“We were a cadre of comrades. Bishop Lovats was our commander; and our father too. He was the only father we knew. I was thirteen years old when the magic rose in me, to my considerable surprise. It was an even bigger surprise when Lovats revealed to me in private that he was actually my father.”

  “What?” “Flesh of his flesh: that was me.”

  “Was the man at the Royal Mint an invention?”

  “Oh no, he existed. The bishop had arranged the marriage-and the royal appointment. Lovats had already coined me in my mother’s womb, had Lovats. He stamped his die upon her virgin womb-flesh in an episode of passion and magic and scientific astrology. Joy entered into the event-he swore-but calculation too. You see, Lovats wanted to create a magic child of full soul. He wanted to see if we can determine our own destinies magically. If we can endow another human being deliberately with special magic.”

  “He succeeded royally! I’m so sorry, Sara.”

  “Sorry that he succeeded?”

  “Sorry that he died, you goose! Sorry that I came to Chorny meaning to murder him.”

  “Hmm. After he told me, I wondered whether any of the other orphans were also flesh of his flesh. Maybe so! Since they never showed magic talent, he never acknowledged them. Or maybe I had halfsisters or brothers in the city, whose parents hadn’t died of flu.. .His goal was to breed a ‘strange-piece’. Someone who could act in a different way from a pawn or a bishop, or a knight or a prince. A magical piece never seen before. Well, I was only a squire. I didn’t possess a medley of talents, though he persisted in trying to tease these out of me.”

  “Your mother couldn’t have been magical herself?”

  “Hardly! There’s only space in any kingdom for twelve people with full soul, isn’t there? My mother had to be a commoner-endowed with a decent slice of soul.”

  “Were there no female squires before you? Ones who died in the war? Lovats would have preferred to experiment with a magic woman, wouldn’t he?”

  “There weren’t any. As for Queen Babula, well.! Whore that she was with handsome young soldiers, the notion of a bishop in her bed would have offended her sense of propriety. I’ll rephrase that: a bishop would have been her equal, almost. Her casual lovers were just dildos, not personalities.”

  “Whore.” I hadn’t meant to repeat that word. When I met her, Sara had been a whore on Groody Lane. To change the subject I asked, “What’s a dildo?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No. Should I?”

  She giggled. “A dildo is an artificial erect penis, made of wood or stiff rubber or throbbing clockwork machinery. An impotent man might wear one. Or a woman who loved another woman. A man might want a woman to use one to penetrate him. That’s how Mastilo got his rocks off with his queen. King Mastilo liked to pretend to inflict pain. Submission to a dildo was the other side of that coin. It amused Babula to have her monarch crying out beneath her. That didn’t entirely satisfy her. Hence the young soldiers. Babula would quit the king’s bed and summon a private. A whore,” Sara added, “needs to know such things.”

  “Um,” I said.

  “How to satisfy men-often in odd ways. A whore is an actress.”

  “Were you an actress when we made love in Bellogard?”

  “At first. Not the second time. Don’t look so solemn, Pedino! Such things as dildos and men’s oddities matter less to women. The machinery of love matters less. Feelings matter, that’s what. The antics amuse us. I used to talk to the other ladies on Groody Lane.”

  “So nothing you did in Groody Lane counts. You’re telling me this in case I’m jealous?” (Was there a whine in my voice?)

  “I’m telling you so that you don’t feel the need to compete-or over-exert yourself fancifully. If so, you would be competing with the dead. Not very much did happen in Groody Lane, you know! I was only looking for big catches. By the way, what became of Meshko?”

  “Queen Isgalt had him locked up permanently, along with his painting set.”

  “She did? Or did you have him locked up? Don’t answer that!” Sara put her arm around me. “At this moment a kiss would make me rather happy.”

  I kissed her, deeply. She kissed me likewise.

  A wolf-whistle rudely disturbed us. Albertini was scrambling up the chalk slope, clutching a bucket. Night was falling, but even in the poor light I could see that the bucket had a fair-sized hole in the bottom.

  “Whatever’s that for?” I asked him “A tin hat?” “Carries stuff, don’ it? Lotsa stuff. What we’ll pick up beyond yer ladder!”

  Sara said, “You believe we’ll come back here, don’t you? We’ll only have time to grab a bucketful of. fresh oysters and a bottle of champagne; and a snake will swallow us.” Evidently she suspected what I had suspected. “Well, we shan’t come back. Throw your bucket away, Albertini. It might weigh you down. It might stop you climbing fast enough. Or is that bucket your anchor-to ensure that you fail, because you’re secretly scared of succeeding?”

  Albertini glared. He stamped petulantly. He swung the bucket. I thought he was going to clobber Sara with it but he sent the bucket flying away over the hill, to land with a clang and a clatter.

  Midnight or thereabouts. A gibbous moon glowed balefully. The patterns of the stars were strange. The slum was silent.

  Sara and I held the painted pane towards the moon, upside-down.

  “Come, Snake! Come!” she cried.

  We concentrated fiercely. I tried to arrange those alien stars in my mind into the spangles of a serpent’s hide, the points of its fangs, the beads of its eyes.

  Nothing happened for a while. Then I heard a sighing which became a hissing. Albertini performed a stifled dance of excitement, raising one leg high then the other in the style of a urinating dog. Perhaps he was limbering up for the climb.

  A shadow hid stars. A shape loomed in the sky. A head rushed down towards our little hill. A mouth gaped-and spewed a torrent of all sorts of “stuff”. Rotten apples, artichokes, dead fish, bundles of rags, turkey carcasses, calves’ heads, sheets of cardboard: these tumbled, bounced, avalanched down the chalky slope to form a second hill alongside.

  “We’s rich!” Albertini dodged and snatched. He snared half a cucumber. Sara snatched this from him and threw it away.

  The heavy rain subsided. The snake’s mouth yawned over us emptily. Then the creature rushed away, vanished.

  “Wait! Wait!” cried Sara. At the snake? Oh no, at Albertini. She was clutching his rag of a collar. He was trying to tear free to launch himself upon the adjoining hillock of rotten riches.

  As though the moon had settled upon the earth, bright light bathed us. Glowing slopes and side-rails of a ladder sprang up from the tip of our hill.

  Sara picked Albertini up bodily and jammed him on to the ladder.“Up! Up!” She followed, punching and jabbing at his heels. I climbed immediately behind.

  “My dears, nobody-but nobody-has yet attained the final square, the happy isle of paradise. If any social climber ever arrives there, why, that’s the end of the world for the also-rans! All the squares will roll over and shake their denizens loose into the abyss. Finis! Save, no doubt, for the lucky winner who will enjoy bliss for evermore. Hence the incentive. Fortunately I hear that the last square is absolutely ringed by hungry snakes.”

  The speaker was a corpulent, scented merchant, a purveyor of gourmet foods from whose shop Albertini had tried to filch a cheese to feed us. The merchant might have been fat but he was fast. He had seized Albertini. Sara had intervened and introduced us. Upshot: the merchant, Mendrix by name, had escorted the three of us to a restaurant which he owned, where he stood us a slap-up meal in a private room in exchange for our stories.

  The room was beautifully panelled with many kinds of mock marble, jigsawed marquetry-style.

  Tangled up by Mendrix’s acute questions I soon foolishly alluded to our magic glass. Sara kicked me on the shin under cover of the tablecloth. More questions followed. She had no choice but to show the glass to Mendrix, though she kept tight hold of it.

  Mendrix excused himself. On his return, before he closed the door, I spotted a couple of hulking kitchen staff loitering outside. It was soon evident that Mendrix wished to buy the glass from me. (“Handsomely! Ample recompense!”)

  Albertini’s face turned sallow, almost green. Had he too noticed those doughty “bouncers”, who could easily shake the glass from our grasp? No, his stomach was rebelling. He had stuffed himself with quails’ eggs in spiced cream, venison steak topped with cranberries, asparagus, avocado loaded with lobster in mayonnaise. The boy slid from his chair, reeled to a corner of the room, and vomited convulsively. He stood stamping (though not in the vomit), furious with himself, angrier at losing the food than at his poor table manners.

  “Not to worry, loves. Boston!” Mendrix called loudly. One of the hulks burst into the room.

  Mendrix gestured at the corner. “Alas, the cat has been sick. Do please clear up.”

  Boston fetched brush and pan, bucket and mop, and obliged; retreated outside again.

  Mendrix beamed at Albertini. “Do rejoin us. Try some buttered spinach. Blander! Must fill up those cracks, mustn’t we?” He only wrinkled his nostrils somewhat as the boy reclaimed his seat.

  We were in the heart of a large and prosperous city. The second-floor window of the room looked out on a fine thoroughfare. Buildings were of clean white brick, pink stone, glazed tiles. Street attire was elegant: flounced skirts, bolero jackets, brocade hats with feathers for the ladies, well-tailored tweed suits, silk shirts, and cravats for the men. Our ladder had taken us a long way up in the social scale. Unfortunately we had no apparel to match; we resembled the contents of dustbins.

  “Who would want to leave here?” asked Sara, nodding at the window and the world outside. “Can there be a better place?”

  “There can indeed,” replied Mendrix. “A demesne of fine estates, stately homes, and faery castles.

  Utter aristocratic elegance! Sheer sensual freedom. Frivolous quests for that last brief ladder which flees like a rainbow from the seeker, impossible to attain, totally impossible, my sweets! I find this place somewhat bourgeois for my taste. Now, about the magic glass.”

  Albertini jerked a thumb at Sara and me. “Only works for them two. Can’t run off yerself an’ use it.”

  “Who knows, maybe it only works for the delightful Sara?” Mendrix patted her on the knee. “And for whoever accompanies her.” An acute observation.

  Conscious of his error, Albertini growled in annoyance.

  “When we reach the demesne,” Mendrix continued, “we should of course smash the glass, don’t you think? Do take another caviar vol-au-vent!”

  “Smash it?” I asked.

  “Oh yes. The demesne is only one step short of the happy isle. We wouldn’t wish some fool to purloin the glass and actually reach the isle! What, wreck everything?”

  Sara said, “Why do you want to buy the glass, if we’re all going to climb together?”

  Mendrix shrugged amiably. “Who knows what weight a ladder will bear? Someone may be left behind. They’ll need resources. I would hate anyone to feel hard done by. To have to thieve cheeses.”

  “Yon slobs outside might want a go if they find out,” said Albertini.

  “Oh my boys know their proper place.”

  “Look, yer okay ’ere. Well stacked. Minute yer got there, snake might snatch yer. Whee! Be in wor old stinkin’ slum.”

  “A calculated risk, I’d say. I never attracted the attention of snakes before.”

  “Mix wiv magic, an’ yer will.”

  “Maybe we should keep the glass for a while.. .as a precaution. Try some halva, Sara. It’s too palateteasing.”

  Just then, we heard a hubbub rising from the street. Albertini scuttled to the window. We followed.

  People were hastening this way and that. Cries, alarm, excitement! A great snake was swooping slowly down between the rooftops. Descending low, it snatched at a fleeing couple, sucked them into its mouth.

  “Poor dears,” sighed Mendrix. “For their sake let’s hope it’s only a short snake.”

  The snake had departed. Down below people were staring expectantly hither and yon.

  A flash of light! A ladder rearing from the street! Before anyone could reach the spot, that shining route upward vanished.

  “Ga! Tha’ wuz quick!”

  “The closer you are to paradise, the slimmer your chance,” Mendrix commented.

  “Yer’ll need a jumbo one.”

  “Which I shall have. Shan’t I?”

  “I’m going to have to stick my knife in him,” muttered Sara. Mendrix was by the open door, whispering to his burly employees.

  “Lotsa blubber. Could cushion ‘im.”

  “I don’t want to do that.”

  “Want to do what, my dear?” asked Mendrix, returning.

  “Eat any more, thank you.”

  “Good. We shall now undertake a short journey.”

  “To yer home. Grab yer strong-box?”

  “Dear boy, I am my own strong-box.” Mendrix patted his girth. “When a snake might snatch a person from the street, only an idiot would fail to carry at least some of his wealth in portable gems. No, we shall visit the Predmest Gardens. Lots of wide open space. Do let me have the glass for safe-keeping.” He slapped himself. “Well padded against shocks, eh?” He burrowed in an inner pocket, took out a small leather bag, unpopped a metal clasp. His plump fingers drew out a large diamond of the first water; two, three.

  “For you, boy.” Albertini snatched the sparkler.

  “Yours, Pedino.” When I frowned, Mendrix gave my jewel to the boy.

  “And yours, my precious.”

  Sara shook her head. “I’m not selling.” The third jewel also ended up in Albertini’s clutches.

  Mendrix stuck out his empty hand. “For security’s sake. Come, come! Those lumps of ice have been accepted in all good faith on your behalf by tiny Teeny here.”

  “Whadya mean!” Insensate, Albertini threw himself at Mendrix, impacting on his upper slopes, clawing, gouging, kicking.

  Mendrix staggered, ripped the boy loose, and tried to hurl him at-and through-the window. Albertini clung round the man’s arm like several infuriated tomcats. A moment later Sara was at Mendrix’s throat, holding her blade close against his windpipe.

  “Freeze! Don’t call out!”

  Albertini scrambled acrobatically up to Mendrix’s shoulders. He swiftly recovered his wits.

  “Gimme knife, Sara. Me hold.”

  Sara passed the knife just as Boston and companion erupted through the door to investigate the commotion. Mendrix emitted a gurgling bleat. “Staaay awaaay!” Both beefy bouncers obeyed, gaping at the knife-wielding monkey riding their master.

  “Merely a minor impasse,” mumbled Mendrix.

  “Quiet!” Sara went to the window, threw it open. “Over here, lard-tub.” She produced the painted pane, beckoned me urgently. Together we held the glass up at the sky.

  “Come, Snake! Come, ladder! Come to me!”

  “Ooooh,” moaned Mendrix in excitement, frustration, apprehension.

  To the amazement of pedestrians a second snake homed in on the thoroughfare-and disgorged a gorgeously costumed fellow, upon his butt. He wore a short diamante cape and fluted lace ruff, velvet breeches tucked into bucket-top boots. No doubt he was some princeling or baronet from the demesne. His broad-brim hat with sweeping plumes had fallen off. Clapping this back on his head, the dandy scrambled up, cursing and raving as the snake sped away.

  Our window-ledge was bathed in light. A ladder rose up towards the rooftop. Sara gestured me out, and on to the ladder. I managed the transfer with only one dire moment of vertigo. She followed me.

  I glanced back, to see Albertini emerge and climb, knife clamped between his teeth. Seconds later, Mendrix was wallowing half-way out of the window. He gripped a glowing spoke. He hauled.

  The three of us found ourselves in a palisaded park. Fallow deer scampered in flight. A stag snorted, pawed, dipped the shovels of its antlers before turning bobtail.

  Mendrix hadn’t followed us through. He must still be sprawled across that window-ledge-unless he had tumbled into the street.

  Well-spaced oak trees shadowed the pasture. A hall of sandstone, broad leaded windows, and many curiously spiralling black chimneys fronted the green across a gravel drive. Letters of carved stone as tall as a man stood up all around the cornice, spelling out this motto: NOBILITY IS A GRACEFUL ORNAMENT.

  Three lean black hounds on a triple leash tugged a man in livery along. Several horse-drawn carriages stood attended by swanky grooms. A lady and gentleman paraded under parasols, arm in arm.

  I said to Sara, “You must have othermagic! You couldn’t use it while you were in Chorny, that’s all. It had no place there. But now.”

  She flashed a grin. “I’ll tell you one thing I certainly don’t have, and haven’t had ever since we landed in the dump.”

  “Headaches? You’re cured?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Ahh”

  “We bin noticed.”

  A stately figure of a fellow was approaching at leisurely pace through the trees, surrounded by a feather-brained entourage of maids and pages, to whom he indicated us with an ormolu cane. He was clad much like the unfortunate whom the snake had dumped, though this grandee was older and silvery-haired.

  “Holy Kerist! We’s in clover. Well, a’ll be a king.” Albertini capered.

  “Hoy there! Raggy parsons, I say!”

  Our two parties converged.

  With a wink to me, Sara curtsied to the eminence. “Please excuse our trespass, sir! May we present ourselves? Here is Sir Pedino of Bellogard. I’m the Lady Sara of Chorny.”

  “Indeed? Delighted. At least you’re well-spoken. Where might those places be? Somewhere in the lower strata, I presume. No matter. Fate may snatch anyone upward, or lay them low. I expect this is your son?”