Rhialto leisurely sauntered over to the IOUN stones. He could now take possession, but such an act would arouse a tremendous outcry and all would league themselves against him. A less provocative system was in order. He was startled by a soft sound from the corner of the room, when there should be no sound in still air.

  “Who moves?” called Rhialto.

  “I move,” came the soft voice of the ghost.

  “Time is at a standstill. You must not move, or speak, or watch, or know.”

  “Time, no-time—it is all one. I know each instant over and over.”

  Rhialto shrugged and turned to the urn. He brought out the chips. To his wonder each was indicted: “Ildefonse”.

  “Aha!” exclaimed Rhialto. “Some crafty rascal selected a previous instant for his mischief! Is it not always the case? At the end of this, he and I will know each other the better!” Rhialto rubbed out Ildefonse’s signs and substituted his own. Then he replaced all in the pot.

  Resuming his former position, he revoked the spell.

  Noise softly filled the room. The girl reached into the pot. She stirred the chips, brought forth one of them which she placed upon the table. Rhialto leaned over the chip, as did Ildefonse. It gave a small jerk. The sign quivered and changed before their eyes.

  Ildefonse lifted it and in a puzzled voice read: “Gilgad!”

  Rhialto glanced furiously at Gilgad, who gave back a bland stare. Gilgad had also halted time, but Gilgad had waited until the chip was actually upon the table.

  Ildefonse said in a muffled voice, “That is all. You may go.” The girl departed. Ildefonse poured the chips on the table. They were correctly indited; each bore the sign or the signature of one of the magicians present. Ildefonse pulled at his white beard. He said, “It seems that Gilgad has availed himself of the IOUN stones.,,

  Gilgad strode to the table. He emitted a terrible cry. “The stones! What has been done to them?” He held up the net, which now sagged under the weight of its contents. The brooding translucence was gone; the objects in the net shone with a vulgar vitreous glitter. Gilgad took one and dashed it to the floor, where it shattered into splinters. “These are not the IOUN stones! Knavery is afoot!”

  “Indeed!” declared Ildefonse. “So much is clear.”

  “I demand my stones!” raved Gilgad. “Give them to me at once or I loose a spell of anguish against all present!”

  “One moment,” growled Hurtiancz. “Delay your spell. Ildefonse, bring forth your ghost; learn what transpired.”

  Ildefonse gave his beard a dubious tug, then raised his finger toward the far comer. “Ghost! Are you at hand?”

  “I am.”

  “What occurred while we drew chips from the pot?”

  “There was motion. Some moved, some stayed. When the chip at last was laid on the table, a strange shape passed into the room. It took the stones and was gone.”

  “What manner of strange shape?”

  “It wore a skin of blue scales; black plumes rose from its head: still it carried a soul of man.”

  “Archveult!” muttered Hurtiancz. “I suspect Xexamedes!”

  Gilgad cried, “So then, what of my stones, my wonderful stones? How will I regain my property? Must I always be stripped of my valued possessions?”

  “Cease your keening!” snapped the diabolist Shrue. “The remaining items must be distributed. Ildefonse, be so good as to consult the lists.”

  Ildefonse took up the papers. “Since Gilgad won the first draw, his list will now be withdrawn. For second choice—”

  He was interrupted by Gilgad’s furious complaint. “I protest this intolerable injustice! I won nothing but a handful of glass gewgaws!”

  Ildefonse shrugged. “It is the robber archveult to whom you must complain, especially when the drawing was attended by certain temporal irregularities, to which I need make no further reference.”

  Gilgad raised his arms in the air; his saturnine face knotted to the surge and countersurge of his passions. His colleagues watched with dispassionate faces. “Proceed, Ildefonse,” said Vermoulian the Dream-walker.

  Ildefonse spread out the papers. “It appears that among the group only Rhialto, for second choice, has selected this curiously-shaped device, which appears to be one of Houlart’s Preterite Recordiums. I therefore make this award and place Rhialto’s list with Gilgad’s. Perdustin, Barbanikos, Ao of the Opals, and I myself have evinced a desire for this Casque of Sixty Directions, and we must therefore undertake a trial by lot… . The jar, four chips—”

  “On this occasion,” said Perdustin, “let the maid be brought here now. She will put her hand over the mouth of the pot; we will insert the chips between her fingers; thus we ensure against a disruption of the laws of chance.”

  Ildefonse pulled at his white whiskers, but Perdustin had his way. In this fashion all succeeding lots were drawn. Presently it became Rhialto’s turn to make a free choice.

  “Well then, Rhialto,” said Ildefonse. “What do you select?”

  Rhialto’s resentment boiled up in his throat. “As restitution for my seventeen exquisite bird-women, my ten-thousand-year-old way-post, I am supposed to be gratified with this packet of Stupefying Dust?”

  Ildefonse spoke soothingly. “Human interactions, stimulated as they are by disequilibrium, never achieve balance. In even the most favorable transaction, one party—whether he realizes it or not—must always come out the worse.”

  “The proposition is not unknown to me,” said Rhialto in a more reasonable voice. “However—”

  Zilifant uttered a sudden startled cry. “Look!” He pointed to the great mantelpiece; here, camouflaged by the carving, hung a linden leaf. With trembling fingers Ildefonse plucked it down. Silver characters read:

  MORREION LIVES A DREAM.

  NOTHING IS IMMINENT!

  “Ever more confusing,” muttered Hurtiancz. “Xexamedes persists in reassuring us that all is well with Morreion: an enigmatic exercise!”

  “It must be remembered,” the ever cautious Haze pointed out, “that Xexamedes, a renegade, is enemy to all.”

  Herark the Harbinger, held up a black-enameled fore-finger. “My habit is to make each problem declare its obverse. The first message, ‘NOTHING THREATENS MORREION’, becomes ‘SOMETHING DOES NOT THREATEN MORREION’; and again: ‘NOTHING DOES THREATEN MORREION’.”

  “Verbiage, prolixity!” grumbled the practical Hurtiancz.

  “Not so fast!” said Zilifant. “Herark is notoriously profound! ‘NOTHING’ might be intended as a delicate reference to death: a niceness of phrase, so to speak.”

  “Was Xexamedes famous for his exquisite good taste?” asked Hurtiancz with heavy sarcasm. “I think not. Like myself, when he meant ‘death’ he said ‘death’.”

  “My point exactly!” cried Herark. “I ask myself: what is this ‘Nothing’, which threatens Morreion? Shrue, what or where is ‘Nothing’?”

  Shrue hunched his thin shoulders. “It is not to be found among the demon-lands.”

  “Vermoulian, in your peregrine palace you have traveled far: where or what is ‘Nothing’?”

  Vermoulian the Dream-walker declared his perplexity. “I have never discovered such a place.”

  “Mune the Mage: what or where is Nothing?”

  “Somewhere,” reflected Mune the Mage, “I have seen a reference to ‘Nothing’, but I cannot recall the connection.”

  “The key word is ‘reference’,” stated Herark. “Ildefonse, be so good as to consult the Great Gloss.”

  Ildefonse selected a volume from a shelf, threw back the broad covers. “ ‘Nothing’. Various topical references. … A metaphysical description. … A place? ‘Nothing: the non-region beyond the end of the cosmos * ”

  Hurtiancz suggested, “For good measure, why not consult the entry ‘Morreion’?”

  Somewhat reluctantly Ildefonse found the reference. He read: “ ‘Morreion: A legendary hero of the 43rd Aeon, who vanquished the archveults and drove them aghast to Jangk. Thereupon they took him as far as the mind can reach, to the shining fields where they win their IOUN stones. His erstwhile comrades, who had vowed their protection, put him out of mind, and thereafter nought can be said.’ A biased and inaccurate statement, but interesting nonetheless.”

  Vermoulian the Dream-walker rose to his feet. “I have been planning an extended journey in my palace; this being the case I will take it upon myself to seek Morreion.”

  Gilgad gave a croak of fury and dismay. “You think to explore the ‘shining fields’! It is I who has earned that right, not you!”

  Vermoulian, a large man, sleek as a seal, with a pallid inscrutable face, declared: “My exclusive purpose is to rescue the hero Morreion; the IOUN stones to me are no more than an idle afterthought.”

  Ildefonse spoke: “Well said! But you will work more efficaciously with a very few trusted colleagues, perhaps myself alone.” “Precisely correct!” asserted Rhialto. “But a third person of proved resource is necessary in the event of danger. I also will share the hardships; otherwise I would think ill of myself.”

  Hurtiancz spoke with truculent fervor. “I never have been one to hold back! You may rely upon me.”

  “The presence of a Necrope is indispensable,” stated Byzant. “I must therefore accompany the group.”

  Vermoulian asserted his preference for traveling alone, but no one would listen. Vermoulian at last capitulated, with a peevish droop to his usually complacent countenance. “I leave at once. If any are not at the palace within the hour I will understand that they have changed their minds.”

  “Come, come!” chided Udefonse. “I need three and a half hours simply to instruct my staff! We require more time.”

  “The message declared: ‘NOTHING IS IMMINENT’,” said Vermoulian. “Haste is of the essence!”

  “We must take the word in its context,” said Udefonse. “Morreion has known his present condition several aeons; the word ‘imminent’ may well designate a period of five hundred years.” With poor grace Vermoulian agreed to delay his departure until the following morning.

  5

  The ancient sun sank behind the Scaum hills; thin black clouds hung across the maroon afterlight. Rhialto arrived at the outer portal to his domain. He gave a signal and waited confidently for Puiras to lift the boundary curse.

  The manse showed no responsive sign.

  Rhialto made another signal, stamping impatiently. From the nearby forest of sprawling kang trees came the moaning of a grue, arousing the hairs at the back of Rhialto’s neck. He flashed his finger-beams once more: where was Puiras? The white jade tiles of the roof loomed pale through the twilight. He saw no lights.

  From the forest the grue moaned again and in a plaintive voice called out for solace. Rhialto tested the boundary with a branch, to discover no curse, no protection whatever.

  Flinging down the branch, he strode to the manse. All seemed to be in order, though Puiras was nowhere to be found. If he had scoured the hall, the effort was not noticeable. Shaking his head in deprecation, Rhialto went to examine the way-post, which was being repaired by his Minuscules. The superintendent flew up on a mosquito to render his report; it seemed that Puiras had neglected to set out the evening victuals. Rhialto did so now and added half an ounce of jellied eel at his own expense.

  With a dram of Blue Ruin at his elbow, Rhialto examined the convoluted tubes of bronze which he had brought from the castle of Ildefonse: the so-called ‘Preterite Recordium’. He tried to trace the course of the tubes but they wound in and out in a most confusing fashion. He gingerly pressed one of the valves, to evoke a sibilant whispering from the horn. He touched another, and now he heard a far-off guttural song. The sound came not from the horn, but from the pathway, and a moment later Puiras lurched through the door. He turned a vacuous leer toward Rhialto and staggered off toward his quarters.

  Rhialto called sharply: “Puiras!”

  The servitor lurched about. “What then?”

  “You have taken too much to drink; in consequence you are drunk.”

  Puiras ventured a knowing smirk. “Your perspicacity is keen, your language is exact. I take no exception to either remark.” Rhialto said, “I have no place for an irresponsible or bibulous servant. You are hereby discharged.”

  “No, you don’t!” cried Puiras in a coarse voice, and emphasized the statement with a belch. “They told me I’d have a good post if I stole no more than old Funk and praised your noble airs. Well then! Tonight I stole only moderately, and from me the lack of insult is high praise. So there’s the good post and what’s a good post without a walk to the village?”

  “Puiras, you are dangerously intoxicated,” said Rhialto. “What a disgusting sight you are indeed!”

  “No compliments!” roared Puiras. “We can’t all be fine magicians with fancy clothes at the snap of a finger.”

  In outrage Rhialto rose to his feet. “Enough! Be off to your quarters before I inflict a torment upon you!”

  “That’s where 1 was going when you called me back,” replied Puiras sulkily.

  Rhialto conceived a further rejoinder to be beneath his dignity; Puiras stumbled away, muttering under his breath.

  6

  At rest upon the ground Vermoulian’s wonderful peregrine palace, together with its loggias, formal gardens and entrance pavilion, occupied an octagonal site some three acres in extent. The plan of the palace proper was that of a four-pointed star, with a crystal spire at each apex and a spire, somewhat taller, at the center, in which Vermoulian maintained his private chambers. A marble balustrade enclosed the forward pavilion. At the center a fountain raised a hundred jets of water; to either side grew lime trees with silver blossoms and silver fruit. The quadrangles to the right and left were laid out as formal gardens; the area at the rear was planted with herbs and salads for the palace kitchen.

  Vermoulian’s guests occupied suites in the wings; under the central spire were the various salons, the morning and afternoon rooms, the library, the music chamber, the formal dining room and the lounge.

  An hour after sunrise the magicians began to arrive, with Gilgad first on the scene and Ildefonse the last. Vermoulian, his nonchalance restored, greeted each magician with carefully measured affability. After inspecting their suites the magicians gathered in the grand salon. Vermoulian addressed the group. “It is my great pleasure to entertain so distinguished a company! Our goal: the rescue of the hero Morreion! All present are keen and dedicated —but do all understand that we must wander far regions?” Vermoulian turned his placid gaze from face to face. “Are all prepared for tedium, discomfort and danger? Such may well eventuate, and if any have doubts or if any pursue subsidiary goals, such as a search for IOUN stones, now is the time for these persons to return to their respective manses, castles, caves, and eyries. Are any so inclined? No? We depart.”

  Vermoulian bowed to his now uneasy guests. He mounted to the control belvedere where he cast a spell of buoyancy upon the palace; it rose to drift on the morning breeze like a pinnacled cloud. Vermoulian consulted his Celestial Almanac and made note of certain symbols; these he inscribed upon the carnelian mandate wheel, which he set into rotation; the signs were spun off into the interflux, to elucidate a route across the universe. Vermoulian fired a taper and held it to the speed-incense; the palace departed; ancient Earth and the waning sun were left behind.

  Beside the marble balustrade stood Rhialto. Udefonse came to join him; the two watched Earth dwindle to a rosy pink crescent. Ildefonse spoke in a melancholy voice: “When one undertakes a journey of this sort, where the event is unknown, long thoughts come of their own accord. I trust that you left your affairs in order?”

  “My household is not yet settled,” said Rhialto. “Puiras has proved unsatisfactory; when drunk he sings and performs grotesque capers; when sober he is as surly as a leech on a corpse. This morning I demoted him to Minuscule.”

  Ildefonse nodded absently. “I am troubled by what I fear to be cross-purposes among our colleagues, worthy fellows though they may be.”

  “You refer to the ‘shining fields’ of IOUN stones?” Rhialto put forward delicately.

  “I do. As Vermoulian categorically declared, we fare forth to the rescue of Morreion. The IOUN stones can only prove a distraction. Even if a supply were discovered, I suspect that the interests of all might best be served by a highly selective distribution, the venal Gilgad’s complaints notwithstanding.”

  “There is much to be said for this point of view,” Rhialto admitted. “It is just as well to have a prior understanding upon a matter so inherently controversial. Vermoulian of course must be allotted a share.”

  “This goes without saying.”

  At this moment Vermoulian descended to the pavilion where he was approached by Mune the Mage, Hurtiancz and others. Mune raised a question regarding their destination. “The question of ultimates becomes important. How, Vermoulian, can you know that this precise direction will take us to Morreion?”

  “A question well put,” said Vermoulian. “To respond, I must cite an intrinsic condition of the universe. We set forth in any direction which seems convenient; each leads to the same place: the end of the universe.”

  “Interesting!” declared Zilifant. “In this case, we must inevitably find Morreion: an encouraging prospect!”

  Gilgad was not completely satisfied. “What of the ‘shining fields’ in the reference? Where are these located?”

  “A matter of secondary or even tertiary concern,” Ildefonse reminded him. “We must think only of the hero Morreion.”

  “Your solicitude is late by several aeons,” said Gilgad waspishly. “Morreion may well have grown impatient.”

  “Other circumstances intervened,” said Ildefonse with a frown of annoyance. “Morreion will certainly understand the situation.” Zilifant remarked, “The conduct of Xexamedes becomes ever more puzzling! As a renegade archveult, he has no ostensible reason to oblige either Morreion, the archveults, or ourselves.”