“We do seem to have come into a country with a rather strange population,” Rod admitted to Gwen.

“We do indeed,” she agreed. “The Faery, and some of the spirits Elidor doth mention, I have heard of—yet some are total strangers. Can we be in Gramarye, Rod?”

Rod shrugged. “Sure. Given a population of latent telepaths, who can persuade witch-moss to adopt any shape they’re collectively thinking of, and a thousand years to work in, who can say what would show up?”

“Yet I cannot think the elves would disappear,” Gwen pointed out, “and some magics that the faery duke did speak of, no witch or warlock in all Gramarye possesseth.”

“True,” Rod admitted, “both points. The spriggans’ ropes are something new—and so is making them crumble to dust before they touched Lord Kern—if the faery duke wasn’t just making that up. Still, I could see a way telekinesis might do that. But, turning faeries to stone? No. That’s really new—if he meant it literally.”

“Yet if we be on Gramarye,” Gwen said softly, “where do we be?”

“Nice question.” Rod looked up at the starry sky above the lake. “Could be anywhere, dear. McAran’s time machine was a matter-transmitter as well as a time-shifter. I suppose we could be on any world, around any star in the universe.” He frowned, squinting up at the sky. “Though, come to think of it, there’s something familiar about those constellations…” He shook his head. “Can’t place it. But I know I’ve seen that stellar layout before!”

“Yet ‘tis not the sky of Gramarye,” Gwen said softly.

Rod was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “No, dear. It’s not.”

They walked silently for a few minutes, looking away from the sky and down toward the ground, hand in hand. The children picked up Gwen’s thoughts, and crowded close for comfort. Elidor watched, not understanding, alone and to the side.

Gwen reached out and gathered him in. “Well, ‘tis not so great a blow as all that; I’ve had suspicions. There’re far too few folk here with any Power, for it to ha’ been our Isle of Gramarye.”

“Yes,” Rod said somberly. “We haven’t run into so much as a telepath. Not that I’m used to having people read my thoughts…” He looked up at Gwen, frowning. “Strange, isn’t it? When I first came to Gramarye, the Queen’s witches could read my mind—but by the time I met you, no one could.”

“Oh, really?” said a mellow baritone behind him. “That’s interesting!”

Rod whirled about.

A friar in a brown robe with a black rope belt picked his way through the trees toward them. Moonlight gleamed off his tonsure. “Can you think of anything that could cause that effect?”

“Not offhand,” Rod said slowly. “And you’ll pardon my noticing that you don’t quite speak like the rest of the local population.”

“Not surprising; I’m from out of this world.” The friar thrust out a hand. “Father Aloysius Uwell, at your service.”

“I hope so.” Rod searched the man’s face. He was definitely on the fat side, with brown hair and a library pallor, wide, frank eyes, and a firm mouth; and something immensely likeable about him. Rod warmed to him, albeit reluctantly. He took Father Uwell’s hand. “Good to meet you.” Then he noticed the tiny yellow screwdriver in the priest’s breast pocket. “You’re a Cathodean!”

“Is that so surprising?” Father Uwell smiled. “I told you I wasn’t of this world.”

“Or the next?” But Rod couldn’t help smiling. “What world are you from?”

“McCorley, originally—but I’ve been on Terra, at the Vatican, for the last twenty years. Except for jaunts to trouble-spots, of course—such as Gramarye.”

“Gramarye?” Rod’s eyebrows shot up. “So you came in the same way we did?”

“Yes, and it wasn’t very easy, I don’t mind telling you! Here I’ve been outbound from Terra for most of a month, just to meet you—and when I get to Gramarye, I find you’ve just left! Not very hospitable of you, sir.”

“Uh, yeah, well, I’m sorry, but your reservation got mislaid. Pardon my curiosity, but I wouldn’t think the Vatican would even have heard about me, let alone have been interested in me!”

“We hadn’t, until the Pope opened a letter that’s been waiting in the vaults for a thousand years or so.”

“A thousand years?” Rod did some quick subtraction.

“Who knew about me in 2000 AD?” Then it hit him. “Oh. No. Not McAran.”

“Ah, I see you’ve met! Yes, it was from a Dr. Angus McAran. He informed the Pope that Rod Gallowglass, of Gramarye—and he gave the coordinates—was potentially the most powerful wizard ever born.”

Gwen gasped.

The kids stared.

Rod squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a quick shake. “Oh, no, not again! That skinny old b…” He remembered the children and took a deep breath. “ ‘Fraid it’s a wild goose chase, Father. I’ve never shown the faintest trace of any magical ability.”

“He did say ‘potential,’ ” Father Uwell reminded, “and I find this sudden telepathic blockage of yours quite interesting—oh, yes, I do believe telepathy works, especially since I’ve visited Gramarye.”

Rod smiled. “Met some of our witches, huh?”

Father Al winced. “Just one—and an elf. I’d really rather call your ‘witches’ espers, if you don’t mind. ‘Witch’ is a supernatural term, and there’s nothing metaphysical about psionic powers. Oh, and by the way, I saw your youngest.”

“Gregory!” Gwen’s gaze riveted on the priest. “How doth he, good Father?”

“Quite well, I assure you madame,” Father Al said kindly. “Two old elf-wives are watching over him, and the witch-girl who brought me to your house is helping them now. And Puck himself is guarding the door.”

Rod smiled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Well, with him there, no enemy could even get close to the door.”

“Doth he fret?” Gwen said anxiously.

“Not visibly.” Father Al frowned. “In fact, he’s very quiet. But the witch-girl read his thoughts, and told me that his mind searches for you ceaselessly—even when he’s asleep. Well did you name him—‘Gregory,’ the watcher, the sentinel.”

But Gwen wasn’t listening any more; her eyes had lost focus as her mind probed. Suddenly she gasped. “I do feel his touch!”

“Across time?” Rod cried. Then he frowned. “Wait a minute—McAran had a technique like that, where the mind travelled through time to a host-body. But how could a baby learn it?”

“He’s too young to know about time,” Father Al suggested. “Perhaps, to him, all moments are the same.”

“There are words!” Gwen cried, eyes huge.

“Words?!!? But the kid doesn’t know how to talk!”

“Nay… ‘tis Fess.” Gwen’s brows knit. “Do not ask me the manner of it.”

Rod slammed a fist into his palm. “Transmitting on my thought-frequency—and Gregory’s my baby, so his frequency resonates with mine! He’s picking up Fess’s thoughts, and Gregory’s telepathic waves are acting as a carrier wave for Fess! What’s he saying, Gwen?”

She frowned. “ ‘Tis too faint to make much of… There is something said of a machine, and of Brom O’Berin and Dr. McAran… And something of the Abbot and the King, also. I think… ‘tis that the Abbot unaccountably turned back, returning to Their Majesties full wroth. He thought he had been duped… their bargain was broken… the Abbot doth storm away, back to his monastery… Tuan hath sent out the summons to his barons, to send him levies of knights and men, and doth gird himself for war…” Her voice broke. “Husband—they may come to battle, and our babe lies there defenseless!”

“Not defenseless, not with Puck guarding his door,” Rod reassured her quickly. “And you can be sure, if Puck’s there, Brom O’Berin’s getting hourly reports. If there’s any threat to the kid, he’ll whisk him away to Elfland so quickly that Gregory won’t even know he’s been moved!”

“Dost thou truly think he will?” Tears filled Gwen’s eyes.

“Of course! After all, he’s the kid’s gr… godfather! Believe me, you can trust him. But cut the talking, dear—reassure the poor baby, while the contact lasts.”