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carrying all this vivid stuff, while the rest of us are laughing and talking and running around. It’s a bit eerie.”
    “No it’s not,” said Cassie. “You listen to the stories too much.”
    Beth blushed. After a pause she said, “Do you see anything at the Residency?”
    “No,” said Harry. “What stories?”
    There was another pause while Cassie looked at Beth and Beth looked at her pony’s mane. “My fault,” said Cassie presently. “We’re not supposed to talk about them. Daddy gets really annoyed if he catches us. The stories are mostly about magic. Corlath and his people are supposed to be rotten with it, even in this day and age, and Corlath himself is supposed to be more than a little mad.”
    “Magic?” said Harry, remembering what Dedham had said earlier. “Mad?” He hadn’t said anything about madness. “How?”
    They both shrugged. “We’ve never managed to find out,” said Cassie.
    “And we can usually wring what we want to know out of Daddy eventually,” said Beth, “so it must be something pretty dreadful.”
    Cassie laughed. “You read too many novels, Beth. It’s just as likely that Daddy won’t talk about it because he refuses to admit it might be real—the magic, I mean. Jack Dedham believes it—he and Daddy argue about it sometimes, when they don’t think anyone else is around. The madness, if that’s what it is, is tied up somehow in the king’s strength—in return for having power beyond mortal men or some such, he has to pay a price of some kind of mad fits.”
    “Who reads too many novels?” said Beth, and Cassie grinned. “It does rather catch the imagination,” she said, and Beth nodded.
    “No wonder you’re so eager to set eyes on him,” said Harry.
    “Yes. I know it’s silly of me, but I feel maybe it’ll show somehow. He’ll be eight feet tall and have a third eye in the middle of his forehead,” said Beth.
    “Heavens,” said Harry.
    “I hope not,” said Cassie.
    “Well, you know how the legends go,” said Beth.
    “No, not really,” said her sister repressively. “Even when Daddy is willing to translate some, you can tell by the pauses that he’s leaving a lot out.”
    “Yes, but even so,” persisted Beth. “The old kings and queens were supposed to be taller than mortal—”
    “The Darians are mostly shorter than we are, at least the ones we see,” interrupted Cassie. “A king could look quite ordinary to us and be very tall for them.”
    “—and you can tell the royal blood by something about the eyes.”
    There was another pause. Harry said, “Something?”
    Again they both shrugged. “Something,” said Beth. “That’s one of the things Daddy always leaves out. Like the madness.”
    “You’re hoping he’ll froth at the mouth,” said Cassie.
    Beth threw a peevish look at her sister. “No. I’ll settle for the third eye.”
    This conversation had taken them well away from the outlying houses of the station, and the dust kicked up by their ponies’ feet was giving up even the pretense of being anything other than desert sand. A silence fell; Cassie suggested a canter, which was duly accomplished. The sun was hot enough that when they pulled up again, after only a few minutes, the ponies’ shoulders were dark with sweat. Harry sent another of her long looks across the desert, and had to squint against the shivering light.
    “Do you think we might turn back now?” Beth asked wistfully, shading her eyes with an elegantly white-gloved hand.
    Harry grinned. “We can spend the rest of the morning in my sitting-room, if you like. It overlooks the front door, you know.”
    Beth gave her a grateful look, Cassie chuckled; but they all three turned their ponies’ heads with dispatch and sent them jogging homeward as quickly as the heat would allow.
    By the time they reached the suggestion of shade offered by the thin determined trees marking the outskirts of the station proper, Harry was hot and slightly headachy, and cross