The captain gazed through the curving plate that lapped the roof. His yellow eyes fixed her consumptive light that pulsed like fire-spots in a giant cinder. The light was so weak he did not squint at all.

“I am confounded,” Katin admitted to his jeweled box, “nevertheless. The mirror of my observation turns and what first seemed gratuitous I see enough times to realize it is a habit. What I suspected as habit now seems part of a great design. While what I originally took as purpose explodes into gratuitousness. The mirror turns again, and the character I thought obsessed by purpose reveals his obsession is only a habit; his habits are gratuitously meaningless; while those actions I construed as gratuitous reveal a most demonic purpose.”

The yellow eyes had fallen from the tired star. Lorq’s face erupted about the scar at some antic from the Mouse that Katin had missed.

Rage, Katin pondered. Rage, Yes, he is laughing. But how is anyone supposed to distinguish between laughter and rage in that face.

But the others were laughing too.

“What’s the smoke?” the Mouse asked, stepping around the steaming grate in the cobbles.

“It just the sewer grating is, I think,” Leo said. The fisherman looked at the fog winding up the pole that supported the brilliant, induced-fluorescence streetlight. At the ground the steam ballooned and sagged; before the light it danced and quivered.

“Taafite is just at the end of this street,” Lorq said.

They walked up the hill past a half dozen other gratings that steamed through the perpetual evening.

“I guess Gold is right—”

“—right behind that embankment there?”

Lorq nodded to the twins.

“What sort of a place is the Taafite?” the Mouse demanded.

“A place where I can be comfortable.” Subtle agony played the captain’s features. “And where I won’t have to be bothered with you.” Lorq made to cuff him, but the Mouse ducked. “We’re here.”

The twelve-foot gate, with chunks of colored glass set in wrought iron, fell back when Lorq laid his hand to the plate.

“It remembers me.”

“Taafite isn’t yours?” Katin asked.

“It belongs to an old school friend, Yorgos Setsumi who owns Pleiades Mining. A dozen years ago I used it often. That’s when the lock was keyed to my hand. I’ve done the same for him with some of my houses. We don’t see each other much now but we used to be very close.”

They entered Taafite’s garden.

The flowers here were never meant to be seen in full light. The blossoms were purple, maroon, violet-colors of the evening. The mica-like scales of the spidery tilda glistened over the leafless branches. There was much low shrubbery, but all the taller plants were slim and sparse, to make as little shadow as possible.

The front wall of Taafite itself was a curving shape of glass. For a long stretch there wasn’t any wall at all and house and garden merged. A sort of path led to a sort of flight of steps cut into the rock, below what probably was the front door.

When Lorq put his hand on the door plate, lights began to flicker all through the house, above them in windows, far at the ends of corridors, reflected around cowers, or shifting through a translucent wall, veined like violet jade, or panes of black-shot amber. Even under: a section of the floor was transparent and they could see lights coming on in rooms stories down.

“Come in.”

They followed the captain across the beige carpeting. Katin stepped ahead to examine a shelf of bronze statuettes. “Benin?” he asked the captain.

“I believe so. Yorgos has a passion for thirteenth-century Nigeria.”

When Katin turned to the opposite wall his eyes widened. “Now those can’t be the originals.” Then narrowed. “The Van Meegeren forgeries?”

“No. I’m afraid those are just plain old copies.”

Katin chuckled. “I’ve still got Dehay’s Under Sirius on the brain.”

They continued down the hall.

“I think there’s a bar in here.” Lorq turned into a doorway.

The lights only came halfway up because of what was beyond the forty feet of glass opposite.

Inside the room yellow lamps played on a pool of opalescent sand filled by siftings from the rock wail. Refreshments were already moving into the room on the rotary stage. On floating glass shelves sat pale statuettes. Benin bronzes in the hall; here were early Cycladics, lucent and featureless.

Outside the room was Gold.

Down among brackish crags, lava flamed like day.

The river of rock flowed by, swinging the crags’ shadows between the wooden beams of the ceiling.

The Mouse stepped forward and said something without sound.

Tyy and Sebastian narrowed their eyes.

“Now isn’t that—”

“—that something to look at!”

The Mouse ran around the sand-pool, leaned against the glass with his hands by his face. Then he grinned back over his shoulder. “It’s like being right down in the middle of some Hell on Triton!”

The thing on Sebastian’s shoulder dropped, flapping, to the floor and cowered behind its master as something in Gold exploded. Falling fire dropped light down their faces.

“Which brew of the other world do you want to try first?” Lorq asked the twins as he surveyed bottles on the stage.

“The one in the red bottle—”

“—in the green bottle looks pretty good “

“—not as good as some of the stuff we got on Tubman—”

“—I bet. On Tubman we got some stuff called bliss—”

“—you know what it is bliss, Captain?”

“No bliss.” Lorq held up the bottles, one in each hand.

“Red or green. They’re both good.”

“I could sure use some—”

“—me too. But I guess he doesn’t have—”

“—guess he doesn’t. So I’ll take—”

“—red—”

“—green.”

“One of each. Coming up.” Tyy touched Sebastian’s arm. “What is?” Sebastian frowned.

She pointed to the wall as one of the shelves floated away from a long painting.

“The view from Thule down Ravine Dank is!” Sebastian seized Leo’s shoulder. “Look. That home is!”

The fisherman looked up.

“You out the back window of the house where I was born look,” Sebastian said. “All that you see.”

“Hey.” The Mouse reached up to tap Katin’s shoulder. Katin looked down from the sculpture he was examining at the Mouse’s dark face. “Huh?”

“That stool over there. You remember that Vega Republic stuff you were talking about back on the ship?”

“Yes.”

“Is that stool one?”

Katin smiled. “No. Everything here is all patterned on pre-star-flight designs. This whole room is a pretty faithful replica of some elegant American mansion of the twenty-first or second century.”

The Mouse nodded. “Oh.”

“The rich are always enamored of the ancient.”

“I never been in a place like this before.” The Mouse looked about the room. “It’s something, huh?”

“Yes. It is.”

“Come get your poison,” Lorq called from the stage.

“Mouse! Now, you your syrynx play?” Leo brought over two mugs, pushed one into the Mouse’s hands, the other into Katin’s. “You play. Soon I down to the ice docks will go. Mouse, play for me.”

“Play something that we can dance—”

“—dance with us, Tyy. Sebastian—”

“—Sebastian will you dance with us too?”

The Mouse shucked his sack.

Leo went over to get a mug for himself, came back, and sat down on the stool. The Mouse’s images were paled by Gold. But the music was ornamented with sharp, insistent quarter tones. It smelled like a party.

On the floor, the Mouse balanced the body of the syrynx against his blackened, horny foot, tapped time with the toe of his boot, and rocked. His fingers flew. Light from Gold, from the fixtures about the room, from the Mouse’s syrynx, lashed the captain’s face to fury. Twenty minutes later he said, “Mouse, I’m going to steal you for a while.”

He stopped playing. “What you want, Captain?”

“Company. I’m going out.”