"Angels?" Malory muttered. "Why would they have to use an airship? They have wings."

He forgot about that and cried out with the others as the huge vessel of the air suddenly dived. And then he screamed with the others when the vessel exploded. Burning, it fell toward The River.

The balloon continued to travel northeastward, and after a while it was gone. Long before that, the flaming airship struck the water. Its skeletal framework sank almost at once, but some pieces of its skin burned for a few minutes before they, too, were extinguished.

NEITHER ANGELS NOR DEMONS HAD VOYAGED IN THAT VESSEL of the sky. The man whom Malory and his wife pulled out of the water and rowed to shore in their boat was no more and no less human than they. He was a tall dark rapier-thin man with a big nose and a weak chin. His large black eyes stared at them in the torchlight, and he said nothing for a long while. After he had been carried into the community hall, dried off and covered with thick cloths, and had drunk some hot coffee, he said something in French and then spoke in Esperanto.

"How many survived?"

Malory said, "We don't know yet."

A few minutes later, the first of twenty-two corpses, some very charred, were brought to the bank. One of them was a woman's. Though the search continued through the night and part of the morning these were all that were found. The Frenchman was the single survivor. Though he was weak and still in shock, he insisted on getting up and taking part in the search. When he saw the bodies by a grailstone, he burst into tears and sobbed for a long time. Malory took this as a good indication of the man's health. At least he wasn't in such deep trauma that he was unable to express his grief.

"Where have the others gone?" the stranger demanded.

Then his sorrow became rage, and he shook his fist at the skies and howled damnation at someone named Thorn. Later, he asked if anybody had seen or heard another aircraft, a helicopter. Many had.

"Which way did it go?" he said.

Some said that the machine making the strange chopping noise had gone down-River. Others said that it had gone up-River. Several days later, the report came that the machine had been seen sinking into The River two hundred miles upstream during a rainstorm. Only one person had witnessed that, and he claimed that a man had swum from the sinking craft. A message via drum was sent to the area asking if any strangers had suddenly appeared. The reply was that none had been located.

A number of grails were found floating on The River, and these were brought to the survivor. He identified one as his, and he ate a meal from it that afternoon. Several of the grails were "free" containers. That is, they could be opened by anybody, and these were confiscated by the state of New Hope.

The Frenchman then asked if any gigantic boats propelled by paddlewheels had passed this point. He was told that one had, the Rex Grandissimus, commanded by the infamous King John of England.

"Good," the man said. He thought for a while, then said, "I could just stay here and wait until the Mark Twain comes by. But I don't think I will. I'm going after Thorn."

By then, he felt recovered .enough to talk about himself. And how he talked about himself!

"I am Savinien de Cyrano II de Bergerac," he said. "I prefer to be called Savinien, but for some reason most people prefer Cyrano. So I allow that small liberty. After all, later ages referred to me as Cyrano, and though it was a mistake, I am so famous that people cannot get used to my preference. They think they know better than I do.

"No doubt you've heard of me."

He regarded his hosts as if they should feel honored to have such a great man as their guest.

"It pains me to admit that I have not," Malory said.

"What? I was the greatest swordsman of my time, perhaps, no, undoubtedly, of all times. There is no reason for me to be modest. I do not hide my light under a bushel or, in fact, under anything. I was also the author of some remarkable literary works. I wrote books about trips to the sun and to the moon, very pointed and witty satire. My play, The Pedant Out-Witted, was, I understand, used with some modifications by a certain Monsieur Moliere and presented as his own. Well, perhaps I exaggerate. Certainly he did use much of the comedy. I also understand that an Englishman named Jonathan Swift used some of my ideas in his Gulliver's Travels. I do not blame them, since I myself was not above using the ideas of others, though I improved upon them."

"That is all very well, sir," Malory said, forbearing to mention his own works. "But if it does not make you overwrought, you could tell us how you came here in that airship and what caused it to burst into flames."

De Bergerac was staying with the Malorys until an empty hut could be found or he could be loaned the tools to construct one for himself. At this time, though, he and his hosts and perhaps a hundred more were seated or standing by a big fire outside the hut.

It was a long tale, more fabulous even than the teller's own fictions or Malory's. Sir Thomas, however, had the feeling that the Frenchman was not telling all that had happened.

When the narrative was finished, Malory mused aloud, "Then it is true that there is a tower in the center of the north polar sea, the sea from whence flows The River and to which it returns? And it is true that whoever is responsible for this world lives in that tower? I wonder what happened to this Japanese, this Piscator? Did the residents of the tower, who surely must be angels, invite him to stay with them because, in a sense, he'd entered the gates of paradise? Or did they send him elsewhere, to some distant part of The River, perhaps?

"And this Thorn, what could account for his criminal behavior? Perhaps he was a demon in disguise."

De Bergerac laughed loudly and scornfully.

When he had stopped, he said, "There are no angels nor demons, my friend. I do not now maintain, as I did on Earth, that there is no God. But to admit to the existence of a Creator does not oblige one to believe in such myths as angels and demons."

Malory hotly insisted that there were indeed such. This led to an argument in the course of which the Frenchman walked away from his audience. He spent the night, from what Malory heard, in the hut of a woman who thought that if he was such a great swordsman he must also be a great lover. From her accounts, he was, though perhaps too much devoted to that fashion of making love which many thought reached its perfection, or nadir of degeneracy, in France. Malory was disgusted. But later that day de Bergerac appeared to apologize for his ingratitude to the man who'd saved his life.

"I should not have scoffed at you, my host, my savior. I tender you a thousand apologies, for which I hope to receive one forgiveness."

"You are forgiven," Malory said, sincerely. "Perhaps, though you forsook our Church on Earth and have blasphemed against God, you would care to attend the mass being said tonight for the souls of your departed comrades?"

"That is the least I can do," de Bergerac said.

During the mass, he wept copiously, so much so that after it Malory took advantage of his high emotions. He asked him if he was ready to return to God.

"I am not aware that I ever left Him, if He exists," the Frenchman said. "I was weeping with grief for those I loved on the Parseval and for those whom I did not love but respected. I was weeping with rage against Thorn or whatever his real name is. And I was also weeping because men and women are still ignorant and superstitious enough to believe in this flummery."

"You refer to the mass?" Malory said icily.

"Yes, forgive me again!" de Bergerac cried.