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took out another piece of
cloth.
    "I also got you some ...."
    By this time, he had put down the
cloth and taken out something else.
    Yes! She knew what they were.
Shoes.
    She had been right about the Mage
saying he would get her robes to wear, these ... clothes ... this
world's robes, strange though they were.
    Platinia could breathe again. Could
rest her mind. For the Mage had not come to torture her or even
rape her. At least, not now.
    The trouble of the moment was to
understand about the robe-parts.
    Later, she would have time to do
something to be safe. What, she did not know.
     
    * * * * *
     
Chapter 6
     
    Pushing his way through student
crowded halls after his last class of that Tuesday morning -- the
second day after his Band Sickness return -- John was exhausted.
All he felt like doing was slipping into his cubical of an office
and collapsing, John sharing the narrow space with Paul.
    Paul Hamilton. A big voiced, bear of a
man. Department chairman to the quintet of Social Scientists
featuring Hamilton, Lyon, and the forgettables.
    Trying not to stagger down the hall,
John keyed himself into the office and slumped into his
dark-stained swivel chair.
    Leaning back in the old seat,
straining up a to-heavy leg to thump his heel on the desk, John
sighed. Looked out the dusty office window to see that even the sky
had turned to lead.
    Colder tonight.
    With a chance of snow.
    Heavy feet thumping somewhere behind
him announced Dr. Paul, the chairman clumping up to squeeze his
giant's body through the human-scaled casement.
    "How ya' feelin' son?" Reared in Iowa,
Paul took delight in butchering Southernisms.
    "Tired."
    "A cold will do that to
you."
    Elbowing the door shut, tossing a
clutter of yellowed notes on his book piled desk, Paul sagged into
his groaning chair.
    Dressed conservatively in a flowered
Hawaiian shirt and red golf slacks, Paul's "taste" in clothing
belied a fine mind.
    "Actually," John muttered, wishing to
maintain the integrity of the lie he'd told the dean's secretary,
"laryngitis."
    "One thing I learned from experience
is that laryngitis screws up the vocal cords for days."
    "Which means ...?"
    "That the age of miracles continues,
since you're in good voice today."
    Paul's stare had been known to shrink
larger men than John.
    "Another thing, is that a bad throat
doesn't make a person's arms hang down like weights on a
Grandfather clock. "So," Dr. Paul continued, smugly, "when did you
get back?"
    "Back?"
    "From the other world. And don't try
to look innocent. This is your wise old chairman talking. The only
other time I saw you this bushed was when I came over to your place
to hear your outlandish account of this other place, the night
after you'd returned."
    "Yeah," John said,
defeated.
    "I won't ask why you defied reason to
risk another trip -- because it's none of my business -- but I
would like to know you're all right."
    "Just ... tired," John said, flashing
a guilty smile in Paul's direction. "I do have a little problem,
though."
    "So ...?"
    "So, could you come over this
evening?"
    "Yep."
    "And bring Ellen, of
course."
    Paul scowled, worry lines gouging
their way across his increasingly high forehead.
    "Possibly," he muttered darkly.
"Possibly. Ellen's doing a little better now."
    Paul was talking about Ellen's
pregnancy.
    His mind made up, he smiled. "You
paying for the baby sitter?"
    "Sure."
    "Not necessary. The question is, how
would it affect Ellen to hear about your jaunt to someplace else?
Hell! How would it affect anyone to hear there is another
place?"
    "I don't know. This is your
call."
    The last thing John wanted was to
upset Paul's wife. If Ellen belonged to John, he'd protect her with
attack dogs -- John quickly stopping that unprofitable line of
thought.
    "It's just that I'd like her opinion
about something."
    "The woman's touch," Paul said
beatifically.
    "I wouldn't ask you to bring your wife
except there's another person involved."
    "Oh?"
    "Someone I ... brought
back."
    "Brought