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fascinated by the people striding up the drive. All had their hair cut painfully short, even the one at the back, who was a woman in a tight striped skirt. The smallest man strode in front, not carrying anything. The other two men were large, and they both carried little cases. The woman carried both a case and a board with papers clipped to it. On they came, looking neither right nor left, busy expressions on their faces. Blade, suddenly and unexpectedly, found he was hurt and quite angry that they did not bother even to glance at the garden, which his father had worked so hard on last night. Derk had got it looking marvelous. They were not bothering to notice Don and Lydda either, and they were looking quite as marvelous. Their coats shone with brushing, and their feathers gleamed gold against the reds and greens and blues lining the drive.
    Perhaps I have got some family solidarity after all! Blade thought, and he hoped the orchids would take a bite out of one of these people. He could tell Shona was feeling much the same. She was playing a marching tune, harshly, in time to the four pairs of striding feet.
    They swept on up the steps. To Blade’s disappointment, something seemed to intimidate the orchids. They only made a halfhearted snap at the woman, and she did not notice. She just followed the others. The man in front behaved as if he had eighty wizards waiting for him around a huge table every day. He marched straight to the empty seat at the head of the table and sat in it, as if it was obvious where he would sit. The two other men took chairs on either side of him. The woman took Mara’s empty chair and moved it back so that she could sit almost behind the first man. He put out a hand, and she put the little case into it without his needing to look. He slapped the case down on the table and clicked the locks back with a fierce snap.
    â€œGood afternoon,” he said, in a flat, chilly voice.
    â€œGood afternoon, Mr. Chesney,” said nearly every wizard there.
    Shona changed from a march to a sentimental ballad, full of treacly swooping.
    Mr. Chesney had grayish, mouse-colored, lank hair and a bald patch half hidden by the lank hair combed severely across it. His face was small and white and seemed ordinary, until you noticed that his mouth was upside down compared with most people’s. It sat in a grim downward curve under his pointed nose and above his small, rocklike chin, like the opening to a man-trap. Once you had noticed that, you noticed that his eyes were like cold gray marbles.
    Widow spiders, Derk thought desperately, if I gave them transparent green wings.
    Lydda loped past Blade before he could observe any more, glaring at him. He and Elda both jumped guiltily and hurried away to the kitchen. They came back carrying large plates fragrantly piled with Lydda’s godlike snacks, in time to hear Mr. Chesney’s flat voice saying, “Someone silence that slave girl with the fiddle, please.”
    There was a loud twang as one of Shona’s strings snapped. Her face went white and then flooded bright red.
    Ants, thought Derk, with all sorts of interesting new habits. “You mean my daughter, Mr. Chesney?” he asked pleasantly.
    â€œIs she?” said Mr. Chesney. “Then you should control her. I object to noise in a business meeting. And while I’m on the subject of control, I must say I am not at all pleased with that village at the end of your valley. You’ve allowed it to be far too prosperous. Some of the houses even look to have electric light. You must order it pulled down.”
    â€œBut—” Derk swallowed and thought the ants might have outsize stings. He did not say that he had no right to pull down the village or add that everyone there was a friend of his. He could see there was no point. “Wouldn’t an illusion do just as well?”
    â€œSettle it how you want,” said Mr. Chesney. “Just remember that when the Pilgrim