“What of it?” said Geronde fiercely, glaring at the man. “He may remember what he likes! But he is not my father-favor me with your understanding, Brian! I should know my own father, should I not? And this man is not Sir Geoffrey de Chaney!”

Brian looked helplessly at Jim and Angie, who were standing, stunned, looking from Geronde to the man.

“Sweeting-“ the man said, advancing with his arms outstretched. Geronde recoiled.

“My father never called me ‘sweeting’ in his life!” she snapped. “Stand back!” From somewhere about her clothing she had suddenly produced a small but undeniably useful dagger. The man halted as if he was on a tether suddenly jerked taut.

“Brian, what made you pick up this impostor?” said Geronde, fiercely turning on Brian, the dagger still in her hand.

“Geronde-“ Brian ran out of words and looked helplessly at Jim, Angie and the man who had just been labeled an impostor.

“If this man is an impostor, Geronde,” said Jim, “the situation is more complex than you can imagine. We’re all going to have to do some quick thinking. Put that knife away, will you please, Geronde? Whatever the situation is, I don’t think much of the blame attaches to this man if he’s not Sir Geoffrey.”

Geronde reluctantly slid the dagger back out of sight through a slit in the cloth behind the belt that gathered her full gown at the waist. Jim turned back to the man.

“Well?” he asked. “Are you Sir Geoffrey, or aren’t you?”

“I am Sir Geoffrey!” said the man, and Geronde snorted. “This child of mine is merely...” His voice dropped off and failed. He looked at the floor at his feet. “What is the use?” he said in a dead voice. “I have been expecting death every day for the last twelve years. It will come now, one way or another. It makes no difference.”

“Who taught you things that only Sir Geoffrey could know?” demanded Jim.

“It was Murad of the Heavy Purse, himself,” the man said. He raised his head suddenly and his face had become stern. “I was a knight once. Sir Renel de Oust. I was a knight and a man once. But twelve years of being a slave have made me nothing, nothing at all.”

“For heaven’s sake, Geronde!” said Angela to Geronde, who was still sneering at Sir Renel. “Have some pity for the man. This must have been his first and only chance to escape-“

She turned to Jim.

“How did this whatever-he-was-of-the-Purse know to tell this one about it?” she asked. “Perhaps he has the real Sir Geoffrey hidden somewhere around here.”

“That I can answer for you,” said Sir Renel, still in the same dead voice. “I have been here the last three years as a slave. I can tell you, on the faith of the man I was once, he has no other here who, like me, was once a gentleman and a knight.”

Jim’s mind, which had been poking halfheartedly-in fact, more or less hopelessly-at their problems since the moment of their arrest in the caravansary eating place, suddenly snapped into high gear and began to work with welcome clarity. It was something that had taken place in him during a number of crises, both large and small, in his life. The closest thing he could compare it to was the way a sudden awareness of oncoming danger brought mind and body together in an instant alert.

He remembered it happening to him one time during a critical term-end physics exam as an undergraduate. He had sat through nearly half the time allotted for taking the exam, being defeated one at a time by each question in the test. He had felt exactly as if he was facing a solid barrier in which there never had been and never would be an opening. Then suddenly had come this moment of wakening; and the wall dissolved. Suddenly, all that he knew, all that he had absorbed over some months of the class, was back with him and, going back to the beginning he found the test questions to be child’s play-obvious. The same thing happened now.

“Oh, of course, m’lord. You want some of the water brought you in a soup plate. I don’t think there are any soup plates in the garden, though,” said Hob.

“Not in a soup plate,” said Jim, “in something the size of a soup plate.”

“Oh, then that’s easy,” said Hob.

He wheeled around on his smoke, Hob of Malvern following him, and they both vanished through the curtains in the direction of the garden.

“What do you want water for, Jim?” asked Angie. “Or are you and Brian thirsty?”

“No, we’re fine-“ Jim began. But before he could even finish the sentence, Hob and his counterpart from Malvern were back in the room; and Hob had brought him the water he had asked for, cradled in the bowl-shape of-some smoke.

Jim stared at it for a second, then recovered.

“Put it on the floor, Hob,” he said. There was no place else for it. Hob put it down on the carpet under their feet, and Jim got down on his hands and knees to stare into it.

“It’s for scrying,” he said to the room at large. “Back in England we use crystal balls, or mirrors. Here they do it with water. Brian and I watched a magician in Tripoli scrying that way. If he can do it, I can do it.”

Scrying was a use of magic, and he was still trying to conserve his. But there was no other way to what he wanted to discover.

He concentrated on the water, willing himself to visualize the room he and Brian had just left a short while ago; and where Baiju, ibn-Tariq and Murad of the Heavy Purse, with Kelb beside him, should still be.

The image of the room formed in the shimmering surface of the water. But the room was empty. None of those people was there. Neither was Kelb.

“I don’t see anything,” said Angie, peering interestedly over his shoulder.

“You wouldn’t,” said Jim absently. “You have to have magic.”

“Oh, of course!” said Angie. “How could I be so stupid? And of course I can’t possibly have any magic!”

She strode off and peered through the curtains, as if her gaze would penetrate their thickness to show her the garden beyond.

“What?” asked Jim, still absent in his mind. He had a vague notion that Angie had just said something important, but he could not remember just what it was. He returned to his scrying, trying to summon up a picture of ibn-Tariq and Baiju, wherever they might be.

The picture formed. The two were in a room not much different from this one, except that it had a little more in the way of furniture. Ibn-Tariq was talking, Baiju was listening; and sitting watching both of them was Kelb.

“Good,” muttered Jim to himself; and he immediately began to search in the water for an image of Murad, and his present surroundings, whatever they might be.

He had suddenly remembered that Kelb-and he was fairly sure the brown dog was Kelb-had kept his gaze solely on him and Brian. The memory backed up his sudden suspicion just now that the whole business with Murad, and Sir Renel playing the part of Sir Geoffrey, had been a show of some sort for his and Brian’s benefit. Sir Renel had clearly been fed to them as surely as a card trickster “feeds” a particular card to someone who thinks he is picking a card from a deck at random.

In any case, now the necessary thing to discover was where Murad himself was. Jim concentrated on the bowl of water. Gradually shapes began to form.

Slowly, they solidified. He saw Murad, lying on his back in a bed that would have been nothing but a huge mattress on the floor of a room, if it had not been so opulent and thick that it raised the possessor of the Heavy Purse a good two feet off the floor.

“Hob-and Hob Malvern-“ Jim said. “Come here and look in the water. I want to show you something.” Whatever Angie had said a few moments ago finally registered somewhere in the back of his mind, along with a clear feeling that she was displeased over something. “Oh, Angie, if you’d like to see what things look like in the water, do you want to come and look now? I’m making one of the pictures visible to anyone.”

“No, thank you,” said Angie from the curtains, without turning. She was still furiously angry-at Carolinus, at Jim, at Brian... she was even more than a little annoyed at Geronde. Geronde knew why she was angry. The least Geronde could have done, as a friend, was to come and show a little sympathy.

Then it occurred to Angie that if Geronde had done that, just now, her own response would have been to snap at Geronde; and Geronde, never shy in such matters, would of course, immediately have snapped back... the whole thing was ridiculous. Angie suddenly found herself smiling, the anger gone abruptly.

Jim just doesn’t understand, she told herself, of course. He never will.

She turned and went back to Jim and leaned over his shoulder with her head close to the heads of the two hobgoblins.

“What is it?” she said. “Oh, who’s the big man with the beard?”

“Someone called Murad of the Heavy Purse,” said Jim. “He owns this place we’re in. Hob, could you and Hob Malvern go to that opening in the wall behind me there? That’s where I came in here. I didn’t really look as I went through, but I think there’s enough thickness to the wall, so that there’s a chance of a passageway. These walls have passages like that all the way through them. Could you and Hob Malvern search through them on your smoke and try to find the way to the room that has the man you see in the water here?”

Both hobgoblins stared at the image of Murad.

“I don’t see why not,” said Hob. “It’s just like looking through chimneys, only straight through instead of up and down.”

“Can you find him quickly, do you think?” asked Jim. “He’s alone right now and I’d like to get to him while he is alone, as quickly as possible. If you can, find a route to him for me that won’t have me running into other servants who just happen also to be in the same passageway.”

“You don’t have to have them search,” said the voice of Sir Renel. “I know where he is. It is one of his private rooms. He’s just resting-as he often does-for about an hour at a time. I can lead you there; and if we run into other servants, I think I can keep them from being curious.”

Jim looked up.

“Brian,” he said, “what do you think? If we can be alone with Murad for a little while, we can learn a lot more from him about this situation than we know now. What do you think about trying to get to him and find out something?”

“I would say it is a most excellent idea,” said Brian. “But I will go first, even though de Oust points the way.” There was a flip of his hand, and the knife from up his sleeve was in his fist. He looked at the two women.

Geronde produced the useful little knife again, so swiftly that it was like a conjuring trick. Angie was slower, and had a smaller knife, but she too had been carrying one concealed in what she was wearing. Jim reached down under his eastern-style robes to some very western, and twentieth-century-style, socks that Angie had made for him; and came up with a knife very much like the skean dhu favored in Scotland. It was short, with a blade broad next to the hilt but tapering quickly to a needle point; and it fitted comfortably into his hand.

“We are hardly properly armed as a group,” said Brian dryly. “Nonetheless, provided you, Angela, and you, James, are not squeamish and hesitate about using what you have, I think we may do fairly well against unarmed servants in a dark passage, if necessary.”

“It won’t be,” said Jim. “At least, I don’t think so. Sir Renel, show us the way.”

“Heaven bless you, Sir James, for speaking to me as knight to knight,” said Sir Renel. “For that alone I will go bare-handed into whatever may befall us, that I may do one worthwhile thing before I die. But you must let me lead, Sir Brian, for that will be quickest. I know the way and you do not. If you still have doubts of me, you have your knife at my back.”

“I would not be truthful if I said I did not doubt,” said Brian. “Should my mind become less doubtful at any time along the way or in the near future, perhaps I can give you something to fight with.”

“That would be the way to die! God send the chance comes to me! Now, follow, all of you.”

He led them back to the opening between the two rooms, and as they stepped into it, Jim realized that the wall had been thicker than he thought, but it was apparently solid on both sides of the opening. However, Sir Renel turned to the solid portion at his right, touched it lightly, and it swung back to show a dark passageway. They could go no more than two abreast, and possibly it would be best to go single file.

“Hob. Malvern Hob?” Jim called over his shoulder. “Are you with us? You hobs can see pretty well in the dark, can’t you?”

“Yes, m’lord,” answered Hob’s voice from behind Jim. “Very well.”

“Brian,” Jim said, “I suggest we let Hob and Hob Malvern go ahead of us on the smoke, staying about fifteen feet in front, to give us warning if someone is coming toward us. They can travel silently on the smoke; and aren’t likely to be seen in the darkness here. Even if we hit a passage with torches, they’ll be hard to see.”

“Let it be so, then,” said Brian.

Jim felt a breath of air past his ear that signaled the passing of the two hobgoblins on their wafts of smoke. They moved into the dark, chain fashion, each touching the one ahead to find their way. Moving so, they forged ahead, moving more rapidly than Jim would have expected, since Sir Renel strode through the darkness with the confidence of someone long accustomed to it.

After a distance, light grew ahead of them; and they emerged into a wider passage that had torches at intervals along it. They passed down this as well, without encountering anyone; but then Sir Renel led them off to go into a maze of other turns and passages, all lit, and all as empty as the ones they had met so far-until, entering a new one. Hob came flying back to Jim.

“A man!” he whispered in Jim’s ear.

“Brian-“ Jim began; but before he could finish what he was going to say, in a voice just loud enough to reach Brian’s ear, the man was upon them and had almost bumped into Sir Renel.

Startled, the other servant stared at him for a moment, then hastily sidled past them all with his eyes turned away from them, to the wall.

“We must hurry.” Sir Renel’s voice came back from the front of their column. “He may be silent a little while; because normally I am a servant of servants and do not speak up to anyone. He will think that I must be under orders, to talk so boldly. But sooner or later he will tell someone, and the news will get back to all in the palace-to Murad himself.”

Sir Renel did indeed pick up the pace. Jim found himself walking fast behind Brian. Luckily, there was light-enough at least to keep him from bumping into Brian from behind, and those behind from bumping into him. In the gleam as they passed under the occasional torch he was able to catch a glimpse of Sir Renel out in front. Now, suddenly under one torch, Renel held up a hand and stopped. Again, his voice came back.

“We turn to the right here,” he said. “There will be more light; but there will also be people close to the walls on either side. So make no noise. We are very close to the room in which you saw Murad.”

He made the turn. They followed him; and a moment later he made a final turn, stopping before what seemed to be solid wall. But it opened to his touch, and he led them into the room where Murad lay asleep on the overstuffed bed.

Once they were all in the room, the aperture in the wall through which they had entered closed automatically behind them. Sir Renel turned and looked at Brian, who himself turned and looked at Jim, who was examining their surroundings.

Now that they were in the room he saw that an open archway in the wall beyond the bed led to another room, in which he glimpsed curtains, and the lemony-orange smell of the garden came to him.

“We’ll have to wake him up,” said Jim, looking back at Murad.

He walked to the edge of the bed, reached out and took hold of the nearest wide shoulder. To his surprise, his fingers sank into it, as if there was nothing there. He moved his grip up closer toward the neck, and felt something solid under the clothing that was more like a shoulder. It was only then, getting a look at it behind the beard, that he noticed the neck was relatively thin, compared to the rest of the big body. He took a strong grip on the solid portion of the shoulder and shook the figure.

Murad’s eyes flew open.

“What-who...” He sat up in bed with surprising nimbleness for someone of his size and his gaze took them all in, but fastened on the face and figure of Geronde.

“Geronde!” he cried. It was as if none of the rest of them were there and she was the only person to be seen. His eyes moved enough to take in Sir Renel. “How could you bring her to me?” he cried.

“Because I remembered what I once was,” answered Sir Renel.

“Damn you!” said the false Murad, the real Sir Geoffrey, or whoever he was. “I might still have had a chance if you’d played the man!”

He literally bounced off the bed and stood up, towering over Sir Renel.

“Say what you want. Do what you will,” said Sir Renel, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. “Yes, all that I once was had left me years since. But I recovered it, leading them here to you. Do what you will.”

He turned away indifferently. The real Sir Geoffrey glared after him for a moment and then turned his eyes toward Geronde.

“Daughter-“ he said awkwardly.

Geronde drew back. Her face had grown cold and forbidding again.

“If I am daughter of yours-and one thing is certain, you have my father’s voice and manner-it is only by a fault of nature!” she said grimly. “You, who would blame this gentleman for leading us to you, have you looked at yourself? A vile, gross figure. So, you found the riches you sought at last, turned Musselman, and no doubt live happily here with a hareem and all the other infidel vices!”

“But Geronde, listen to me-“ began Sir Geoffrey.

“I do not need your words, sir!” said Geronde, withdrawing as he took a step toward her. “I need only your vile body back in England, dressed like an English gentleman, and at least pretending to be so and a Christian, long enough to give me permission to marry Sir Brian Neville-Smythe, here beside me now. Do that and you can return to your Musselman ways, and the women of your hareem for all I care!”