Up it was, as by will alone she conquered the vestige of light that still glowed.

  With pleasure I surveyed her naked form against the darkness. I could see her clearly, for a Watcher’s eyes are keen. She was five times her own height in the air, now, and her wings spread to their full expanse, so that the towers of Roum were in partial eclipse for me. She waved. I threw her a kiss and offered words of love. Watchers do not marry, nor do they engender children, but Avluela was as a daughter to me, and I took pride in her flight. We had traveled together a year, now, since we had come together in Agupt, and it was as though I had known her all my long life. From her I drew a renewal of strength. I do not know what it was she drew from me. Security? Knowledge? A continuity with the days before her birth? I hoped only that she loved me as I loved her.

  Now she was far aloft. She wheeled, soared, dived, pirouetted, danced. Her long black hair streamed from her scalp. Her body seemed only an incidental appendage to those two great wings, which glistened and throbbed and gleamed in the night. Up she rose, glorying in her freedom from gravity, making me feel all the more leadenfooted, and like some slender rocket she shot abruptly away in the direction of Roum. I saw the soles of her feet, the tips of her wings; then I saw her no more.

  I sighed. I thrust my hands into the pits of my arms to keep them warm. How is it that I felt a winter chill and the girl Avluela could soar joyously bare through the sky?

  It was now the twelfth of the twenty hours, and time once again for me to do the Watching. I went to the cart, opened my cases, prepared the instruments. Some of the dial-covers were yellowed and faded; the indicator needles had lost their luminous coating; sea-stains defaced the instrument housings, a relic of the time that pirates had assailed me in Earth Ocean. The worn and cracked levers and nodes responded easily to my touch as I entered the preliminaries. First one prays for a pure and perceptive mind; then one creates the affinity with one’s instruments; then one does the actual Watching, searching the starry heavens for the enemies of man. Such is my skill and my craft. I grasped handles and knobs, thrust things from my mind, prepared myself to become an extension of my cabinet of devices.

  I was only just past my threshold and into the first phase of Watchfulness when a deep and resonant voice said behind me, “Well, Watcher, how goes it?”

  * * *

  TWO

  I sagged against the cart. There is a physical pain in being wrenched so unexpectedly from one’s work. For a moment I felt claws clutching at my heart. My face grew hot; my eyes would not focus; the saliva drained from my throat. As soon as I could, I took the proper protective measures to ease the metabolic drain and severed myself from my instruments. Hiding my trembling as much as possible, I turned around.

  Gormon, the other member of our little band, had appeared and stood jauntily beside me, grinning, amused at my distress. I could not feel angry with him. One does not show anger at a guildless person no matter what the provocation.

  Tightly, with effort, I said, “Did you spend your time rewardingly?”

  “Very. Where’s Avluela?”

  I pointed heavenward. Gormon nodded.

  “What have you found?” I asked.

  “That this city is definitely Roum.”

  “There never was doubt of that.”

  “For me there was. But now I have proof.”

  “Yes?”

  “In the overpocket. Look!”

  From his tunic he drew his overpocket, set it on the pavement beside me, and expanded it so that he could insert his hand in its mouth. Grunting a little, he began to pull something heavy from the pouch, something heavy, of white stone, a long marble column, I now saw, fluted, pocked with age.

  “From a temple of Imperial Roum!” Gormon exulted.

  “You shouldn’t have taken that.”

  ‘Wait!“ he cried, and reached into the overpocket once more. He took from it a handful of circular metal plaques and scattered them jingling at my feet. ”Coins! Money! Look at them, Watcher! The faces of the Caesars!“

  “Of whom?”

  “The ancient rulers. Don’t you know your history of past cycles?”

  I peered at him curiously. “You claim to have no guild, Gormon. Could it be you are a Rememberer and are concealing it from me?”

  “Look at my face, Watcher. Could I belong to any guild? Would a Changeling be taken?”

  “True enough,” I said, eyeing the golden hue of him, the thick waxen skin, the red-pupiled eyes, the jagged mouth. Gormon had been weaned on teratogenetic drugs. He was a monster—handsome in his way, but a monster nevertheless, a Changeling, outside the laws and customs of man as they are practiced in the Third Cycle of civilization. And there is no guild of Changelings.

  “There’s more,” Gormon said. The overpocket was infinitely capacious; the contents of a world, if need be, could be stuffed in its shriveled gray maw, and still it would be no larger than a man’s hand. Gormon took from it bits of machinery, reading spools, an angular thing of brown metal that might have been an ancient tool, three squares of shining glass, five slips of paper—paper!—and a host of other relics of antiquity. “See?” he said. “A fruitful stroll, Watcher! And not just random booty. Everything recorded, everything labeled, stratum, estimated age, position when in situ. Here we have ten thousand years of Roum.”

  “Should you have taken these things?” I asked doubtfully.

  “Why not? Who is to miss them? Who of this cycle cares for the past?”

  “The Rememberers.”

  “They don’t need solid objects to help them do their work.”

  “Why do you want these things, though?”

  “The past interests me, Watcher. In my guildless way I have my scholarly pursuits. Is that wrong? May not even a monstrosity seek knowledge?”

  “Certainly, certainly. Seek what you wish. Fulfill yourself in your own way. This if Roum. At dawn we enter. I hope to find employment here.”

  “You may have difficulties.”

  “How so?”

  “There are many Watchers already in Roum, no doubt. There will be little need for your services.”

  “I’ll seek the favor of the Prince of Roum,” I said.

  “The Prince of Roum is a hard and cold and cruel man.”

  “You know of him?”

  Gormon shrugged. “Somewhat.” He began to stuff his artifacts back in the overpocket. “Take your chances with him, Watcher. What other choice do you have?”

  “None,” I said, and Gormon laughed, and I did not.

  He busied himself with his ransacked loot of the past. I found myself deeply depressed by his words. He seemed so sure of himself in an uncertain world, this guildless one, this mutated monster, this man of inhuman look. How could he be so cool, so casual? He lived without concern for calamity and mocked those who admitted to fear. Gormon had been traveling with us for nine days, now, since we had met him in the ancient city beneath the volcano, to the south by the edge of the sea. I had not suggested that he join us. He had invited himself along, and at Avluela’s bidding I accepted. The roads are dark and cold at this time of year, and dangerous beasts of many species abound, and an old man journeying with a girl might well consider taking with him a brawny one like Gormon. Yet there were times I wished he had not come with us, and this was one.

  Slowly I walked back to my equipment.

  Gormon said, as though first realizing it, “Did I interrupt you at your Watching?”

  I said mildly, “You did.”

  “Sorry. Go and start again. I’ll leave you in peace.” And he gave me his dazzling lopsided smile, so full of charm that it took the curse off the easy arrogance of his words.

  I touched the knobs, made contact with the nodes, monitored the dials. But I did not enter Watchfulness, for I remained aware of Gormon’s presence and fearful that he would break into my concentration once again at a painful moment, despite his promise. At length I looked away from the apparatus. Gormon stood at the far side of the road, craning his neck for some sight of Avluela. The moment I turned to him he became aware of me.

  “Something wrong, Watcher?”

  “No. The moment’s not propitious for my work. I’ll wait.”

  “Tell me,” he said. “When Earth’s enemies really do come from the stars, will your machines let you know it?”

  “I trust they will.”

  “And then?”

  “Then I notify the Defenders.”

  “After which your life’s work is over?”

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “Why a whole guild of you, though? Why not one master center where the Watch is kept? Why a bunch of itinerant Watchers drifting endlessly from place to place?”

  “The more vectors of detection,” I said, “the greater the chance of early awareness of the invasion.”

  “Then an individual Watcher might well turn his machines on and not see anything, with an invader already here.”

  “It could happen. Therefore we practice redundancy.”

  “You carry it to an extreme, I sometimes think.” Gormon laughed. “Do you actually believe an invasion is coming?”

  “I do,” I said stiffly. “Else my life was a waste.”

  “And why should the star people want Earth? What do we have here besides the remnants of old empires? What would they do with miserable Roum? With Perris? With Jorslem? Rotting cities! Idiot princes! Come, Watcher, admit it: the invasion’s a myth, and you go through meaningless motions three times a day. Eh?”

  “It is my craft and my science to Watch. It is yours to jeer. Each of us to our specialty, Gormon.”

  “Forgive me,” he said with mock humility. “Go, then, and Watch.”

  “I shall.”

  Angrily I turned back to my cabinet of instruments, determined now to ignore any interruption, no matter how brutal. The stars were out; I gazed at the glowing constellations, and automatically my mind registered the many worlds. Let us Watch, I thought. Let us keep our vigil despite the mockers.

  I entered the state of full Watchfulness.

  I clung to the grips and permitted the surge of power to rash through me. I cast my mind to the heavens and searched for hostile entities. What ecstasy! What incredible splendor! I who had never left this small planet roved the black spaces of the void, glided from star to burning star, saw the planets spinning like tops. Faces stared back at me as I journeyed, some without eyes, some with many eyes, all the complexity of the many-peopled galaxy accessible to me. I spied out possible concentrations of inimical force. I inspected drilling-grounds and military encampments. I sought, as I had sought four times daily for all my adult life, for the invaders who had been promised us, the conquerors who at the end of days were destined to seize our tattered world.

  I found nothing, and when I came up from my trance, sweaty and drained, I saw Avluela descending.

  Feather-light she landed. Gormon called to her, and she ran, bare, her little breasts quivering, and he enfolded her smallness in his powerful arms, and they embraced, not passionately but joyously. When he released her she turned to me.

  “Roum,” she gasped. “Roum!”

  “You saw it?”

  “Everything! Thousands of people! Lights! Boulevards! A market! Broken buildings many cycles old! Oh, Watcher, how wonderful Roum is!”

  “Your flight was a good one, then,” I said.

  “A miracle!”

  “Tomorrow we go to dwell in Roum.”

  “No, Watcher, tonight, tonight!” She was girlishly eager, her face bright with excitement. “It’s just a short journey more! Look, it’s just over there!”

  “We should rest first,” I said. “We do not want to arrive weary in Roum.”

  “We can rest when we get there,” Avluela answered. “Come! Pack everything! You’ve done your Watching, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “Then let’s go. To Roum! To Roum!”

  I looked in appeal at Gormon. Night had come; it was time to make camp, to have our few hours of sleep.

  For once Gormon sided with me. He said to Avluela, “The Watcher’s right. We can all use some rest. We’ll go into Roum at dawn.”

  Avluela pouted. She looked more like a child than ever. Her wings drooped; her underdeveloped body slumped. Petulantly she closed her wings until they were mere fist-sized humps on her back and picked up the garments she had scattered on the road. She dressed while we made camp. I distributed food tablets; we entered our receptacles; I fell into troubled sleep and dreamed of Avluela limned against the crumbling moon and Gormon flying beside her. Two hours before dawn I arose and performed my first Watch of the new day, while they still slept. Then I aroused them, and we went onward toward the fabled imperial city, onward toward Roum.

  * * *

  THREE

  The morning’s light was bright and harsh, as though this were some young world newly created. The road was all but empty. People do not travel much in these latter days unless, like me, they are wanderers by habit and profession.

  Occasionally we stepped aside to let a chariot of some member of the guild of Masters go by, drawn by a dozen expressionless neuters harnessed in series. Four such vehicles went by in the first two hours of the day, each shuttered and sealed to hide the Master’s proud features from the gaze of such common folk as we. Several rollerwagons passed us, laden with produce, and a number of floaters soared overhead. Generally we had the road to ourselves, however.

  The environs of Roum showed vestiges of antiquity: isolated columns, the fragments of an aqueduct transporting nothing from nowhere to nowhere, the portals of a vanished temple. That was the oldest Roum we saw, but there were accretions of the later Roums of subsequent cycles, the huts of peasants, the domes of power drains, the hulls of dwelling-towers. Infrequently we met with the burned-out shell of some ancient airship. Gormon examined everything, taking samples from time to time. Avluela looked, wide-eyed, saying nothing. We walked on, until the walls of the city loomed before us.

  They were of a blue glossy stone, neatly joined, rising to a height of perhaps eight men. Our road pierced the wall through a corbelled arch. The gate stood open. As we approached the gate a figure came toward us, hooded, masked, a man of extraordinary height wearing the somber garb of the guild of Pilgrims. One does not approach such a person one’s self, but one heeds him if he beckons. The Pilgrim beckoned.

  Through his speaking grill he said, “Where from?”

  “The south. I lived in Agupt a while, then crossed Land Bridge to Talya,” I replied.

  “Where bound?”

  “Roum, a while.”

  “How goes the Watch?”

  “As customary.”

  “You have a place to stay in Roum?” the Pilgrim asked.

  I shook my head. “We trust to the kindness of the Will.”

  “The Will is not always kind,” said the Pilgrim absently. “Nor is there much need of Watchers in Roum. Why do you travel with a Flier?”

  “For company’s sake. And because she is young and needs protection.”

  “Who is the other one?”

  “He is guildless, a Changeling.”

  “So I can see. But why is he with you?”

  “He is strong and I am old, and so we travel together. Where are you bound, Pilgrim?”

  “Jorslem. Is there another destination for my guild?”

  I conceded the point with a shrug.

  The Pilgrim said, “Why do you not come to Jorslem with me?”

  “My road lies north now. Jorslem is in the south, close by Agupt.”

  “You have been to Agupt and not to Jorslem?” he said, puzzled.

  “Yes. The time was not ready for me to see Jorslem.”

  “Come now; We will walk together on the road, Watcher, and we will talk of the old times and of the times to come, and I will assist you in your Watching and you will assist me in my communions with the Will. Is it agreed?”

  It was a temptation. Before my eyes flashed the image of Jorslem the Golden, its holy buildings and shrines, its place of renewal where the old are made young, its spires, its tabernacles. Even though I am a man set in his ways, I was willing at the moment to abandon Roum and go with the Pilgrim to Jorslem.

  I said, “And my companions—”

  “Leave them. It is forbidden for me to travel with the guildless, and I do not wish to travel with a female. You and I, Watcher, will go to Jorslem together.”

  Avluela, who had been standing to one side frowning through all this colloquy, shot me a look of sudden terror.

  “I will not abandon them,” I said.

  “Then I go to Jorslem alone,” said the Pilgrim. Out of his robe stretched a bony hand, the fingers long and white and steady. I touched my fingers reverently to the tips of his and the Pilgrim said, “Let the Will give you mercy, friend Watcher. And when you reach Jorslem, search for me.”

  He moved on down the road without further conversation.

  Gormon said to me, “You would have gone with him, wouldn’t you?”

  “I considered it.”

  “What could you find in Jorslem that isn’t here? That’s a holy city and so is this. Here you can rest a while. You’re in no shape for more walking now.”

  “You may be right,” I conceded, and with the last of my energy strode toward the gate of Roum.

  Watchful eyes scanned us from slots in the wall. When we were at midpoint in the gate a fat, pockmarked Sentinel with sagging jowls halted us and asked our business in Roum. I stated my guild and purpose, and he gave a snort of disgust.

  “Go elsewhere, Watcher! We need only useful men here.”

  “Watching has its uses,” I said mildly.