Revenge is part of what makes it work. And partnerships and pair-ups. Writers are a curious lot, with expertise in the eclectic and the esoteric: You want to know how Minoan plumbing worked? Ask me. You want to know something medical? Ask Duane. Hittites? Ask Morris. And so on and so on. Together we make quite an encyclopaedia. And remember -we have to write everyone else's characters, sometimes from the inside, with all their opinions and their expertise- soldiers and wizards and kings and blacksmiths and thieves, oh, yes, thieves. There are only a couple of professions I can think of where you need to know how to pick a lock or jimmy a window: one is writing. Likewise we have to know what a legislative session sounds like or what goes on behind the closed doors of a head of state's office, or inside the head of a painter or a doctor. All of which means that we have to leam something as we go, because we don't know who we may suddenly need to write from the inside, or when we will need the skills of a mountain climber or a sailor. Some of those phone calls we make are fast exchanges of technical information, whether or not, for instance, Sanctuary has a well-developed glass industry, and what technological advances it implies, how hot a fire has to get, how pure the glass can be, what a glassblower's tools are made of and whether this might imply some military development as well that we might wish not to let happen-also what oil they bum and where it comes from and what trade routes, and how they light their rooms and what provision there is in town for firefighting.

"Well," I say, looking at the White Foal River, "that looks like a fault line to me. Has this place ever had earthquakes?"

"Sure looks suspicious," says someone with geological expertise,

"Wait a minute," says Asprin, with the evident feeling that things are slipping out of control.

Being The Authority, he informs us that whatever it is, it is quiescent and will remain that way.

Across the table, several writers exchange thoughtful looks. Now, none of us would violate that rule. After all. The Authority could toss us out. On the other hand, recall that this particular assembly of individuals can pick locks, plumb Min-oan buildings, set bones, and negotiate a ceasefire. So can Asprin, who built this place, and who probably knows more about its underpinnings than we do; and Abbey, who has connections to the gods, is already thinking of ways to head this off which are capable of distracting all of us.

Not a good idea, we decide.

Later.