, though?"

"Collapsing?"

"Possibly — or undergoing some sort of radical change. The cities are said to be capable of restoring themselves. Could that be it?"

"There is no evidence…"

The Duke nodded. "Yet it can't be breaking down. The cities are immortal."

"Breaking down superficially, perhaps."

"One hopes that is all it is. You do look sickly, Jherek, my darling."

"We all do, I think. The light."

"Indeed." The Duke replaced his whistle in his pocket. "Those aliens of mine escaped, you know. While the Lat were on the rampage. They got to their own ship, with Yusharisp and Mongrove."

"They've left?"

"Oh, no! They're spoiling everything. The Lat must be annoyed. They look a bit annoyed, don't they? Yusharisp and company have taken over!" The Duke laughed, but the sound was so unpleasant, even to his own ears, that he stopped. "Ha, ha…"

The city seemed to lurch, as if the entire structure slipped downhill. They recovered their balance.

"We'd better proceed to the nearest exit," said one of the constables in a hollow voice. "Walking, not running. As long as nobody panics, we'll be able to evacuate the premises in no time at all."

"We've got what we came for," agreed Sergeant Sherwood. His uniform had turned a luminous grey. He kept brushing at it, as if he thought the colour was dust clinging to the material.

"Where did we leave the whatsit?" Inspector Springer removed his bowler hat and wiped the inner band with a handkerchief. He looked enquiringly at the Duke of Queens. "Attention there, Special Constable!" His grin was unspontaneous and horrible. "The airship thing?" There had never been jocularity so false.

For a moment the Duke of Queens was so puzzled by the inspector's manner that he merely stared.

"The airship, ho, ho, ho, what brought us 'ere!" Inspector Springer replaced his hat and swallowed rapidly two or three times.

The Duke was vague. "Over there, I think." He rotated slowly, gesturing with his truncheon (which had turned brown), seeking his bearings. "Or was it that way?"

"Cor blimey!" said Inspector Springer in disgust.

"Mibix?" Captain Mubbers spoke absently, as one whose mind is on other things. He returned to chewing on the metal of his hand-cuffs.

The ground made a moaning sound and shivered.

"Harold." Mrs. Underwood plucked at Jherek's sleeve. He noticed that the white linen of his suit had become a patchy green. "We must find him, Mr. Carnelian."

As Jherek and Amelia began to run back to where they had left her husband Inspector Springer also broke into a trot, closely followed by his men, carrying the muttering but unresisting Lat between them, and lastly by the Duke of Queens who was beginning to cheer up at the prospect of action. Action, sensation, was his lifeblood; he wilted without it.

As Jherek and Amelia ran, they heard the piercing eery tones of the Duke's whistle and his lusty voice crying: "Halloo! View halloo!"

Tiny whispering noises issued from the ground, with each step that they made. Something hot and organic seemed at one point to be pulsing beneath their feet. They reached the plain of rotting metal. Harold Underwood could be distinguished through the murky semi-darkness, still deep in conversation with his friend, the rock. He looked up. "Ha!" His tone was kindlier. "So you are all here, now. It says something, does it not, for our earthly hypocrisies?" Evidently the rock had made no real impression on his convictions.

The plain gasped, gave way and became a mile-wide pit.

"I think I'd better make a new air-car," said the Duke of Queens, coming to a sudden halt.

Harold Underwood crossed to the lip of the pit and stared down. He scratched his hay-coloured hair, disturbing the parting. "So there's another level, at least," he mused. "I suppose one should be relieved." He made to investigate further but did not demur when his wife gently drew him back.

The Duke of Queens was twisting all his rings. "Do our rings not work in the city itself?" he asked Jherek.

"I can't remember."

At their backs a building silently burst. They watched the debris float by overhead. Jherek noticed that all their skins now had a mottled, glossy appearance, like mother-of-pearl. He moved closer to Amelia, who still clutched her husband (the only member of the party who seemed serene). They began to move away from the pit, skirting the city proper.

" It is rare that the city's power is overtaxed ," said Harold Underwood's rocky confidante. " Who could need such energy ?"

"You know what is causing this upheaval, then?" Jherek enquired of it.

" No, no. A conversion problem, perhaps. Who can say? You could try the central philosophy department. Except I believe I am all that is left of it. Unless I am the whole of it. Who is to say which is a fragment and which the whole? And is the whole contained in every fragment or a fragment in the whole, or are whole and fragment different, not in terms of size or capacity, but in essential qualities…? "

Regretting his impoliteness, Jherek continued on past the rock. "It would be wonderful to discuss these points," he apologized, "but my friends…"

"The circle is the circle," Harold Underwood said. "We shall be back again, no doubt. Farewell, for the moment." Humming to himself, he allowed Jherek and Amelia to lead him off.

" Indeed, indeed. The nature of reality is such that nothing can, by definition, be unreal, if it exists, and since anything can exist if it can be conceived of, then all that we say is unreal is therefore real… "

"Its arguments are sometimes very poor," Harold Underwood said in an undertone, as if apologizing. "I do not believe that it has quite the authority it claims. Well, well, well, who would have believed that Dante, a Catholic, could have been so accurate, after all!" He smiled at them. "But then, I suppose, we must forget these sectarian differences now. Damnation certainly broadens the mind, eh?"