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went on a little way. The garden street suddenly ran out, and he found himself in a part of the city where he had never been before. It was so unlike anything he had seen so far that he seriously began to wonder if he had strayed into a nonhuman district. The sun was low in the sky, and Larry began to worry a little about it. Could he, after all, find his way?
    He looked around, trying to orient himself in the dimming light. The streets were irregular here, and twisting; the houses close together, made of thatch and chinked pebbles daubed with what looked like coarse cement, windowless and dark. The street seemed empty; and yet, as he stopped and looked around, Larry had the disconcerting notion that someone was watching him.
    “Come on,” he said aloud, “don’t start imagining things.”
    He started seriously to take stock of his position. The spaceport lay to the east of the town, so that he should put his back to the sun, and keep on going that way.
    Somebody’s watching me. I can feel it.
    He turned around slowly, getting his bearings. He ought to turn this way, into this street, and keep on eastward, then he couldn’t possibly miss the spaceport. It might be a long walk, but before long he ought to get into some familiar district. Before dark, I hope. He looked back, nervously, as he turned into the narrow street. Was that a step behind him?
    He ordered himself to stop imagining things. People live here. They have a right to walk down the street, so what if there is somebody behind you? Anyway, there’s nobody there.
    Abruptly the street turned a blind corner, ran into a small open square, and dead-ended in a low stone wall and the blank rear entrances of a couple of houses. Larry scowled, and felt like swearing. He’d have to try again, damn it! And if the sun went down and he had to start wandering around in the dark, he’d be in fine shape! He turned to retrace his steps, and stopped dead.
    Across the square, several indistinct forms were coming toward him. In the lowering light, purple-edged, they seemed big and looming, and they seemed to advance on Larry with steady purpose. He started to walk on, then hesitated ; they were moving—yes, they had cut off his return from the way he had come.
    He could see them clearly now. They were boys and young men, six or eight of them, about his own age or a little younger, shabbily dressed in Darkovan clothes; their rough-cut hair was lying on their shoulders, and one and all, they had a look of jeering malice. They looked rough, rowdy, and not at all friendly, and Larry felt a touch of panic. But he told himself, sternly, They’re just a batch of kids. Most of them look younger than I am. Why should I assume they’re after me—or that they have any interest in me at all? For all I know, they might be the local chowder and marching society out for an evening on the town!
    He nodded politely, and began to walk toward them, confident that they would part and let him through. Instead, the ranks suddenly closed, and Larry had to stop to keep from bumping headlong into the leader—a big, burly boy of sixteen or so.
    Larry said politely, in Darkovan, “Will you let me pass, please?”
    “Why, he talks our lingo!” The burly boy’s dialect was so rough that Larry could hardly make out the words. “And what’s a Terranan from behind the walls doing out here in the city?”
    “What you want here anyway?” one of the young men asked.
    Larry braced himself hard, trying not to show fear, and spoke with careful courtesy. “I was walking in the city, and lost myself. If one of you would tell me which way I should take to find the spaceport, I would be grateful.”
    The polite speech, however, was greeted with guffaws of shrill laughter.
    “Hey, he’s lost!”
    “Ain’t that too bad!”
    “Hey, chiyu , you expect the big boss of the spaceport to come looking for you with a lamp?”
    “Poor little fellow, out alone after dark!”
    “And not even big enough to