"He is not now on the premises. Will there be a message?"

"No message."

Glawen called Wook House. He was told by the majordomo that Bodwyn Wook had descended to the House Supper, and could be disturbed only in the event of the most urgent emergency.

"Please give him this message immediately. Tell him that Glawen Clattuc will come to Wook House very shortly, in fact as soon as I stop by Clattuc House and have a few words with my father."

"I will give him your message, sir."

Glawen went out to the cab rank in front of the terminal and approached the first in the line of waiting taxis. The driver showed no interest in his luggage, but waiched with benign approval as Glawen loaded it into the bin at the back of the taxi. He was of a son unfamiliar to Glawen: a swarthy young man with pretensions to fashion, sharp featured with clever eyes and an unruly bush of dark hair--evidently pan of the new labor force which had been imponed to replace the Yips.

Glawen seated himself in the passenger's compartment. The driver, putting aside the journal he had been reading, looked over his shoulder with a cordial smile.

"Where will it be, sir? You just name the place;

we'll get you there, in grand and glorious style: have no fear on that score! My name is Maxen."

"Take me to Clattuc House," said GIawen. In the old days the Yip driver, if not quite so affable, would have been on hand to load his luggage.

"Right, sir! We're off to Clattuc House!"

Watching the familiar landmarks pass by, GIawen felt as if he had been away from home years beyond number. Everything was the same;

everything was different, as if he were seeing with a fresh vision.

Maxen the driver looked over his shoulder.

"Your first time here, sir? From your clothes I'd put you as a Soum, or maybe from Aspergill down the Wisp. Well, I'll give you a hint.

This is a remarkable place. I might even call it unique."

"Yes, perhaps so."

"Personally, I find folk a bit strange. The population is seriously inbred, that goes without saying, which seems to make for considerable, shall we say, eccentricity? That's the general feeling."

"I am a Clattuc of Clattuc House," said GIawen.

"I've been away for a period."

"Oh-ah!" Maxen made a rueful face. Then he shrugged and chuckled.

"Just so. You won't find many changes. Nothing ever changes here; nothing ever happens. I'd like to see them put in a jolly fine dance hall, and a row of casinos along the beach. Also, why not some fried fish shacks along Beach Road? They would not go amiss. The place needs a bit of progress."

"It may well be."

"You're a Clattuc, you say? Which one of the tribe are you?"

"I am GIawen Clattuc."

"Glad to know you! Next time I'll recognize you from the start. Here we are at Clattuc House: too grand for the likes of me, I fear."

GIawen alighted, removed his luggage from the bin while Maxen sat drumming his fingers on the wheel. GIawen paid the standard fee, which Maxen accepted with raised eyebrows.

"And the gratuity?"

GIawen slowly turned to stare into the driver's compartment.

"Did you help me load my luggage?"

"No, but--" "Did you help me unload it?"

"By the same token--" "Did you not tell me that I was inbred and eccentric, and probably weak-minded?"

"That was a joke."

"Now can you guess the location of your gratuity?"

"Yes. Nowhere."

"Quite right."

"Hoity-toity!" murmured Maxen, and drove quickly away, elbows stylishly high.

Glawen entered Clattuc House and went directly up to his old chambers, at the eastern end of the second-floor gallery. He opened the door, took a step forward and stopped short.

Everything had changed. The solid old furniture had been replaced by flimsy angular constructions of metal and glass.

The walls were hung with strange decorations pulsing with strident colors and astonishing subject matter. The rugs had been replaced with a garish yellow carpet;

even the air smelled differently.

Glawen stepped slowly forward, looking in wonder from right to left. Had his father gone mad? He entered the parlor, and here he discovered a buxom young woman standing before a tall mirror, apparently making final adjustments to her coiffure before going down to the House Supper. Looking at the reflection, Glawen recognized Drusilla, spouse to Aries and still-active member of Floreste's Mummers.

Drusilla took note of Glawen's reflection and looked around in mild curiosity, as if the image of a strange man in her mirror was neither a novelty nor cause for any great distress. After a moment of puzzled peering, she recognized her visitor.

"Isn't it Glawen? What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask the same question of you."

"I don't see why," said Drusilla with an arch pout.

Glawen explained patiently: "Because these are my apartments, where I live with my father. Now I find a beastly yellow carpet on the floor, a bad smell and you. I can't imagine the explanation."

Drusilla laughed: a rich contralto gurgle.

"It's quite simple. The rug is the color known as Dizzy-flower; the smell is no doubt Gorton. I am my own unique and delightful self. I take it you have not heard the news?"

A clammy sensation gathered along Glawen's back.