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Mefto—”
    “I could wish it in my heart you had slain him.”
    I did not wish to pursue a sore subject. “I shall make another attempt on Prince Nedfar’s airboat.”
    He nodded. “I shall come with you—”
    “And, my Pompino, you have heard no more of the Humped Land?”
    He swore, a resounding oath that rattled the rafters.
    “No. Men talk about it, slyly. But Nathjairn was prepared to take an expedition out. Now another one may be seasons—”
    “We could always strike out southwestward ourselves.”
    “All men warn against such foolishness.”
    “The dangers are not so great as across the river and among the great lakes.”
    “True. Unless we go with an expedition, it is foolish to think of it. We go by caravan across the Desolate Waste, or we take the voller — and that may be the best answer.”
     
    LionardDen, called Jikaida City, was cut off from the rest of the continent of Havilfar. Vallia always called me, that beautiful island always would, and I missed Delia badly; but she had her own life to lead with the Sisters of the Rose. I confess Pompino’s wild talk of treasure and sorcery intrigued. And that brought up another question.
    I gave him a look as he refilled his flagon.
    “You were all for going home to Tuscursmot in South Pandahem. You had, you said, spent enough time parted from your wife—”
    “True.” He drank and wiped his whiskers. “But the old girl will survive without me. We rub along. And while there is gold and wizardly powers — why, dom — just think of it—”
    “Having heard of the Humped Land, now we must wait until someone puts an expedition together — is that it?”
    “You mean — you’d go?”
    I twirled the rudis. The heavy wood was dented and splintered from the force of our blows. The flick-flick plant satisfied another small segment of its appetite, and a fly vanished from the ken of men. “I may — I do not know. I am in more than two minds. But all is mere conjecture while we must care for the lady Yasuri, under the orders of the Star Lords.”
    “True. Damned true.”
    If a weathervane may be blown by the winds of heaven in any direction, then I was a weathervane, right enough.
    “Y’know, Jak,” said Pompino, carrying on a thread of thought begun by our remarks. “It is strange the Everoinye, if they are so tender for the welfare of the lady Yasuri, allow us to stay here, instead of at her hotel, the Star of Laybrites.”
    “The Star Lords are a bunch of onkers, of get onkers, and deserve to be stewed in their own juices.” At his stricken face, I added, hurriedly, “Yes, yes, my Pompino, I know. But they have understood me, over the seasons. They know what I think of them. Until they prove themselves as being as good as humans, I cannot take them seriously as gods.”
    “You—” His reddish whiskers bristled, his dark eyes stood out, he looked as though he would choke.
    “Jak, Jak! They’ll strike you down.”
    “Not them. That’s not their damned way.”
    “Their ways pass the understanding of mortal men.”
    “If a being, an entity, cannot show the same decent qualities one expects of a fellow human being, why should any man be expected to worship and give praise to such a being?”
    “I do not know. No one knows.”
    A knock at the door heralded the chambermaid, a little Fristle fifi with brown fur and a delightful smile, who told us the landlord had a visitor for us.
     
    “Show him up,” said Pompino, and we laid aside the wooden swords and took into our fists steel thraxters.
    But it was only Onron, the lady Yasuri’s Rapa coachman and chamberlain, decked out in a fine new livery, who told us with some condescension that the lady wished us to accompany her to the play this evening.
    “The play?” said Pompino, laying aside his thraxter. “Since when has the lady ever wanted us to go with her to Jikaida?”
    “The play, I said, you imbecilic Khibil!” The Rapa fluffed up his red tribal feathers, his beak polished and