"All right," he said. "Up you come."

Lowering himself, he caught Clemdish by the shoulders and heaved.

"Earl!"

"Come on!" snapped Dumarest. "Use your feet, man. Get over this edge."

"I can't, Earl." Clemdish scrabbled with both hands, found a purchase and tugged as Dumarest heaved. Together they fell back against the support of the boulder. Clemdish sagged, his breathing loud and broken, and Dumarest took up more of the slack.

For the first time he looked behind him.

A clump of twisted candysticks, striped in an elaborate pattern of red and black and topped with pointed minarets reared towards the crimson sky. Golden spore!

"Look," said Dumarest. "We've found it. We're at the jackpot!"

Clemdish stirred sluggishly, his hands moving as if trying to raise his chest. Dumarest frowned and stared at the face beyond the transparency. It was flushed, streaming with perspiration, the mouth ringed with blood.

"Earl!" Clemdish opened his eyes. "I'm hurt," he said. "When I fell, I swung against a rock or something. My lungs hurt and I can't move my legs. Earl! I can't move my legs!"

* * *

Brother Glee closed the door of the church and slowly turned away. Hightown was comfortable despite the external heat and the church well appointed despite its small size. He regretted having to leave it. Sternly he repressed the emotion. Summer was almost over and already most of the tourists had gone. All that now remained were the hunters and traders, the professional entertainers, the harpies and entrepreneurs and, of course, the stranded and desperate, the poor that were always a part of the scheme of things.

Sighing, he made his way to the exit, acknowledging the salute of the guards and pausing as he emerged into the heat. The landing field looked emptier than it had, the station more wild than it was. Dust drifted from beneath his sandals as he resumed his progress. From all about came the thin, monotonous whine of the blowers as they created their barrier against drifting spores.

"Locking up, Brother?" Del Meoud fell into step at his side. "I wish it were possible to allow you to use the church in Hightown during the winter, but it cannot be. The maintenance, you understand-to open a part I would have to open all."

The monk smiled in the shadow of his cowl. The factor seemed eager to please. "Do not disturb yourself, brother; I fully understand. The portable church will suffice."

"You could take advantage of my offer: a shelter for use as your church and food from the canteen."

"The church will return to where it is needed," said the monk evenly. "But I thank you, brother, for your concern."

Thoughtfully, he watched as the factor nodded and strode away. Del Meoud seemed tense and more on edge than normal, almost as if he had something on his mind or on his conscience and, by offering his help, hoping to make friends or amends.

Interestedly he looked ahead to where Adrienne sauntered with the tall grim figure of Ilgash, Jocelyn's bodyguard, a step behind. The woman seemed to be waiting for someone. With wry surprise, he realized that the person was himself.

"Brother," she said as he drew near, "may I talk to you?"

He looked at her for a moment before answering, his eyes studying her face. "Is something troubling you, sister?"

Irritably she shook her head. "No-yes-I don't know. Are you busy? Could we talk?"

"If you wish to unburden yourself, sister," said the monk evenly, "the church is at your disposal." He caught her hesitation. "I am on my way to Lowtown. If you would care to accompany me, we could talk as we go."

Adrienne nodded, her long legs easily matching the other's stride. "The summer is almost over," she said abruptly. "Shouldn't all those who hunt spores be back by now?"

"No, sister. Some of them make long journeys and many spores are unavailable until the very end of summer." It was his turn to hesitate. "Did you have someone special in mind?"

"Dumarest," she said curtly. "My husband invited him to share a meal with us. I have not seen him since. Do you know the man?"

"Yes, sister, but he could be one of those of whom I spoke." He sensed her desire to hear more and her bafflement at not knowing how to phrase her questions without betraying her interest. Skillfully, he changed the subject. "Your husband has done much to alleviate the distress of those living in Lowtown. The services of his physician alone are most welcome. And he has agreed to give passage to several wishing to travel to Jest."

"As workers, as indentured servants," she snapped.

"Until they repay the cost of passage," the monk corrected gently. "Even so, the offer is a generous one."

"The act of a fool," she said, suddenly angry. "I assume that he wants each one to spin a coin so as to decide his fate?"

"Not quite, sister. I have been given the task of arranging a lottery. Available space is limited," he explained. "Only a few can be accommodated. Your vessel does not have facilities for low passage, and quick-time does not come cheap." He was surprised at the venom of her reaction.

"Is that why I was denied?"

"Denied?"

"Yes, I-" She broke off; her lips thinned as she fought her anger. Was this why she had been refused use of the drug which would have eliminated her boredom? Under its influence an hour passed in a second, a day in a few minutes. She assumed she had been refused it in order to save the drug for the use of stranded travelers.

"Be careful here, sister," said Brother Glee as they approached Lowtown. "The path is somewhat rough."

The houses were also rough, were hovels in which men, women, even children lived. There were numbers of wide-eyed tots in rags chewing on scraps of fungus. Their bellies were swollen and their skins showed the inevitable results of their diet.

People were working on the huts, slowly making up the walls and strengthening the roofs. Many were past repair and the materials which had gone into their construction were used to repair others. Those not engaged in building collected masses of fungi for drying and storage.

Everywhere was the smell she had once noticed in the slums of Eldfane, the stink of poverty.

"My lady," said Ilgash softly in her ear. "I do not think it wise for you to be here. These people are unused to one of your stature."

He doesn't mean exactly that, she thought with sudden insight. He thinks that I lower my dignity by being here and, by association, his own. She looked at the children. Dignity? Among the starving, what was that?

She said to Brother Glee. "The children would require less quick-time and take up less room. We could take more of them."

"And what of the parents? They would willingly relinquish their children, but have we the right to present them with such a choice? Your husband recognized that we could not, and so the lottery. Some will be lucky; some of the lucky ones will yield their places to others."

He caught her inhalation of disbelief and felt her anger.

"You doubt that? You think the poor and desperate have no higher motivation than the beast impulse to eat and stay alive? Sister, you know little of the realities of life. You think your husband a fool because he does what he must; I tell you he is far from that. How often does the ruler of a world concern himself with the welfare of those less fortunate? You are indeed to be envied, having married such a man. There are so few who, having power, use it as it should be used, to aid and not to destroy."

She caught a reflection of his anger, the helpless rage born of frustration and the indifference of many, of watching children starve while men squandered money on things of transient pleasure, of seeing the arrogance of the wealthy and the unfeeling cruelty of rulers. Startled, she looked at the monk. The church, she knew, had power and many friends in high places. Where poverty lurked they were to be found but, also, their plain robes merged with the colorful garments of many a court. She compared him with Yeon. Cybers, also, graced the places of wealth and influence, but they never mingled with the poor.