In the courtyard two Chronomancers appeared, set up the apparatus of their guild and lit tapers by which to read the shape of tomorrow. A sickly odor of pallid smoke rose to my nostrils. I had lost further desire to speak with the Changeling now.

  “It grows late,” I said. “I need rest, and soon I must do my Watching.”

  ‘Watch carefully,“ Gormon told me.

  * * *

  SEVEN

  In my chamber by night I performed my fourth and last Watch of that long day, and for the first time in my life I detected an anomaly. I could not interpret it. It was an obscure sensation, a mingling of tastes and sounds, a feeling of being in contact with some colossal mass. Worried, I clung to my instruments far longer than usual, but perceived no more clearly at the end of my seance than at its commencement.

  Afterward I wondered about my obligations.

  Watchers are trained from childhood to be swift to sound the alarm; and the alarm must be sounded when the Watcher judges the world in peril. Was I now obliged to notify the Defenders? Four times in my life the alarm had been given, on each occasion in error; and each Watcher who had thus touched off a false mobilization had suffered a fearful loss of status. One had contributed his brain to the memory banks; one had become a neuter out of shame; one had smashed his instruments and gone to live among the guildless; and one, vainly attempting to continue in his profession, had discovered himself mocked by all his comrades. I saw no virtue in scorning one who had delivered a false alarm; for was it not preferable for a Watcher to cry out too soon than not at all? But those were the customs of our guild, and I was constrained by them.

  I evaluated my position and decided that I did not have valid grounds for an alarm.

  I reflected that Gormon had placed suggestive ideas in my mind that evening. I might possibly be reacting only to his peering talk of imminent invasion.

  I could not act. I dared not jeopardize my standing by hasty outcry. I mistrusted my own emotional state.

  I gave no alarm.

  Seething, confused, my soul roiling, I closed my cart and let myself sink into a drugged sleep.

  At dawn I woke and rushed to the window, expecting to find invaders in the streets. But all was still. A winter grayness hung over the courtyard, and sleepy Servitors pushed passive neuters about. Uneasily I did my first Watching of the day, and to my relief the strangeness of the night before did not return, although I had it in mind that my sensitivity is always greater at night than upon arising.

  I ate and went to the courtyard. Gormon and Avluela were already there. She looked fatigued and downcast, depleted by her night with the Prince of Roum, but I said nothing to her about it. Gormon, slouching disdainfully against a wall embellished with the shells of radiant mollusks, said to me, “Did your Watching go well?”

  “Well enough.”

  “What of the day?”

  “Out to roam Roum,” I said. “Will you come? Avluela? Gormon?”

  “Surely,” he said, and she gave a faint nod, and, like the tourists we were, we set off to inspect the splendid city of Roum.

  Gormon acted as our guide to the jumbled pasts of Roum, belying his claim never to have been here before. As well as any Rememberer he described the things we saw as we walked the winding streets. All the scattered levels of thousands of years were exposed. We saw the power domes of the Second Cycle, and the Colosseum where at an unimaginably early date man and beast contended like jungle creatures. In the broken hull of that building of horrors Gormon told us of the savagery of that unimaginably ancient time. “They fought,” he said, “naked before huge throngs. With bare hands men challenged beasts called lions, great hairy cats with swollen heads; and when the lion lay in its gore the victor turned to the Prince of Roum and asked to be pardoned for whatever crime it was that had cast him into the arena. And if he had fought well, the Prince made a gesture with his hand, and the man was freed.” Gormon made the gesture for us: a thumb upraised and jerked backward over the right shoulder several times. “But if the man had shown cowardice, or if the lion had distinguished itself in the manner of its dying, the Prince made another gesture, and the man was condemned to be slain by a second beast.” Gormon showed us that gesture too: the middle finger jutting upward from a clenched fist and lifted in a short sharp thrust.

  “How are these things known?” Avluela asked, but Gormon pretended not to hear her.

  We saw the line of fusion pylons built early in the Third Cycle to draw energy from the world’s core, and still functioning, although stained and corroded. We saw the shattered stump of a Second Cycle weather machine, still a mighty column at least twenty men high. We saw a hill on which white marble relics of First Cycle Roum sprouted like pale clumps of winter death-flowers. Penetrating toward the inner part of the city, we came upon the embankment of defensive amplifiers waiting in readiness to hurl the full impact of the Will against invaders. We viewed a market where visitors from the stars haggled with peasants for excavated fragments of antiquity. Gormon strode into the crowd and made several purchases. We came to a flesh house for travelers from afar, where one could buy anything from quasi-life to mounds of passion-ice. We ate at a small restaurant by the edge of the river Tver, where guildless ones were served without ceremony, and at Gormon’s insistence we dined on mounds of a soft doughy substance.

  Afterward we passed through a covered arcade in whose many aisles plump Vendors peddled star-goods, costly trinkets from Afreek and the flimsy constructs of the local Manufactories. Just beyond we emerged in a plaza that contained a fountain in the shape of a boat, and to the rear of this rose a flight of cracked and battered stone stairs ascending to a zone of rubble and weeds. Gormon beckoned, and we scrambled into this dismal area, passing rapidly through it to a place where a sumptuous palace, by its looks early Second Cycle or even First, brooded over a sloping vegetated hill.

  “They say this is the center of the world,” Gormon declared. “In Jorslem one finds another place that also claims the honor. They mark the spot here by a map.”

  “How can the world have one center,” Avluela asked, “when it is a sphere?”

  Gormon laughed. We went in. Within, in wintry darkness, there stood a colossal jeweled globe lit by some inner glow.

  “Here is your world,” said Gormon, gesturing grandly.

  “Oh!” Avluela gasped. “Everything! Everything is here!”

  The map was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. It showed natural contours and elevations; its seas seemed deep liquid pools; its deserts were so parched as to make thirst spring in one’s mouth; its cities swirled with vigor and life. I beheld the continents, Eyrop, Afreek, Ais, Stralya. I saw the vastness of Earth Ocean. I traversed the golden span of Land Bridge, which I had crossed so toilfully on foot not long before. Avluela rushed forward and pointed to Roum, to Agupt, to Jorslem, to Perris. She tapped the globe at the high mountains north of Hind and said softly, “This is where I was born, where the ice lives, where the mountains touch the moons. Here is where the Fliers have their kingdom.” She ran a finger westward toward Pars and beyond it into the terrible Arban Desert, and on to Agupt. “This is where I flew. By night, when I left my girlhood. We all must fly, and I flew here. A hundred times I thought I would die. Here, here in the desert, sand in my throat as I flew, sand beating against my wings—I was forced down, I lay naked on the hot sand for days, and another Flier saw me, he came down to me and pitied me, and lifted me up, and when I was aloft my strength returned, and we flew on toward Agupt. And he died over the sea. His life stopped, though he was young and strong, and he fell down into the sea, and I flew down to be with him, and the water was hot even at night. I drifted, and morning came, and I saw the living stones growing like trees in the water, and the fish of many colors, and they came and pecked at his flesh as he floated with his wings outspread on the water, and I left him, I thrust him down to rest there, and I rose, and I flew on to Agupt, alone> frightened, and there I met you, Watcher.” Timidly she smiled to me. “Show us the place where you were young, Watcher.”

  Painfully, for I was suddenly stiff at the knees, I hobbled to the far side of the globe. Avluela followed me. Gormon hung back, as though not interested at all. I pointed to the scattered islands rising in two long strips from Earth Ocean—the remnants of the Lost Continents.

  “Here,” I said, indicating my native island in the west. “I was born here.”

  “So far away!” Avluela cried.

  “And so long ago,” I said. “In the middle of the Second Cycle, it sometimes seems to me.”

  “No! That is not possible!” But she looked at me as though it might just be true that I was thousands of years old.

  I smiled and touched her satiny cheek. “It only seems that way to me,” I said.

  “When did you leave your home?”

  “When I was twice your age,” I said. “I came first to here.” I indicated the eastern group of islands. “I spent a dozen years as a Watcher on Palash. Then the Will moved me to cross Earth Ocean to Afreek. I came. I lived a while in the hot countries. I went on to Agupt. I met a certain small Flier.” Falling silent, I looked a long while at the islands that had been my home, and within my mind my image changed from the gaunt and eroded thing I am today, and I saw myself young and well fleshed, climbing the green mountains and swimming in the chill sea, and doing my Watching at the rim of a white beach hammered by surf.

  While I brooded Avluela turned away from me to Gormon and said, “Now you. Show us where you come from, Changeling!”

  Gormon shrugged. “The place does not appear to be on this globe.”

  “But that’s impossible!”

  “Is it?” he asked.

  She pressed him, but he evaded her, and we passed through a side exit and into the streets.

  * * *

  EIGHT

  I was growing tired, but Avluela hungered for this city, wishing to devour it all in an afternoon, and we went on through a maze of interlocking streets, through a zone of sparkling mansions of Masters and Merchants, and through a foul den of Servitors and Vendors that extended into subterranean catacombs, and to a place where Clowns and Musicians resorted, and to another where the guild of Somnambulists begged us to come inside and buy the truth that comes with trances. Avluela urged us to go, but Gormon shook his head and I smiled, and we moved on. Now we were at the edge of a park close to the city’s core. Here the citizens of Roum promenaded with an energy rarely seen in hot Agupt, and we joined the parade.

  “Look there!” Avluela said. “How bright it is!”

  She pointed toward the shining arc of a dimensional sphere enclosing some relic of the ancient city. Shading my eyes, I could make out a weathered stone wall within, and a knot of people. Gormon said, “It is the Mouth of Truth.”

  “What is that?” Avluela asked.

  “Come. See.”

  A line progressed into the sphere. We joined it and soon were at the lip of the interior, peering at the timeless region just across the threshold. Why this relic and so few others had been accorded such special protection I did not know, and I asked Gormon, whose knowledge was so unaccountably as profound as any Rememberer’s, and he replied, “Because this is the realm of certainty, where what one says is absolutely congruent with what actually is the case.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Avluela.

  “It is impossible to lie in this place,” Gormon told her. “Can you imagine any relic more worthy of protection?” He stepped across the entry duct, blurring as he did so, and I followed him quickly within. Avluela hesitated. It was a long moment before she entered; she paused a moment on the very threshold, seemingly buffeted by the wind that blew along the line of demarcation between the outer world and the pocket universe in which we stood.

  An inner compartment held the Mouth of Truth itself. The line extended toward it, and a solemn Indexer was controlling the flow of entry to the tabernacle. It was a while before we three were permitted to go in. We found ourselves before the ferocious head of a monster in high relief, affixed to an ancient wall pockmarked by time. The monster’s jaws gaped; the open mouth was a dark and sinister hole. Gormon nodded, inspecting it, as though he seemed pleased to find it exactly as he had thought it would be.

  ‘What do we do?“ Avluela asked.

  Gormon said, “Watcher, put your right hand into the Mouth of Truth.”

  Frowning, I complied.

  “Now,” said Gormon, “one of us asks a question. You must answer it. If you speak anything but the truth, the mouth will close and sever your hand.”

  “No!” Avluela cried.

  I stared uneasily at the stone jaws rimming my wrist. A Watcher without both his hands is a man without a craft; in Second Cycle days one might obtain a prosthesis more artful than one’s original hand, but the Second Cycle had long ago been concluded, and such niceties were not to be purchased on Earth nowadays.

  “How is such a thing possible?” I asked.

  “The Will is unusually strong in these precincts,” Gormon replied. “It distinguishes sternly between truth and untruth. To the rear of this wall sleeps a trio of Somnambulists through whom the Will speaks, and they control the Mouth. Do you fear the Will, Watcher?”

  “I fear my own tongue.”

  “Be brave. Never has a lie been told before this wall. Never has a hand been lost.”

  “Go ahead, then,” I said. “Who will ask me a question?”

  “I,” said Gormon. “Tell me, Watcher: all pretense aside, would you say that a life spent in Watching has been a life spent wisely?”

  I was silent a long moment, rotating my thoughts, eyeing the jaws.

  At length I said, “To devote one’s self to vigilance on behalf of one’s fellow man is perhaps the noblest purpose one can serve.”

  “Careful!” Gormon cried in alarm.

  “I am not finished,” I said.

  But to devote one’s self to vigilance when the enemy is an imaginary one is idle, and to congratulate one’s self for looking long and well for a foe that is not coming is foolish and sinful. My life has been a waste.“

  The jaws of the Mouth of Truth did not quiver.

  I removed my hand. I stared at it as though it had newly sprouted from my wrist. I felt suddenly several cycles old. Avluela, her eyes wide, her hands to her lips, seemed shocked by what I had said. My own words appeared to hang congealed in the air before the hideous idol.

  “Spoken honestly,” said Gormon, “although without much mercy for yourself. You judge yourself too harshly, Watcher.”

  “I spoke to save my hand,” I said. “Would you have had me lie?”

  He smiled. To Avluela the Changeling said, “Now it’s your turn.”

  Visibly frightened, the little Flier approached the Mouth. Her dainty hand trembled as she inserted it between the slabs of cold stone. I fought back an urge to rush toward her and pull her free of that devilish grimacing head.

  “Who will question her?” I asked.

  “I,” said Gormon.

  Avluela’s wings stirred faintly beneath her garments. Her face grew pale; her nostrils flickered, her upper lip slid over the lower one. She stood slouched against the wall, staring in horror at the termination of her arm. Outside the chamber vague faces peered at us, lips moved in what no doubt were expressions of impatience over our lengthy visit to the Mouth; but we heard nothing. The atmosphere around us was warm and clammy, with a musty tang like that which would come from a well that was driven through the structure of Time.

  Gormon said slowly, “This night past you allowed your body to be possessed by the Prince of Roum. Before that, you granted yourself to the Changeling Gormon, although such liaisons are forbidden by custom and law. Much prior to that you were the mate of a Flier, now deceased. You may have had other men, but I know nothing of them, and for the purposes of my question they are not relevant. Tell me this, Avluela: which of the three gave you the most intense physical pleasure, which of the three aroused your deepest emotions, and which of the three would you choose as a mate, if you were choosing a mate?”

  I wanted to protest that the Changeling had asked her three questions, not one, and so had taken unfair advantage. But I had no chance to speak, because Avluela replied unfalteringly, hand wedged deep into the Mouth of Truth, “The Prince of Roum gave me greater pleasure of the body than I had ever known before, but he is cold and cruel, and I despise him. My dead Flier I loved more deeply than any person before or since, but he was weak, and I would not have wanted a weakling as a mate. You, Gormon, seem almost a stranger to me even now, and I feel that I know neither your body nor your soul, and yet, though the gulf between us is so wide, it is you with whom I would spend my days to come.”

  She drew her hand from the Mouth of Truth.

  “Well spoken!” said Gormon, though the accuracy of her words had clearly wounded as well as pleased him. “Suddenly you find eloquence, eh, when the circumstances demand it? And now the turn is mine to risk my hand.”

  He neared the Mouth. I said, “You have asked the first two questions. Do you wish to finish the job and ask the third as well?”

  “Hardly,” he said. He made a negligent gesture with his free hand. “Put your heads together and agree on a joint question.”

  Avluela and I conferred. With uncharacteristic forwardness she proposed a question; and since it was the one I would have asked, I accepted and told her to ask it.

  She said, “When we stood before the globe of the world, Gormon, I asked you to show me the place where you were born, and you said you were unable to find it on the map. That seemed most strange. Tell me now: are you what you say you are, a Changeling who wanders the world?”

  He replied, “I am not.”

  In a sense he had satisfied the question as Avluela had phrased it; but it went without saying that his reply was inadequate, and without removing his hand from the Mouth of Truth he continued, “I did not show my birthplace to you on the globe because I was born nowhere on this globe, but on a world of a star I must not name. I am no Changeling in your meaning of the word, though by some definitions I am, for my body is somewhat disguised, and on my own world I wear a different flesh. I have lived here ten years.”