“I fear that you have the better of me,” said Ivanello. “I am lost in a jungle of terminology.”

“Aha! There speaks the voice of the layman! I will simplify!”

“Please do.”

“Think of a set of imaginary spokes, representing between twenty and thirty infinities — the exact number is still uncertain. They converge in a focus of pure sentience; they intermingle then diverge in the opposite direction. The location of this ‘Hub’ is precisely known; it is within the precincts of the Collegium.”

Varmous called out a question: “What does it look like?”

Gaulph Rabi gazed a long moment into the dying fire. “I think that I will not answer that question,” he said at last. “I would create as many false images as there were ears to hear me.”

“Half as many,” Clissum pointed out delicately.

Ivanello smiled lazily up toward the night sky, where Alphard the Lonely stood in the ascendant. “It would seem that a single infinity would suffice for your studies. Is it not grandiose to preempt so many?”

Gaulph Rabi thrust forward his great narrow face. “Why not study for a term or two at the Collegium and discover for yourself?”

“I will give thought to the matter.”

The second day was much like the first. The farlocks ambled steadily along the road and a breeze from the west pushed the Avventura slightly ahead of the foremost carriage.

Porraig the steward prepared an ample breakfast of poached oysters, sugar-glazed kumquats and scones sprinkled with the scarlet roe of land-crabs.

Nissifer remained immured in her cabin. Porraig brought a tray to the door and knocked. “Your breakfast, Madame Nissifer!”

“Take it away,” came a hoarse whisper from within. “I want no breakfast.”

Porraig shrugged and removed both the tray and himself as rapidly as possible, since the fetor of Nissifer’s ‘taint’ had not yet departed the area.

At lunch matters went in the same style and Cugel instructed Porraig to serve Nissifer no more meals until she appeared in the dining saloon.

During the afternoon Ivanello brought out a long-necked lute tied with a pale blue ribbon, and sang sentimental ballads to gentle chords from the lute. The mimes came to watch in wonder, and it became a topic of general discussion as to whether or not they heard the music, or even grasped the meaning of Ivanello’s activities. In any event, they lay on their bellies, chins resting on their folded fingers, watching Ivanello with grave gray eyes and, so it might seem, dumb adoration. Ivanello was emboldened to stroke Skasja’s short black hair. Instantly Sush and Rlys crowded close and Ivanello had to caress them as well.

Smiling and pleased with his success, Ivanello played and sang another ballad, while Cugel watched sourly from the foredeck.

Today the caravan passed only a single village, Port Titus, and the landscape seemed perceptibly wilder. Ahead rose a massive stone scarp through which the river had carved a narrow gorge, with the road running close alongside.

Halfway through the afternoon the caravan came upon a crew of timber-cutters, loading their timber aboard a barge. Varmous brought the caravan to a halt. Jumping down from the carriage he went to make inquiries and received unsettling news: a section of mountain had collapsed into the gorge, rendering the river road impassable.

The timber-cutters came out into the road and pointed north toward the hills. “A mile ahead you will come upon a side-road. It leads up through Tuner’s Gap and off across Ildish Waste. After two miles the road forks and you must veer to the right, around the gorge and in due course down to Lake Zaol and Kaspara Vitatus.”

Varmous turned to look up toward the gap. “And the road: is it safe or dangerous?”

The oldest timber-cutter said: “We have no exact knowledge, since no one has recently come down through Tuner’s Gap. This in itself may be a negative sign.”

Another timber-cutter spoke. “At the Waterman’s Inn I have heard rumors of a nomad band down from the Karst. They are said to be stealthy and savage, but since they fear the dark they will not attack by night. You are a strong company and should be safe unless they take you from ambush. An alert watch should be maintained.”

The youngest of the timber-cutters said: “What of the rock goblins? Are they not a serious menace?”

“Bah!” said the old man. “Such things are boogerboos, on the order of wind-stick devils, by which to frighten saucy children.”

“Still, they exist!” declared the young timber-cutter. “That, at least, is my best information.”

“Bah!” said the old cutter a second time. “At the Waterman’s Inn they drink beer by the gallon, and on their way home they see goblins and devils behind every bush.”

The second cutter said thoughtfully: “I will reveal my philosophy. It is better to keep watch for rock-goblins and wind-stick devils and never see them, than not to keep watch so that they leap upon you unawares.”

The old cutter made a peremptory sign. “Return to work! Your gossip is delaying this important caravan!” And to Varmous: “Proceed by Tuner’s Gap. A week and a day should bring you into Kaspara Vitatus.”

Varmous returned to the carriage. The caravan moved forward. After a mile a side-road turned off toward Tuner’s Gap, and Varmous reluctantly departed the river-road.

The side-road wound back and forth up over the hills to Tuner’s Gap, then turned out across a flat plain.

The time was now almost sunset. Varmous elected to halt for the night where a stream issued from a copse of black deodars. He arranged the wagons and carriages with care, and set out a guard-fence of metal strands which, when activated, would discharge streamers of purple lightning toward hostile intruders, thus securing the caravan against night-wandering hoons, erbs and grues.

Once again a great fire was built, with wood broken from the deodars. The ‘premier’ passengers partook of three preliminary courses served by Porraig aboard the Avventura, then joined the ‘ordinaries’ for bread, stew and sour greens around the fire.

Varmous served wine, but with a hand less lavish than on the previous evening.

After supper Varmous addressed the group. “As everyone knows, we have made a detour, which should cause us neither inconvenience nor, so I trust, delay. However, we now travel the Ildish Waste, a land which is strange to me. I feel compelled to take special safeguards. You will notice the guard-fence, which is intended to deter intruders.”

Ivanello, lounging to the side, could not restrain a facetious remark: “What if intruders leap the fence?”

Varmous paid him no heed. “The fence is dangerous! Do not approach it. Doctor Lalanke, you must instruct your wards as best you can of this danger.”

“I will do so.”

“The Ildish Waste is a wild territory. We may encounter nomads down from the Karst or even the Great Erm itself. These folk, either men or half-men, are unpredictable. Therefore I am setting up a system of vigilant look-outs. Cugel, who rides the Avventura and makes his headquarters at the bow, shall be our chief look-out. He is keen, sharp-eyed and suspicious; also he has nothing better to do. I will watch from my place on the forward carriage, and Slavoy, who rides the last wagon, shall be the rear-guard. But it is Cugel, with his commanding view across the landscape, to whom we shall look for protection. That is all I wish to say. Let the festivities proceed.”

Clissum cleared his throat and stepped forward, but before he could recite so much as a syllable, Ivanello took up his lute and, banging lustily at the strings, sang a rather vulgar ballad. Clissum stood with a pained smile frozen on his face, then turned away and resumed his seat.

A wind blew down from the north, causing the flames to leap and the smoke to billow. Ivanello cried out a light-hearted curse. He put down his lute and began to toy with the mimes, whom, as before, he had hypnotized with his music. Tonight he became bolder in his caresses, and encountered no protest so long as he evenly shared his attentions.

Cugel watched with disapproval. He muttered to Doctor Lalanke: “Ivanello is persuading your wards to laxity.”

“That may well be his intent,” agreed Doctor Lalanke.

“And you are not concerned?”

“Not in the least.”

Clissum once again came forward, and holding high a scroll of manuscript, looked smilingly around the group.

Ivanello, leaning back into the arms of Sush, with Rlys pressed against him on one side and Skasja on the other, bent his head over his lute and drew forth a series of plangent chords.

Clissum seemed on the verge of calling out a quizzical complaint when the wind rolled a cloud of smoke into his face and he retreated coughing. Ivanello, head bent so that his chestnut curls glinted in the firelight, smiled and played glissandos on his lute.