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sorcerer."
    The king opened his mouth, then closed it.
    "Sorcerer?" He eyed O'Leary with interest. At close range, Lafayette noted, the king looked older, more careworn, but meticulously groomed, with fine lines around his eyes and mouth.
    "Are you sure of this?" the king asked in a low voice.
    "Absolutely, your Majesty," the arresting cop assured him.
    The desk sergeant bustled around the desk. "Your Majesty, I'm sorry about this; these nut cases, we get 'em all the time—"
    " Are you a magician?" The king pursed his mouth, raising one carefully arched eyebrow at Lafayette.
    "Why does everyone ask the same question?" Lafayette shook his head. "It would all be lots more fun if you just accepted me as one of yourselves. Just consider me a . . . ah . . . scientist."
    The king's frown returned. "You show less than proper respect for our person. And what in the name of the Sea-field is a—what did you call yourself?"
    "A scientist. Someone who knows things," O'Leary explained. "You see, I'm engaged in an experiment. Now, none of you fellows realize it, but none of you actually exist."
    The king was sniffing loudly. "The fellow reeks of wine," he said. He sniffed again. "Smells like good stuff," he remarked to a satin-coated dandy at his elbow.
    "Phaugh, Majesty," the courtier said in a high nasal, waving a hanky under his nose. "Methinks the scoundrel is well and truly snockered. Didst hear him but now? None of us exist, quoth he—including your Majesty!"
    "Sire, he's a warlock, take my word for it!" the sergeant burst out. "Any minute he's liable to poof! Disappear!"
    "Yeah, yer Majesty," Shorty added, wagging his head, making his curls flop. "The guy is terrific!"
    "How say you, knave?" The courtier fixed O'Leary with a slightly blood-shot eye. "Art a dabbler in the Black Arts?"
    "Actually, it's all very simple," Lafayette said. His head was beginning to throb slightly as the glow of the wine faded. "I just—ah—have this slight ability to manipulate the environment."
    The king's forehead wrinkled. "What does that mean?"
    "Well . . ." Lafayette considered. "Take wine, for example." He squinted his eyes, concentrated on the upper right drawer of the desk beside him. He felt a slight, reassuring jar. "Look in the drawer," he said. "The top one."
    The king gestured. "Do as he says."
    One of the perfumed flunkeys minced forward, drew open the drawer, glanced inside, then, looking surprised, lifted out a bottle and held it up.
    "Hey!" The desk sergeant started.
    "Drinking on duty, eh?" The king beetled an eyebrow at the unfortunate fellow. "Ten days in the dungeon on canned soup."
    "B-but, your Majesty, it's not mine!"
    "That's right," Lafayette put in. "He didn't even know it was there."
    "Then it's ten days for not knowing the contents of his own desk," the king said blandly. He took the bottle, looked at the label, held it up to the light and squinted at it.
    "Good color," he stated. "Who has a corkscrew?"
    Four manicured hands shot out with four elaborate corkscrews. The king handed over the bottle and watched as the cork was drawn with a loud whok !
    He took the bottle, sniffed, then tilted it and took a healthy drag. A delighted expression lifted his rather sharp features.
    "Zounds! We like it! Damned good vintage, that! Better than we find at our own table!" He looked at Lafayette approvingly.
    "Still say you're not a magician, eh?"
    "No, 'fraid not. After all, magic's impossible." O'Leary wagged an admonitory finger. "I suppose I seem a little unusual to you, but there's a perfectly simple explanation. Now, in this dream—"
    "Enough!" The king held up a manicured hand. "This talk of dreams, we like it not—and yet, this wine we like right well. 'Tis a matter for our council to consider." He turned to a slight, pasty-faced man with a large moist nose, who was dressed in powder-blue silk with ruffles at the throat.
    "Summon my councilors, we shall look into this affair. Mayhap the fellow has a simple explanation