At the top of the wall was an overhang. That posed a problem, for there wasn't firm enough purchase to allow one of the men to swing his foot over the ledge above them.

They clung there for many minutes, trying to think of a way to go upward without falling from the wall. Then Hanse whispered, "You move toward me along this stringcourse. Yes, like that. Now. Set your near foot onto my knee. I have it braced between the stone and the wall. See if you can get high enough to put an elbow over the top."

Ardan moved as directed. Once he had his foot set firmly on Hanse's knee, he found that he could give a spring upward. It took him far enough to catch the lip of the crowning ledge with his right elbow and his left hand. In a moment, he was over onto the roof. Anchoring his body against a chimney, he then reached down.

"Hanse! Can you reach me?" he hissed.

A big hand slapped into his palm. Another hit his other hand. Heaving with all his might, Ardan swung the big man sideways to clear the overhang. Hanse's leg hooked over the lip. Then he was beside Ardan on the roof.

"Whooo!" the Prince said. "I also hate heights, in case anyone wonders. But I have a new liking for my many-times-great Grandpa. If he hadn't decorated his palace like a wedding cake, we'd never have been able to make it."

They crept around the bulk of the chimney stack and started toward the blister that sheltered the air car. The closure opened to Hanse's thumb, and the two pulled the light craft free onto the roof. While Ardan was checking it over, Hanse unlocked the stubby wings and put them into vertical takeoff position.

"Very pretty," a voice behind them said. "We knew you would probably come here."

Cleery stepped from behind another chimney stack, accompanied by six heavily armed guardsmen. "Ekkles was really puzzled by your disappearing trick. You will tell me how you accomplished that, before we are done."

"I prefer to deal with Ekkles than you," said the Prince. He sounded calm, but Ardan felt the undercurrent of frustration in him.

"Impossible, I'm afraid. Ekkles has accompanied Hanse Davion to New Avalon. An unexpected emergency demanded the presence of the Prince. You are now in my hands." The note of gloating in the man's voice startled Ardan.

He had known Cleery for years, ever since the man had become Davion's Maître of the Household on Argyle. Neither of them had suspected that there might be a power-mad sadist lurking beneath that suave and polite exterior. A shiver moved through Ardan's body. What had they gotten into now?

Cleery took no chances. He had the guards shackle Ardan to Hanse, and their feet linked on short chains so they couldn't possibly run. Then, the Maître stepped forward and snapped his fingers. One of the young pages brought him a bag, from which he took two thick robes, like those worn by inhabitants of some desert worlds. They had deep hoods.

Once the captives had them on, neither could possibly have been recognized, unless an observer were to stand face to face with them and look directly into the shadowy recesses of the hoods. Cleery was definitely no fool, Ardan decided.

The Maître had, of course, ordered that both men be disarmed immediately. Cleery himself had run his hands down the arms, sides, and legs of his prisoners to make doubly sure. Then the guards led them down and down beneath the huge palace, into the dank corridor that led into Lucien's genuine, old Earth-type dungeons. Even the steps they descended had been artificially shaped to hint at millennia of wear.

The bottommost corridor ran crosswise. Rats scampered away from the handlight of the guards. Drips sounded, echoing hollowly through the maze of tunnels leading from the main artery. The smell was not pleasant, and it got worse as they moved deeper into the complex.

"Here we are," said Cleery, mock cheerful. "The Royal suite. Designed, no doubt, for Pretenders. Suitable enough. We'll even leave you together to grieve over the failure of your plot."

Ardan felt sure at this moment that Cleery was part of the conspiracy. How else could the false Hanse have gotten into the Palace and into the royal quarters so easily without being detected?

"Cleery, I never really knew you," said Hanse quietly. And now that I'm beginning to, it's certainly not a pleasure."

The Maître smiled, his fat lips stretched obscenely over his square white teeth. "I think that you will now have time to plan all sorts of vengeful schemes. And that is all you will have—Time. It can break the hardest will, I am told. It will be interesting to put the theory to the test"

Hanse did not reply. They watched the heavy door slam to. Bars were slid across from the outside. Locks snapped, the harsh echoes resounding crazily.

A torch had been left in the corridor, and its dim flickers gave only the barest illumination to the cell, the light making its way through some slits in the stone wall. Ardan examined those at once, but they were obviously for the purpose of placing food and water within reach of prisoners, without taking the chance of opening a door.

"No hope there," he said, testing the solidity of the stonework. "I think it must be cut out of the bedrock the house sits on."

"Damn Lucien!" said Hanse. "That's exactly what it is. I've read his journals. He was very proud of his authentic dungeons, from which no prisoner would ever escape." He shivered in the dank, chill air. "Cold in here, isn't it? At least we can be thankful for these havy robes."

Ardan nodded. With his mind racing frantically to think of some way out of an impossible situation, he hadn't even noticed the cold till now. He shivered, too, hoping the torch would hold out for a while. He didn't like to think about how it would be when they also were faced with total darkness. Ardan huddled against Hanse in a corner. Evidendy, no prisoner had ever been kept in the place, for there wasn't even straw to cushion the hardness of the stone floor.

At first, Ardan and Hanse had expected that their captors would kill them immediately. As long as they remained alive, the two of them were a grave threat to the plot to replace Hanse Davion with an imposter.

Instead, the days passed, empty, dark, cold, and interminable. Hanse and Ardan no longer knew whether it was night or day, though Ardan had pulled the wire from a pocket charm the guards had not removed, and he was using it to scratch out the passage of time in the stone wall. There wasn't much else to do, except think. But when the routine suddenly changed, Ardan would gladly have gone back to the torture of boredom.

One day, several guards came into the cell, seized Hanse roughly, and dragged him away protesting. "Hanse!" Ardan screamed, grasping the bars and pressing his face against them as the footsteps retreated down the corridor. When the silence descended once more, Ardan dropped to the floor, overcome by his sorrow and despair. He was sure Hanse had just gone to his death.

What seemed like hours later, Ardan again heard heavy footsteps approaching down the stone corridor. "My turn now," he thought grimly. But the guards merely opened the cell door, and threw Hanse bodily back into its gloom. Ardan crawled weakly over to his friend, and found him drugged senseless. It was a relief that Hanse was still alive, but what had they done to him?

He did his best to make Hanse comfortable, holding the Prince's head on his lap, and laying his own robe over him for extra warmth. The two of them sat that way for hours, Ardan with eyes closed, his back propped against the damp stone wall. When Hanse mumbled something finally, and stirred as though trying to get up, Ardan restrained him. "Hanse, no...you must rest now and stay warm..."