A’gentur had waked up.

“Don’t bother,” he said. “I called my father. Anything approaching that door will fall asleep.”

An ordinary man, rather tired and worried-looking, headed for the men’s room. C’mell was prepared to stop him at any cost, but she remembered what A’gentur-E’ikasus had told her, so she waited. The man reeled as he neared them. He stared at them, saw that they were underpeople, looked on through them as though they were not there. He took two more steps toward the door and suddenly reached out his hands as if he were going blind. He walked into the wall two meters from the door, touched it firmly and blindly with his hands, and crumpled gently to the floor, where he lay snoring.

“My dad’s good,” said A’gentur-E’ikasus. “He usually leaves real people alone, but when he must get them, he gets them. He even gave that man the distinct memory that he mistakenly took a sleeping pill when he was reaching for a pain-killer. When the human wakes up, he will feel foolish and will tell no one of his experience.”

Rod came out of the ever-so-dangerous doorway. He grinned at them boyishly and did not notice the crumpled man lying beside the wall. “That was easier than turning back, and nobody noticed me at all. See, I saved you a lot of trouble, C’mell!”

He was so proud of hisfoolhardy adventure that she did not have the heart to blame him. He smiled widely, his cat-whiskers tipping as he did so. For a moment, just a moment, she forgot that he was an important person and a real man to boot: he was a boy, and mighty like a cat, but all boy in his satisfaction, his wanton bravery, his passing happiness with vainglory. For a second or two she loved him. Then she thought of the terrible hours ahead, and of how he would go home, rich and scornful, to his all-people planet. The moment of love passed but she still liked him very much.

“Come along, young fellow. You can eat. You are going to eat cat food since you are C’roderick, but it’s not so bad.”

He frowned. “What is it? Do you have fish here? I tasted fish one time. A neighbor bought one. He traded two horses for it. It was delicious.”

“He wants fish,” she cried to E’ikasus.

“Give him a whole tuna for himself,” grumbled the monkey. “My blood sugar is still low. I need some pineapple.”

C’mell did not argue. She stayed underground and led them into a hall which had a picture of dogs, cats, cattle, pigs, bears, and snakes above the door; that indicated the kinds of people who would be served there. E’ikasus scowled at the sign but he rode C’mell’s shoulder in.

“This gentleman,” said C’mell, speaking pleasantly to an old bear-man who was scratching his belly and smoking a pipe, all at the same time, “has forgotten his credits.”

“No food,” said the bear-man. “Rules. He can drink water, though.”

“I’ll pay for him,” said C’mell.

The bear-man yawned, “Are you sure that he won’t pay you back? If he does, that is private trading and it is punished by death.”

“I know the rules,” said C’mell. “I’ve never been disciplined yet.”

The bear looked her over critically. He took his pipe out of his mouth and whistled, “No,” said he, “and I can see that you won’t be. What are you, anyhow? A model?”

“A girlygirl,” said C’mell.

The bear-man leapt from his stool with astonishing speed. “Cat-madame!” he cried, “A thousand pardons. You can have anything in the place. You come from the top of Earthport? You know the Lords of the Instrumentality personally? You would like a table roped off with curtains? Or should I just throw everybody else out of here and report to my Man that we have a famous, beautiful slave from the high places?”

“Nothing that drastic,” said C’mell. “Just food.”

“Wait a bit,” said A’gentur-E’ikasus, “if you’re offering specials, I’ll have two fresh pineapples, a quarter-kilo of ground fresh coconut, and a tenth of a kilo of live insect grubs.”

The bear-man hesitated. “I was offering things to the cat-lady, who serves the mighty ones, not to you, monkey. But if the lady desires it, I will send for those things.” He waited for C’mell’s nod, got it, and pushed a button for a low-grade robot to come. He turned to Rod McBan, “And you, cat-gentleman, what would you like?”

Before Rod could speak, C’mell said, “He wants two sailfish steaks, fried potatoes, Waldorf salad, an order of ice cream, and a large glass of orange juice.”

The bear-man shuddered visibly. “I’ve been here for years and that is the most horrible lunch I ever ordered for a cat. I think I’ll try it myself.”

C’mell smiled the smile which had graced a thousand welcomes.

“I’ll just help myself from the things you have on the counters. I’m not fussy.”

He started to protest but she cut him short with a graceful but unmistakable wave of the hand. He gave up.

They sat at a table.

A’gentur-E’ikasus waited for his combination monkey and bird lunch. Rod saw an old robot, dressed in a prehistoric tuxedo jacket, ask a question of the bear-man, leave one tray at the door, and bring another tray to him. The robot whipped off a freshly starched napkin. There was the most beautiful lunch Rod McBan had ever seen. Even at a state banquet, the Old North Australians did not feed their guests like that.

Just as they were finishing, the bear-cashier came to the table and asked,

“Your name, cat-madame? I will charge these lunches to the government.”

“C’mell, servant to Teadrinker, subject to the Lord Jestocost, a Chief of the Instrumentality.”

The bear’s face had been epilated, so that they could see him pale.

“C’mell,” he whispered. “C’mell! Forgive me, my lady. I have never seen you before. You have blessed this place. You have blessed my life. You are the friend of all underpeople. Go in peace.”

C’mell gave him the bow and smile which a reigning empress might give to an active Lord of the Instrumentality. She started to pick up the monkey but he scampered on ahead of her. Rod was puzzled. As the bear-man bowed him out, he asked, “C’mell. You are famous?”

“In a way,” she said. “But only among the underpeople.” She hurried them both toward a ramp. They reached daylight at last, but even before they came to the surface, Rod’s nose was assaulted by a riot of smells — foods frying, cakes baking, liquor spilling its pungency on the air, perfumes fighting with each other for attention, and, above all, the smell of old things: dusty treasures, old leathers, tapestries, the echo-smells of people who had died a long time ago.

C’mell stopped and watched him. “You’re smelling things again? I must say, you have a better nose than any human being I ever met before. How does it smell to you?”

“Wonderful,” he gasped. “Wonderful. Like all the treasures and temptations of the universe spilled out into one little place.”

“It’s just the Thieves’ Market of Paris.”

“There are thieves on Earth? Open ones, like on Viola Siderea?”

“Oh, no,” she laughed. “They would die in a few days. The Instrumentality would catch them. These are just people, playing. The Rediscovery of Man found some old institutions, and an old market was one of them. They make the robots and the underpeople find things for them and then they pretend to be ancient, and make bargains with each other. Or they cook food. Not many real people ever cook food these days. It’s so funny that it tastes good to them. They all pick up money on their way in. They have barrels of it at the gate. In the evening, or when they leave, they usually throw the money in the gutter, even though they should really put it back in the barrel. It’s not money we underpeople could use. We go by numbers and computer cards,” she sighed. “I could certainly use some of that extra money.”

“And underpeople like you — like us—” said Rod, “what do we do in the market?”

“Nothing,” she whispered. “Absolutely nothing. We can walk through if we are not too big and not too small and not too dirty and not too smelly. And even if we are all right, we must walk right through without looking directly at the real people and without touching anything in the market?”