As we walked along the beach in the direction of the harbor, Coral finally spoke:

“Does that sort of thing happen around here very often?”

“You should come by on a bad day,” I said.

“If you don't mind telling me, I'd like to hear what it was all about.”

“I guess I owe you an explanation,” I agreed, “because I wronged you back there, whether you know it or not.”

“You're serious.”

“Yep,”

“Go on. I'm really curious.”

“It's a long story...,” I began again.

She looked ahead to the harbor, then up to Kolvir's heights.

“...A long walk, too,” she said.

“...And you're a daughter of the prime minister of a country with which we have somewhat touchy relations at the moment.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some of the things that are happening may represent kind of sensitive information.”

She put her hand on my shoulder and halted. She stared into my eyes.

“I can keep a secret,” she told me. “After all, you know mine.”

I congratulated myself on having finally learned my relatives' trick of controlling facial expression even when puzzled as all hell. She had said something back in the cave when I had addressed her as if she were the entity, something that sounded as if she believed I had. discovered a secret concerning her.

So I gave her a wry smile and nodded.

“Just so,” I said.

“You're not planning on ravaging our country or anything like that, are you?” she asked.

“To my knowledge, no. And I don't think it likely either.”

“Well, then. You can only speak from your knowledge, can't you?”

“True,” I agreed.

“So let's hear the story.”

“All right.”

As we walked along the strand and I spoke, to the accompaniment of the waves' deep notes, I could not help but remember again my father's long narrative. Was it a family trait, I wondered, to go autobiographical at a time of troubles if the right listener turned up? For I realized I was elaborating my telling beyond the bounds of necessity. And why should she be the right listener, anyhow?

When we reached the port district, I realized I was hungry, anyway, and I still had a lot of telling to do. In that it was still daylight and doubtless considerably safer than when I'd made my nighttime visit, I found my way over to Harbor Road-which was even dirtier in strong light-and, having learned that Coral was hungry, too, I took us on around to the rear of the cove, pausing for a few minutes to watch a many-roasted vessel with golden sails round the sea wall and head in. Then we followed the curving way to the western shore, and I was able to locate Seabreeze Lane without any trouble. It was still early enough. that we passed a few sober sailors. At one point a heavy, black-bearded man with an interesting scar on his right cheek began to approach us, but a smaller man caught up with him first and whispered something in his ear. They both fumed away.

“Hey,” I said. “What did he want?”

“Nothin',” the smaller man said. “He don't want nothin'.” He studied me for a moment and nodded. Then, “I saw you here the other night,” he added.

“Oh,” I said, as they continued to the next corner, turned it, and were gone.

“What was that all about?” Coral said.

“I didn't get to that part of the story yet.”

But I remembered it vividly when we passed the place where it had occurred. No signs of that conflict remained.

I almost passed what had been Bloody Bill's, though, because a new sign hung above the door. It read “Bloody Andy's,” in fresh green letters. The place was just the same inside, however, except for the man behind the counter, who was taller and thinner than the shaggy, cragfaced individual who had served me last time. His name, I learned, was Jak, and he was Andy's brother. He sold us a bottle of Bayle's Piss and put in our order for two fish dinners through the hole in the wall. My former table was vacant and we took it. I laid my sword belt on the chair to my right, with the blade partly drawn, as I had been taught etiquette required here.

“I like this place,” she said. “It's... different.”

“Uh... yes,” I agreed, glancing at two passed-out drunks-one to the front of the establishment, one to the rear-and three shifty-eyed individuals conversing in low voices off in one corner. A few broken bottles and suspi– cious stains were upon the floor, and some not-too-subtle artwork of an amorous nature hung on the far wall. “The food's quite good,” I added.

“I've never been in a restaurant like this,” she continued, watching a black cat, who rolled in from a rear room, wrestling with an enormous rat.

“It has its devotees, but it's a well-kept secret among discriminating diners.”

I continued my tale through a meal even better than the one I remembered. When the door opened much later to admit a small man with a bad limp and a dirty bandage about his head I noticed that daylight was beginning to wane. I had just finished my story and it seemed a good time to– be leaving.

I said as much, but she put her hand on mine.

“You know I'm not your entity,” she said, “but if you need any kind of help I can give you, I'll do it.”

“You're a good listener,” I said. “Thanks. We'd better be going now.”

We passed out of Death Alley without, incident and made our way along Harbor Road over to Vine. The sun was getting ready to set as we headed upward, and the cobbles passed 'through a variety of bright earth tones and fire colors. Street and pedestrian traffic was light. Cooking smells drifted on the air; leaves. rattled along the road; . a small yellow dragon rode the air currents high overhead; curtains of rainbow light rippled high in the north beyond the palace. I kept waiting, expecting more questions from Coral than the few she had asked. They never came. If I'd just heard my story, I think I'd have a lot of questions, unless I were totally overpowered by it or somehow understood it thoroughly.

“When we get back to the palace..?” she said then.

“Yes?”

“...You will take me to see the Pattern, won't you?”

I laughed.

.. . Or unless something else were occupying my mind.

“Right away? First thing in the door?” I asked.

“Yes.

“Sure,” I said.

Then, that off her mind, “Your story changes my picture of the world,” she said, “and I wouldn't presume to advise you...” ,

“But—” I continued.

“...If seems that the Keep of the Four Worlds, holds the answers you want. Everything else may fall into place when you learn what's going on there. But I don't understand why you can't just do a card for it and trump in.”

“Good question. There are parts of the Courts of Chaos to which no one can trump because they change constantly and cannot be represented in a permanent fashion. The same applies to the place where I situated Ghostwheel. Now, the terrain around the Keep fluctuates quite a bit, but I'm not positive that's the reason for the blockage. The place is a power center, and I think it possible that someone diverted some of that power into a shielding spell. A good enough magician might be able to drill through it with a Trump, but I've a feeling that the force required would probably set off some psychic ; alarm and destroy any element of surprise.”

“What does the place look like, anyway?'' she asked.

“Well...,” I began. “Here.” I took my notebook and Scripto from my shirt pocket and sketched. “See, all of this area is volcanic.” I scribbled in a few fumaroles and wisps of smoke. “And this part is Ice Age.” More scribbles. “Ocean here, mountains here...”

“Then it sounds as if your best bet is to use the Pattern again,” she said, studying the drawing and shaking her head.

“Yes.”

“Do you think you'll be doing it soon?”

“Possibly.”

“How will you attack them?”

“I'm still working on that.”