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shrill cries of mock laughter. Balls of silver rising and falling in a shimmering column of light drew them; they found a device that distorted gravity at random and spent ten crazy minutes being whirled and tumbled together inside one of the balls … after which the concessionaire discreetly allowed them a further ten minutes of privacy, undisturbed.
    Emerging thirsty, they stopped at a fountain. Horn had three measures, and thereafter the night began to melt together like a dream. They picked up other people along the way until he found himself leading a party of a dozen or more through sideshow after sideshow, competition after competition.
    At last, though, it seemed that their gaiety was lessening while his still grew. Barely an hour remained before dawn. Some people were already asleep on the ground; this was usual on the first night of carnival. Tomorrow people would sleep all day and awake refreshed at sunset, whereas on this first day they would typically have been awake for twenty hours already.
    “Come on!” Horn shouted hysterically. “We still haven’t seen—”
    And broke off, looking around rather foolishly. He was speaking to the air. His party had melted away. A sign on a neighboring concesson offered a probable explanation. It read simply: DOUBLE BEDS.
    All hilarity evaporated, and exhaustion took its place. He thought about the sign for a while, which was tempting even though neither of the sisters with whom he had begun the evening remained to keep him company; then he decided it was a waste when there was a comfortable hotel suite awaiting him. It would not be long before he could order a bubbletaxi to take him back to it. Meanwhile, he might as well sit down in one and let it bear him where it liked—it was more comfortable than sitting on the ground here. Not to mention cleaner; the ground was almost squelching with spilled liquor and perhaps less savory fluids, and all sorts of rubbish covered the grass.
    He picked his way tiredly among the close-set booths, trying to remember when he had last gone to bed alone after a night of carnival, until he came to the place where bubbletaxis were parked. Just as he made to enter the nearest, there was a movement in shadow, and he drew back, gasping. One of the grey-clad Dispossessed had somehow managed to infiltrate the city, and was gazing straight at him with hungry, horrible eyes.
    Nothing was said. There was only a look of accusation. But it hit him like an iron bar across the forehead. He stumbled backwards as the Dispossessed vanished into the darkness he had emerged from, and from behind him a voice said, “Clumsy fool!”
    He was preoccupied for a moment with thoughts of the Dispossessed: condemned to the crudest, ugliest clothing, the barest of subsistence diets. He made no response.
    The voice said again, “I called you a clumsy fool! And you are! I ought to run you through where you stand!”
    Turning slowly, Horn realized he was being addressed by a stranger in gold and white, smeared with the marks of fruit where someone had pelted him for amusement. His face was hidden behind a golden mask, and his right hand rested on the hilt of a sword obviously meant for use and not for show.
    Horn’s heart seemed to congeal and sink to the bottom of his belly. In memory he could hear the voice of the pudgy man saying he hoped the sadist who had beaten Latchbolt to death would confine himself to androids during this carnival. He had heard of, but he had never before run across, those who would take advantage of the license of carnival to work off their desire for cruelty and bloodshed. That wasn’t what dueling was meant for! It was only supposed to be a psychological prop—a subconscious reassurance for vigorous young men in a civilized society that if they had to they could fight to survive.
    But even during carnival one didn’t deliberately pick a quarrel with a total stranger for the sake of a fight! One enjoyed a few matches, perhaps picked up