structure. Jon-Tom swore it sounded like an exploding shell
For an awful moment he thought it was the result of Eejakrat'a
unknown magic and that the Plated Folk had learned the ust
of gunpowder. His companions, however, assured him it wa?
only a distant rumble of thunder.
Buildings rose still higher around them. They were matched
by roads that widened to accommodate the increased traffic
Weaving ribbons of densely populated concrete and rock rose
six and seven stories above the streets, hives of frenetii
activity devoted now to destruction and death.
Sleep was in snatches and seconds that night. Clothahump
woke them to a soggy sunrise.
Ahead in the morning mist-light lay a great open square-
paved with triangular slabs of gray, black, purple, and blu"
stone. Across this expansive parade ground, populated nov
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THE BOVR OF THE GATE
only by early risers, rose a circular pyramid. It consisted of
concentric ring shapes like enormous tires. These tapered to a
smooth spire hundreds of feet high that pierced the mist like a
gray needle.
Half a dozen smaller copies of the central structure ringed
it at points equidistant from one another. There was no wall
around any of them, nor for that matter around the main
square itself.
Despite this the driver refused to go any further. His
determination was so strong even Clothahump's hypnotic
urgings failed to force him and his wagon onto the triangular
paving.
"I have no permit," he said raspily, "to enter the palace
grounds. It would be my death to be found on the sacred
square without one."
"This is where we walk again, my friends. Perhaps it is
best. I see only one or two wagons on the square. We do not
want to attract attention."
Mudge let himself over the back of the wagon. "Cor, ain't
that the bloody ugliest buildin' you ever saw in your life?"
They abandoned the wagon. Clothahump was last off. He
whispered a few words to the driver. The beetle moved the
reins and the wagon swung around to vanish up the street
down which they'd come. Jon-Tom wondered at the excuse
the unfortunate driver would offer when he suddenly returned
to full consciousness at his delivery point after nearly a week
of amnesia.
"It seems we need a permit to cross," said Caz appraisingly.
"How do we go about obtaining one?"
Clothahump sounded disapproving. "We need no permit. I
have been observing the pedestrians traversing the square,
and none has been stopped or questioned. It seems that the
threat is sufficient to secure the palace's exclusiveness. The
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Alan Dean Foster
permit may be required within, but it does not seem vital for
walking the square."
"I hope you're right, sir." The rabbit stepped out onto the
paving, a gangling, thoroughly insectoid shape. Together they
moved at an easy pace toward the massive pyramidal palace.
As Clothahump had surmised, they were not accosted. If
anything, they found the square larger than it first appeared,
like a lake that looks small until one is swimming in its
center.
From this central nexus the spokes of Cugluch radiated
outward toward farmland and swamp. The city was far larger
than Polastrindu, especially when one considered that much
of it was hidden underground.
Thick mist clung to the crests of the seven towers and
completely obscured the central one. Nowhere did they see a
flag, a banner, any splash of color or gaiety. It was a somber
capital, dedicated to a somber purpose.
And the massive palace was especially dark and forebod-
ing. Here at least Jen-Tom had expected some hint of bright-
ness. Militaristic cultures were historically fond of pomp and
flash. The palace of the Empress, however, was as dull as the
warrens of the citizen-workers. Different in design but not
demeanor, he decided.
The lowest level of the circular pyramid was several stories
high. It was fashioned, as the entire palace complex no doubt
was, of close-fitting stone mortared over with a gray cement
gutters and drains lining the base. There was a minimum of
windows.
The triangular paving of the square ceased some fifteen
yards from the base of the palace. In its place was a smooth
surface of black cement. That was all; no fence, no hidden
alarms, no hedgerows or ditches. But on that black fifteen
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THE HOUR Or THE GATE
yards, which encircled the entire palace, nothing moved save
the stiffly pacing guards.
They formed a solid ring, ten yards from the palace wall,
five yards apart. They marched in slow tread from left to
right, keeping the same distance between them like so many
wind-up toys. As near as Jon-Tom could tell they ringed the
entire palace, a moving chain of guards that never stopped.
At Clothahump's urging they turned southward. The guards
never looked in their direction, though Jon-Tom was willing
to wager that if so much as a foot touched that black cement,
the trespasser would suddenly find himself the object of
considerable hostile attention.
Eventually they stood opposite an arched triangular portal cut
from the flank of the palace. The entryway was three stories
high. At present its massive iron gates were thrown wide. A
line of armed beetles extended from either open gate out
across the cement to the edge of the paving. The unbroken
ring of encircling guards passed through this intercepting line
with precision. The moving guards never touched any of the
stationary ones.
"Now wot, guv'nor?" Mudge whispered to the wizard.
"Do we just walk up t' the nearest bugger an' ask 'im
polite-like if the Empress be at 'ome an' might we 'ave 'is
leave t' skip on in t' see the old dear?"
"I have no desire to see her," Clothahump replied. "It is
Eejakrat we are after. Rules survive by relying on the brains
of their advisors. Remove Eejakrat, or at least his magic, and
we leave the Empress without the most important part of her
collective mind."
He gazed thoughtfully at Caz. "You have laid claim to a
working knowledge of diplomacy, my boy, and have shown an
aptitude for such in the past. I am reluctant to perform a spell
among so many onlookers and so near to Eejakrat's influence.
I've no doubt he has placed alarm spells all about the palace.
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They would react to my magicking, but not to your words.
We must get inside. I suggest you employ your talent for
extemporaneous and convincing conversation."
"I don't know, sir," replied the rabbit uncertainly. "It's
easy to convince people you're familiar with. I don't know
how to talk to these."
"Nonsense. You did well with that curious woodcutt
er
whom we encountered during our descent. If anything, the
minds you are about to deal with are simpler than those you
are more familiar with. Consider their society, which rewards
conformity while condemning individuality."
"If you want me to, sir, I'll give it a try."
"Good. The rest of you form behind us. Pog, you stay
airborne and warn us if there is sudden movement from armed
troops in our direction."
"What does it matter?" said the sorrowful bat from inside
his disguise. "We'll all be dead inside an hour anyway." But
he spiraled higher and did as he was told, keeping a watchful
eye on the guards and any group of pedestrians who came
near.
Following Caz and Clothahump, me travelers made their
way toward the entrance. There was an anxious moment
when they stepped from paving to cement, but no one
challenged them. The guards flanking the approach kept their
attention on a point a few inches in front of their mandibles.
Then it was through the encircling ring, which likewise did
not react. They were a couple of yards from the entrance.
Jon-Tom had the wild notion that they might simply be able
to march on into the palace when a massive beetle slightly
taller but much broader than Caz lumbered out of the shadows
to confront them. He was flanked by a pair of pale, three-
foot-high attendants of the mutated mayfly persuasion. One of
them carried a large scroll and a marking instrument. The
other simply stood and listened.
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THE HOUR Or THE GATE
"State your business, citizens," demanded the glowering
hulk in the middle. He reminded Jon-Tom of a gladiator ready
to enter the arena, and pity be on the lions. The extra set of
arms ruined the illusion.
With the facility of an established survivor, Caz replied
without hesitation. "Hail, citizen! We have special, urgently
requested information for the sorcerer Eejakrat, information
that is vital to our coming success." Not knowing how to
properly conclude the request he added blandly, "Where can
we find him?"
Their interrogator did not reply immediately. Jon-Tom
wondered if his nervousness showed.
After a brief conversation with the burdenless mayfly the
beetle gestured backward with two hands. "Third level,
Chamber Three Fifty-Five and adjuncts."
Politely, he stepped aside.
Caz led them in. They walked down a short hallway. It
opened into a hall that seemed to run parallel to the circular
shape of the building. Another, similar hall could be seen
further ahead. Evidently there was a single point from which
the palace and thence the entire city of Cugluch radiated in
concentric circles, with hallways or streets forming intersecting
spokes.
Jon-Tom leaned over and whispered to Clothahump. "I
don't know how you feel, sir, but to me that was much too
easy."
"Why shouldn't it have been?" said Talea, feeling cocky
at their success thus far. "It was just like crossing the square
outside."
"Precisely, my dear," said Clothahump proudly. "Yousee,
Jon-Tom, they are so well ordered they cannot imagine
anyone stepping out of class or position. They cannot conceive,
as that threatening individual who confronted us outside
cannot, that any of their fellows would have the presumption
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Alan Dean Foster
to lie to gain an audience with so feared a personality as
Eejakrat. If we did not deserve such a meeting, we would not
be asking for it.
"Furthermore, spies are unknown in Cugluch. They have
no reason to suspect any, and traitorous actions are as alien to
the Plated Folk as snow. This may be possible after all, my
friends. We need only maintain the pretext that we know what
we are doing and have a right to be doing it."
"I'd imagine," said Caz, "that if the spoke-and-circle
layout of the city and palace is followed throughout, the
center would be the best place to locate stairways. Third
level, the fellow said."
"I agree," Clothahump replied, "but we do not wish to
find Eejakrat except as a last resort, remember. It is the dead
mind he controls that must remain our primary goal."
"That's simple enough, then," said Mudge cheerfully.
"All we 'ave t' do now is ask where t' find a particularly
well-attended corpse."
"For once, my fuzzy fuzz-brained friend, you are correct.
It will likely be placed close by Eejakrat's chambers. Let us
proceed quickly to the level indicated, but not to him."
They did so. By now they were used to being ignored by
the Plated Folk. Busy palace staff moved silently around
them, intent on their own tasks. The narrow hallways and low
ceilings combined with the slightly acidic odor of the inhabit-
ants made Jon-Tom and Flor feel a little claustrophobic.
They reached the third level and began to follow the
numbers engraved above each sealed portal. Only four cham-
bers from the stairway they'd ascended was a surprise: the
corridor was blocked. Also guarded.
Instead of Ihe lumbering beetle they'd encountered at me
entrance to the palace they found a slim, almost effeminate-
looking insect seated behind a desk. Other armed Plated Folk
stood before the temporary barrier sealing off the hall beyond.
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THE HOUR Or THE GATS
Unlike their drilling brothers marching single-mindedly out-
side, these guards seemed alert and active. They regarded the
new arrivals with unconcealed interest. There was no suspi-
cion in their unyielding faces, however. Only curiosity.
It was Clothahump who spoke to the individual behind the
desk, and not Caz.
"We have come to make adjustments to the mind," he told
the individual behind the desk, hoping he had gauged the
source correctly and hadn't said anything fatally contradictory.
The fixed-faced officer preened one red eye. He could not
frown but succeeded in conveying an impression of puzzle-
ment nonetheless.
"An adjustment to the mind?"
"To Eejakrat's Materialization."
"Ah, of course, citizen. But what kind of adjustment?" He
peered hard at the encased wizard. "Who are you, to be
entrusted with access to so secret a thing?"
Clothahump was growing worried. The more questions
asked, the more the chance of saying something dangerously
out of sync with the facts.
"We are Eejakrat's own special assistants. How else could
we know of the mind?"
"That is sensible," agreed the officer. "Yet no mention
was made to me of any forthcoming adjustments."
"I have just mentioned it to you."
The officer turned that one over in his mind, got thoroughly
confused, and finally said, "I am sorry for the delay, citizen.
I mean no insult by my questions, but we are under extraor-
dinary orders. Your master's fears are well known."
Clot
hahump leaned close, spoke confidentially. "An attri-
bute of all who must daily deal with dark forces."
The officer nodded somberly. "I am glad it is you who
must deal with the wizard and not myself." He waved aside
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the guards blocking the doorway in the portable barrier.
"Stand aside and let them pass."
Caz and Talea were the first through the portal when the
officer suddenly put out an arm and touched Clothahump.
"Surely you can satisfy the curiosity of a fellow citizen.
What kind of 'adjustment* must you make to the mind? We
all understand so little about it and you can sympathize with
my desire to know."
"Of course, of course." Clothahump's mind was working
frantically. How much did the officer actually know? He'd
just confessed his ignorance, but mightn't it be a ploy? Better
to say anything fast than nothing at all. His only real worry
was that the officer might have some sorceral training.
"Please do not repeat this," he finally said, with as much
assurance as he could muster. "It is necessary to apfrangle
the overscan."
"Naturally," said the officer after a pause.
"And we may," the wizard added for good measure,
"additionally have to lower the level of cratastone, just in
case."
"I can understand the necessity for that." The officer
grandly waved them through, enjoying the looks of respect on
the faces of his subordinates while praying this visitor wouldn't
ask him any questions in return.
They proceeded through the portal one by one. Jon-Tom
was last through and hesitated. The officer seemed willing
enough.
"It's still in the same chamber, of course."
"Number Twelve, yes," said the officer blandly.
Clothahump fell back to match stride with Jon-Tom. "That
was clever of you, my boy! I was so preoccupied with trying
to get us in that I'd forgotten how difficult it would be to
sense past Eejakrat's spell guards. Now that is no longer a
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constraint. You cannot teach deviousness," he finished pridefiuly.
"That is instinctive."
"Thank you, sir. I think. What kind of corpse do you think
it is?"
"I cannot imagine. I cannot imagine a dead brain functioning,
either. We shall know soon enough." He was deciphering the
symbols engraved above each circular doorway. The guarded
barrier had long since disappeared around the continuous