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door. “Oh. I don’t know. Perhaps.” He shook his head, then went outside. I followed. Parthet looked at the sky, but it wasn’t light enough for him to see much, not with his eyes.
    “I don’t see any clouds,” I said. Dawn wasn’t far off. There was just enough light to silhouette the upper reaches of the trees.
    “Good, good,” Parthet said. “Then we won’t have to worry about rain.” Maybe he forgot what we had been talking about.
    I had a lot of questions left over from the previous evening, but there were so many that I couldn’t think of a good place to start. Besides, I didn’t want to clutter my mind with a lot of stuff that wouldn’t help in the immediate crisis. With luck, there would be plenty of time after we pulled my folks out of whatever mess they were in.
    Parthet went back inside. Not having a light didn’t seem to bother him. If he had been functioning without glasses for a month or two, it might not. I stayed outside awhile longer, watching the sky lighten.
    “You ready to go, lad?” Parthet called finally.
    “I guess.” I went in, strapped on my pack and weapon belt, and hung my bow over my shoulder. “You don’t think anyone’ll say anything if I show up for breakfast armed, do you?”
    “Why should they?” He shook his head when I put on my Cubs cap. “But we’ve really got to get you a decent hat, something properly jaunty.” Jaunty? He was dressed like a contender for King of the Hobos—threadbare green work pants, red-and-black-plaid flannel shirt with the elbows out, and a greasy leather vest held closed by an old shoelace. He didn’t seem to be taking anything in the way of supplies either, just a metal-tipped walking stick—too long to be a cane, too short to be a proper staff.
    “Light enough now,” Parthet said, staring at the silver tracing on his bedroom door from a nose away. “Stay close, lad.” He touched both sides. I saw familiar-looking gray stone. I had my rings on the tracing before Parthet let go and stepped through right behind him—cautiously, in case the floor level was different again. It wasn’t. Parthet turned to make sure I was with him.
    “Beats hiking through the forest,” he said.
    We were in a small stone room, rounded enough to let me guess that it was in a narrow tower. Beyond the door was a circular stairway—stone, not one of those tight metal things. We went down two levels. There were armed guards at the bottom, scruffy types who would have been right at home with the Wizard of Id .
    “Must be breakfast time,” one guard said. “Here’s our wizard.” The guards both wore chain mail and leather, conical helmets with nose guards. Their weapons were halberds and broadswords.
    “He has someone with him this morning,” the other guard said.
    “A little respect!” Parthet’s voice had more temper to it than I had heard before. “This is young Gil, the son of Carl and Avedell.”
    I don’t think I can adequately describe the change that came over the guards. They stared at me and lost the look of bantering good humor. There was respect in their eyes, maybe something close to awe. They backed off and damn near bowed.
    “The son of the Hero?” one of them asked. I could hear the capital letter in the tone. I noticed something peculiar too. The guard’s mouth and voice were out of sync, like in a dubbed movie. I looked to Parthet, but he was watching the guards. He nodded, then started off too fast for me to ask questions. We crossed a large paved courtyard with high gray walls all around. Maybe my uncle had a magic doorway into the castle, but it sure didn’t open on the dining room.
    “Hold up a second,” I called and Parthet waited for me. “What was that all about?”
    “The churls forgot themselves. I merely upbraided them for it. More gently than they deserved.”
    “That’s not what I mean. When you told them who I am, they did everything but kiss my feet.”
    “Your parents are held in high respect here.