Shimrod set the portfolio aside and slowly stood erect. He closed his eyes, and into his mind drifted the image of Melancthe, as if she floated in dark water, nude and relaxed, hair drifting loose beside her face.

Shimrod frowned off across the room. At a basic and elementary level, the image was stimulating; on another level, It aroused only skepticism.

Shimrod pondered a moment or two in the silence of his work-room, then reached out and tapped a small silver bell.

"Speak!" said a voice.

"Melancthe has come floating along a dark stream and into my mind," said Shimrod. "She wore a minimum of garments, which is to say, none at all. She broke into my studies I and started my blood to moving; then she departed, smiling in a manner of cool insolence. She would not have troubled herself without a purpose."

"In that case, discover her purpose. Then we will know better how to respond."

"Tonight is Freamas," said Shimrod. "She will be at Twitten's Comers.

"Go then to Twitten's Corners."

"Very well; I will do so."

Shimrod brought other books and portfolios to his work-table and by the light of a single fat candle, turned the heavy parchment pages until he came upon the text he sought. He read in all concentration, storing the acrid syllables in his mind, while a moth circled the candle flame and finally died in a puff of dust.

Shimrod packed a wallet with articles of convenience and necessity. His preparations were complete. He went out to the road before Trilda, spoke a few words, closed his eyes and stepped three paces backward. When he opened his eyes he stood beside the tall iron post which marked Twitten's Corners, at the very heart of Forest Tantrevalles. Twilight had given way to night; soft white stars shone down through gaps in the foliage. Fifty yards to the east cheerful yellow light poured from the windows of the Laughing Sun and the Crying Moon into the road, and Shimrod bent his steps in this direction. The iron-bound door had been propped open to admit the airs of the night. At one side Hockshank stood behind his counter, carving a haunch of venison; elsewhere were tables, benches and chairs, tonight occupied to capacity. In a far shadowed corner Shimrod noted the quiet shape of Melancthe, where she apparently sat absorbed in the reflections on the surface of her wine, seemingly oblivious to Shimrod's presence. Shimrod approached the counter.

Hockshank glanced at him from the side of his golden eyes; halfling blood ran in Hockshank's veins. His hair was like fur the colour of decaying straw; he stood with a slight forward stoop; his feet were covered with gray-yellow fur and instead of toenails he had small black claws. Hockshank said: "I seem to recognize you from past custom, but I have no head for names, and in any case, should you be seeking accommodation, there is none to be had."

"I am Shimrod, from Trilda. In the past, by dint of careful thought, or again, by housing certain of your guests in the stable, we have discovered a chamber for my use and your own profit, and both of us have been the happier men for the effort."

Hockshank never paused in his work. "Shimrod, I recall you of old, but tonight the stable is already full. If you put down a purse of gold, I still could not find you a room."

"A small purse, or a large purse?"

"Tonight either will buy you a bench in the common room, but nothing better. Custom presses in on all sides; already I have made some difficult compromises."

Hockshank pointed his knife. "Notice at the table yonder the three sturdy matrons of imposing mien?"

Shimrod turned to look. "Their dignity is impressive."

"Just so. They are Sacred Virgins at the Temple of Dis, in Dahaut. I have assigned them to a dormitory of six beds along with the three gentlemen yonder with the grape-leaves in their hair. I hope that they may reconcile their philosophical differences without disturbing others in the inn."

"What of the lady sitting alone in the corner?"

Hockshank glanced across the room. "She is Melancthe the demiwitch and occupies the apartments behind the Door of the Two Green Lizards."

"Perhaps you might induce her to share her apartments with me."

Hockshank paused in his carving. "If only all were so deftly done, I would be there myself, and you could share the top of the oven with Dame Hockshank."

Shimrod turned away and went to a table at the side of the room, where he dined on venison, with currants and barley.

Melancthe at last chose to notice his presence. Crossing the room, she slipped into the chair opposite him. In a light voice she asked: "I have always considered you a very paragon of gallantry! Am I so wrong in my judgment?"

"In most respects: yes. How is my gallantry at fault?"

"Since it was I who called you here, surely you might have joined me at my table."

Shimrod nodded. "What you say is valid, in the abstract. Still, in the past I have found you unpredictable, and sometimes pungent in your recriminations; it is one of your little quirks. I hesitated to make a public demonstration of our acquaintance and perhaps cause you embarrassment. I therefore waited upon your signal."

"Good modest self-effacing Shimrod! I was right after all! Your chivalry is irreproachable!"

"Thank you," said Shimrod. "Furthermore, I wanted to dine before you told me something to destroy my appetite."

"Now are you replete?"

"I have dined well, though the venison was somewhat tough, and meanwhile you decided what you wished to tell me."

Melancthe smiled down at the flower she held in her fingers. "Perhaps I have nothing whatever to tell you."

"Why then was I summoned by so explicit a signal? Unless at this moment thieves are ransacking Trilda."

Melancthe's smile, as she twirled the flower in her fingers, became vague. "It might be that I merely wanted to be seen in company with the famous Shimrod, to enhance my reputation."

"Bah! Not a person here knows me, except Hockshank."

Melancthe looked around the room. "For a fact, no one seems to be noticing. The reason is simple: your modesty. Tamurello's dramatic guises are for the most part self-defeating. You are more clever; you conceal yourself in a form which allows you great advantage."

Shimrod looked blankly across the table. "Indeed? How so?"

Melancthe inspected Shimrod through half-closed eyes with her head tilted sidewise. "You simulate the universal man with total conviction! Your hair is hacked short across your face peasant-style, and is even the colour of well-used stable-straw. The features of your face are bony and gaunt, but you relieve their coarseness by a simpleton's drollery which reassures everyone. You wear what appears to be a peasant's smock, and as you dine, elbows high, you display the appetite of one who has toiled long hours among the turnips. All these aspects make for a great advantage, as well you realize! No adversary would ever associate what purports to be a gaunt, blinking loon for the dangerous and debonair Shimrod! It is a cunning disguise."

"Thank you!" said Shimrod. "Your compliments are hard to come by; I accept them all with pleasure... . Boy! Bring more wine!"

Melancthe smiled down at her flower. "Has Hockshank found you a chamber for the night?"

"He has offered me a bench here in the common room. Something better may still come to light."

"Who knows?" murmured Melancthe.

The boy brought wine in a gray faience decanter decorated with blue and green birds, and a pair of squat faience goblets. Shimrod poured both goblets full. "Now then: you have called me here; you have characterized me as a boor and a loon; you have distracted me from my work. Was there any other purpose in your signal?"

Melancthe shrugged. Tonight she wore a dark brown robe, in which she seemed childishly slight. "I might have called you because I was lonely."