Glawen nodded.

"I thought so too when first I came upon it a few days ago."

"Eh?" said Julian.

"What's all this?"

"By chance I am able to verify your thesis, although I emphatically disclaim erudition superior to your own."

Milo asked: "Exactly what are you telling us?"

"A day or so ago I had reason to check into the works of the philosopher Ronsel de Roust, which are part of Bjarnstra's Pocket Guide to Five Hundred Notable Thinkers with Annotations of Their Thoughts. In the foreword Bjarnstra described difficulties similar to your own, using very similar if not identical terms. A coincidence, of course, but still illuminating."

Milo said: "I believe we have a copy of Bjarnstra over yonder on the shelf."

Sunje, sprawled in the chair like a great rag doll, uttered a raucous hoot of laughter.

"I must find a copy of this useful book!"

"No problem," said Wayness.

"It seems to be everywhere."

Milo asked: "One puzzle remains. Why, Glawen, were you interested in Ronsel de Roust?"

"Simple enough. Namour announced his favorite philosopher to be de Roust, so from idle curiosity I looked him up in Bjarnstra. There's no more mystery than that, except perhaps for Namour's own interest in de Roust."

Julian asked: "And who might be this scholarly Namour?"

"He's labor coordinator for the Station, and in fact a Clattuc collateral."

Wayness said: "Whenever anything extraordinary happens, you can be sure that there's a Clattuc involved."

A set of soft musical tones sounded through the house.

Wayness jumped to her feet.

"Lunch is ready. Please be orderly and use your best manners."

Lunch was served on a verandah in the shade of four fine marquisade trees, with the lagoon spreading away beyond.

Dame Cora seated the group.

"Egon, you will take your usual place, of course. Then how shall we do this? Sunje, there, then Milo, then Clytie, if you please, and Glawen. On this side, Wayness, to the right of your father. Next Julian I'm sure you two will find much to discuss then Etrune, please.

Algin, you shall sit here, beside me. Now, then, in the interest of sweet peace and harmony, shall we invoke a rule against politics?"

"On humanitarian grounds I vote no," said Milo.

"The effect would be to stifle Julian."

Dame Cora said: "Now, then, Milo, please moderate your banter. Julian might not understand that you meant no offense."

"Quite right! Julian, no matter what I say, please take no offense."

"I would not dream of doing so," said Julian lazily.

"In fact, I intend simply to sit here and enjoy the occasion as meekly as possible."

"Well spoken, Julian!" said his aunt, Clytie Vergence, a handsome if rather stern woman of early middle age, with a ruff of chestnut curls, sharp gray eyes, strong features and impressive physical proportions.

"This is indeed a delightful occasion. The forest air is most refreshing."

So went the lunch: from a pale soup of sea fruits gathered along the beach to a salad of greens, a brace of small roast fowl at each platter;

then, bubbling in brown earthenware pots, a cassoulet of beans, sausages, herbs and black morels; and, finally, a dessert of chilled melon.

After the first flask of wine the company relaxed;

conversation twittered and tinkled back and forth about the table, along with murmurs of decorous laughter and, from time to time, one of Julian's resonant perorations these sometimes droll, sometimes wise, but always of exquisite refinement. Glawen, on the other hand, with Dame Cora to one side and Warden Clytie Vergence to the other, was able to find few topics of mutual interest and for the most pan sat quietly.

The group finished dessert and sipped green tea. Dame Cora mentioned Julian's proposed visit to Mad Mountain Lodge.

"Have the maps helped you in any way?"

"Oh, decidedly! But I won't form any opinions until I make a personal inspection."

Warden Ballinder turned his head sharply.

"Am I supposed to know anything about this?"

"Not necessarily," said Warden Vergence.

"I have long felt that the Mad Mountain situation should somehow be modified.

I want Julian to study the conditions before I make my recommendations."

"As to what?" Warden Ballinder, massive as a bull, with burning black eyes, thick black hair, a great prognathous jaw under a skim of black beard, stared suspiciously at his colleague. She responded in a cold voice, as if instructing an obstinate child: "Tourists flock to Mad Mountain Lodge and there are plans to add an annex. I question the desirability of this expansion. The tourists come to watch the slaughter on the plain. Since we make facilities available, we put ourselves in the position of pandering to the most disgusting of human traits."

"That is unfortunately true," said Warden Ballinder.

"Still, the spectacles will continue willy-nilly whether we turn a profit or not, and if we refuse to take the tourists' money they will only spend it elsewhere."

"Quite so," said Warden Vergence.

"But perhaps we can stop these dreadful engagements altogether, which would be a most constructive and benign achievement."

Warden Ballinder's face became stony.