“There are two possible situations—one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it—you will regret both.” - Søren Kierkegaard in Either/Or

The cat with the all-too-human eyes leapt from a wooden fence post into tall grass. Mr. Lincoln needs to mow. Ordinarily the cat did not associate the depth of grass with the use of the lawnmower or think of Mr. Lincoln by name, but ordinarily the cat did not have human eyes.

The cat’s tail waved over rippling moonlit blades. As it entered the sphere of porch light and flowed up the concrete steps, orange stripes shimmered. The cat stopped at the screen door. “Mkgnao!”

Max Lincoln came to the screen and looked out across the lawn, failing to notice the feline at his feet. “Ulysses? Is that you? Where are you?”

The cat with human eyes extended a single claw and plucked the screen in a practiced gesture.

“Oh! Here you are, bad boy.” Max opened the door.

The cat shot inside like a bolt of orange lightning. The television was on, tuned to a situation comedy. The cat stopped short and cocked an ear as the onscreen couple argued amusingly about their daughter’s choice of skirt.

Max walked across the living room and called up the staircase. “Penny, he’s back.”

The cat turned its head at the sound of Max’s voice and then rushed to the foot of the stairs. Max, hearing no reply, climbed the steps and proceeded down a carpeted hallway. The cat followed as closely as it could but caught a claw on a loop of beige Berber. After tumbling, the cat looked to see if Max had noticed, but Max was knocking.

“Our wanderer has returned.”

A squeal of delight could be heard above the sound of a bathroom shower. “Uly? I’ll be out in a minute.”

The cat with human eyes let out another odd howl. “Mrkgnao!”

“Patience, Ulysses.”

“Mrkrgnao!” The howl was louder.

“You missed her, did you? She missed you too. Maybe you shouldn’t wander for so long.”

The cat extended claws to make a scraping sound as it pawed the door.

“Sure. Why not?” Max opened the bathroom door enough to let the cat squeeze inside and then closed it before Penny could blame him for letting out the heat. He walked back down the hall, thinking, after all this time away, I’d expect Ulysses to come home famished. The scoundrel must have caught a plump bird.

The cat’s eyes opened wide. Round pupils took in the steamy bathroom, which was surprisingly large when viewed from a cat’s perspective. At one end of the space was a tub enclosed by pebbled glass. This translucent wall allowed the cat to make out the indistinct outline of a naked woman. The cat’s heart began to race.

It crossed the room, paws padding on linoleum. It looked for gaps around the tub enclosure through which it might peer, but a watertight seal blocked any view. With some struggle, the cat managed to catch one claw in an edge of rubber under metal trim. It pulled, but the mass of glass far outweighed the mass of feline. The sliding door would not slide.

The cat stepped back and surveyed the scene. The woman in the shower turned. Her elbow pressed momentarily against the pebbled surface, becoming more clearly visible. The cat stared until the elbow sank back into watery indistinction.

The cat paced the narrow space and then bounded onto the toilet seat. All-too-human eyes shifted back and forth between the tub and toilet, gauging distance. Bracing its rear feet against the base of the toilet tank, it made a leaping stretch to bring its forepaws against the handle of the glass door. The cat missed, scrabbled claws against glass and thudded to the floor.

“Uly? Is that you? Did Max let you in here?”

In an instant, the cat was up on the toilet again. Feet set, it attempted another stretch, this time with success. For a moment nothing happened, the cat a straining arc of orange fur between the toilet tank and the shower handle. Then the door began to move but not from the negligible efforts of the cat. The shower occupant, Penny Lincoln, slid the door open. The cat fell into the tub.

An emotional battle took place on the floor of the bath. A foreign aspect of the cat’s mentality was eager to drink in the site of the naked woman, but a more basic instinct, the desire of a cat to not be suddenly and unexpectedly wet, took over. The cat put all its strength into a vault over the edge of the tub. It landed on slippery linoleum and clawed and swam across the floor to press, shuddering, against the hallway door.

The cat heard the woman’s laughter. It shook water from its dripping head, turned, and saw Mrs. Lincoln already wrapped in a plush green bath towel that was far too large and covered almost everything. Only her glistening calves and feet were visible. The cat let out a disappointed sigh.

“Uly, are you all right?” Penny came closer, her laughter ended by genuine concern. “Oh, dear. So wet. And what’s the matter with your eyes?”

The cat squeezed shut its all-too-human eyes. Then it opened them again, but they were no longer human.

In the house next door, Denny Broome, lying on a bed he had inherited from older sisters, opened his eyes. He saw, standing at the foot of the bed, a Scottish wizard.

“Hello, Uncle Ian.”

The wizard sternly eyed his apprentice. The boy self-consciously moved his right hand away from the crotch of his blue jeans.

“Laddie, have you ever lied to me?”

Denny could feel redness growing in his face. “No, sir.”

“Where were you just now?”

Denny, who really had almost never lied to Uncle Ian, struggled against the desire to do so. “Playing with a cat. The Spell of Swapping Senses.”

“You are getting better at that one.”

“I think so. Practice helps.”

“So you were just practicing?”

Denny struggled for an answer and did not find one.

“I saw Patches on the way in,” said Uncle Ian. “I tickled her chin. I noticed nothing unusual. With what cat were you practicing?”

“They call him Ulysses.”

“The orange tabby next door?”

“Yes, sir.”

Uncle Ian looked around Denny’s tiny room with its posters of athletes and musicians tacked to the sloping ceiling. He picked up a social studies textbook, examined it a moment and then did the same with a book of spells. After replacing both books where he found them, he sat on the corner of Denny’s bed. Old bedsprings squeaked. Denny was almost too big for this bed now.

“Penny Lincoln is a fine looking woman.”

“Yes, sir.” Denny’s breathing had a tremble in it. “Uncle Ian, am I in trouble? Are you going to tell my folks?”

“Of course not, laddie. I understand. Men are men. So are wizards. We have all done similar things.”

“We have?” Denny hesitantly smiled. “Have you?”

“All the time. I had Patches in your sisters’ bedrooms just the other night so I could watch them undressing.”

“What?” Denny’s voice cracked as he tried to modulate a shout back down to a whisper his parents would not hear. “Uncle Ian, you can’t do that.”

“Say cannot, laddie. Not can’t. No contractions for a wizard. You know better.”

Denny nodded.

“And yes, I certainly can do that. I was doing that spell before you, or your sisters, or your parents for that matter, were born.”

“But you can’t . . . cannot spy on Carol and Suzie.”

“And why not?”

“Because it is wrong. That is so creepy.”

“I see. Creepy. Do you feel that way because you are their brother?”

“Well, sure.”

“If they had no brother, would it still be creepy?”

Denny nodded firmly. “Yes, it would.”

“I wonder if Penny Lincoln has a brother. She does have a husband. I imagine Max would find the idea of someone spying on his naked wife creepy.”

Denny Broome and Ian Urquhart looked into each other’s eyes. Denny took a long, deep breath. It calmed him. “Uncle Ian, is this a lesson?”

“I sincerely hope so.”

“You did not really spy on Carol or Suzie, did you?”

“Certainly not.”

“Uncle Ian, I will never spy on Mrs. Lincoln again. I promise. I didn’t see anything, anyway.”

“You did not? I have always found it odd that courts are more lenient in the sentencing of criminals who fail. I shall follow the tradition though and let you off with a warning.”

“Thank you, Uncle Ian. I am sorry. I guess I am not a very good wizard.”

“Not yet, but you will be. And you will be a good person. Your parents and I will see to that.”

Denny frowned. “I wish I was a good person now.”

“Do not be so hard on yourself, laddie. I have not forgotten how it feels to be thirteen. I never spied on your sisters, but when I was your age, I did things of which I am not proud. It would be grand to never make mistakes, but it is often good enough to avoid repeating them.”

“Thank you, Uncle Ian. I am glad you are my master.”

“And you, despite your flaws, are the best apprentice I could ask for. Now get some sleep.” The Scottish wizard stood and tapped a heavy finger on the social studies textbook. “You have school in the morning.”

As Denny drifted off to sleep that night, he felt regrets. He regretted that he had violated Mrs. Lincoln’s privacy and that he had disappointed Uncle Ian. He was blessed to have such an understanding mentor. But he had one more regret, one that would trouble him off and on for the rest of his life. He regretted that he never got a good look at Mrs. Lincoln before she wrapped herself in that big green towel.

The publisher finished scanning the text file and handed the portable screen back to the aspiring author. “Well, that’s an unusual story.”

“I made it as accurate as possible. Lots of research.”

“I got that sense. I’m sure if I looked into it, I’d find the Broome’s next-door neighbors had concrete porch steps, Berber carpet, and a glass tub enclosure. But it’s not really the kind of thing we publish. I mean, Denny Broome peeking at naked women?”

“It’s right out of Denny’s diaries. I fleshed it out a bit, but the basic facts are undeniable. And you said you were looking for educational stories with fresh angles on Denny and Uncle Ian.”

“I’m sure your facts are correct, but exposé wasn’t the sort of education we had in mind.” The publisher lifted a thin book with a golden spine from the polished surface of his desk. He handed it to the aspiring author. “Take a look at this. It’s more the sort of thing we do.”

She opened the picture book and began to read:

Any day that rain came down, Denny Broome would sit at the window beside the front door waiting for Uncle Ian to come. Uncle Ian would know a story that could lift the clouds from a young boy’s heart.

This day, Denny was watching a raindrop slide down the window. Suddenly, there was Uncle Ian upside-down inside the drop. Was that magic or just a wizard outside on the walk?

Uncle Ian shook out his umbrella and his raincoat. He put them both away in the Broome family’s front hall closet. He turned to Denny and asked, “Whit like are ye, laddie?”

“I’m sad, Uncle Ian. I have to stay inside again today because it’s raining.”

“Inside? Hae ah ne'er tellt ye th' tale o' howfur Brer Rabbit pat ths lang pole intae th' short shed?”

“No, Uncle Ian. You have not.”

The aspiring author frowned. “‘Whit like are ye, laddie?’”

“Scottish dialect,” said the publisher. “You used ‘laddie’ in your story.”

“Yes, because I have evidence Ian Urquhart used it, but his accent wasn’t noticeably thick. ‘Hae ah ne'er tellt ye?’ Like most wizards, Ian Urquhart avoided all contractions. And what kind of name is Brer?”

“It means brother. The original version of this story was written in the dialect of slaves from Earth.”

“Why would slaves have a dialect?”

“It was race-based slavery.”

“Race?”

“Dark-skinned people were seen as a race, an inferior subspecies who could be kept as slaves for generations. A person like you could own a person like me just because of our skin tones. The slaves came from a different region than their masters so had different linguistic histories.”

The aspiring author shuddered. “I’ll never understand people who want to visit Earth.”

“I’ve been,” said the publisher. “It’s nothing like that now.”

“Why would the person who wrote this story have chosen such a horrid style?”

“The original use of slave dialect in Brer Rabbit stories was more about nostalgia than prejudice. Later, as slaves were freed and struggled for equality, it became an embarrassment, then an insult, then a matter of cultural pride, and finally a forgotten historical oddity.  The writer of this modern tale, sharing my skin tone, had a personal interest in the style, but we had him redo it when we changed it to a Denny and Uncle Ian story. He insisted on keeping Brer because Brer Rabbit, Brer Fox and such are traditional characters, so we let that stay.”

“But this ‘Scottish’ version is incomprehensible.”

“It’s part of a series. The kids are used to it. We always lose the dialect entirely when Ian gets into the story he’s telling. Keep going.”

While the publisher sorted through potential cover illustrations for another project, the aspiring author only winced a little as she continued reading silently.

“Losh! Laddie, wid ye lik' me tae tell th' tale?”

“Oh yes, Uncle Ian. Please do.”

Uncle Ian sat on the couch beside Denny and began.

***

The sun was warm on Brer Rabbit and bright on the tasty green tops of Mr. Man’s carrots. It had rained that morning. The carrot greens were damp and shiny in the sun. The smells of the garden were strong and pleasant.

As he nibbled, Brer Rabbit kept one eye on Mr. Man, who was using a saw blade on a long pole to prune an apple tree. He kept his other eye on Brer Fox, who watched from the garden’s edge.

Mr. Man finished his pruning. Without noticing the animals, he took the saw blade off the pole and stored it in a little garden shed. He leaned the pole against the outside of the shed and went into his house.

“Mr. Man needs a bigger shed so that he can put his pole away,” observed Brer Fox.

Brer Rabbit hopped over to the shed. He saw it had two doors, one on each end to make it easy to put things in and take them out again. “I am smarter than Mr. Man. I could put this pole inside that shed.”

Brer Fox came close. He looked at the pole and the shed. “Brer Rabbit, that is an empty brag. This pole is much longer than that shed and would not fit inside, even at an angle.”

The Possum Child hung by her tail from a tree branch so she could listen. Wise old Swamp Owl flew up and landed on the branch to have a peek at what was going on.

“How are you?” asked Possum Child.

“Not good,” said Swamp Owl. “In that storm last week, my tree blew down. It was both my home and hunting perch. I am much pressed to find a new one.”

“That is too bad.”

“I’ll be all right. But how are you, Possum Child?”

“I’m worried, for Brer Rabbit and Brer Fox are having a go at each other.” Indeed, their conversation had become quite heated. Brer Raccoon and his Cousin came out of the woods to investigate the commotion.

Brer Rabbit spoke. “I heard that in Mr. Albert’s book it says a thing gets shorter when it goes faster, and Mr. Albert is the smartest man there ever was.”

Swamp Owl nodded his head. The Raccoons saw this and nodded their heads too.

“Have to be mighty fast, I expect,” said Brer Fox.

“I am the fastest critter there ever was,” said Brer Rabbit. “I am faster even than the lightning. I might not be able to keep that pole in that shed overnight, but I bet I could squeeze it in there for an instant.”

“An instant? How would we know for sure it was all inside at once?”

“We can have Brer Raccoon and his Cousin hold the doors with their quick hands. I will carry that pole through that shed fast as lightning. Once it is inside, the Raccoons will throw those doors shut. When you see both doors shut with that pole inside, you will know I did it. Then they will yank those doors open again, and the pole and I will come out without ever stopping.”

“And what would you bet?” asked Brer Fox.

“I’ll dig you some carrots,” said Brer Rabbit.

“Phaugh! I want no carrots.”

“Well then, what do you want?”

Brer Fox pondered on that a moment. He looked Brer Rabbit up and down. “I want your long white ears.”

Brer Rabbit took a start. “My ears? Without my ears, how will I hear when some hungry critter sneaks up on me?”

Brer Fox smiled. “I knew you could not do it. Mr. Albert is crazy, and nobody is that fast.”

“Oh, I can do it,” said Brer Rabbit. “But what will you bet? What will you pay me if I can?”

“I’ll steal you chicken’s eggs,” said Brer Fox.

“Double phaugh,” said Brer Rabbit. “I disapprove of stealing, and eggs make me sick.”

“Then what do you want?”

Brer Rabbit took a hop and then another. “I want your shiny black nose.”

“My nose?” asked Brer Fox. “Without my nose, how will I find things to eat?”

“You wouldn’t. But you won’t bet,” said Brer Rabbit, “because you know I’ll win.”

“I’ll take that bet just to show these other animals what a bragging fool you are, Brer Rabbit. Here is what we’ll do. If you put the pole in the shed long enough for the Raccoons to close both doors, you’ll go to Brer Bear and tell him to come and pull my nose off. If you fail, I’ll go to Brer Bear and tell him to pull your ears off. Brer Bear is strong enough, and he is one who knows the simple truth when he hears it.”

When Brer Rabbit heard himself called a bragging fool, he got riled. He grabbed the pole and began to walk a long way off to give himself room to build up speed. Brer Raccoon and his Cousin opened the doors of the shed and stood waiting.

“Swamp Owl, this is bad,” said the Possum Child. “If Brer Rabbit can put the pole into that shed long enough to close those doors, Brer Fox will lose his nose and starve. If Brer Rabbit can’t do it—and I don’t see how he can since the pole is longer than the shed—he’ll lose his ears, and Brer Fox will sneak up on him and eat him.”

Swamp Owl said, “Make up your mind, Possum Child. Should Brer Fox eat or not? And don’t be so sure about Brer Rabbit losing. Mr. Albert is right. Things get shorter when they go very fast, and Brer Rabbit is faster than lightning.”

From the distance, Brer Rabbit came running. He was the fastest critter there ever was. Sure enough, as he went faster, the pole got shorter. When he reached the shed, the Raccoons banged the doors closed. The pole was so short it fit inside. Then they yanked the doors open again. Brer Rabbit came out so fast that he was already too far away to see.

Brer Fox’s jaws hung open. “I don’t believe it. That fool Brer Rabbit did it. I have to leave the county quick before he comes back with Brer Bear to pull my nose off.”

“Swamp Owl,” said the Possum Child, “this is terrible. Brer Fox will have to run away or starve to death.”

“Calm down, Child. You too, Brer Fox. If I can talk Brer Rabbit into saying the bet was just a joke, and you can keep your nose, will you catch me some mice to eat?”

“I’ll catch you a big batch of mice,” said Brer Fox, “and thank you much, but I don’t see how you can talk Brer Rabbit into that. He’s probably at Brer Bear’s den already.”

“Brer Fox, you leave that to me. Climb up on my back, Possum Child. You are about to have a lesson.”

The Possum Child climbed onto the owl’s broad back. Away they flew over Mr. Man’s garden, and over the green woods, and over a golden meadow where they found Brer Rabbit. He had dropped the pole, but he was still running.

“Brer Rabbit, I want to talk to you.” Swamp Owl’s voice was a screech so loud Brer Rabbit could hear it over his own panting lungs and pounding heart. He slowed enough that Swamp Owl could catch him, but he did not stop.

“I have to leave the county,” said Brer Rabbit, “before Brer Fox tells Brer Bear to pull my ears off.”

“But Brer Rabbit . . .” began the Possum Child.

“Hush Child,” said Swamp Owl. “Leave this talk to grown-ups. Brer Rabbit, you don’t have to go.”

Brer Rabbit did not stop. “Our bet was that if I failed to put the pole inside the shed, Brer Fox would have Brer Bear pull my ears off. I failed even worse than he expected, yet I want to keep my ears.”

“But Brer Rabbit,” said the Possum Child, “you didn’t . . .”

“Hush Child. Don’t make me tell you again,” said Swamp Owl. “Brer Rabbit, if I can make Brer Fox say the bet was just a joke, and you can keep your ears, will you run through the woods to find me a tree with a big hole I can nest in, one near a meadow full of mice I can hunt?”

Brer Rabbit stopped. He gasped to catch his breath. “I’ll search the whole woods from edge to edge and find you the best tree in it, but will Brer Fox agree to such a thing?”

Swamp Owl landed on a stump. “You know it is good to leave Brer Bear alone.”

Brer Rabbit nodded. “That’s true enough. Brer Bear does not like to be bothered.”

“And Brer Fox knows it. I will remind him and make him understand. You have my word that you are safe. I hope you have learned a lesson.”

“I have,” said Brer Rabbit. “Never trust Mr. Albert. That pole was supposed to get short when I went fast, but it never did. Instead the shed got short. Mr. Albert’s book is a danger. It should be banned.”

Swamp Owl shook his head and flew into the sky with the Possum Child clinging to his back.

“Can I talk now?” asked the Possum Child.

“You may.”

“What was all that about?”

“That was about Brer Rabbit finding me a new nest and hunting perch. And while I wait for it, Brer Fox will bring me plenty of mice to eat.”

“But I saw Brer Rabbit put the pole inside the shed. The pole got short. The Raccoons closed both doors with the pole inside. Why does Brer Rabbit think he lost the bet?”

“Because he did. Mr. Albert’s book is about how things look different to different folks. From our point of view, standing still beside the shed, it was the pole that was moving fast, so the short pole fit. But from Brer Rabbit’s point of view, since he was moving with the pole, it was the shed that was moving fast, so it was the shed that got shorter. Brer Rabbit must have felt quite the fool when he took that long pole into that short shed.”

The Possum Child scratched her head. “But the Raccoons closed both doors with the pole inside. How is that possible if the pole did not get short enough to fit inside the shed? If Brer Rabbit saw a long pole and a short shed, what did he see when both doors closed?” 

“He did not see both doors close at the same time. If Brer Rabbit had read Mr. Albert’s book instead of counting on other folks to say what was in it, he would have known it is not just your ruler that changes when things go fast. It is your clock as well. Brer Rabbit saw Brer Raccoon close the first door when the front end of the pole was in the shed. Then he saw Brer Raccoon open that door. Later, when the back end of the pole came inside the shed, Brer Rabbit saw Cousin Raccoon close the other door and open it again.”

“So we saw both doors close at the same time, but Brer Rabbit saw them close at different times?”

“That is right.”

“Well then, who really won the bet?”

“From Brer Fox’s point of view, Brer Rabbit won. From Brer Rabbit’s point of view, Brer Fox won.”

“But which point of view is true.”

“They both are, but we won’t tell Brer Rabbit or Brer Fox. They should have read Mr. Albert’s book themselves.”

The Possum Child was quiet. Then she said, “If one critter can see two things happen at the same time, and another critter sees them happen at two different times, then time is different than I thought it was.”

“I said you’d have a lesson, and so you have. Now think on this, Possum Child. What if there had been another rabbit, one with another pole, running the other way?”

***

“What if there had been another rabbit?” asked Denny. “What would have happened.”

“Whit dae ye think, laddie?” asked Uncle Ian with a sly wink of his blue eye.

Denny thought a moment. “Would they have run into each other?”

“Let's say nae.”

“Well then, when the two rabbits passed each other, one of them would see Brer Raccoon opening and closing his door as something in the past, and the other would see it as something in the future. And the same with Cousin Raccoon’s door but the other way around.”

“'N' whit does that tell ye?”

“There’s no such thing as the past or the future. There’s just things that happen and people who see them.”

“Aye, thare is ma smart Denny. Lik' th' possum, ye hae hud yer lesson.”

The publisher saw the look on the aspiring author’s face. “We wouldn’t expect you to do dialect if you didn’t want to.”

“Uncle Ian had hazel eyes, but his eyes and his speech aren’t what’s bothering me. Who buys this book? Are they teaching relativity in elementary schools?”

“The Dollers are. Other schools on Bacab are following their lead. We’ve even shipped books off-world. The reason I was reviewing that one today is because we’re working on a sale to Earth.”

“Denny Broome didn’t study Albert Einstein until he was an adult. Younger kids can’t do the math.”

“That’s why the story has no math in it. As it was explained to me, two children can play catch despite ignorance of the formula for the ball’s parabolic path. The idea is to teach children how the world really works as soon as possible so they don’t have a false impression to unlearn before they can grasp the truth.”

“But Uncle Ian didn’t do that with Denny.”

“Who cares? This is an educational book for children using traditional characters, Denny and Uncle Ian, and Brer Rabbit and Brer Fox.”

“But Denny Broome and Ian Urquhart were real.”

“So?”

The aspiring author shook her head. “Are you descended from First Wave colonists?”

“Not entirely. My mother’s grandparents were born on Earth. Her family came here only recently.”

“Neither of us would be on Bacab then, or anywhere, if not for Denny Broome. The same is true of multitudes on worlds throughout the galaxy. Denny and Uncle Ian are extremely important people. Some worlds view them as saviors.”

“Which is why they’re famous and beloved. We use that status to bring children to these educational stories.”

“But these stories are inaccurate in their portrayal of those men.”

“Real rabbits don’t talk, either, or run at the speed of light, but the physics in the story is a valuable lesson.”

“If you say so, but I want to write things that are historically accurate.”

“You said yourself, you ‘fleshed out’ Denny’s diary. We don’t tell wild lies about these guys, but we allow ourselves some leeway in service of the story.”

The aspiring author shook her head.

“This one of yours, I think it could be reworked. Take out the naked lady and the peeping tomcat. Let Denny misbehave in some more socially acceptable way. I think we can work with you on it. As for history, the more you look at it, the more you’ll find historians do the same things we do. We’ll never know the details of what happened to Denny Broome and Uncle Ian. Not without going back in time.”

“Or asking Nomik Motchk.”

The publisher huffed. “He does no interviews.”

“Yeah,” said the aspiring author. “Maybe I should get to work on a time machine.”

“Maybe you should get to work on a rewrite.”

Nomik Motchk had located a bright young fellow in the nearby village for training as a mechanical technician. Maintaining the old telephone was one of his assignments, so the bell that rang was physical, yielding a fully dimensional sound no digital file could reproduce. 

“¿Bueno?”

“Nomik, is that you?”

“Who asks?”

“Ian Urquhart.”

“Ah. I thought the voice had a distant familiarity.”

“I once asked you for advice on taking up a new apprentice. You told me to call you back in ten years to let you know how it went.”

Nomik closed his eyes and breathed a quiet sigh. “That does sound like me. I assume you decided to take one on.”

“Denny Broome. Donald Broome’s boy. You remember Detective Donald Broome?”

“The man who blew my business partner’s brains out?”

“Oh dear. Probably should not have brought him up.”

“Not a problem, Ian. Before we became partners, Ruby and I were opponents. As far as I can recall, the relationship was never close.”

“Still, awkward of me, eh?”

“Forget it. Was there a reason you called, other than following my instruction from a previous decade?”

“My apprentice. I have another genius on my hands.”

“Another?”

“You know. Like Cory.”

“A genius like the one Ruby had to murder so he would not destroy the world?”

“Yes. No. Not the same, exactly. Different. Very different. Nothing like Cory. Denny has a special genius of his own. He is the hardest working magical apprentice on the planet. Cory Lariston would understand a spell the instant I told him about it. He was eerie that way. But Denny Broome learns differently. He applies himself with incredible effort.”

“The genius who is ninety-nine percent perspiration.”

“Exactly!”

“I see. Was there something you wanted me to know about this genius?”

“I think he is ready for a percent of inspiration. I was hoping you could help with that.”

“Keeping in mind the last time I took on one of your apprentices he ended up dead, and we nearly lost the universe.”

“I blame myself for that. I should have kept an eye on Cory. I intend to handle things better this time.”

“How so?”

“I thought I would stay with Denny. Not just visits but every day.”

Nomik leaned back in his chair, admiring the view through a ring of windows surrounding his study tower. Heat rising from tile rooftops added a shimmery distortion to a farmer working in one of the hacienda’s fields. Nomik envied the man’s simple life. And his inevitable death.

“Nomik? You still there?”

“Ian, are you inviting yourself to live in my home?”

“Not necessarily. I can stay elsewhere. So can Denny, for that matter. If there is no room at the inn, we have experience living under open skies.”

“Do not be ridiculous. Rooms are not a problem.”

“Excellent! I will let Denny know. And his parents.”

“You intend to bring his parents, too?”

“No, but I thought they should be told before I take their boy to Mexico. Parental consent is how apprenticeships are done in this modern age. They may want to visit.”

“Yes. I understand. Thoughtful of you, Ian.”

“We will see you soon, then.”

Nomik considered pointing out that he had not actually accepted Ian’s proposition but decided instead to say, “I look forward to it.” He hung up the telephone. “Exsomem, memo.”

A window popped up on the computer monitor on Nomik’s desk. It was titled “Memorandum” with the current date and time already typed. As Nomik spoke, his words appeared inside the window.

“Contact by telephone from Ian Urquhart who intends to come and stay with me, bringing Denny Broome.”

The name Ian Urquhart appeared in green. The name Denny Broome appeared in red, followed by a suggestion: Detective Donald Broome.

“Exsomem, new identity: Denny Broome.”

Another window appeared on the screen. At the top was the boy’s name.

“Life status: alive. Gender: male. Age: greater than fifteen years. Possibly less than twenty. Occupation: student. Magical status: positive. Relationships: to Ian Urquhart, apprentice; to Detective Donald Broome, son; to Nomik Motchk, as yet undetermined. Close identity.”

Denny Broome’s identity window closed. In the memorandum window, his name now appeared in green.

“Urquhart thinks Denny is another genius like Cory Lariston, this time not by gift but by application.”

The name Cory Lariston appeared in dark blue, almost indistinguishable from black.

“I have decided to let them come. Ian has had inexplicable luck at finding such children. My thinking is that the Broome boy may prove of use, perhaps succeeding where Cory failed. Not that I have much hope. Even if Denny has the necessary talent, he could well meet Cory’s fate. In that case, and with Ruby gone, the task of killing Denny would fall to me. Close memo.”

The memorandum window closed.

Slender rods were gathered at midpoints in batches oriented to angles suggesting turning hourglasses. The gates swung open easily despite their mass, the music of hinges amplified by the vibrating iron rods—instruments as well as timepieces. In desert sunlight, their candy-red enamel was even brighter than the ceramic rooftops on the hacienda’s wings and the tower above. The courtyard beyond held handsome benches, cheerfully painted tiles, and sculptural fountains draped in blossoms. To Denny it all resembled the garden at some high-end amusement park. Could this truly be the home of his new mentor?

A middle-aged woman met them. She spoke no English, and Ian’s Spanish was doubtful, so it was mostly by hand waving they were directed across the courtyard and through tall wooden doors. Denny whistled as he entered the great hall. The sound echoed back in interesting ways. “Wow!”

Ian nodded. “Quite a place. Nomik inherited it, and he did more than well enough to manage the upkeep.”

“We get to live here?”

“That is the plan.”

“I wish my folks could have come with us.”

“Think how much they will enjoy visiting.”

“Yeah, they will.” Denny walked about, admiring furniture, paintings, and the massive stone fireplace. He peered through arches, down corridors, out windows and then looked back. “I bet you could fit our whole house into this one room. How many people live here?”

“Counting servants, quite a crowd.” Ian dropped into a large chair with feet carved to resemble the paws of a jaguar. He looked comfortable. “Not counting servants, just Nomik Motchk and Miguel Panza.”

“Who?”

“Miguel’s father used to be Nomik’s personal secretary. Today, he owns the place. Nomik lost it somehow.”

“Lost it? You mean like in a card game?”

“Or a business deal. Nomik was a billionaire, but now the Panza’s have the money. Cory told me the details once. Guess I let them slip out of my head.”

“Where does the rest of Miguel’s family live?”

“The father is in the US now. He married Jinasu Mao, Miguel’s mother.”

“Why is that name familiar?”

“I gave you one of her books. The magical genealogy.”

“Oh, right. Guess I should read that.” Denny stepped through an arch and found a dining room. “This is quite a table for two people.”

“Billionaires have no trouble finding guests. And there used to be a school here.”

“A school of magic?”

“Two wizards, the Grandfather and the Father—no blood relationship, of course—ran the place. Imagine that table surrounded by twenty young apprentices like yourself.” As if on cue, three dark-haired children, a girl and two boys, came out from a kitchen doorway and stood beside the table, their faces reflected in its polished wood, staring at the Americans.

Denny approached them. “Hi. Are you guys apprentices?”

“No,” said the oldest. “I am Guillermo.” His English was accented but easily understood. He pronounced his name as if it began with a W. “This is my sister, Amorita.” The girl executed a shallow curtsy similar to a move Denny had seen his sisters use while playing. “And our little brother, Bartolomé.” The smallest child stood straighter when he heard the word little.

“I am Denny, and this is my Uncle Ian.”

“You to meet we are pleased,” said Amorita. She pronounced each word perfectly despite the odd ordering.

“If you are not apprentices, then what are you guys doing here?” asked Denny.

“Live here we.”

Guillermo corrected his sister. “We live here.”

“With Nomik Motchk?”

“With our parents.”

“Are you Panzas?” asked Uncle Ian.

The children nodded in unison.

A plump, laughing man emerged from the kitchen. His face displayed both native and Asian ancestry. “That’s right. Panzas all.” He grasped the three children in a single hug.

“Miguel, you have a family now.” Ian stepped forward and embraced the new arrival. “Good. The place can use it.”

“I’ve always had family in this house,” said Miguel Panza, “in the back rooms when we didn’t own it.”

The boy, Guillermo, tugged at Ian’s sleeve. “Is it true you are a wizard like Mr. Motchk?”

“We both are,” said Ian. “Denny is my apprentice. Mr. Motchk and I will jointly be his masters.”

The children looked to Denny with wide eyes. Amorita asked, “You can magic?”

Denny stepped back through the arch. A balcony ran around the second floor of the great hall. At the far end, a high window was open to blue sky. Denny moved his hands and spoke strange words.

The children followed Denny into the hall, standing beside him to gaze up at the window. Nothing happened.

At an inviting gesture from Miguel, Ian returned to the jaguar chair and sat. “Sometimes that spell does not work. I know a variation with more . . .” But before he could finish, a flash of blue and white came through the window. A bird with a black mask on its eyes, beak, throat and crest, landed on the stone mantle above the fireplace.

Bartolomé grinned and clapped his hands. When the bird began to call, the older children stepped back, but the youngster came forward. Loud squawks produced a sort of tune that echoed off the walls. The bird swished its long, forked tail in time to its music. Denny joined in, his voice perfectly imitating the bird. Then he stopped while the bird continued.

“Sorry. Not the best singer,” said Denny.

“It we love,” said Amorita.

“What is that noise?” asked a commanding voice from above. Everyone looked up to the balcony. A young man stood there.

“Another son, Miguel?” asked Ian.

Miguel shook his head. His expression had become serious. He gestured upward with his chin.

Ian stood and took a closer look. “Nomik? Dear God, is that you?”

The young man spread his hands wide to indicate his existence. He was lean and strong. The colors of his eyes, hair and skin all seemed to have been drawn from the desert around the hacienda. He smiled, and everyone was glad he did. “Welcome back, Ian.”

“I had heard you were getting younger. What are you now, in your early twenties?”

“My appearance does not change my age, but yes, my doctor says about that.”

“Congratulations!”

Nomik grimaced and drew back from the balcony. A moment later he emerged through a ground-floor hallway. Ian embraced him. “Nomik, I would like you to meet our apprentice, Denny Broome.”

On the mantle, the bird let out a final squawk before it darted out the window. Nomik followed it with his eyes and then looked down on Denny. “He could use a haircut. You are a summoner?”

Denny brushed his hair back from his face. “Yes, sir.”

“He does lots of other things,” said Ian. “You heard the bird duet.”

“Cannot honestly say I enjoyed its timbre.”

“Denny has never been in Mexico before. He needs to get to know the local animals.”

“Get to know them on your own time.” Nomik took Denny’s shoulder in a strong grip. “Speaking of which, what do you know of time magic?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Of course not. Shall we begin your lessons?”

Miguel stepped forward. “Nomik, our guests might appreciate a chance to settle in.”

“Have they been to the bathroom?”

“Yes, sir,” said Denny. “At the airport.”

“Is their luggage attended to?”

“It is,” said Miguel. “In their rooms by now.”

“Hungry? Thirsty?”

“No, sir.”

“I could use a drink,” said Ian.

Miguel called to a servant and arranged for beverages.

“Sit,” said Nomik. He directed Denny to a couch before the fireplace. Ian returned to the jaguar chair. Miguel guided children from the room with an explanation that the show was over. Unlike Nomik, they had enjoyed the bird’s performance and were sorry to have to go.

“Thank you,” said Amorita.

“More later,” said Denny. This promise pleased the young Panzas, and they skipped away.

“What do you know of spacetime?” asked Nomik.

“Of what?”

“You must have studied relativity in school.”

Denny stared.

“Physics?”

“We had a choice of sciences. I took biology.”

Nomik scowled at Ian, who smiled back.

Nomik modified his scowl into a weak smile. “When wizards first began to manipulate time, we made a mess of it. Our understanding was no better than common sense.”

Denny was looking back and forth between Nomik and Uncle Ian, trying to gauge their relationship. “What’s wrong with common sense?”

Ian winced at the sound of his apprentice’s use of a contraction.

Nomik gave Denny a long, silent look before he said, “Nothing, if all you hope to do is common. Modern time wizards do uncommon work. We require knowledge, as well as language, that is precise.”

Denny nodded. “OK. Teach me.”

“First you need to understand that time and space are not two separate things.”

Denny frowned. “Not sure I get that.”

“I never did,” said Ian. “Cory tried to explain it to me.”

“Fortunately,” said Nomik, “Ian does not have to get it. You do, Denny. You must begin by imagining a grid in all of space so that every location can be defined with numbers.”

Denny stared blankly.

“Let me give you an example. Here on Earth, I may say I am at sixteen degrees, fifty-six minutes, thirty-seven seconds north latitude, and ninety-six degrees, forty-nine minutes, twenty-six seconds west longitude, at an altitude of sixteen hundred seventy-seven meters.”

“That sounds pretty damn specific,” said Ian, “but would anyone know what it means?”

“As a matter of fact, for a person who understands maps, that is enough to pinpoint me within a reasonable number of meters, but it is an incomplete specification. It tells you where I am in space but not in time. A spacetime location must include the temporal component: the year, month, day, hour, minute and second.”

“If we are talking about where you are, rather than where you were or will be, that part is obvious. The time has to be now.”

“Thank you, Ian, for a perfect example of what is wrong with common sense.”

“Can I ask questions?” asked Denny.

“Only if you wish to learn.”

“Why are there minutes and seconds in the numbers that say where you are in space? Does that have to do with spacetime?”

“It has to do with human beings overloading words with more than one meaning. A minute is both a sixtieth of an hour and a sixtieth of a degree on a sphere. It might have made sense to say a minute is how long it takes the Earth to turn through a minute of arc, but they did not do that. In fact, knowing a full circle is three-hundred sixty degrees, and each degree is sixty minutes of arc, and a day is twenty-four hours of sixty minutes each, you can easily calculate that the Earth turns at a rate of fifteen minutes per minute.”

Denny grinned and shook his head. “Numbers. I wish we had brought my sister.”

“Why?”

“Carol is a math wizard.”

“Your sister is also magical?”

“Not a magic user. Just great with numbers.”

“Do not worry about the numbers. Not yet. The important point is that to specify a location in spacetime, you have to describe that location in terms of space and time.”

“What was wrong with what Uncle Ian said?” asked Denny. “Why not say the time is now?”

“For the same reason you do not say the location is here. Here and now are relative terms. The here of one person is the there of another.”

“Sure, I can see that. You and I and Uncle Ian have three different heres, but we all have the same now.”

“Not necessarily. This is today’s important lesson. The common-sense view of time, that everyone shares a common now, is completely false.”

Denny looked to Ian who shook his head. “Cory tried to explain this stuff to me years ago. Eventually, he gave up.”

“But Cory got it,” said Nomik, “and Denny, so must you if you wish to be a time wizard. Let me give you an example that may help.”

A servant handed Denny a glass of lemonade. He smiled and nodded his gratitude. Ian also received a beverage. His included a splash of tequila.

Nomik had stepped to the fireplace and came back with an iron screen and a poker. He laid the folded screen on the low table in front of the couch where Denny sat and placed the poker across it. “You see that this poker is longer than the folded screen is wide?”

Denny nodded.

So did Ian. “Your mother would never put up with that dirty screen on her coffee table, eh?”

Denny chuckled.

Nomik lifted the poker off the screen. “Things get shorter when they move.”

“What?” asked Denny.

“Albert Einstein figured that out.”

“Where would he get a crazy idea like that?”

“From reality. Scientists had discovered that light travels at a constant speed.”

“Cory told me that,” said Ian.

“Good,” said Nomik. “Do you know what it means?”

Ian shook his head.

“There are a set of formulas to explain how things change from the viewpoint of one observer to the viewpoint of another moving relative to the first. The closer the difference in their velocities gets to the speed of light, the greater the disagreement in their measurements of length.”

“What?”

“If an object moves extremely fast relative to an observer, it gets measurably shorter in the direction of the motion.”

“I have never noticed that,” said Ian. “We flew to Mexico. Denny, did you notice the plane getting shorter?”

Denny shook his head.

Nomik sighed. “You would not have noticed it because you were moving with the airplane, and anyway, you never traveled anywhere near the speed of light.”

“Have you?” asked Denny.

“We will come to that much later. Now imagine this poker is moving an appreciable fraction of the speed of light, so fast it shrinks in the direction of motion relative to this screen. It gets small enough to fit within one panel’s edges.”

“I would like to see that,” said Ian.

“So would I,” said Denny.

“This is a thought experiment,” said Nomik. “In reality, moving the poker that fast would require tremendous amounts of energy. There would be interactions with the atmosphere. An explosion would destroy the house.”

“Stick with thoughts, then,” said Ian.

“We will, for now.” Nomik unfolded the screen so the poker passed over the center panel with end panels he could fold up from the tabletop. “Imagine we flip these panels up just as the poker passes over, so for an instant, shortened by its motion, the poker is between the end panels. Then we flip the panels down again and let the poker fly away.”

“It is going to go right through Uncle Ian’s chair.”

“Happy thought,” said Nomik. “The point is, the poker, contracted by its motion, fits between panels. You see that?”

Denny gave the question consideration. “Is it a spell that makes the poker short?”

“This is not magic. This is physics. Now imagine looking at this event, not from the viewpoint of the screen, but from that of the poker. What would the poker see?”

Denny looked carefully at the poker in Nomik’s hand. “Nothing. It has no eyes.”

Nomik closed his own eyes. He took a breath to calm himself. “Pretend the poker has eyes.” Nomik opened his. “What does it see?”

“A blur, I would think.”

“Pretend the poker has the perceptual abilities of a master time wizard. Pretend it can see everything in perfect detail no matter how fast it goes. What would it see?”

Denny looked at the objects being used in the demonstration. He reached for the poker. “May I?”

“Please do, if you think that will help.”

Denny held the poker over the screen. He tipped first one end panel and then the other up to touch the ends of the poker. “If what you say is correct about the poker shrinking when it goes faster, for just a moment the poker sees itself inside a three-sided box.”

Ian nodded.

Nomik did not. “Think again. Remember, we saw the poker shrink because it was moving relative to us. How does the poker move relative to itself?”

Denny wrinkled his brow.

It struck Ian how odd it was that Nomik, a man who was a century older than Denny, looked at that moment like his contemporary. Whatever magic made Nomik younger was terribly effective, but when Denny came up with no response, Nomik’s sigh had the feel of a disappointed old man. “Cory got this in an instant.”

“I have no doubt,” said Ian, “but Denny will get it, too. He just needs time. And maybe a hint.”

“Would you care to give him one?”

“Me? I have no idea what you are getting at.”

Nomik disappeared into the dining room.

“Uncle Ian, am I messing this up?”

“Not at all. Nomik is comparing you to the memory of someone else. He needs to get to know you for who you are before he will understand how to teach you.”

“But will he want to know me? Why should he even take the trouble if I’m so hard to teach?”

Ian stood and walked to the couch. The Scottish wizard brushed Denny’s hair back from his face to look him in the eyes. “You have always been a joy to teach, laddie. Nomik will see that in time. But watch the contractions.”

“Sorry.”

In a moment, Nomik was back, carrying a bowl of fruit. He tossed an orange to Denny. “Throw that one to . . .” He hesitated, seeming to have difficulty with the phrase. “To your Uncle Ian.”

Denny did as he was told. Ian caught the orange and sniffed it. “Smells good.”

“I am glad you like it, but toss it back to Denny.”

Ian tossed the orange. Denny caught it.

“Now, please toss it back and forth. Play a little catch.”

Denny stood, and so did Ian. They tossed the orange back and forth a few times. They had played catch before.

“Splendid. Now do the same thing, but this time the way you would if you were on the airplane that brought you to Mexico.”

“Not sure what you mean,” said Denny.

“I want to know what you would do differently if you were playing catch in the aisle of the airplane.”

“I guess we would be careful not to hit any of the other passengers with an orange.”

“Good. But how would you catch the orange?”

Denny thought a moment. “The same way we catch it here, I guess.”

“Let me be specific. Imagine you are standing nearer to the cockpit, and Ian is standing nearer to the tail. He throws the orange to you. How would you catch it?”

Ian tossed the orange to Denny. He caught it. “Like that.”

“Even though the orange is traveling at over eight-hundred kilometers per hour? Would you brace yourself for the tremendous impact? Would you jump aside so the force of the orange would not kill you?”

“Of course not.”

“Why not?”

“I guess because I am going the same speed as Uncle Ian and the airplane. The orange is going really fast, but so am I.”

“Good! Now imagine you are a tiny person riding on the poker.” Nomik lifted the poker and pointed to a curve on the black iron handle. “We will give you a chair right here, with a seatbelt so you do not fall off.”

“Thanks,” said Denny. Ian chuckled.

“When the poker flies over the fireplace screen, moving so fast an observer beside the screen sees the poker shrink due to relativistic effects, how fast is the poker moving relative to you?”

“Relative to me riding on it? Not at all.”

“Exactly. And what about the screen?”

“What about it?”

“How fast is it moving?”

“Is the screen still sitting on the coffee table?”

“Yes.”

“Then it is not moving.”

“Relative to you.” Nomik nearly shouted. “How fast is the screen moving relative to you?”

“As fast as the poker was moving? But the other way?”

“Yes!”

Denny exhaled in relief. He was getting questions right.

“So what do you, riding on the poker, see when you look at the screen?”

Denny looked at the poker and the screen. His relief began to fade. “Uh . . .”

“It gets shorter!” Nomik actually did shout this time. The echo of his voice was impressive.

Denny looked at the screen. “Why?”

Nomik raised the poker in a threatening manner.

Ian cleared his throat. “I was going to ask the same.”

Nomik brought the poker slowly down. “What happens to a thing moving very fast?”

“You said it shrinks, but you also said the screen is not moving. It’s sitting on the table.” Denny tapped the screen emphatically.

Ian winced. Nomik looked at Denny as if he could not believe what he was hearing. “And you said the screen is moving relative to you, which is correct.”

“But that’s just because I’m moving. The screen isn’t really moving.”

Ian decided to stop wincing. Why bother?

“It is moving relative to you. This is called relativity for a reason. All movement is relative to something.”

“But if the screen isn’t really moving, why would it shrink?”

Nomik turned to Ian. “Am I hearing what I think I am hearing?”

“You said I could ask questions,” said Denny.

“Not like that!” Nomik slammed the poker down on the screen so hard it dented the iron lacework.

“Sorry, Nomik,” said Ian. “He uses contractions when he gets excited.”

“The moments when one needs magic are often exciting. A misplaced syllable can mean failure. I suppose that is not a problem when you apply your gifts to teaching birds to sing.”

“We do take this seriously, Nomik. Avoiding bad habits turns out to be quite a battle while living with a non-magical family. In fact, I was hoping your influence would help.”

“You brought me a genius so I could teach him how to speak as well as any wizard half his age? Thank you, Ian. The lesson has gone far enough for today.” Nomik stalked from the room.

Ian waved a hand at his apprentice, suggesting action.

“Thank you, sir,” called Denny. “I appreciate the lesson.”

The sound of Nomik stomping up stone steps echoed from the corridor.

“I will be more careful about contractions. I promise.”

Ian tipped his head around the back of his chair, looking through the middle of three arches to get a glimpse of distant feet disappearing up the curving stairway. “See you at dinner, Nomik?”

There was no reply.

When Ian looked back, he almost laughed at Denny’s hangdog expression. “Now, laddie, do not worry. The lesson was confusing, but you will figure it out in time the way you always do. As for a few contractions, Nomik might have overlooked them if he had not been frustrated at his own failure to make things clear.”

“I am sorry, Uncle Ian. I will apologize again to Mr. Motchk at dinner. Do we know when that will be?”

“The last time I was here, they usually ate at eight.”

“Eight o’clock? That’s hours from now.”

“Have a piece of fruit.”

Denny took a banana from the bowl and peeled it. On the balcony above, Nomik secretly observed this selection. He feared it was an appropriately ape-like choice.

Nomik did not join Denny and Ian at dinner, but his presence was hardly missed. The long table was filled with Panzas. Ian sat between Miguel and his wife at the head of the table. Denny sat at the other end, flanked by Guillermo, Amorita and Bartolomé, and beyond them various young cousins. Adult relatives filled out remaining spaces. Noticing no empty seats, Ian asked, “Have we displaced anyone with our presence?”

“Word of Denny’s skill with birds has spread among the children,” said Miguel. “Despite living near a wizard, they rarely see displays of real magic. Everyone who might be here this evening chose to come.”

“And they think Denny will put on a show?”

Miguel began an apology for the impertinence of the assumption, but it was interrupted by the sound of a dog singing a Scottish ballad. Gleeful children joined in despite the unfamiliarity of the tune. The whole thing dissolved into a chaos of loud giggles.

Ian cast a harsh glance down the table. “Denny, since your mother is not here, I must play that role. Put on your manners. Save the noise for after dinner.”

“Sorry, Uncle Ian.” Denny hung his head, as did half a dozen little Panzas, but giggles and chatter were not long in returning. “What is this thing I am eating?” Denny asked.

“A quesadilla,” said Amorita.

“Mexican food?”

“You are in Mexico,” said Guillermo.

“I know that.” Denny pulled a silly face that made the Panzas giggle. “We go to Mexican restaurants all the time back home, but the food does not taste like this. What are these flavors? What is in this thing?”

“Queso. Cheese. That’s why it’s called a quesadilla.”

“Queso is cheese?”

A row of heads nodded.

“The queso is good.”

“Thank you,” said one of the adults. “We make it here.”

“You make your own cheese?”

“We grow and make almost everything you’re eating.”

“Wow!” Denny looked over the table, spread with a variety of fruit and vegetable dishes.

“We grew the . . . flor de calabaza?”

“Squash blossom,” offered another adult.

 “In the quesadilla. Also the maize for the tortilla.”

“I thought this was a desert,” said Denny.

“We irrigate to make it bloom. Mountain rains supply the water to this house and the fields around it. The flavor you may not recognize is epazote from our herb garden.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Our ancestors grew epazote long before the Europeans came. In small quantities, like you are eating now, it has great health benefits. Too much, though, and it’s toxic.”

“Toxic!” Denny put down his quesadilla.

“Don’t worry. The cooks in our family are careful. Everything you eat here will be good for you. Even the desserts.”

“Does Mr. Motchk usually eat with you?”

The table grew quiet.

“I was wondering the same thing,” said Ian.

Adults, the ones who spoke English at least, looked up the table to Miguel as if it was a question only he could answer. “Nomik is a busy man. We make sure he has good food at mealtimes, even if he is working in his study. Sometimes he eats, sometimes not.” Miguel patted his round belly. “Perhaps I should adopt his habits.”

Laughter restored conversation all along the board. Guillermo said, “Mr. Motchk might open his quesadilla to eat the blossom and then send the rest back to the kitchen.”

Amorita nodded. “He leaves sometimes a fruit inside, but the out of it he eats.”

“I like apple peels,” said Denny.

“But melon?”

“Ugh.” Denny washed the thought from his mouth with a bite of quesadilla.

Ian, meanwhile, was enjoying a sauce made with seeds and fruits of which he had never heard, one he was assured would provide health benefits he did not know he needed. “Very tasty, whatever it is.”

“Our region is famous for complex sauces,” said Miguel. “My relatives make up new ones all the time.”

“Your relatives?” asked Ian. “Is that who does the cooking now? This house used to have many servants.”

“It still does. We are all servants here.”

“I thought your father owned the place. Did Nomik get it back?”

“No, and he does not want it. Nomik made himself rich when he needed wealth for his purposes. If he finds a new purpose requiring money, he might make himself rich again, but these days, his needs are simple.”

“So why are you the servants?”

“When my father got the fortune, he made a mistake. He offered his relatives a life of leisure. There was rejoicing, but this new life lacked purpose. We grew unhappy and argumentative. Especially the young men.”

An old woman sitting beyond Mrs. Panza rolled her eyes, sighed and nodded. Ian had the sense she did not speak English but understood enough to follow conversations.

“My father learns from his mistakes,” said Miguel. “He cut off the flow of easy cash and offered instead to employ anyone who wanted work. The thing he supplies for free is education, but he is generous with loans, and if a specific project is good enough, he may provide a grant. Today our family is happy and productive. We farm, we cook, we clean, but we also run businesses, create art and do research, each according to his gifts and interests. The fortune that would have shrunk now grows instead.”

“Wise man, your father. But what of Nomik?”

“A permanent guest. We are under orders from my father to treat Nomik as if he still owned the hacienda, and he does live that way. I have taken up my father’s old position as Nomik’s secretary, but our relationship is less servant and master, and more like that of two good friends.”

Ian nodded and then sipped a beverage he did not realize had taken many hours to prepare. Down the table, children were teaching Denny a local song. Adults hushed them, but the singing continued in whispers as Ian knew it would. Once Denny began to learn a thing, he would not stop until he had it.

After dinner, the party moved into the great hall. A cat was brought in and placed before Denny with a request that he make it sing.

“This,” said Ian to Miguel, “is a real test of skill.”

“And why is that?”

“To motivate a dog, you only need to make it understand you want to hear it sing. The magic is in teaching it the song. A cat, however, must be convinced the singing was its own idea.”

Denny was up to the challenge. The cat sang the song the children had been teaching him at dinner. Their pet led them dancing around the room in feline movements. The cat felt pride in its teaching. So did Ian, who saw his skills reflected in Denny’s spellcraft.

The children would gladly have kept Denny up all night, but Mrs. Panza insisted the guests, following their long day of travel, must be offered their rooms. Miguel led Ian and Denny through the archway into the corridor Nomik had disappeared through that afternoon. The walls were lined with photographs.

“My family. The images were manipulated by my father, cut and pasted on a computer. See this one? That is him and me and many of my male ancestors, looking like a fraternity, although some died before I was born. He made that for me as a gift, one I shall always treasure.”

Ian and Denny gave the photograph proper attention. It was well done, with lighting and focus adjusted to make the illusion seem almost real, as though these young men of different centuries had truly been contemporaries.

“Cool,” said Denny.

At the end of the corridor, stone steps wound around the inside of a curved wall. The three men emerged on the second floor. “That’s the music room, and beyond it, at the far end of this gallery, see a little door?” Miguel pointed.

Denny and Ian nodded.

“That’s the Chamber of Eternities.”

“Meaning what?” asked Ian.

“Meaning it contains more than one eternity. If you look through that door you will see nothing, a small room painted black, but never step inside. It’s private to Nomik. He once caught another wizard in there and very nearly killed him.”

Denny looked to Ian, who said, “We will avoid it.”

“This is Nomik’s bedroom behind us, and his study is at the top of the tower. I expect he’s up there now. Neither is quite so off-limits, but never enter them without invitation.”

“Common courtesy,” said Ian. “The same way you stay out of your sisters’ rooms, and they stay out of yours. Right, Denny?”

“Right. Did you say a music room? Just for music?”

“Yes,” said Miguel. “Do you play?”

Denny shook his head.

“Have you tried?”

“Nobody in my family is musical.”

“I could swear I heard you singing today.”

“Squawking, you mean.”

“And howling,” said Ian.

“I only sing under the influence of spells. I borrow the skill from animals.”

“One might think of that as a sort of instrument,” said Miguel. “You are a maestro of the menagerie.”

Denny laughed, but he liked the idea.

“Your rooms are over there.” Miguel pointed down a corridor to a door visible across two balcony railings. “Follow me.”

The party emerged on the balcony above the great hall and followed it around the north end, past the high window through which the summoned bird had entered, and around the stone chimney. Denny glanced down. He saw the fireplace screen and poker were still on the coffee table. This bothered him, and not just because his mother would have put them back by now if she were here.

“Denny, this is you.” Miguel opened a door onto a room that reminded Denny of the living room back home except the furniture was heavier, darker, and older.

“This is great. That couch should be comfortable to sleep on. Thick cushions. But where are my bags?”

“This is your sitting room. Your bags are through that door, in your bedroom.”

Denny’s jaw dropped open. His mind was overwhelmed by a possibility he had never considered. “Are you saying I have two rooms?”

“Three, if you count the private bath. You may want to share that with your uncle. His room is closer to other bathrooms, though, so perhaps not.”

“You understand that I am not really his uncle,” said Ian. “Not by blood.”

“Of course not. My mother has told me all about magical relationships. She wrote a genealogy of magic, you know.”

“I have read it. Denny has not yet, but he will.”

Denny made no comment, having drifted out of this room and into the next as if in a dream.

“My family,” said Miguel, “is descended from a witch. After Nomik’s revelation of the existence of real magic, ours was one of the first to know that we are non-magical people with magical ancestry. This may explain the eagerness of my children to see as much magic as they can.”

“Most children are like that. We are used to it by now.”

Denny’s voice carried from a distance. “Uncle Ian, the bathroom is bigger than my bedroom at home.”

“Visiting a billionaire like Nomik, or I should say like Miguel, has its advantages. Thank you, Miguel.”

“You are welcome, but it was Nomik who assigned the rooms, and my father who is the billionaire. I shall pass your gratitude on to both of them.”

“Miguel,” said Denny, “there is a lizard on the ceiling.”

Ian joined Denny in the bedroom, with Miguel following.

“That is a gecko.”

“Is it a pet?”

“No. They’re common around here. We give them free run of the house because they keep down the insect population.”

Denny’s eyes danced. “Uncle Ian, I love Mexico.”

“I knew you would.”

“Where is Uncle Ian’s room?”

Miguel led them back to the balcony. They retraced their steps around the great hall, past the music room and down the gallery. The door at the end of the gallery, the one they had been forbidden to enter, was unusually short in this home where most things towered. Denny could not help but wonder what was inside, but before they reached it, Miguel led them through a more typical opening onto a balcony that ran around the courtyard as the one inside had run around the hall.

While they crossed above the courtyard, Denny noticed tiny rustlings among plants around fountains and benches. “Uncle Ian, the nocturnals are active.”

Ian stopped to look. “Right you are, laddie.”

“I see nothing,” said Miguel.

“You could with practice.”

Miguel continued to peer but then gave up and said, “This door is your room.”

Ian looked up and down the balcony, and out over the courtyard. “Your old quarters, if I recall.”

“It was. My wife, the children and I, have since taken over the guesthouse.”

“We have traded places from when I used to visit.”

“We have.”

“That guesthouse was nice, but a little small for the grandchildren of a billionaire.”

“We made improvements. It’s bigger now.”

“Good for you.” Ian opened the door into his single bedroom. It was quite a bit smaller than Denny’s.

“Sun will come through those windows in the morning,” promised Miguel.

“Just the way I like it. Very nice.”

“Uncle Ian is a long way from my room,” said Denny.

“Not really. In coming here across those balconies, we have walked a loop around the center of the house. Your sitting room, on the other side of this wall, will get that same morning sun. Many years ago, the rooms you are in belonged to the Grandfather. This was the bedroom of his assistant. It is rumored that there is a secret passage between them, but I could never locate one.”

“A secret passage?” Denny’s eyes scanned the wall in question. “That is so cool. We have to find it.”

“Cory never did. Or if he did, he never mentioned it.”

“Cory?”

“Cory Lariston. Has your Uncle not told you of him?”

“Just a little. Cory was his last apprentice.”

“That’s right. His and Nomik’s. While Cory was living here, like you, he occupied the Grandfather’s suite. Cory was on the other side of that wall, and I had this room, but Cory made no mysterious appearances by my bedside. In fact, despite being just a wall away, I hardly knew he was there.”

“No loud music,” asked Ian.

“Not a peep.” Miguel patted the surface. “This is the outside wall of the original hacienda. It’s solid. If Denny makes noise, he will disturb no one.”

“Speaking of outside, if I recall correctly, there is a stairway nearby that will get us down and out.”

“Yes.” Miguel went back onto the balcony above the courtyard and pointed away from the house. “At the end, stairs take you down near the front gate.”

“Denny, in the plane today, I slept all the way to Mexico.”

“So did I, Uncle Ian. Are you thinking of a closer look at those nocturnal creatures?”

“Get to know the local fauna on our own time, as Nomik suggested.”

“Great idea.”

The three men descended an iron staircase. Denny and Ian took deep breaths, catching sweet scents of courtyard flowers mingling with native desert aromas. Each cast a quick spell. If Miguel had not been used to magic, the sight of their enlarged eyes would have shocked him. As it was, he only smiled.

“Denny, you see that pipe?” asked Ian.

“It has lizards on it.”

Miguel knew where the pipe bringing water from a mountain reservoir emerged, but he could see neither it nor lizards in the fading light.

“We will follow that. The boundary between mountain and desert will be a good place to begin our studies.”

Miguel knew the distance to the mountains, but he was aware of the speed with which a wizard can travel on foot so made no protest. “You two have fun.”

“We will,” said Denny. He moved away so fast that it was almost as if he had vanished.

“The boy has spent too much time inside today. I had better catch him. Do not have anyone wait up for us.” Ian took off in a blur. Miguel had seen that kind of blur before. It was impressive to watch, but he knew Nomik could move faster.

An hour later, Ian and Denny were standing beside the reservoir, close enough to feel soft mud between their toes. Both wizards had removed their shoes and socks. When getting close to nature, nothing is closer than the feet.

Here the air was full of insects, a fact that only made the wizards happy. Insects brought the creatures that ate insects, which in turn brought other creatures. The air was thick with life. Life magic was Ian’s specialty.

“Uncle Ian, this is amazing.”

“You have seen this sort of thing before.”

“But not with these particular animals. Every spell we use will have to be modified. It opens new possibilities.”

Ian sighed, enjoying the sensation of multiple tiny wings brushing against his face. “It is good to hear you say that. Many who practice our sort of magic hunker down in one spot, get to know one ecology and are uncomfortable if asked to leave the valley of their birth. You are the kind of apprentice who has no problem with new learning. For you, everywhere will be a source of magic.”

Denny looked down at his feet and not just because he felt something crawling there. “I had plenty of trouble with new learning today.” He was pleased to see the sensation around his ankle was a passing snake. “I barely understood a word Mr. Motchk said.”

“You understood enough. And you are still thinking about it. You take your lessons with you as a puzzle to ponder later. A good habit.”

“But Mr. Motchk’s way of looking at things is so different from ours. Why ask him to take me as an apprentice?”

“He is a distant valley full of new possibilities.”

Denny followed the snake, moving carefully to avoid disturbing its natural habits. “So he will be good for me, but will I be good for him?”

“Do not worry about that. Nomik would not have accepted you if he thought you had nothing to offer.”

“I am not sure he has accepted me.”

“Then be who you are, do the best you can, and see what comes of it.”

“What is supposed to come of it?” The snake struck suddenly, taking a large insect Denny had barely time to notice. The skill of nature’s predators was always worth admiring. “Uncle Ian, what happened to Cory Lariston?”

Ian emptied his lungs of air. He stepped into the water, bent low and pulled in a long, moist breath. He used the skills of local animals to enhance his appreciation of what could be detected in this atmosphere.

Denny joined him. “Is that something I should not ask?”

“There is nothing you should not ask. What happened to Cory was a failure of his mentors to keep their apprentice’s best interest foremost in their thoughts.” Ian went deeper to let his feet sink into mud alive with little wriggles.

“You were his mentor. And Mr. Motchk.”

“My failing was to believe that since others could do a better job of teaching Cory, it meant he no longer needed me. A mistake I will not repeat.”

“What was Mr. Motchk’s failing?”

Ian moved deeper still, dark water soaking into his pant legs. He hitched the pants up so he could feel the flow around his calves, warmer than the chill night air. “Nomik put his own best interests first. He sent Cory on an insanely dangerous mission. The result was ultimately fatal.”

Denny shuddered. “If Mr. Motchk does that sort of thing, why am I here?”

Ian bent and reached gently into the water. He froze and did not move again for some time. Denny, recognizing the situation, waited silently as minutes passed. At last, Ian rose, a wriggling fish in his palm. He held it out. With the seeing spell and starlight, Denny noted silvery-white scales blending into maroon at the fins. He smiled at the unfamiliar shape and color combination.

Ian reached into a pocket, pulling out a container. He flipped the lid open with his thumb, scooped up some water, slipped the tiny fish inside and closed the lid. “Before he sent Cory on that mission, Nomik had made him the most powerful wizard in the world.”

“And you think he can do the same for me?”

“Perhaps. No one else can.”

“Uncle Ian, I do not think I need to be the most powerful wizard in the world. I like doing the things we do.”

“You like them because you are used to them. You like our little valley. But once you have seen it—like seeing this new pond—you will like the wider world.” Ian stepped out of the water. “It is getting late. Race you back to our shoes.”

In a time that was not an instant but close enough, both wizards were gone.

Squeak. Squawk. Squeak. Squawk. Squeak. Squawk.

Nomik Motchk never had trouble sleeping, a fact which might have surprised some people. Some might have expected him to lie awake, tossing and turning, wracked by guilt over his crimes, his nightmares haunted by faces of his victims. Nomik had done all he could to promote this notion of the dangerous man.

In reality, Nomik had never killed anybody. Or even injured them. Not that he had not tried. There was that time he attempted to eliminate the entire human race, from their first moment to their last, so that no person would ever have lived on Earth, not even Nomik. His enemies had thwarted him, but if they had not, he would have felt no guilt. His motivation, the saving of the rest of the universe, would have fully justified his action.

Squeak. Squeak. Squawk. Squeak. Squawk. Squeak.

There were other times he planned to kill somebody, but Beta would not let him. His meddling daughter would arrange for the intended victim to acquiesce, or disappear, or in one notable case drop dead at his feet before Nomik could strike the fatal blow. Again, he would have felt no guilt if he had succeeded, for his motives were always pure.

Well, there was that one time they were not so pure, the day his rage brought him to try to kill his best friend, Peregrine Arnold, and Ruby, his future business partner, and Will Hilsat, the wizard who had thwarted his boldest scheme. That day, he had repented of his crime in the instant before it failed, and everyone had gone home alive and well. Guilt did not disturb the rest of Nomik Motchk.

Squawk. Squawk. Squeak. Squawk. Squeak. Squawk.

What of fear, then? Motchk was a man of many enemies. In both his magical and his business dealings, he had been often harsh. Since he had killed none of his opponents, they were mostly alive, capable of killing him. Only they were not capable. He could wish they were. The sole being Nomik Motchk feared, his daughter Beta, in her role as the Eighth Doll, occupant of another universe and overseer of this one, would never think to disturb her father’s healthful slumber.

Squeak. Squawk. Squeak. Squeak. Squawk. Squawk.

And Nomik was used to sleeping in a noisy house. He grew up surrounded by fellow apprentices, masters, and their many servants. There was a period after his masters had died, and the apprentices had moved on, when it was just Nomik and the servants in the house. But then a pack of cards arrived, or so they had seemed.

The cards were made up of nanobots from another planet, and it was they who had inspired Nomik’s failed attempt to eliminate humanity from history. That attempt had involved both magic and business. Nomik’s home had filled with guests, engineers and captains of the petroleum industry. The process of extracting necromantic magic from oil all over the world, an entire boatload of it, and of digging down to Chicxulub, the asteroid that destroyed the dinosaurs, in order to unweave it from spacetime, had made this house a noisy place but had never disturbed Nomik’s slumber. He was, after all, a man who had regularly heard the loudest sound there ever was: the grinding of his daughter’s universe against his own.

Squeak. Squawk. Squeak. Squawk. Squawk. Squeak.

It was the irregularity that woke him. Whoever was making that noise, did their inconsistency have meaning? Nomik found his eyes open and his feet on the floor. He shuffled into the corridor and out to the balcony. Below, he saw the source of sound.

Denny Broome was playing with the fireplace screen and poker. He held the poker in one hand, gripped at its center of balance. He moved it back and forth over the screen. He would tip up a panel of the screen. Squeak. He would tap it with the poker’s point. He would lower the panel. Squeak. He would move the poker forward and raise the other panel until it hit the poker’s handle. Squawk.

As Nomik watched, Denny tried variations in direction and order, producing various squeaks and squawks. Nomik was baffled at how the boy kept at it. What could he possibly figure out if he had not understood the first time? But the boy would not give up. Over and over. Squeak and squawk. One had to admire his persistence even if it grew out of inability.

Persistence was a good thing. The Grandfather had said as much. One of the apprentices had been doing something much like this, trying something over and over again in the hope of understanding. What had that boy been doing? Which apprentice was it? Could it have been Nomik himself? He shook his head. So long ago that he could not recall.

Persistence was a good thing, a positive sign, but even in an idiot? Perhaps it would lead somewhere. Nomik would not give up entirely on Denny Broome. Not yet.

Denny Broome had a fever. He had chills. His skin was pale. He had to spend all week in bed. His mother took good care of him, but Denny Broome was bored.

“Maybe Uncle Ian will come to visit me,” said Denny.

“Perhaps,” said Denny’s mother. “Uncle Ian loves you. But he is a busy man who lives far away in Scotland.”

Yet even as she spoke, they heard a knock at the door. It was Uncle Ian there as if by magic. He took off his coat and hat. He laid them neatly over the back of a chair.

“Laddie, ah ken yer peely-wally.”

“I don’t feel too bad,” said Denny, “but I am stuck in bed all day, and I am bored. I wish I could go far away.”

“Far awee,” said Uncle Ian. “Hae ah ne'er tellt ye th' tale o' Brer Rabbit 'n' his brother's races aroon th' worlt?”

“No, Uncle Ian. Please tell me.”

Uncle Ian pulled a chair close beside Denny’s bed, sat down and began.

***

Rabbits live in a kingdom. Brer Rabbit’s father had been their king. He ruled long and well. He worked so hard for his subjects that he had little time for children of his own. He was old and gray when his sons were born. When he passed on, they were too young to rule. Their mother oversaw the kingdom of rabbits until the oldest boy child would come of age, for these rabbits only let a girl rule them when they must.

One day, Brer Rabbit went walking in the woods, where he met Brer Fox. “It’s a lovely day,” said Brer Fox, “with the sun shining and no clouds in the sky, but you don’t seem to be enjoying it. You look like you’re thinking very hard. Is there a problem?”

“Tomorrow,” said Brer Rabbit, “my twin brother will come of age. Big Bunny is the older of us by an instant. He will be king. I will be his servant.”

“And you don’t like that?”

“Big Bunny is nice, but he is not clever enough to be our king. For the sake of my fellow rabbits, I need a clever plan to fix this.”

“Let me see if I can help.” Brer Fox joined Brer Rabbit on his walk, both critters thinking very hard. They walked clear across the woods. Standing at the edge, looking over fields, Brer Fox said, “I know the answer. Challenge your brother to a race around the world.”

“I doubt Big Bunny would bet his kingdom on a race.”

“You don’t need a bet. You just need him to run around the world.”

Brer Rabbit shook his head. “I don’t want to get rid of my brother. I just don’t want him to be king. And anyway, Big Bunny and I are so fast that a race around the world would only take a moment.”

“His victory will be his loss.”

“Nonsense. I’m faster. I can beat him.”

“You need to be older than Big Bunny, not faster. Then you will be king. Big Bunny will be your servant.”

“That would be nice,” said Brer Rabbit, “but how could I become the older brother?”

“The race,” said Brer Fox.

“I don’t understand,” said Brer Rabbit.

Brer Fox smiled and winked his eye. “Your brother will take off so fast that he will be out of sight in no time. He will think you are following him, but you will not run at all. You will pretend to stumble. Your brother will run around the world alone.”

“If I stumble, I will lose,” said Brer Rabbit. “Big Bunny is so fast that he’ll only take an instant to run around the world and see that he has beaten me.”

“That instant is all you need,” said Brer Fox. “That run around the world will make your brother younger than you.”

Brer Rabbit wiggled his ears in a doubtful way. (If you have never seen a rabbit wiggle its ears in a doubtful way, you need to spend more time with rabbits.) “How will running around the world in an instant make Big Bunny younger than me?”

“In Mr. Albert’s book, it says that when you travel very fast, your clock slows down. All the time your brother is running, his clock will run slower than yours. You will get older faster than he does. By the time he comes back, you will be older than him. You will be king.”

Brer Rabbit was so happy to hear this he began planning the race right away. He went straight home and challenged Big Bunny, who accepted. Soon the woods hummed with news that tomorrow, just before the crowning of a new rabbit king, Big Bunny and Brer Rabbit would race around the world. Brer Fox would start the race and judge the finish.

When Possum Child saw Brer Rabbit and Brer Fox working peacefully together, it worried her. She went to visit Swamp Owl in his new tree beside a lovely meadow. He was not home when she arrived, so she hung by her tail from a branch to wait. At last he returned and landed beside her. 

“Possum Child, what brings you here?”

“Have you heard? Brer Fox and Brer Rabbit are working together setting up a race between the Rabbit brothers.”

Swamp Owl turned his head from side to side. Maybe he was shaking it, or maybe he was looking around the meadow for signs of mice.

“I’m happy that they aren’t fighting,” said Possum Child, “but I’m worried, too. Old enemies working together? What can they be up to?”

Swamp Owl sighed. “Everything worries you, Possum Child, but I suppose this merits investigation. Climb up on my back, and we’ll have a look.”

With Possum Child on his back, Swamp Owl flew over the woods until he came to a noisy place where many critters were at work.

“What are you critters up to?” asked Swamp Owl.

“We’re clearing a place for observers of the race between me and Big Bunny,” said Brer Rabbit.

“Did Big Bunny ask you for this race?”

“No,” said Brer Rabbit. “I asked him.”

 “Are you so eager to beat your brother?”

“I expect to lose. Big Bunny will enjoy beating me.”

“What a kind and brotherly thought.”

Swamp Owl, with Possum Child on his back, flew up above the trees. They saw that beyond the clearing the critters had prepared a straight path that ran as far as the eye could see in either direction because the race was to be all the way around the world. “There is more here than meets the eye,” said Swamp Owl to Possum Child. Together, they flew back down to Brer Rabbit.

“What do you think of our work?” asked Brer Rabbit.

“It looks fine,” said Swamp Owl, “but tell me the truth, Brer Rabbit. Why have you gone to so much trouble if you expect to lose the race? I know you love Big Bunny, but you love winning even more.”

Brer Rabbit looked down at his furry feet. He cleared his throat and spoke so quietly the other critters would not hear. “Swamp Owl, you know I do love my brother, but you know he is not clever. You are one who understands the value of cleverness.”

“And of wisdom.”

“Right. We rabbits cannot have someone like my brother be our king. When that race starts, I will not really run at all, but Big Bunny will not know that. When Big Bunny runs around the world, he will run much faster than the lightning. Mr. Albert’s book says his clock will run slower than mine all the time that he is moving fast. When he comes back, he will be the younger of us. I will be the rightful heir and ruler of all the rabbits.”

“What an amazing plan,” said Swamp Owl. “Did you come up with this all by yourself?”

Brer Rabbit nodded his head. “I did. Brer Fox helped me work out the details.”

“When does this race take place?”

“Tomorrow, just before the crowning of the king,” said Brer Rabbit.

“Wonderful,” said Swamp Owl. “I’ll let you get back to work.” With Possum Child on his back, Swamp Owl flew up high again. “Did you see Brer Fox anywhere?”

“No,” said Possum Child, “although he was here earlier.”

“We must go look for him. Something is not right.”

They flew over woods and meadows until they came to the den of Brer Fox, who was sunning himself in his yard. Swamp Owl landed on a stump near where Brer Fox lay. Possum Child climbed off of Swamp Owl’s back.

“May we have a word with you?” asked Swamp Owl.

“Of course. I always have time for a smart bird like you. And our little Possum Child.” The way Brer Fox smiled at Possum Child made her uncomfortable. She wondered if he had eaten yet today.

“Brer Rabbit tells us you helped him with his plan to race Big Bunny. He thinks Big Bunny will age more slowly while he is moving fast. Brer Rabbit will become the older brother and so become the king of all the rabbits.”

Brer Fox turned his attention to Swamp Owl. “I did more than help him. It was I who gave him the idea.”

“I thought that might be the case,” said Swamp Owl. “Where did you come up with such a plan?”

“After Brer Rabbit tricked me about putting a long pole into a short shed, I read Mr. Albert’s book. I know all about how time works, now.”

“But Brer Rabbit didn’t really . . . ,” began Possum Child.

“Be quiet,” said Swamp Owl. “Children cannot understand these things. Let the grown-ups talk. I am sure Brer Fox knows what he is doing.”

“I do,” said Brer Fox. He rolled over to let the sun warm his belly.

“I am sure Brer Fox knows how wrong Brer Rabbit is,” said Swamp Owl. “Wrong about what will happen when Big Bunny runs around the world. Brer Fox has no intention of helping Brer Rabbit become king.”

Brer Fox chuckled. “Right as always, Swamp Owl.”

“But I thought Mr. Albert was smarter than any critter,” said Possum Child. “Is his book wrong?”

“His book is right,” said Brer Fox, “but Brer Rabbit has not read it yet. I told Brer Rabbit that when his brother travels very fast, his clock will slow down. If Brer Rabbit had read the book, he would know that you never simply travel. You travel compared to something else.”

“I do not understand,” said Possum Child.

“It has to do with point of view,” said Brer Fox. “From Brer Rabbit’s point of view, it will be Big Bunny who travels very fast, so it will be Big Bunny whose clock runs slow. But from Big Bunny’s point of view, it will be Brer Rabbit who is moving relative to Big Bunny, so it will be Brer Rabbit whose clock runs slow. Brer Rabbit will be mighty surprised to have wasted his time on a scheme that cannot succeed. Big Bunny will still be king.”

“Which is what you want,” said Swamp Owl.

“Brer Rabbit is dangerously clever. A clever king of the rabbits could be a problem for us foxes. By distracting Brer Rabbit with a bad plan, I keep him from coming up with a good one.”

“It is good you have taken up reading,” said Swamp Owl. “I am glad to see it has been of benefit to you.” With that, he spread his wings wide. Not wanting to be left alone with Brer Fox, Possum Child quickly jumped on Swamp Owl’s back. Together, they flew away.

“I am confused,” said Possum Child.

“Excellent,” said Swamp Owl. “That means you are thinking. What confuses you?”

“If children cannot understand these things, why should I even ask?”

“I only said that to keep you quiet. Children can understand anything if it is properly explained. You may ask your questions.”

“From Brer Rabbit’s point of view, Big Bunny will be aging slowly. But from Big Bunny’s point of view, it is Brer Rabbit who will be aging slowly. When they get together again, who will have aged more? Will they both just be the way they were?”

“Wait and see,” said Swamp Owl.

“You said I would understand if you explained it.”

“You will, but explanations work best with examples.”

The next day, all the critters gathered to see the big race between the Rabbit brothers and then the crowning of the rabbit king. Brer Fox did the announcements.

“Today we will witness a race between the two fastest critters in the world: Big Bunny Rabbit, heir to the rabbit kingdom, and Brer Rabbit, his younger brother by an instant. They will race around the world. Because they are both so fast, you will need to pay close attention. When the race begins, they will be gone. Before you know it, they will be back again. Are our runners ready?” asked Brer Fox.

“We are,” said the Rabbits.

Brer Fox leaned close to Brer Rabbit and whispered. “Make your stumble convincing.”

Brer Rabbit shook his head. He did not like the idea of being seen to stumble in front of such a crowd.

Brer Fox whispered, “The king must be above suspicion.”

Brer Rabbit sighed. “I suppose so.”

Brer Fox stepped back and shouted, “Begin!”

Big Bunny took off much faster than a shot and was gone before anyone could see him go, but Brer Rabbit, to everyone’s astonishment, stumbled over his own feet at the starting line. By this time, Big Bunny had run all the way around the world and crossed the line.

“I declare Big Bunny to be the winner,” said Brer Fox.

 While the crowd cheered, Big Bunny helped his brother up. The crowd cheered louder because it was nice to see the winner being kind to the loser.

Brer Rabbit brushed dust out of the fur on his chest. “How was it on the other side of the world?”

“Dark,” said Big Bunny. “It is nighttime there.”

“Is that so?” asked Brer Rabbit.

“It is,” said Big Bunny. “Took me by surprise.”

“I would like to have seen that,” said Brer Rabbit.

“You can,” said Big Bunny. “We could race again. I feel bad beating you just because you stumbled.”

Brer Rabbit caught Brer Fox’s eye. “Is that a good idea. Should we have another race?”

“Excellent suggestion,” said Brer Fox.

“This time we can run around the world the other way,” said Big Bunny. “That way, it will all look different for me.”

Brer Rabbit snapped his head back and forth as if trying to look down both paths at once until he stopped because it made him dizzy. “Let me think about that. Take a moment to catch your breath.”

Big Bunny had caught his breath already, but he enjoyed a moment chatting with the admiring crowd of critters.

“Brer Fox,” said Brer Rabbit, “may I have a word with you?” Brer Rabbit and Brer Fox strolled a short distance into the trees, far enough away no one would hear. “Am I the older brother yet?”

“I think so,” said Brer Fox. “Although that race was so short that your ages might only be tied at this point.”

“What happens if Big Bunny goes around the world the other way? Will he undo what has happened and be older than me again?”

“Just the opposite,” said Brer Fox. “Time does not care which direction Big Bunny runs. As long as he goes fast, his clock slows down. If he runs the race a second time, and you stay here, you will again age faster than Big Bunny and improve your claim to the crown.”

“Must I stumble over my feet again?”

“I would advise it.”

The race was run a second time with everything exactly as before, except this time Big Bunny went around the world the other way. A moment later he returned to find Brer Rabbit lying face down in the dirt where he had stumbled.

“Brother, are you all right?”

Dust puffed from Brer Rabbit’s whiskers as he said, “Fine.” This made some critters laugh.

“Big Bunny wins again,” declared Brer Fox.

“But Brer Rabbit,” said Big Bunny, “you have still not gotten to run into the night and out again. I know that you would like it. Let’s run one more time.”

Brer Rabbit looked to Brer Fox, who smiled and nodded. And so the race was run again, and again Big Bunny ran around the world, and again Brer Rabbit stumbled and fell onto his face. When Big Bunny helped Brer Rabbit up and brushed the dirt off of his ears, many critters laughed until their sides ached. Even Swamp Owl chuckled.

Brer Fox laughed, too. “Big Bunny wins a third time.”

Brer Rabbit frowned when he realized the merriment was because he had fallen on his face three times, but then he joined in laughing as he remembered he was older than Big Bunny now and would become the king.

Soon it was time for the crown to change heads. Mother Rabbit said, “Will my oldest son come forth to take this burden from me?” When both brothers stepped forward, she said, “Brer Rabbit, you know I meant Big Bunny.”

“Mother, I have news. Big Bunny is not the older of us.”

“That certainly is news to me,” said Mother Rabbit, “for I should know which of my sons was born first.”

“Big Bunny was born first, but he is not the oldest.”

Mother Rabbit crossed her eyes, which she did when she was thinking. “That is not possible.”

“It is,” said Brer Rabbit. “Big Bunny ran around the world faster than the lightning, while I did not. Mr. Albert’s book says, when you move very fast, your clock slows down. Big Bunny is a moment younger than he would have been.”

“Big Bunny was a moment older than you, so if he got a moment younger, does that mean you are the same age?”

“It might,” said Brer Rabbit, “but Big Bunny ran around the world three times. That makes him three moments younger. That makes me the older brother.”

“But one of those races was the other way. Does that even things up again?”

“It does not. Time does not care which way you run, just how fast you go. I have an expert who can explain it.” Brer Rabbit looked into the crowd. He pointed to Brer Fox.

“Brer Fox?” asked Mother Rabbit. “Is this true?”

“It’s true Brer Rabbit fell flat on his face during all three races,” said Brer Fox. This brought more laughter from the crowd. “And it’s true that from Brer Rabbit’s point of view, Big Bunny’s clock ran slower as he ran around the world. And time does not care which direction you run, so the same thing happened all three times.”

Brer Rabbit smiled a big smile and put his arm across the shoulders of his good friend, the time expert Brer Fox.

“But,” said Brer Fox, “Mr. Albert’s book is all about how things look different from different points of view. From Big Bunny’s point of view, it was Brer Rabbit who was moving fast, first away from Big Bunny and then closer, so from Big Bunny’s point of view, it was Brer Rabbit’s clock that ran slower. Brer Rabbit got even younger, and Big Bunny should be king.”

Brer Rabbit stopped smiling. He took his arm off of Brer Fox’s shoulders. “Brer Fox, you tricked me.”

Brer Fox smiled. “I believe I did.”

Mother Rabbit crossed her eyes and thought again. “If from Brer Rabbit’s point of view, Big Bunny is the younger, and from Big Bunny’s point of view, Brer Rabbit is the younger, who is really younger?”

“Both brothers saw the same thing,” said Brer Fox. “Both points of view are equally true, with no difference between them to tell them apart. I guess you rabbits will not have a king. Or maybe you will need to decide it with a war.”

“This is terrible,” said Mother Rabbit. “Is there no way to know who is really younger?”

“This is terrible,” said Possum Child. “A war between the rabbits would be awful.”

“Not for the foxes,” said Swamp Owl. “But yes, war is terrible.” Then he flew down from the branch and landed in front of Mother Rabbit. “I can solve your problem.”

“Swamp Owl, how can you do that?”

“There is a difference between what happened to these two brothers.”

“Sure,” said Brer Fox. “One went around the world and the other did not, but from Big Bunny’s point of view, it was Brer Rabbit who went away and came back, so from the point of view of time, there is no difference.”

“That is not the difference I meant,” said Swamp Owl. “Big Bunny, how did it feel when you started running around the world?”

“It always feels funny when I start to run,” said Big Bunny. “I pick up speed so fast, my ears pull back, and my eyes push into my head.”

“And when you slow down at the end?”

“The other way around. My eyes almost pop out.”

“There is the difference. Big Bunny had to go faster, and then slower. Brer Rabbit did not. Mr. Albert wrote two books. In Mr. Albert’s second book, it says your clock goes slower when you change how fast you go.”

“How fast you go compared to what?” asked Brer Fox. “Compared to the world? Big Bunny and Brer Rabbit both have worlds.”

“No,” said Swamp Owl. “How fast you go compared to yourself. Big Bunny felt his eyes push back into his head because he changed how fast he was going compared to Big Bunny just a moment earlier. He accelerated.”

“How can you compare yourself to yourself a moment earlier when yourself a moment earlier is no longer there?”

“Yourself a moment earlier is always there. Mr. Albert told us that the past and future are just as real as now.”

By this time, Mother Rabbit had crossed her eyes so hard it was worrying Big Bunny. “I think I can help you, Mother. You know better than any of us how difficult it is to rule the rabbits. I do not want your burden. Brer Rabbit was willing to fall on his face three times, to lose three races in front of all these critters, just to make himself the older brother. Swamp Owl says it worked, and I trust Swamp Owl. I say, let Brer Rabbit be the king. I love my brother and will be proud to be his servant.”

With that, a cheer went up from all the critters. Well, all except Brer Fox, who just glared at Swamp Owl.

Mother Rabbit uncrossed her eyes, took the crown from her head and placed it on Brer Rabbit.

After he thanked the cheering crowd, Brer Rabbit put his forepaws on Swamp Owl’s shoulders. “I must thank you most of all. Without your help, we rabbits nearly missed out on having a clever king.”

“True,” said Swamp Owl. “You nearly had a wise one.”

***

Denny Broome laughed and laughed. “That story has made me feel much better.”

“Grand! Bit ilka story teaches,” said Uncle Ian. “Whit hae ye learned, laddie?”

Denny thought a moment. “I already knew that time passes differently for people traveling at different speeds, but now I know that time passes differently when you change your speed.”

Uncle Ian nodded.

“And I already knew that people can disagree on which events are in the past and which are in the future, but it makes more sense now that I know the past and the future always exist just the same as now.”

“Goodness,” said Denny’s mother. “Where do you get such ideas?”

“Losh! He gets thaim fae listening,” said Uncle Ian. “'N' ilka yin is true.”

“I’m picking up the pattern,” said the aspiring author. “I understand it now. I could write like this whether it’s historical or not.”

“Good attitude,” said the publisher. “And don’t worry about copying every detail of the style slavishly. I don’t get all of it myself. For instance, it looks to me like every scientific point had been made after the second race was run. I don’t see why the rabbits had to run a third time.”

“I do,” said the aspiring author.

“Oh?”

“It’s an ancient principle of art. Things are more interesting when they come in threes. If you see an event like that race happen in a story, and then happen a second time, you can bet there is a third one coming even if you have to wait for it.”

“Is that so?”

“Count on it.”

Denny Broome was late for breakfast. A woman from the kitchen managed, through looks and gestures, to give him a hard time.

“I was up with Uncle Ian learning about the local wildlife and then half the night trying to figure out things Mr. Motchk showed me.”

The woman serving Denny at an otherwise empty table was unimpressed, perhaps because she understood not a word of English.

Denny was unsure of breakfast. He found no cereal and could not communicate his desire. Some of the fruit he recognized. And nuts. And cheese? But brave experiments with the unfamiliar were rewarded. It seemed everything from the Panza kitchen tasted good. He particularly liked a beverage he thought had chocolate in it, along with other things he could not identify. He tried to get the woman to enlighten him upon its ingredients. Was her gesture shucking corn or peeling a banana? The language barrier proved insurmountable.

“I can show you a spell that will give you the ability to speak Spanish.” Nomik Motchk was standing in the archway from the great hall. “It is a good deal quicker than you could learn the language, assuming you can learn anything.”

Denny brushed his long hair back from his face. “Uncle Ian has taught me a lot.”

“What a great teacher he must be.” Nomik entered the dining room followed by young Panzas. They sat across from Denny, the children ordered by age to Nomik’s right, the youngest at his side.

The serving woman disappeared into the kitchen.

“Where is Ian?”

“I do not know.” Denny’s pronunciation was careful. “He was gone before I got up. That lady is the only person I have seen. Can a spell really teach me Spanish?”

“It will help you to chat fluently in any language.”

“So how about a spell to teach me time magic?”

Nomik shook his head. “The language spell opens channels between minds, creating the illusion of comprehensible speech. Rather than really teaching you a language, that spell will allow you to express your ignorance in any tongue.”

Guillermo, the eldest Panza, giggled but then glanced apologetically toward Denny.

Denny took a thoughtful sip of whatever he was sipping. “Too bad.”

“Indeed.”

The woman returned and put a plate before Nomik. The children had already eaten so expected nothing, but from her apron pocket she pulled a small fruit for each of them. Nomik took up a bright wedge of yellow melon. “Speaking of ignorance, I saw you playing with the poker last night.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any progress?”

“The fireplace screen is not moving, but because the poker goes to the left, it looks from there like the screen is going to the right. It is an illusion.”

“What makes you think the screen is not moving?”

Denny was disappointed. He thought he had an insight. Must he defend it? “The screen stays in the same place.”

“Relative to what?”

“To everything, I guess.”

“Relative to the poker?”

“Well, no. Obviously not the poker.”

“The poker is part of everything. Relative to what is the screen not moving?”

“To the coffee table.”

“And is the coffee table staying in one place?”

“Yes.”

“Relative to what?”

“To the floor.”

“And is the floor staying in one place?”

“Of course.”

“Relative to what?”

Denny wondered if Nomik was being intentionally exasperating. He thought of saying, you remind me of my sisters, but decided not to. “Relative to the ground.”

“The ground that grew this melon. The ground that covers the earth. And is the earth staying in one place?”

Denny took a sip. The old wizard had him. “No. The earth goes around the sun.”

“That they teach in school,” said Amorita.

Nomik smiled. “And someone actually has taught Denny something. So, is the screen moving?”

“It goes around the sun once a year,” said Denny. “And it goes around the earth once a day. And the sun goes around the galaxy. And the galaxy moves, right?”

Guillermo nodded. Amorita joined him. Bartolomé did not catch all the English words but nodded anyway.

“As Miguel suggested, I should have let you rest when you first arrived,” said Nomik. “With a good night’s sleep, apparently, you can think.”

Denny wondered if Nomik was ever going to eat that melon he was holding. “So how do we know the way that anything is really moving? Do we always have to take galactic spin and drift into account?”

“All motion, all position, is relative. You only need to consider the relationships important to your interests.”

“But the earth must have some motion relative to the universe as a whole. If a thing stops in relation to the universe, then you could really say it was not moving.”

“Excellent. Your thinking has reached the late 19th century. Scientists who thought as you do tested that theory. They fired rays of light in different directions and bounced them back again. Which ones traveled faster should tell them the absolute motion of the earth.”

“And what did they find?”

“That their initial assumptions were false. The speed of light is constant no matter how the light’s source moves.”

“I don’t get it.” Denny caught himself. “I mean, I do not get it. Sorry about the contraction, sir. My mistake.”

Nomik restrained a scowl to the best of his ability.

“I thought English was supposed to have lots of contractions,” said Guillermo. “I’ve been learning them.”

“For you, yes. Not for magical apprentices.” Nomik saw the young wizard’s downcast eyes. “But Denny did well to catch himself. Speaking of catching, remember our talk about throwing an orange in an airplane?”

Denny nodded.

“In the airplane, you would see the orange travel as fast as you threw it. Standing on the ground, an observer would see the orange travel as fast as you threw it plus the speed of the airplane. You might see the orange go one hundred kilometers per hour, while an observer on the ground would see it more like nine hundred.”

“Eight hundred plus one hundred.” Denny smiled.

Nomik hesitated. The boy was clearly proud of his simple arithmetic. What should a teacher do? “Correct.”

Denny’s smile broadened.

“But if you shine a ray of light from your airplane, and the observer on the ground also shines a ray from his stationary position, both rays travel exactly the same speed.”

Denny’s smile faded. “How is that possible?”

Nomik pointed at Denny with his melon wedge. “It is possible because it happens. Reality, not expectations, determines possibility.”

“Am I just stupid not to understand this?”

The Panza children looked worried.

“Perhaps not. The behavior of light puzzled the greatest minds in the non-magical world.”

“But not magic users?”

“We were not thinking about it.” Nomik at last took a bite from the melon wedge, starting at the rind. The stories of his eating habits were correct. He spent some time chewing before he swallowed and spoke again.

“A few had dabbled in time magic and made the mistake of believing they were experts. I knew some of those old wizards when I was a boy. They performed minor temporal tricks, using skills built up over the ages, with no real understanding of what they did. We made little further progress until Albert Einstein.”

“I have heard of him. I knew he was a scientist but not that he was a wizard.”

“He was neither. He was trained to be a science teacher but could not find a job. He was not a wizard and never knew real magic existed. He was a patent clerk.”

“Then how did he help wizards?”

“He thought freely enough to consider things no one had before, like the possibility the length of an object or the speed with which time passes could be different to different observers even without magic.”

“Wow!”

“He used equations to calculate those differences. I have written a few of them out for you.” Nomik pulled a sheet of paper from a pocket.

The page was too large to fit in the pocket, yet it was uncreased. “Can you show me how to do that?” asked Denny.

“The arithmetic is simplified.”

“I mean the paper. Can you show me how to put it into a pocket without folding it?”

“I can. It involves this arithmetic.”

“Oh. If it is simple, maybe I can work it out.”

“It is simplified. The full versions are more complex. You will eventually need those complex equations, but this is a good place to start.”

Denny examined the page. Nomik’s handwriting was clear even if the symbols were not. “These are simplified?”

“Have you studied algebra?”

“I had trouble with it.” Denny frowned. “But I bet I can learn this.”

The Panza children smiled.

“I hope so. Feel free to finish breakfast first.”

“Thank you.” With some relief, Denny set the simplified equations aside, but as he ate, he glanced at them from time to time.

“Exsomem, memo.”

A new memorandum window appeared on Nomik’s computer monitor.

“Following yesterday’s Denny Broome debacle, I had little hope of teaching him anything. This morning, his mind seemed sharper. I have yet to see evidence that he will be able to learn the sort of things or have the sort of power I require of him. Still, he makes an honest effort, which Ian claims is his greatest gift. Perhaps I really will have to kill him someday. Close memo. Open identity, Denny Broome.”

The memorandum window was replaced by Denny Broome’s identity window.

“Relationships: to Nomik Motchk, tentatively apprenticed. Close identity.” 

Nomik leaned back in his chair and looked out a real window. There was no farmer in the field this afternoon. The plants were doing all the work. It was not a hot day, but heat rising from the roof tiles still produced the shimmer always visible in that direction. Nomik enjoyed the way it distorted straight rows of corn into ever-shifting curves. The dividing line between the bright green field and golden fallow land beside it was interesting. He could make this twist by moving his head from side to side. The air currents must have consistency, as an amusing swirl could be reproduced over and over again.

What a way for a wizard to waste his time. Nomik decided he must get back to work. He had only recently installed a terrarium in his study and was experimenting with using time magic to bring plants rapidly into flower, a skill that might prove useful in his fields. It was trickier than he had anticipated. Something to do with cycles of sunlight, he expected. Though the principle was obvious, he wanted detail. Perhaps one of his guests could enlighten him. They spent a lot of time outdoors.

Nomik descended the tower steps and made his way to the balcony. He heard children laughing and followed the sound outside above the courtyard. Here he could look down on a game of hide and seek. The mob hiding was young Panzas: Miguel’s children and their many cousins. The seeker was Denny Broome.

It was clear Denny could not possibly fail to see where children were going, particularly the younger ones. Did Bartolomé truly believe he was concealed behind that leaf? Denny used the seeing spell, making his eyes huge, and the running spell, even though he was already faster than anyone playing. Spells brought in birds and lizards to tattle on the hiding children, yet shrieking Panzas escaped him time and again. “You guys are just too good for me.”

Up from more than a century ago, Nomik recalled a memory: the same game in the same courtyard. One of the hiding children had been Nomik Motchk, recently taken from his family in the old days when magic was a secret and such takings were done with neither explanation nor approval. An apprentice, about the age of Denny now, had done for Nomik what Denny was doing for the Panzas. Years later, Nomik had done the same for younger arrivals, building their confidence with faked victories.

Denny cast a spell and shot up an orange tree with the skill of a monkey. He poked his head above the leaves, pretending to get a better view to find the children. Although it would provide no help in the game, he looked up and all around. “Hello, Mr. Motchk. Did you want something?”

Nomik thought for a moment. What did he want? “Throw me an orange.”

“Sure.” Denny disappeared and then emerged above the leaves again. He tossed an orange toward the balcony.

Nomik caught the fruit and bit into it through the rind, which was his favorite way to eat them these days. He looked around the courtyard. “I wonder if Bartolomé, who is hiding behind that huge plant in the corner, can make it to base before you get back to the ground.”

“I see him,” said Denny. “Behind the giant taro leaf.”

Bartolomé let out a yelp and ran. Denny vanished into the leaves and dropped onto the ground below, arriving almost in time to catch the panting child, but not quite.

“You are so fast,” said Denny.

Bartolomé nodded. “I am.”

Nomik savored the combined bitterness and sweetness of the orange. He had forgotten why he came out here. No matter. He ate the fruit and watched the children play.

After dinner, Nomik, Ian and Denny took coffee in the great hall. A plate of cookies was provided. Denny found them barely sweet yet quite tasty.

“Has your day worn you out,” asked Nomik, “or can you think this evening?”

“I had a fine time out in the brush,” said Ian. “Ran into a jaguarundi.”

“What’s that?” asked Denny.

“Lovely little cat.”

“Aww. You should have taken me with you.”

“I had hoped you and Nomik might make progress without my interference.”

“So glad you enjoyed yourself,” said Nomik, “but my question was intended for Denny.”

“I am OK,” said Denny.

“Did you work on the equations?”

“I did. I am starting to understand them a little.”

“A little? Well, good.”

“Once Denny starts down a path,” said Ian, “you can bet he will find the end of it.”

“If he lives long enough,” muttered Nomik.

“Pardon?”

“I have high hopes that he will.”

“Count on it.”

“I would like to try another paradox on you tonight, one about a pair of twins.”

“OK.” Denny’s voice was hesitant.

“Do not be afraid, boy. There is no shame in needing time to understand these things. I made a mistake yesterday. I was talking to you but expecting Cory Lariston. His was a special mind. Cory had a way of instantly grasping complex situations. The story I will tell you tonight was no challenge to him, but it has baffled some of mankind’s greatest brains. Most of their explanations miss the point entirely.”

“What is the point?”

“First the story.”

Denny dipped a cookie into his coffee. The combined flavors were delicious. Uncle Ian followed Denny’s lead.

“When Einstein proposed his solution to problems like light’s velocity being constant, he solved a seeming paradox by introducing a new way to see the universe. People who had a hard time letting go of the old way kept recreating the paradox for themselves.”

“I can sympathize with that,” said Ian.

“The idea that a pole could be longer to one observer and shorter to another might make them think they had found a paradox. Similarly with time. A particular example was the twin paradox. If two children of exactly the same age, call them Alvaro and Bernardo, pass each other going in opposite directions at nearly the speed of light, each would see the other’s clock running slower than his own.”

“These are Mexican kids?” asked Denny.

“They could be.” Nomik sipped his coffee. “It does not matter. The reason their names start with A and B is to suggest they are not real, just names chosen alphabetically. Any pair of twins will do, so long as each can compare his clock to his brother’s.”

“Or his sister’s,” said Denny.

“What?”

“If one of the kids is a boy and the other is a girl—we could call her Amorita—it will be easier to tell them apart in the story. You do not have to say their names. You can say him and her.”

“I have never heard it done that way.”

“Times change,” said Ian.

“Very well. Amorita and Bartolomé, like Miguel’s children, only twins, passing each other at very nearly the speed of light. He sees her aging more slowly, and she sees him aging more slowly. Each sees the other becoming the younger sibling.”

“Wow,” said Denny. “That is a paradox.”

“No, it is not. It is simply what happens in relativistic spacetime, which is to say, in the real world.”

“They cannot both be older.”

“They can, taking into account the fact that they have two different frames of reference.”

“Well, what if they come together into the same frame of reference? Which one is older then?”

“That is the wrong question to ask, totally missing the point of the example”

Denny hung his head, his hair almost hiding his face.

“But do not feel bad,” Nomik added. “That is exactly what others asked. They created an example where one twin, the girl we could say, stays on Earth, while the boy flies away in a rocket.”

“You should let the girl fly,” said Ian.

“Why?”

“Trust me on this. You will have less trouble someday.”

“It makes no difference. Fine then. The girl flies away and returns.”

“And which one is older?” asked Denny.

“The boy.”

“Why? From her point of view, wouldn’t she be older?”

Nomik loudly cleared his throat. “Would you care to ask that again without the contraction?”

“Sorry, sir. Would she be older from her viewpoint?”

“No, because in introducing the rocket trip we have completely changed the original problem and entered an entirely new realm. It turns out velocity is not the only factor. Acceleration has its own effects on time.”

“I don’t . . .” Denny practically bit his tongue to stop the sound. “I do not get it.”

“I take it you have not made it to the bottom of that page of equations.”

Denny shook his head.

“You will find how to calculate the temporal effects of changing velocity, that is, of acceleration. Also of gravity.”

“What does gravity have to do with it?”

“Another of Einstein’s brilliant insights. He realized that the acceleration due to gravity, the force you feel holding you down onto the earth, is indistinguishable from the acceleration the girl would feel pushing her down into her seat as the rocket went faster.”

“I would think they would feel different. Gravity stays constant, but the pushing from the rocket would change.”

“Different in quantity over time, not quality. But you are correct. In order to do important time magic, you need to take into account such variations. Just like the people running the global positioning system.”

“The what?”

“A system using satellites in space sending signals down to Earth to tell us where we are. Your cell phone uses it. If GPS used only the equations of Isaac Newton’s universe, it would lie to you. If it used the equations on your sheet of paper, it would come closer to the correct answer. In order to be as right as possible, it needs to use Albert Einstein’s full equations, taking into account velocities and accelerations, gravitational and otherwise.”

“That sounds complicated. I bet they use computers.”

“They do. You will not have that luxury. You will need to get used to the equations, to reach the point where they fade into the background so what you see is bare reality.”

“And you think I can do that?”

“I must admit, I have my doubts. But Ian assures me you will apply yourself.”

Denny looked to Uncle Ian, who nodded confidently. “Nomik, equations and tricky stories may not be the best place for our laddie to start. What about a concrete example? Let Denny see where this hard work is going. Can you show him some time magic?”

“I can.” Nomik stood. “I will. Follow me.”

He led them through an archway into a room filled with works of art. He pointed to the ceiling. No lamp was visible, but light flickered, winked and shimmered. “This is a tightly wrapped time field capturing light, slowing it and then releasing it. A light-well from the rooftop lets in each day’s sunshine. Some of those flashes are from this afternoon and some from the previous century.”

Denny raised his right hand and jumped as if to catch a flicker from the ceiling but fell short.

Nomik grabbed Denny’s shoulder. “Do not do that. I put it on the ceiling so people would not injure themselves. Passing fingers through sharp temporal divisions could be like passing them through a meat grinder.”

Denny rubbed his right fingers with his left hand. They were happily undamaged. “I will not try again.”

“Where do you get a ceiling fixture like that, Nomik?”

Nomik let go of Denny’s shoulder. “I made it, Ian. This room is full of student art works. I have a painting here as well. It is unsigned. Perhaps someday you will guess which one is mine, but the light is also my work.”

“Really? It is beautiful.”

“Come back in five hundred years to catch it at its peak.”

“Is that right?”

“It should be glorious then.”

“You are a man who plans ahead.”

“Time wizards do.”

“What inspired you to make it?”

“Equations. The ones Denny must learn. When I studied them, I became quite excited as I realized the magical possibilities. This work was a result of that excitement.”

“Mr. Motchk,” asked Denny, “did you know time magic before you learned those equations? This morning you said wizards did time spells before Einstein figured this stuff out.”

“Minor tricks.”

“But just what I was getting at,” said Ian. “Denny is used to hands-on learning. If you would teach him one of those little time spells, let him get his feet wet, your equations might make more sense to him.”

Nomik took a moment to examine an oil painting, a colorful bird perching on a cactus, while he considered the request. “Ian, you have a great deal more experience with teaching than I. Perhaps you are correct. Would you like to try a time spell, Denny?”

“Would I?” Denny bounced but not too high. Here was a chance to prove himself. “Sure.”

“Wait here.” Nomik left the room.

Denny and Ian examined student artworks, particularly those with images of animals. Denny was taken with a painted clay sculpture of a gecko much like the live one he had seen on his bedroom ceiling. “This is pretty good.”

“Do you recognize that one over there?” asked Ian. He was pointing to a corner of a landscape. “Down in the grass.”

“We saw one of those snakes up by the reservoir.”

“We did. The artist has a fine eye for detail.”

Denny pointed to a watercolor of an insect on a blossom. “Some of them are not as accurate.”

“Student work. Or artistic license. Or one of those less photographic styles. Or all three. It has nice colors.”

Denny looked again. “Yes, it does.”

“Maybe Nomik will teach you to paint.”

“Or play. We still haven’t been in the music room.”

“Have not.”

“Right. Have not been in the music room.”

“Or through that little door at the end of the hall.”

“The Chamber of Eternities Miguel warned us against? I am not going anywhere near it.”

“Good lad. What do you think of this?” Together they contemplated a work so abstract neither could guess what they were seeing. Before they could draw conclusions, Nomik had returned. He was carrying a leather-bound book and a metal object.

He slid to one side the sculpture of the gecko Denny had admired and put the book next to it. On top of that he placed the object: an old-fashioned pocket watch. He frowned, picked the watch up again, grasped its stem and wound it. The watch began to tick. He placed it back on the book.

“I do not believe that time is correct,” said Ian.

“No matter. The little circle displays the seconds.” Nomik moved his hands in complex ways and spoke strange words. When he finished, the watch was still running but much more slowly, ticking about five times each minute.

“Cool,” said Denny.

Nomik made a few more gestures. The watch sped up until the second hand was spinning almost to a blur.

“Wow! Will that affect us?”

“The magic occurs only inside a bubble slightly bigger than the watch.”

“Is that really time changing or just the watch moving faster?”

“That turns out to be a surprisingly tricky philosophical question.” Nomik clapped his hands. The watch ran at a normal speed again. “When the spell ends, the watch has neither gained nor lost against its surroundings. This is the sort of unimportant temporal work that magic users figured out before they knew what they were doing.”

“But you could teach it to me?”

Nomik slid the watch under the sculpted gecko’s belly and opened the book to a page filled with glyphs. “That depends. Do you recognize these?”

Denny stood beside Nomik so he could see the page upright. “Sure. Most of them, anyway. Uncle Ian taught me.”

Nomik nodded a doubtful acknowledgement. “Let us give it a try, then.”

Nomik and Denny’s mutual concentration was intense. Ian made helpful suggestions from time to time but mostly enjoyed seeing his apprentice and the master time wizard finally working together. An hour passed before everyone felt Denny was ready for the attempt.

The book was closed again. One could not take time to reference the glyphs during a casting. Nomik slid the watch back out from under the clay gecko and placed it on the book. Denny moved his hands and spoke the words. As the last syllable passed his lips, Nomik shouted, “Stop!” but it was too late. The watch slowed down.

“What is it, Nomik?” asked Ian.

“Perhaps nothing. Perhaps we will be fortunate.”

Denny was concentrating on the watch. It seemed to be behaving as expected.

“There is no backing out at this point. Do the next gestures.”

Denny moved his fingers and the watch’s second hand began to spin. Its movement seemed to wind up his confidence, but beads of sweat appeared on Nomik’s brow.

“Finish it.”

Denny clapped his hands. A ray of light shot down from the ceiling in a flash so brilliant all three men were blinded. They heard the watch shatter, the book beneath it tear in half and the table on which it rested crack.

Neither Denny nor Ian recognized the Spanish word Nomik spoke, yet both were certain it was a curse. Then he asked, “Do you know what you did wrong?”

Denny’s vision was returning. “I’m not sure.”

“Perfect answer. Ian, take a guess.”

“Slurred a syllable, perhaps?” The blinding flash was also clearing from Ian’s eyes. Denny was looking down at where the watch had shattered. Nomik was looking up. Light came only from the doorways. All that came from the ceiling was a curl of smoke.

“Yes, he missed a syllable. Right near the end so I did not have time to stop him. Denny, have you ever wondered why your mentor tries to break you of the habit of contractions?”

“I get it.” Denny brushed his warm forehead. His hair was shorter than anticipated. Much of it was gone. He found ash on his fingers. “Really, sir.”

“Good. A lesson learned.”

“Nomik,” said Ian, “I thought that spell was not supposed to be powerful.”

Nomik looked down at the ruined watch, the charred book, and then up at the dark ceiling. “The fault here is my own. I should have had you practice in open desert as they do with atomic bombs. Your misshapen spell connected with the time fields in my artwork. Decades of energy were released. We are fortunate to be alive. You are, anyway.”

“Is your artwork damaged?”

Nomik stared at the ceiling. “More like gone.”

“Can you recreate it?”

“Of course. The product is destroyed but not the skill—a few decades setback in waiting for its perfection.” Nomik sighed. “Oddly, that poses no difficulty for me.”

“I am really sorry, sir.” Denny’s voice was pleading.

Nomik looked back down at him. “Every young witch or wizard has their disasters. As I said, a lesson learned. Come with me. Let me show you how to reheat coffee.”

They followed him to the coffee table beside the fireplace in the great hall. “Maybe,” said Denny, “we should do this in the kitchen.”

Nomik waved his hands and intoned a phrase. Steam rose from all three cups. “Magic is like riding horses, boy. When you get thrown, you get back up again. Cast a spell for me right now, or I will throw you out of the house.”

Denny looked to Uncle Ian. “What shall I cast?”

Ian shrugged.

Nomik said, “Anything you are comfortable with.”

Denny cast a spell that turned his own nose and mouth into a large beak. It was an avian variation on a human beauty spell, one of the first Uncle Ian had taught him.

Nomik tapped thrice on Denny’s beak. “Is this what you had in mind?”

“Yes, sir.” Denny’s voice sounded like a parrot.

Nomik laughed. “Just because one fails, that does not make one a failure. Ian, you have failed, have you not?”

“Aye. Many times.”

“And I have failed mightily. I once tried to wipe out the human race. Had I succeeded, we never would have met.”

“Why did you do that?” squaked Denny.

“To save the universe.”

“How would killing people save the universe?”

“I was not going to kill anybody. I was going to prevent them from being born in the first place. Turned out to be unnecessary. The things I fail at often are.”

“But how would it have saved the universe?”

“It is a long story involving dinosaurs and nanobots and powerful spells and many millions of years. I will tell you another day. For now, bring out those equations. Let us have a look at them.”

Denny pulled up the paper and unfolded it on the table. He took a cookie and dipped it in the coffee. As he bit down on it with his beak, wet crumbs fell on the page. “Sorry.”

Nomik laughed again, harder this time. Ian joined him, and then Denny. The birdlike quality of his laughter made all three laugh that much harder.

“Put your face back so we can talk seriously.”

Denny did as he was told.

“You must have questions about these equations.”

“I do, sir.” Denny’s voice was his own again.

“Excellent. That means you are thinking. Ask away.”

“Well, sir, I noticed in the equations there are parentheses. Do those mean something?”

Nomik stopped laughing. “Are you serious?”

“To be honest, I spent a lot of time looking out the window during algebra classes. There was a bird’s nest there. And squirrels.”

Nomik stared. “Squirrels?”

“I really did not learn much algebra. Or any.”

Nomik shook his head in disbelief. “When you evaluate an equation, you do the parts inside the parentheses first.”

“Why?”

“Because three plus one, then divided by two, is two, but three, plus one already divided by two, is three and a half. The order makes a difference.”

Denny pulled a pencil from his pocket. He turned over the page of equations and did calculations on the back. “Wow! You are right. I might have done better in math class if I had paid attention.”

“Now you have good reason to,” said Ian.

Nomik put down his cup. “But do not neglect your other studies. I made a mistake in thinking you should jump right into time magic. You have skills. You have a passion for animals and the magic derived from them. The thing for you to do is get out into that desert, up into those mountains, perhaps a trip to the ocean. You and Ian should make yourselves experts on local wildlife.”

“Really, sir?”

“Absolutely. You get out there and have some fun. Put those equations away for now.”

“Thank you, sir. Isn’t that a great idea, Uncle Ian?”

Ian nodded slowly. “Yes. It is.” He stopped nodding. “We will have to do that.”

“Pass me one of those cookies,” said Nomik.

“They are great,” said Denny.

“Glad you like them. So do I.”

The windows in Nomik’s study were dark. Light came from stars and his computer monitor.

“Exsomem, memo. I have decided to let Denny Broome and Ian Urquhart stay as long as they like. They will enjoy playing in the desert. The Panza children love Denny’s company. Fortunately for their sake, Denny will never be so powerful that I will need to kill him. Close memo.”

The window closed. Nomik thought about the methods he had devised to create the time field in the student art gallery. He had done that before computers existed. He would need to find old papers. When he did, he would scan them and keep copies on his computer. He wanted everything there, all his information, every thought.

“Open identity, Denny Broome. Relationships: to Nomik Motchk, houseguest. Close identity.”

Collecting specimens in the reservoir was trickier than in the brush or woods. Reflected sunlight might create illusions of movement inside an empty jar. Shadows cast by swirling water could hide an acquired fish. Denny recalled how baffling it had once been that transparent water could cast shadows. Uncle Ian had explained that reflections and refractions at the top meant missing light at the bottom, hence the shadows.

“We have a volunteer from among those big blue rascals with the golden flecks on their tails.”

“Great! I know Mom will love seeing one.”

“Your mother does prefer them colorful. People do not appreciate grey fish until they get to know them. Or to eat them. When your parents arrive, we will put the most brilliant on display.” Ian reached into water to grasp the rim of the jar. He got it part way out but let it sink again. “Oof. Give me a hand, laddie. These things get heavy.”

Denny sloshed his way around the jar and grasped the rim on his side. “One, two, up.”

Once the jar was on the bank, they poured half the water onto grass, being careful not to expel the jar’s occupant. There was little danger of that. The fish swam at the bottom not knowing it had been taken. Ian cast a spell, and circulation of water inside the jar made the fish feel even more at home. Ian located the correct perforated lid and twisted it on tightly. “That cousin of Miguel’s does our new jars exactly to specification. You have to admire a true craftsman. His good work makes ours easy.”

“Do not be so sure.” Denny had moved to the next jar in the water. “We already have one of these.”

Uncle Ian waded in to look. “What are you doing in there, silly fish? Move along.” He wiggled his fingers in a particular way. The fish changed its mind about living here. Ian reached into the now empty jar to feel designed edges and ripples on its inner surface. “Seems right, and the attraction charm is holding. Another variation may draw the one we want. I will give it thought.”

Denny stood to admire the reservoir. Lizards sunned on yellow rocks at the northern edge. Trees were full of birds. The young wizard had come to know the animals in the valley below and on verdant mountains above. He and Uncle Ian had even seen the ocean in the distance, although they had not yet gone there. “Nothing I like better than a day of fishing.”

“Aye, it does bring peace.” Ian climbed out of the water. “The rest of those jars are empty. All we can do now is wait.”

“Perfect.” Denny joined Ian on the bank. He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and extracted a folded sheet of paper. Kneeling, he spread the page on grass, keeping it away from dripping clothing.

Ian sat next to Denny with folded legs beneath him. “Are you still working on those equations?”

“I have to if I am ever going to be a time wizard.”

“Laddie, I think you should understand Mr. Motchk has . . .” Ian searched for a gentle way to say it. He settled on moved beyond that plan, but before he could get it out, Denny finished his sentence for him.

“Given up on me. Yes, I know.”

“You do? I did not realize that.”

“I am not a fool. I understood what he was saying, and he has not mentioned mathematics or time magic since that day. I know I am not his apprentice.”

Ian nodded. “Good. I am glad you took it well. But why are you still looking at equations?”

“I did not give up on Mr. Motchk.”

“Ah.” Ian leaned back and looked across the water to the rocks and then up to folded mountains. “Denny, do you not think it possible he was right? I made a mistake trying to turn a promising animal magician into something else. Nomik saw my error and corrected it.”

“I am sure it looks that way.” Denny kept his eyes on mathematics.

“You will not need those equations to work with our new fish.”

“I look forward to the fish, but when I made that watch run slow and then fast, something happened to me.”

“It did. Do you ever intend to grow your hair back?”

“OK, I made a mistake. But the magic worked. I felt it. I felt time in my hands, and it felt right to me. I am going to be an animal wizard, but I am going to be a time wizard, too. Even if I have to figure it out on my own.”

“I should have known Denny Broome would not abandon a knowledge quest. Still, that math looks as confusing to me as it did the first day Nomik brought it out.”

“Not to me. Carol has been helping.”

“Your sister? How?”

“I call her in the evenings and we talk. I took a picture of the page and sent it to her. She already knew this stuff, of course. She works with Dr. Hilsat, and he knows all about it.”

“Now why did I not think of Will Hilsat? I wonder if he would be interested in sharing an apprentice.”

“Carol says Dr. Hilsat does not do time magic anymore. He thinks it is too dangerous.”

To match the missing hair burned off in front, Denny had had his head shaved by one of Miguel’s nieces. Ian patted the shiny dome. “He may have a point.”

Denny grinned. “I like it this way. My head is cooler.”

“You intend to pass this hairstyle off as a summer affectation?”

“Carol cannot teach me magic, but she knows math. And physics too. I am going to learn this stuff. Any form of magic can be dangerous. Remember last year when we were working with that mountain lion?”

Ian held up his arm to display the scar. “Aye.”

“I will be careful. Anyway, all Carol is teaching me is stuff I should have learned in school.”

“True enough, laddie. True enough.”

The Broome family’s first dinner in Mexico was spectacular. Denny was touched that the Panzas would put such effort into greeting his parents and the younger of his sisters. The meal was so healthful that even Suzie approved. “It’s too bad Carol couldn’t be here. She’d love this.”

Denny’s mother had been set off balance by her son’s new hairstyle, or lack of it, but the Panza household atmosphere did much to ease worries about her bald boy living with a strange wizard in a foreign land. She wanted her oldest daughter with them, even if only virtually. “We should do that video thing.”

“Carol and Dr. Hilsat are at a conference,” said Denny. “She sent me their schedule. While he presents, she assists.”

“I suppose we mustn’t interrupt. Video couldn’t give her the flavor anyway. What is this I’m eating? It’s delicious.”

“Welcome to the land of seven moles.”

“You mean . . .” Mrs. Broome made burrowing gestures.

Denny tried to clear up the misunderstanding, but his pronunciation failed to draw a distinction between underground animals and spicy chocolate sauces. Helpful members of the Panza clan joined in successfully enough that the conversation would have positive effects on the Broome family dining table for years to come.

Detective Donald Broome and Señor Nomik Motchk had a conversation of their own, recalling old times. They had never before met in person, having talked only by telephone many years ago. It seemed odd that Nomik would be eager to discuss their past relationship, revolving as it did around the death of Cory Lariston and an investigation in which Nomik had been a suspect, but Nomik seemed particularly interested in obscure details.

Mrs. Broome assisted Mrs. Panza in removing sleepy children, or children who denied being sleepy, or children who should have been sleepy. Only Guillermo, the oldest, was allowed to stay a little longer.

 It was on her return that Mrs. Broome detected Ian’s discomfort with talk of the death of his apprentice. She knew where this story went and that her husband might become upset when it reached the moment he was forced to kill that awful Ruby woman. “Donald, you must tell Señor Motchk about more recent cases. Some of them are fascinating.”

“Not sure any of the others measure up to Lariston.”

“What about that woman with the eyes?”

“Your wife is right,” said Ian. “That makes quite a tale.”

“It does, Dad,” said Denny.

“Eyes?” asked Nomik.

“Ian could tell that one as well as I,” said the detective. “He was there for most of it.”

“Ian, have you become a policeman?”

“Not hardly.”

“There was talk of that,” said Donald, “but things didn’t work out. I’ve gone into private practice. Ian has assisted me from time to time.”

“Watson to your Holmes?”

“Nothing so dramatic.”

“No Moriarty,” said Ian.

“Thank goodness,” said Mrs. Broome. “Our city is growing, but it has yet to draw the attention of a Napoleon of Crime.”

“But Ian did help with this case involving eyes?”

“His contribution was vital,” said Donald. “He was with me the day the client first arrived.”

“A rattling knock at your door? Your name on frosted glass?” Nomik gave his questions a dramatic tone. “A dark office in a dark building on the seedy side of town?”

“My office is in a mini-mall, between a taco shop and a pizza-by-the-slice joint.”

“A constant challenge to his diet,” said Mrs. Broome. “With what I’ve learned tonight, we’ll have healthier Mexican food at home.

“But, Don,” said Ian, “you did not have the office yet.”

“That’s right. This was just after I was asked to leave the force. I was still working out of the living room.”

“A detective with children underfoot?” asked Nomik.

“They were at school.”

“I work at our public library,” said Mrs. Broome. “Donald had the house to himself most of the day.”

“My new client was a doctor.”

“A dark and mysterious man with a monocle and a vaguely Eastern European accent?”

Donald laughed and shook his head. “A woman. With some African ancestry, so yes, dark. Dr. Wilma Lulu. She had once been a surgeon specializing in eye implantation.”

“Eyes taken from accident victims?” asked Nomik. “My driver’s license has that organ donor thing.”

“I didn’t know they did that in Mexico,” said Mrs. Broome.

“We do.”

“Good for you. Not just you the country, but you personally.”

“In my case, not as generous as it sounds. I do not anticipate a donation any time soon.”

“Let’s hope not.”

“Accident victims donate corneas,” said Donald. “Whole eyes are grown from stem cell lines in laboratories.”

“No magic is used,” added Ian, “but magically enhanced imaging was necessary in the research to develop the process. The eyes grow their own optic nerve back into the brain.”

“Dr. Lulu was among the first generation of surgeons to master the difficult technique. Because these facts were key to the investigation, she told me all about it.” Donald paused, considering whether to include more scientific detail. His wife nodded in a way that told him to skip the science but continue the story.

“Dr. Lulu had spent years implanting eyes grown from lines that were particularly adaptable. She gave that practice up because her hand developed a tremor she couldn’t control with medicine or meditation. She had more than adequate resources to have retired but wanted to continue to make a contribution. Her days of specialized surgery behind her, she went into general practice, joining a clinic in our town.”

“A client with resources must be good for a private detective,” said Nomik. “And a clinic with mysteries?”

“My client had taken on a new patient, one who came with no medical records. That’s unusual these days but not unheard of. The patient was a woman in her late twenties, a recent college graduate who’d been hired into the high-tech industries. Her new job required her to move to a new city. She’d been informed of a local scarcity of physicians and was advised to get her name onto some doctor’s patient list as a precaution against future need.”

“Good advice,” said Mrs. Broome.

“The doctor asked the patient—we’ll call her Jane Doe for reasons to become apparent—to have a physical examination to establish a baseline for her health care, particularly necessary with her lack of records. When she came in for the physical, the patient explained she had no records because her father was a doctor. She had never needed care beyond what he provided in the home. Even so, Dr. Lulu knew there should at least have been birth and vaccination documents, but this new patient had none. Jane appeared to be in excellent physical condition.”

“Let me guess,” said Nomik. “A statuesque blonde? An impeccable dresser?”

“Every detective story should have one,” said Mrs. Broome. “I’ve told you that myself, Don.”

“You’ve warned me to stay away from them.”

“And have you?”

“Very successfully, so far. Jane was what you might call physically attractive but neither blonde nor statuesque. Only one element of her appearance has relevance to the case. The physical exam ran normally until the doctor inspected the patient’s eyes, employing an ophthalmoscope.”

“The black gadget that shines a light into your eye?” asked Nomik.

“That’s it. Patterns of blood vessels and pigments on the retina give the doctor clues to ocular health.”

“And the new patient had eye problems?”

“The doctor recognized them.”

“The problems?”

“The eyes.”

“How do you mean?”

“Remember, before her general practice, Dr. Lulu had a career implanting eyes grown in laboratories. She recognized certain characteristics in the new patient’s eyes that she’d seen a hundred times before.”

“Jane’s eyes had been implanted?”

“Dr. Lulu thought so. This particular type of eye was often used because it had an extremely low rejection rate. Even so, there should have been records, and the patient should have mentioned being on medications taken to ensure her eyes stayed healthy. But when Dr. Lulu raised these questions, Jane insisted she had not had eye implants or any surgery in her entire life.”

“Are you saying a person’s eyes were swapped for another pair without her knowing it?” Nomik grinned. “How wonderfully weird. Doubtful, though. If someone gave me new eyes, I am sure I would notice when I shaved.”

“Dr. Lulu explained it could have happened if the eyes were implanted when the patient was very young.”

“Are such things done to toddlers?”

“The brain’s visual regions depend on the presence of working eyes for their proper development, and the method of growing the optic nerve in situ is actually easier in younger patients. It’s quite a process. In failing to keep up their daughter’s medications, the parents would have been dreadfully negligent.”

“Could she have gone blind?”

“It would have raised those odds. And other brain complications were possible. Parents going to the trouble and expense of eye implants, then failing to follow through with medications, would’ve been quite unusual. Dr. Lulu suspected another explanation. In certain cases, a patient’s body accepts a transplant, but the patient rejects it.”

“Do you mean emotionally?”

Donald nodded. “The new eyes work, but the mind behind them cannot accept that it sees the world through organs that are not original to it.”

“Does that really happen?”

“In the case of organs donated after a death, the recipient may be overwhelmed by guilt at benefiting from another’s misfortune. And even with lab-grown organs, some people fear recurrence of the original condition. Others cannot accept the notion of being partially not themselves. In rare cases, an organ recipient may deny the existence of the transplant.”

“Your Dr. Lulu thought Jane Doe was that rare case?”

“Dr. Lulu didn’t know. Perhaps her new patient was willfully mistaken or simply ignorant of the truth. The doctor felt, if she could prove the eyes were transplants, her patient must accept that fact. Or at least Dr. Lulu would know the depth of Jane’s denial.”

“So, compare photographs of the retinas of the patient’s eyes with those from a lab-grown set?”

“Not that easy,” said Ian.

“Why not?”

“As Dr. Lulu explained it to us,” said Donald, “retinal patterns are unique even in genetically identical twins. What the doctor had spotted were characteristics that would not be obvious to someone who had not spent years looking at those eyes. In fact, she had to admit she actually might be incorrect in her evaluation. She needed proof not just to convince her patient but to decide herself whether a lifelong course of prescription medications was called for.”

“She turned to a detective.”

Donald shook his head. “We weren’t in the story yet. She turned to an expert in DNA analysis, Dr. Henry Compton. He was a colleague of hers in medical school. She felt she could count on him to keep things quiet.”

“Why quiet?”

“The patient hadn’t agreed to the test. Dr. Lulu believed her obligation to the patient’s health went beyond the patient’s rights. She felt informed consent required information, even if unsought, so she bypassed the consent.”

“I see. A tricky bit of medical ethics.”

“Dr. Compton worked in a facility in another state. Dr. Lulu rushed a chilled sample of the patient’s blood, taken as part of the general physical exam, via overnight express, along with a complete description of the DNA of the purported eye implants, which was available from the medical materials supplier.”

“Wait. Are you saying implant DNA would still be in the patient’s blood years after the operation?”

“Perhaps, or perhaps not. The phenomenon is called microchimerism.”

“A chimera is an animal made from two or more different animals,” said Denny. “Uncle Ian and I have created some of those.”

“What!?” Denny’s mother was on her feet.

“Not permanently, Mom. Just short experiments.”

“Did any of these experiments involve our pets?”

“Animals from the woods,” said Ian, giving his apprentice a stern look. “All returned to nature in their original state.” 

Mrs. Broome sat down again, although she gave her son a doubtful glance. Denny remembered something he had once done with a neighbor’s cat but did not bring it up. His father rescued him by continuing the detective story.

“Dr. Lulu hoped a positive DNA match would decide the question but was aware the result could be negative even if she was right about the implants. Dr. Compton’s tests concluded the same day he was to leave for a conference. He saw the result and sent a text message to Dr. Lulu’s personal phone. Then he left for the airport.”

“Was the result positive or negative?”

“Toward the end of her work day, Dr. Lulu retrieved the text message. It consisted of two words.” Donald paused for dramatic effect.

Nomik leaned in appropriately. “Yes?”

“Very funny.”

“I am not sure I understand.” Nomik looked to Ian, and even to Denny, for guidance. “Did I miss a joke somewhere?”

“Dr. Lulu didn’t understand, either. She called Dr. Compton, but his office said he was already traveling. He tended to put his mobile phone into airplane mode at take-off and leave it that way so he could sleep. She called his phone and left a voicemail seeking an explanation. What had he meant by very funny? She also sent a text, hoping he might read it when he landed.”

“Where was he going?”

“His conference was in Istanbul.”

“I approve. An exotic foreign locale is a good element in a mystery story. Did anything interesting happen there?”

“Dr. Compton was killed.”

 Nomik sat back in his chair. “What on earth for?”

“That was the question Dr. Lulu brought to us.”

When the detective’s story had turned to murder, Guillermo’s mother had hustled him off to bed, fearing a grisly tale would give her child nightmares. Guillermo knew this was true of his siblings—Amorita could be sensitive, and Bartolomé was practically a baby—but the story of a real murder, one known to the father of Denny Broome, a person Guillermo thought of as a friend, this he had to hear.

After his mother left, Guillermo sneaked out again, making his way across prickly ground between the old guest house where his family now lived and the hacienda, avoiding the well-lit path connecting doors. He crept up the iron stairs, cold metal beneath bare feet, and onto the balcony. He crossed over above the courtyard, slipping into the grand gallery and out of it again to the music room with its partial wall open to the great hall. He sat on the piano bench, knowing from long experience this was the spot where voices from couches around the fireplace below could best be heard. Noises went both ways, so he must be silent lest he be discovered and miss out on something good.

Adults needed time to arrange themselves before the fire and receive beverages children miss out on. Someone, Denny’s mother perhaps, had praised a painting. This brought discussion of the work, and then the artist, and other artists in the region, all of which Guillermo had heard before. He feared the adults might never get back to the woman whose eyes were not her own. He had almost drifted off to sleep when at last the master’s voice asked, “So tell me, Donald, your doctor in Istanbul, how did he die?” Guillermo would not sleep now.

The voice of the detective replied, “Dr. Compton was a man who preferred gatherings in places he’d never seen before. He’d sleep on the airplane, check into his hotel but not check messages. His office staff disapproved of that, but he liked to launch himself into the streets of an exotic city unhindered by his work. He’d visit the conference only for those presentations he felt were key to his own study or the ones in which he was a participant.”

“Istanbul must have been a dream come true for him,” said the master. Guillermo imagined an exotic city.

“We learned from Turkish police that the doctor had quite a day and evening. He was a colorful man, recalled by shopkeepers and museum guides. He visited a mosque, the grand bazaar, and nightclubs. He’s reported to have consumed a disturbing quantity of strong coffees while listening to a broad variety of music. He was close to his hotel, probably heading late to bed, when he was struck by a vehicle that fled the scene.”

“An accidental death?”

“Istanbul authorities thought so.”

“But you did not?”

“I had no opinion.”

“Your client, then?”

“Dr. Lulu is a fine diagnostician, a field similar to my own. She jumped to no conclusion but was uncomfortable with the coincidence of a man being suddenly dead who held a secret about a mystery.”

Guillermo could hear the master’s sigh. “Disquieting coincidence is familiar.”

“You’ve run into that?”

“You have no idea. What did your client ask of you?”

“She was interested in the circumstances of Dr. Compton’s death but also the report on his examination of her patient’s DNA. The test could only be positive or negative; DNA from transplanted eyes would be present in the patient’s blood or not. Dr. Compton’s message, very funny, what could have inspired it? The test was not tied to any written requisition. Under the circumstance of his death, Dr. Compton’s office was reluctant to release anything. Dr. Lulu lacked an excuse for another blood drawing. She also lacked a second close friend to quietly run a test.”

“Did she hire you to break into Dr. Compton’s office?”

“She went to the police initially, without telling them the entire story. If she could make the case that the doctor had been murdered, she hoped they might bring forth the DNA report as evidence.”

“Putting her at some risk, though.”

“A risk she was prepared to take for her patient’s sake, but she couldn’t take it. Our local police pointed out that Dr. Compton lived in another state and died in another country. They had no jurisdiction. Dr. Lulu was insistent. The police made calls and returned reports that all investigators were satisfied with the accidental nature of Dr. Compton’s death. Dr. Lulu was not satisfied, so the police referred her to me.”

“Is that normal procedure?”

The voices paused. Guillermo had to resist the temptation to creep over to the low wall and peek down to see what was happening. He had been caught that way before. He had no intention of going back to bed so soon.

At last, the detective said, “My removal from the force was a political decision. I have friends who feel I was wronged. They send work my way.”

“What sort of politics, if I may ask?”

“When I shot Ruby, I brought an end to the system of interstellar teleportation. The colonies on other worlds were isolated. Powerful people lost money. And relatives.”

Guillermo gasped. Then he held his hand over his mouth. Had anyone downstairs heard him? It was foolish to make such a sound, but he could not have helped himself. Earth’s colonies had all been lost, a story taught in school, and Guillermo realized he had dined with the man responsible, the one who killed Ruby, killed the witch who headed ACT and controlled all interstellar teleportation. History was right here in the house.

“Donald,” said the master, “I am sorry. I was unaware.”

“Not your fault, Nomik.”

“But it must have occurred to you that I could undo your misfortune by taking over ACT. I hope you do not hold it against me.”

“Yours is not the name that comes up. Word is out about your failed attempt to eliminate the human race.”

“I suppose that might put people off.”

“Will Hilsat was the one mentioned as a replacement.”

“Will replace Ruby? Dr. Hilsat was never involved in ACT. He dreads the dangers posed by teleportation. ACT’s goal, colonies on other worlds to serve as backup for the human race, was achieved. Profitable trade with those backups was never part of our plan.”

“Yet the trade existed. People wanted it to continue.”

“Ruby went in for it, but Will never would. Taking into account the dangers of disease, isolated colonies might be safer, but politicians would not get that. I am truly sorry the blame has fallen on you.”

“Don,” said Denny’s mother, “finish the story of the eyes.”

Guillermo blinked his own eyes. He was having trouble keeping stories straight. Ruby was the witch who controlled interstellar trade. Denny’s father killed her. Dr. Compton died in Istanbul. Who was it again who had the wrong eyes?

“I leaned on friends who asked Istanbul to keep us informed of any developments in the hit and run investigation. In the meantime, Dr. Lulu’s patient may not have had medical records, but everybody has a history. I contacted offices, working undercover since Dr. Lulu couldn’t have her patient know what was up. Jane Doe had an employer. She had a resume. She had a degree. She had been supported during her education by her single-parent father. What do you suppose his profession was?”

“She had said he was a doctor.”

“A surgeon. His specialty was eye implants.”

“A colleague of your client?”

“Dr. Lulu recognized his name. She didn’t know the man well, but she had met him once or twice at conferences.”

“And what? He replaced his own daughter’s eyes and kept it secret even from the child? Did he do it because she needed new ones or just for practice?”

Guillermo stifled a horrified giggle.

“We couldn’t ask him. About the time his daughter graduated, Jane Doe’s father disappeared.”

“A dead end?”

“No. My work in homicide had often involved tracing missing persons. I had the skills I needed. Jane Doe’s father proved a worthy challenge, but I caught up with him. He had a new name, a new profession, and a new appearance. His daughter wouldn’t have known him if she’d passed him in the street.”

“Did she pass him?”

“Never. He lived a thousand miles away, give or take. He was on the coast, posing as a retired fisherman.”

“What was he hiding from?”

“Me, as it turned out.”

“He knew you were coming for him?”

“He feared someone would. By the time I caught up with him, we both were wary.”

“You’re always supposed to be wary,” said the detective’s wife.

“Even more wary than usual. When a man goes to that much trouble to be hidden, you have to figure he’s up to something pretty bad. The death of Dr. Compton seemed more likely to be murder now. I’d warned my client to take precautions.”

“You did have a nice puzzle there,” said Nomik. “If the daughter’s eyes had been transplanted from another human being, one could imagine a surgeon father committing a grizzly theft to save his daughter’s sight. But your search began because the eyes were laboratory grown, ordered legally, one would assume, from a medical supply house. I cannot imagine a man abandoning his daughter, his profession, his whole life, and murdering a fellow doctor in Istanbul, just to cover his inability to pay the bill.”

“One he could easily have paid,” said Donald. “No, when I finally caught up with him, I thought he was a dangerous man, probably a murderer, but his motivation was still a mystery. Then we recalled Dr. Compton’s final message.”

“Very funny?”

“It was Ian who figured it out.”

“Sorry, Ian. I had forgotten you were involved.”

“Donald and I chatted often about the case,” said Ian. “It was not until he mentioned the patient’s father being another eye surgeon, doing the same kind of implants, that it struck me what might be funny. I suppose I got it because of things I knew about animals.”

“Ian gave me a suggestion,” said Donald. “With it, I used an old policeman’s trick. I confronted the suspect, giving him the false impression that I already knew all about his crime. Thinking all was lost, he broke down and confessed.”

“What did you accuse him of?” asked Nomik.

“Cloning.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dr. Lulu assumed Dr. Compton’s DNA test could have two possible results: either Jane Doe’s blood would contain tiny traces of DNA from the implanted eyes, or it wouldn’t. But there was a third possibility, one so unbelievable Dr. Lulu couldn’t anticipate it, although Ian guessed it. Jane Doe’s blood contained only DNA from tissue grown in the laboratory. She had been cloned from cells taken from a set of lab-grown eyes. Dr. Compton, seeing no DNA besides the sort he had been told would be commingled with the patient’s, assumed he had been the victim of a medical prank. We’ll never know how funny he really thought it was.”

“Human cloning is illegal, right?”

“Highly. Forbidden by states, the federal government, and international agreement.”

“Why did Jane Doe’s father do it?”

“He felt compelled by basic human decency.”

“Decency? A murderer?”

“It turned out there was no murder. Istanbul’s investigation eventually turned up a witness, along with physical evidence at the scene and on the suspect’s vehicle. The driver was not a paid assassin, just a woman who rarely drank and had a bit too much at an embassy party. She lost control on a curve in the dark, sliding onto the sidewalk against a building. Fearing expenses, she fled without getting out to see the damage done. She didn’t even know she’d crushed poor Dr. Compton.”

“Still, seems quite a coincidence.”

“Sometimes I see an actor playing a detective on television who says, ‘I do not believe in coincidence,’ and I think, then you’re an idiot. An investigator who refuses to consider coincidence will send innocent people to jail.”

“So, Jane Doe’s father—creator—was innocent of murder,” said Nomik. “But why . . .”

At this moment, a dark and dissonant chord was heard in the air above them. “What’s that?”

Mrs. Panza rested her wine glass on the coffee table and rose. “I think our oldest son is ready to return to bed.”

Miguel stood and waved his wife back down. “I’ll handle this. Sounds like he’ll need carrying, and he’s so big now.”

“What is going on?” asked Mrs. Broome.

“Guillermo loves to listen in on adult chatter,” said Mrs. Panza. “He sneaks out of bed and hides in the music room where he can eavesdrop.”

Miguel stepped to the archway. “Dear, you can fill me in on details that I miss.” A moment later Miguel waved from the balcony. He had a sleeping child in his arms as he disappeared again.

“Did we say anything we shouldn’t have?” asked Mrs. Broome.

“I’d have warned you,” said Mrs. Panza.

“Back to the story,” said Nomik. “Why did Jane Doe’s father clone her into existence? One would think a doctor could find an easier and more legal way to have a child.”

“It began with a dinner party held in the doctor’s honor at the home of one of his surgical patients. Half the people at the table were capable of sight because he had given them new eyes.

“Toward the end of the evening, a few were gathered on a backyard deck, admiring the moon and stars, and praising the man who made that admiration possible. ‘You have given us the universe,’ a patient said.

“The doctor expressed humility, mentioning others who deserved at least partial credit. On the drive home that night, he recalled a name he had not mentioned, one he did not even know. He wondered about the original donor of the cells from which the eyes were grown.

“Over the next few days, he found he could not drop the question. He learned the cell line was derived from embryonic tissue. It struck him then that all those grateful people, and countless others around the world, owed their sight to a person who had never been born. They could admire the moon and stars, and lovely flowers and each other’s smiles, through eyes donated by one who would never see those things. The injustice of it overwhelmed him.”

“So what?” asked Nomik. “He taught himself to clone?”

Donald nodded. “He did exactly that. It took him years. The processes had been developed abroad, before international conventions shut such things down. The tools were readily available, used in animal husbandry. It was easier than he anticipated. Many failures, of course, before he got a viable embryo, but that embryo became Jane Doe. Raising her, he told me he wept with joy every time his child liked the sight of anything. He wept again when he left her, but he felt his past was the greatest threat to her future. His history might give someone a clue to what she was.”

“And once you caught him, what then?”

“Honestly, I might not have turned him in, but I work too closely with the police. I had no way to hide him. He’s still in jail today, although I testified on his behalf at his sentencing and will again when he comes up next year for parole.”

“And Jane Doe?”

“Mercifully, while cloning is illegal, it is not illegal to be a clone. She is successful in her job. I see her around town. She has a fiancé. They both seem nice.”

“What a strange story,” said Nomik. “You thought you might send a man to prison for ending a life, and instead you sent him there for starting one.”

Ian sipped thoughtfully at his whisky. “Very true.”

Donald nodded. “I warn my clients: we can promise investigation with integrity, even offer advice, but final consequences are out of our hands.”

Later that evening, Nomik and Donald had a long conversation in which they discussed the details of the Lariston case, including the death of Ruby. Even later, alone in his study, Nomik took a tiny device from his shirt pocket and plugged it into a slot on his computer.

“Exsomem, transcription.”

A window opened. An audio file was indicated, the newest on the recorder.

“Source file confirmed. Title: Reminiscence on the Deaths of Cory Lariston and Ruby. Also, an unrelated detective story. Participants: Nomik Motchk, Ian Urquhart, Denny Broome, Detective Donald Broome and wife, Miguel Panza and wife.”

The title appeared along with the date extracted from the audio file’s metadata. Each name was confirmed against existing profiles. All names, save Cory Lariston and Ruby, appeared in green.

“Begin transcription.”

The audio file played. As each new voice entered the conversation, the name of the speaker appeared. Playback stopped while Nomik confirmed or corrected the voice’s identification. Once each voice had been assigned a name, the speed of playback increased while playback volume dropped to near inaudibility. In a few minutes, the complete transcript was ready.

Nomik reviewed the text, making some corrections. He opened another file, one containing his earlier recollections of the events. He indicated a cross-reference point where the two accounts were in conflict. In future, if he ever opened one file, the reference to the other would remind him of the alternate version. With the task complete, he closed the files and then wondered how long it would be before he did not give a damn what was in either of them.

He put the machine to sleep, turned out the lights, and leaned back to admire the moon through tall windows. The lower edge of the glowing sphere appeared to shimmer and shudder. Was that still heat rising from rooftops? It could not be. Perhaps old glass was a source of distortion. The panes were ancient, even older than Nomik Motchk.

The guest room was in an addition toward the back of the hacienda. Mrs. Broome was delighted to have a private bath with all the modern conveniences, but she would have preferred a room closer to her son.

“Uncle Ian’s room is right next to mine,” said Denny. “The way things are laid out though, he has to go around the great hall to get to my place, so you actually have a shorter walk to reach me.”

After making sure the family was settled in, Ian accompanied Denny back to his rooms. As was their habit, they debriefed the day in Denny’s sitting room. These conversations often led to evening excursions, but tonight the men were already yawning. The sofa under Denny and the chair in which Ian sat, with their dark woods and embroidered upholstery, were unusually comfortable.

“I think that went well,” said Ian. “Nomik can be a charming fellow when he chooses.”

“Mom seems to like him.”

“So does your father, despite their past.”

“Uncle Ian, what happened to my father? I never heard the story of why he left the police force. I knew it was after he took out Ruby, but not that he was fired. How could Mr. Kalonimos do that?”

“Auggie Kalonimos is a good man. His hand was forced. Your father saved our lives and freed that QiLina woman from enslavement. He protected the world from Ruby’s evil powers. But politicians deal with political realities, not the real world. Theirs is a pragmatism founded on illusion. And your father was not fired. He had the honor of being offered early retirement by his chief, the mayor, and the governor.”

The governor wanted Dad out?”

“Again, forced from above. All three apologized but only off the record.”

“That is so unfair.”

“Ah, but if he had stayed a policeman, your father and I would never have enjoyed our private eye adventures.”

“Dad feels bad about it, though. I can tell.”

“Your father feels bad about the events, not the blame. When the teleportation system collapsed, worlds were lost. Orrin Viderlick, the technician who worked with Ruby, had pre-programmed smell controllers for a few more teleports. After that, contact with the colonies was lost.”

“What is a smell controller?”

“Cory had one. I never saw it, but he told me about it. Wore it on his nose. Or in his nose, I guess. It used aroma to affect thinking via ancient regions of the brain. The folks at ACT felt it important that nobody be able to teleport without one. Although, in the end, that is exactly what Nomik taught Cory to do.”

“How does aroma control people?”

“Ask a skunk. Although it was more subtle than that. A scent expert, a dog named Grover Hughlings, helped them set the system up.”

“You do not like him?”

“Grover? Love him.”

“Then why do you call him a dog?”

“He is one. Once ACT went dormant, Hughlings became a dog for the second time in his life. He is currently a springer spaniel.”

“What a good idea. You said they still had some controllers after Ruby died?”

“The ones that linked to thriving colonies were used for vital shipments. The ones to colonies still requiring support were used to rescue colonists. But a few not-yet-viable settlements were unreachable. Without Ruby, Viderlick could not program new links to get there.”

“What happened to those settlements?”

“Impossible to know. Lacking teleportation, they are so far away it would take centuries to send them a message or receive one. The assumption is those colonies failed. Your father knows those people may have died because he pulled the trigger on Ruby.”

“Dr. Hilsat could have saved them. So could Mr. Motchk.”

“Will Hilsat labors under the guilt of having invented teleportation in the first place. He was happy to have it stopped. Nomik understood that. Nomik taught teleportation to Cory, and Cory had to be killed because of it. The only person who regularly used the spell despite its dangers was Ruby. Ironically, she was the one who had to kill Cory.”

“If Nomik feared teleportation so much that he would let those colonists die, why did he teach Cory to teleport?”

“Nomik was once a frightened man. He found a spell to create a pocket universe and populate it with a being who could protect him. He put his daughter, known as the Eighth Doll, into that strange place to be that being. In fact, he conceived her for that purpose. But the spell was more powerful than he knew. It got beyond his control. Nomik hoped Cory could stop the Eighth Doll from forcing him to live forever.”

Ian anticipated an awkward question from Denny about how Cory was to stop the Eighth Doll. He wondered how he would answer it, but all Denny did was sit with his mouth hanging open. “Are you all right, laddie?”

Denny moved his head from side to side so slowly Ian was unsure if it was a shake or some kind of dizziness. He rose from his chair and joined Denny on the couch, putting an arm across the boy’s shoulders for support. “What is it?”

“Forever.”

“Yes?”

“I know what forever is.”

“We all do.”

“No. You do not. I did not. Not before I did time magic. Even after I held time in my hands, I did not think about it. Not until you said Mr. Motchk will live forever. Now I know.”

“What do you know?”

“I know why Mr. Motchk has to kill his daughter.”

Uncle Ian took his arm off Denny’s shoulder. He drew a breath with a hint of tremble in it. “Do us both a favor. Never mention this to your mother.”

The Broome family had a delightful visit in Mexico. At the end of the week, a farewell feast was held with small speeches, long goodbyes, and promises of future exchanges of visits. The next evening, Nomik, thinking the Panzas would have room for him at dinner, found an empty chair but more people than anticipated. “Denny? Did your family not get off all right?”

“No problems. Mom said to be sure to tell you again what a great visit they had here and that you have to come see them in the US. She said to drop in anytime.”

“I must do that.” Nomik looked over the offerings on the table, selecting fruit and a small piece of cheese. “You are still here, I see.”

“Yes, sir. Did you think I was going?”

“It had crossed my mind.”

Ian looked up from his meal. “Were we supposed to go?”

Nomik looked to Ian. The Panza children looked to Nomik. “Entirely up to you. And Miguel, of course. The house is his. We are all guests at the pleasure of the Panzas.”

The Panza children looked to their father. Miguel spread his hands wide. “In my father’s house, there are many rooms and always one for you.”

“Mr. Motchk, did you want us to go?” asked Denny.

Nomik looked around the table. Guillermo was worried. Amorita frowned. Bartolomé shook his head.

“Not at all.” Nomik took a tiny nibble from the cheese. “It is good for the children to have someone they can practice American accents with.”

The Panza children nodded.

“And I am learning Spanish,” said Denny. “Buenas noches, Señor Motchk.”

The Panza children smiled.

Nomik swallowed. “Buenas noches, Denny. Your pronunciation could use work.”

The Panza children frowned.

Nomik sighed. “I suppose you should stay with us until Miguel’s offspring approve your accent.”

The Panza children giggled.

The next evening, Nomik Motchk heard voices. In a house often filled with people, what was unusual was that the voices were few. The Panzas were in town attending a social gathering, one so important that the entire family had to be there. Denny might be expected to go with them or to be romping in the hills with Ian, but Nomik heard Denny’s voice and that of a woman. Nomik followed the voices to Denny’s open door.

Denny has a girl in his rooms, thought Nomik. He was not sure why this bothered him, but it did. He entered the sitting room, intentionally casually. He saw only Denny Broome sitting at the desk against the far wall.

“Hello, Mr. Motchk.”

“Good evening, Denny.”

“Everybody went into town.”

“I noticed.” Nomik walked to Denny’s bedroom door and looked in. “I thought I heard a voice in here.”

“You did,” said Denny. “My sister.”

“Suzie did not go back to the US with your parents?”

“Not Suzie.” Denny held up a tablet with a woman’s image on it. “Carol.”

“Ah. Will Hilsat’s graduate mathematician.”

“Hola, Señor Motchk,” said the face on the tablet.

“Hola, Carol. A pleasure to finally meet you, if this can be called meeting.”

“A pleasure to meet you as well. I would love to chat sometime, but I was just explaining to Denny that I am teaching a class in the morning and really need to prepare.”

“I understand. Good evening.”

“Buenas noches, Señor Motchk. Buenas noches, Denny.”

“Buenas noches, Carol.” Denny pushed a button.

As the tablet went dark, Nomik laughed. “Her accent is better than yours. She can teach you something.”

“Carol teaches me a lot of things.”

Nomik took the tablet from Denny, examined it and then laughed again.

“Is my accent really that bad?” asked Denny.

“Yes, but I was thinking about this gadget. Carol sounded like she was here. You have a cell phone, too?”

“I do.”

“As do I. So why the tablet?”

“I like the bigger screen. Better for video calls and for sharing documents.”

“So I guessed, and that is why I laughed.”

“I do not get it.”

“For thousands of years, witches and wizards used scrying stones, but nobody uses them today because of this.”

“What kind of stone?”

“Scrying stones were made in pairs. Cleave transparent crystal, then carve and polish two spheres that share a single facet: the flat face where, perhaps for millions of years, they were originally joined. A spell makes the two stones magical. Look into one and see what you would have seen when looking through the other.”

“Cool!”

“So we thought. The crystal structure creates a dimensional tunnel allowing the rarity of magic at great distance. I could pull out a scrying stone here in Mexico, my friend Peregrine Arnold could pull out his paired stone in England, and we could see each other. He would hold up his stone so I could see where he was. Then I would hold up mine to show him my surroundings.”

“That sounds great.”

Nomik held up the tablet. “Until Wi-Fi, cell phones, cables, and satellites came along. Scrying stones had no audio. Voices did not carry. If I wanted to send Peregrine a message, I would write it in bold letters and hold the stone over it. With this gadget, you can hear your sister’s voice, type messages to her, send her whole books and have an image bigger, brighter, and sharper than any scrying stone.”

“I guess that would be true.”

“Not to mention the fact that a scrying pair only worked between each other. If you wanted to see the faces of a dozen friends, you needed a dozen stones. Imagine keeping a different cell phone for each person with whom you want to communicate.”

“That would be a mess.”

“It was. A wizard might have a collection of such stones, wrapped individually since a single scratch or crack would ruin them. A traveler with a lot of friends had quite a bag of rocks to carry.”

Denny laughed.

“Now you get it. What we thought marvelous is nothing today because non-magical technology has far surpassed it.”

“Well, I think those stones sound interesting. I would love to see one.”

“Would you really? I have some in my study.”

“I thought nobody but Miguel was allowed in your study.”

“The room holds dangers. Others are allowed but only in my company and at my request. I am requesting. Follow me.”

Denny could not believe his luck. Uncle Ian had explained how rare it was to be allowed into a wizard’s inner sanctum. This must be a good sign. He followed Nomik through the house. They passed the master’s bedroom and came to the tower with the spiral of stone steps.

“I am serious about the dangers. When we are inside, you will touch nothing without asking first. For instance, you will see small bells in there. What might a fool do?”

“Ring one?”

“And be lucky if all it did was break his eardrums. Will Hilsat once entered my study without permission. He turned a knob. That day, he came within an instant of death.”

“Why was Dr. Hilsat in your study without permission?”

“It was back when I was trying to eliminate the human race. He wanted to stop me.”

“Oh.”

Nomik started up the stairs. Denny hesitated.

“Coming?”

Denny wished Uncle Ian was with them. “Yes, sir.”

At the top of the tower, the steps ended on a tiny landing before a door. Nomik stepped in and turned on the lights. The switch made a sharp clack.

“Why does your light switch make that noise?”

“Old technology.” Nomik smiled. “I keep it for the memories.”

The study was a round room filling the top of the tower. A dozen tall peaked windows looked in every direction.

“Stand there.” Nomik indicated a spot in the center of the room. “Do not move.” He clacked off the light. “Sometimes I sit up here in the dark, staring at the universe.”

As Denny’s eyes adjusted, he saw more than stars. A faint glow came from LEDs around the computer on Nomik’s desk—that was to be expected—but on shelves, low under windows, rising high between them, other objects gave off lights of their own. One in particular caught Denny’s attention, a cluster of multi-colored shimmers. Nomik took it down and brought it to him, a set of spheres bound by golden wire, resembling a bunch of glowing grapes. Each sphere held a moving image.

“Are these scrying stones?” asked Denny.

“They are.”

“What places am I seeing?”

“No one is certain, which is why I keep these stones even though scrying is obsolete.”

“What do you mean?”

“This collection was begun by the Grandfather, the founder of this house. One of his apprentices, the Father, added to it. You will hear them mentioned, el Abuelo y el Padre, in Spanish. They were my mentors. Miguel’s family served them for generations and still hold them in high regard. The room you sleep in was once el Abuelo’s study. Your sitting room was his bedchamber.”

“But why are the stones showing us unknown places?”

“Although they were quite valuable, scrying stones are small and round. Such objects are easily mislaid. Wizards made them for thousands of years. Unmatched stones, ones for which the other stone had been lost, accumulated in wizards’ cupboards. El Abuelo collected them.”

“Why?”

“For the same reason people collect coins, or stamps, or seashells.”

“And nobody knows what we are seeing?”

“We can make guesses. I believe this dark green one is in Africa. That looks like a jungle. The hours of light and darkness match African time zones.”

“Do you ever see animals?”

“It happens, although you must be extremely patient. Watching these gives you a sense of the boring existence of a pebble. There are good ones, though. This one is by a lovely waterfall.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And that one is a favorite.”

“Is that a volcano?”

“It is quiet today, but I have seen it active in the past.”

“Cool! Hey, the stone next to it has gone out.”

“That black stone has a story behind it. Two witches here in Mexico were great friends. One went to Spain on a galleon. Travel was much slower in those days. They would be parted for a year. The witch staying in Mexico had never seen Spain, so they made a pair of scrying stones.

“On the way across the Atlantic, the traveling witch held her stone out over water so her friend back home could see a sunrise on the ocean. The witch in Mexico saw that view but then saw the hull of the ship rushing past, and water that grew darker, and finally blackness.”

“Had the stone been dropped?”

“Exactly. For some time, if she held a candle flame up to the stone, the witch could see the bottom of the ocean lit by the image of that flame, but eventually the stone was covered in sediment. The fumbling of the stone prevented her from ever seeing Spain.”

“Too bad.”

“But I love knowing when I hold this stone against a light, somewhere beneath the floor of the Atlantic, another stone lights up.”

“That is neat. What is this bubbly one?”

“A special case. One of two lost stones, we think. The Grandfather found it in a market in India being sold by a dealer who had no idea what he had.”

“The dealer must have known it was special when he saw images in it.”

“Because he was not a magic user, he saw no images.”

“Why not?”

“Objects can be shaped and charged to hold magic, releasing it only once. For an object to be continuously magical, it must draw power from a living magic user. That stone was a round rock, sitting on a flat base, and nothing more until the Grandfather came near. His magic activated it. He grabbed the rock and paid the asking price without hesitation, giving the dealer no reason or opportunity to reexamine his ware.”

“Do scrying stones need a magic user at both ends?”

“A magic user at one end will activate the other. That is why these lost stones work.”

“I see.”

“Once a joy, this particular stone is now a sorrow but always a fascination. You see on one side those tiny images, what you called the bubbles?”

“Yeah.”

“The other stone of that pair is in a collection of scrying stones.”

“You mean like this set?”

“I do. If you look closely, you can make out unknown places seen through an unknown place.”

“That is weird, but why joyful or sorrowful?”

“The rest of the view is a wizard’s study much like my own. Larger. Stranger. My friend Peregrine Arnold and I used to stare at it for hours.”

“Why?”

“Because sometimes the wizard was at home. We would see him working, a round, bald-headed man. His skin was oddly yellow. He had a smile so broad as to be disturbing, particularly when he smiled at us.”

“He knew you were watching?”

“Scrying stones go both ways.”

“Did you try to communicate with him?”

“We wrote messages and held them by the stone.”

“How did he respond?”

“With laughter. We could not hear it, of course, but we could see him hold his belly as he shook.”

“Like Santa Claus?”

“A creepy Santa.” Nomik thought for a moment. “Yes, like Santa Claus. But he never wrote a message back. Some years ago, we stopped seeing him. Cobwebs appeared. Dust on his possessions. We have no idea what happened to him.”

“Gosh! Does your friend still visit you?”

“Peregrine? Let me show you.” Nomik went to his desk and pulled out a drawer. He extracted a cloth, unwrapped it, and handed a stone to Denny. “Have a look.”

Denny looked into the stone and saw an ancient man lying on a bed, attended by a woman.

“That woman is his daughter.”

“How old is he?”

“As old as me, but he lacks my infirmity.”

“What is your infirmity?”

“Youth.”

 Denny moved the stone around, examining the view of a large, ornately decorated bedroom.

“You use that thing properly,” said Nomik. “Before VR headsets and 3D video, people seeing scrying stones for the first time tended to treat them as fixed windows. How odd that a generation who would take naturally to scrying arises from the same technologies that make it obsolete.”

“I would like to try it.”

“Try what?”

“Making scrying stones. Can you teach me?”

“May as well learn to manufacture buggy whips.”

“Do you think I could learn it?”

Nomik considered for a moment. “There is arithmetic involved. Geometry.”

“Oh.”

“Nothing as hard as relativity and time magic, though.”

“Can I try? Please?”

“All right. If you like, I will teach you. I even have some crystals we can use.” Nomik snapped on the light and looked around the room. “Somewhere in here.”

Denny and Ian were on a mountain top with the ocean visible in the distance. “Uncle Ian, I have something to show you.”

“Have you?”

Denny pulled a cloth from his pack. He unwrapped a round stone. “Do you know what this is?”

“A polished rock?” Ian looked closer. The stone was black, with one flat side. The blackness had a peculiar depth. “A scrying stone?”

“Yes. Do you know about them?”

“I do. I used to have a few. No one uses them anymore.”

“Do you know how to make them?”

“Me? No. The ones I had were gifts.”

Denny pulled a second stone from his bag and unwrapped it. Both stones glowed now with the scene around them. “I was thinking they could work like nature webcams, only better. They do not need batteries. They can be tiny and are made from all-natural materials. We could leave them at places like the reservoir, the eagles’ nest, and beside worn animal paths. I could carry a bunch of paired stones with us when we are out so we could check where the action is at any time.”

“What a good idea. How many of them do you have?”

“As many as we like. Mr. Motchk showed me how to make them. He has a big box of crystals.”

“So that is what you two have been up to.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I wonder, will a seeing spell work through these things? Give us more details? Night vision?”

“Great idea. I bet it will. We will have to try it.”

“I like this, laddie.” Ian reached out to ruffle his apprentice’s hair, forgetting for a moment it was no longer there. “I like this very much indeed.”

Denny and Nomik were in the study with the sunlit world visible in the distance. “Mr. Motchk, I have something to show you.”

“Have you?”

Denny unwrapped a large stone.

Nomik looked into it. “Is that the reservoir?”

“It is.” Denny pulled out another. “And this is the top of the mountain. You can see an eagles’ nest and, in the distance, the ocean.”

“You are intentionally losing scrying stones?”

“Not losing. Placing them for animal observation. I have two of them at the reservoir, and two on the mountain top, and two beside a popular animal trail, and two . . .”

“You mean one of each pair in those locations.”

“No, sir. See how big this stone is?”

“Yes. I was going to ask about that. Quite a load to haul around.”

“I do not haul them. I keep these in my room. Because they are so big, I get a really good view.” Denny pulled small stones from his pocket. “But I have these to carry with me. They are paired to stones in the same places, and Uncle Ian and I can consult them while we are outside.”

Nomik examined a large and small stone, both giving the view from the mountain top. The larger stone’s view was bigger, brighter, and more detailed. “This is brilliant.” He looked doubtfully at Denny. “Was this Ian’s idea?”

“No, sir. I came up with it.”

“So, you carry a large stone and a small one to each location you want to observe?”

“No, sir. Two small stones, but one of them is paired to a large stone.”

Nomik opened his mouth. For a moment, nothing came out. “Are you saying you made pairs of scrying stones where one stone was larger than the other?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your idea again?”

“Yes, sir.”

Nomik reached for the telephone on his desk. He dialed a number. Literally dialed it. Denny watched, intrigued by the old technology.

“Jinasu? Nomik here. I have a question. Who was that German witch who was such an expert on scrying stones?” Pause. “Oh, sorry to hear that. Did she have an apprentice?” Pause. “Can you give me his number?” Pause. Nomik wrote the number. “Thank you so much. Tell Sancho I miss him every day.”

Nomik pressed a button on top of the telephone. There were two such buttons, and when one went down, the other went down with it. Denny found this fascinating. Nomik dialed again.

“I am trying to reach Elisha Meucci.” Pause. “Nomik Motchk.” Pause. “Yes, that Nomik Motchk.” Long pause. “Mr. Meucci, I have a question about scrying stones. Do you know if it is possible to make a pair in which one is larger than the other?” Pause. “Did she? That big. My, my.” Pause. “Why have I never heard of this before?” Pause. “That difficult?” Pause. “The geometry? Seriously? The math of it is challenging?” Nomik looked to Denny. “He says the math is very difficult.”

Denny nodded deeply. “It is. Carol helped me.”

The light dawned on Nomik. “Of course she did.” Back into the telephone he said, “Thank you so much, Mr. Meucci.” Nomik nodded, and nodded again and then placed the telephone receiver down on the two buttons. Denny thought the nodding was funny, considering the ancient telephone had no camera.

“Your sister helped you with the math. Well, she would have to, would she not.”

“I could not have done it without her.”

“I am sure. Still, the inspiration was yours. Denny, I am impressed. You have taken an idea I gave you and run with it in new directions. Ian was right about you.”

“Thank you, sir.” It was Denny’s turn to find it difficult to speak. “This means a lot to me.” He put his stones away. “It will mean a lot to Uncle Ian.”

“Not as much as you might think. Ian never doubted you for a moment.”

“Exsomem, memorandum. Ian Urquhart was correct. Denny Broome is not the idiot I took him to be. He will never be a time wizard. He relies on his sister to do his math. Pity there is no way to blend those two kids together. One cannot do serious spacetime magic without mathematics inside one’s head. But Denny has, as Ian told me from the start, the genius of perspiration and some inspiration of his own. He has taught me things I did not know and reminded me of the multifaceted nature of intelligence. I enjoy his company. He will never have the power to be a threat, so I will never have to kill him. For that, I am almost grateful.”

Ian noticed it was nearly time for lunch. He dreaded the thought of missing a meal from the Panza kitchen. The food was not only delicious; Ian suspected it made him younger. The Eighth Doll’s concern for Nomik produced a healthful aura. Might not those in proximity to her father benefit?

Ian stepped onto the balcony. The courtyard below was quiet. Young people had moved inside in anticipation of the call to dine. From where Ian stood, he could see a pair of heavy doors set into a deep archway. One of them was open. He had not seen that before. The short way down was by the iron stairs. He crossed to the doorway and peeked into an artist’s studio. Paintings in various stages of completion hung or leaned around the walls. The artist, in a long smock, was working at an easel.

“Nomik? Is that you?”

The artist turned. “Ian? Did I leave the door open?”

“You did. Sorry to bother you, Nomik.”

“No bother. I usually keep the door closed to avoid interruption by children. House is full of them these days.”

“I noticed Miguel’s kids have a lot of playmates. They make this hacienda their headquarters. Even the older cousins hang around your courtyard.”

“More so now that Denny is in residence.”

“The lad makes friends easily.” Ian came into the room and looked around. “As I recall, this was the old classroom. Not that I ever saw it full of apprentices.”

“I had it remodeled into a studio.”

“Might as well. Good space. Good light.”

“I put in more windows for that purpose. It was difficult. To contain student experiments, my mentors had made these walls damned near impervious.”

“Wise men. And these are all yours?”

Nomik nodded. “I have painted for as long as I can remember.”

“I recall mention of it when Cory was here. He said you painted in your study.” Ian indicated a painting near where Nomik stood. “Is this the great hall?”

“Recognizable, is it?”

“More than recognizable. Quite nice. Cheerful colors. Those must be Miguel’s children by the fireplace.”

“They are.”

“There is Denny. I recognize the shirt.”

With the handle of a brush, Nomik pointed to a grouping of vertical splotches. “And that is you.”

“So it is. I am wearing those same pants.”

“So you are.”

“Is this seen from the balcony?”

“It is.”

Ian noticed the figures’ focus of attention, a blue and white patch on the mantle. “I know when this was. That is the bird Denny brought in the day we arrived.”

“It is.”

“Nomik, this is very good.”

“Thank you. The style is new to me. Good to know I can be impressionist and still be recognized.”

“Absolutely.” Ian turned to the work on the active easel. “Is this the courtyard?”

“It is.”

“What is the big orange dot in the center?”

“An orange.”

Ian nodded. “Makes sense. Why so big, though?”

“That is how it looks if you are on the balcony and someone throws an orange to you.”

“I suppose it would be if he threw it at your head.”

“Artistic license. Impressionists get to use a lot of it.”

Ian turned his attention to a more realistic portrait. “That is exactly the eager look Denny gets when he is seeing something new.” Ian strolled farther and admired. “I did not know you were still painting.”

“I had stopped. I took up art again when I realized I would have plenty of years to work on it.”

Ian looked back to Nomik. The ancient wizard was very young. “I suppose so. Have to do something with all that time, eh?”

Nomik suppressed a grimace. “I have thought of imitating Christo and Jeanne-Claude. I will put a broad red stripe around the equator, visible from space. I will weave the cloth myself, by hand.”

“I suppose you could.”

“Mr. Motchk, would you like to see what I made?”

Nomik often wanted to see things, but almost never the things other people wanted him to see. Still, Denny was eager to show off. “All right.”

“You have to come to my room.”

What Nomik saw on the floor when he entered Denny’s sitting room were multiple sheets of printed paper taped together, dotted with glowing crystal spheres.

“I downloaded an aerial photo of this house and the region around it. Each scrying stone is located on the place that corresponds to where the paired stone is in reality.”

Nomik walked around the layout, bending from time to time for a closer look. “This is quite impressive. You have made an awful lot of scrying stones. And you said you have two stones at each location?”

“I do.”

“Do you carry a smaller map when you and Ian are in the field?”

“No. I have the wrappers labeled, but I can recognize most of them just by looking.”

“Then why the big map?”

“Helps in tracking animals. Gives a better sense of the layout. Sometimes we go up a twisting canyon without realizing how close it is to another twisty one we have gone up before.”

“Is Ian out there somewhere now?”

“He is.”

“Can we see him?”

“Maybe, but probably not. He likes to scout new places to show me later.”

“A characteristic of a good mentor. What is this stone way out here?”

“One of my favorites. The eagles’ nest on the mountain where we can see the ocean.”

“I had not realized it was so far. Has Ian been there?”

“Sure.”

“On foot?”

“It is quite a journey, even with the running spell. When we go there, we camp overnight.”

“I had not realized Ian was that athletic.”

“The longer we are here, the easier it gets. Uncle Ian says your house is like a fountain of youth.”

Nomik sighed. “I suppose it is.”

“He says I better be careful, or I might become a baby.”

Nomik shook his head. “It does not work that way. You will get older. In the worst case, you would stop at my age. My apparent age.”

“Mr. Motchk, do you feel as young as you look?”

“Physically? Absolutely. Mentally, emotionally, perhaps spiritually, I feel the way Peregrine Arnold looks.”

“A thousand years old?”

“Not yet. But someday I will know how that feels.”

“Does that make you unhappy?”

Nomik picked up a scrying stone and looked into it. He saw a sunlit forest. “A thousand years might not be so bad.”

“But not forever.”

Nomik put the stone down. Light from scrying stones paired to stones in daylight had a natural coloration. He looked into Denny’s eyes. Nomik realized he had not noticed their exact color before. He might make a correction to a portrait. “Forever would be bad. Will be bad, if I cannot find a way around it.”

“I understand.”

“No, Denny, you do not. No one does.”

“I do.” Denny was adamant. “You remember the day you showed me how to change the flow of time around a watch?”

Nomik chuckled. “When you changed your hairstyle.”

“Yeah. Not long after that, Uncle Ian said the word ‘forever’ to me. For the first time in my life, I understood it.”

“Is that right?”

Denny nodded.

“Peregrine would say you can feel the difference between a million and a billion years.”

“I can. Sort of, at least. I want to understand it better.”

“No doubt you will someday.” Nomik said it, but they both knew he doubted.

“Uncle Ian cannot teach me things like that.”

“But think of all he has taught you—and can teach. I have lived a century in this place, yet I know it less than either of you. My focus is on time, but a world exists in time and space.” Nomik waved a hand over the map spread on the floor. “Ian is the sort of mentor who will show you that space. Drag you all over it, really. Especially, I suppose, now that he is living in this fountain of youth.”

“You know, it is funny about Uncle Ian.”

“What?”

“He will run a hundred miles with me but still complain of my room being such a long walk from his.”

“Oh, yes.” Nomik stepped back, turned and put his hands on a wall. “I should have shown this to you sooner. Not sure why I did not.” He moved his hands and spoke a spell. The entire wall shifted just a bit. An archway appeared. Through it, Denny could see Ian’s bedroom.

“What did you do?”

“Took away an illusion. These rooms are joined. The Grandfather had an apprentice who slept in Ian’s room. When Cory came to live with me, we had a servant housed there—the one before Miguel moved in. Cory needed privacy, so I cast a spell to hide the archway.”

“You mean Uncle Ian could have walked through that wall at any time?”

“No. The spell is more than plain illusion. You did not hear him, did you? It stops light and sound and smell, and if Ian had tried to walk through it, it would have hurt.”

Denny stepped into Ian’s room and back again. “Can you show me how to do that?”

“Certainly. Easier than scrying stones.”

In a short time, Denny was able to hide the archway. He learned the reason the whole wall changed was because it was simpler to do an entire wall than to try to exactly match existing color and texture. With the spell in place, both his room and Ian’s were centimeters narrower. He slapped his hand in the center of the absent archway. “That is really convincing.”

Nomik cast a spell and hid the other doorways too, blocking passage to the bedroom and the balcony. The room around them became a closed box.

“Oh, that is creepy.”

“How so? It is still your sitting room.”

“I do not like it.” Denny paced a frantic circle. “No matter how nice, it is bad being in a place where you feel you cannot get out.”

“Tell me about it. I have trapped you in a box and myself in an eternity. But I can show you how to escape your trap.”

The spell restoring the archway was even easier, since it was only a spell to dispel existing magic. Denny had worried it might affect the scrying stones, but Nomik showed him how to control the spell’s direction. “Anyway, it would not affect the stones. Theirs is a different kind of magic.”

“Is there a spell to stop a scrying stone?”

“No need. A scratch will do it.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

“Show me what you learned. Restore the other doors.”

Denny cast spells toward the balcony and his bedroom, revealing each passageway. When the bedroom door reappeared, they heard a dull thud. A gecko came skittering out of the room. “Did we scare you, little guy?”

“Think how pleased Ian will be when he returns.”

“Yeah. He will be.” But after Nomik left and Denny was alone, he cast the spell to hide the arch again. He had grown used to independence and was not sure he wanted Uncle Ian that close all the time.

Denny carried the gecko into his bedroom and flopped down on the bed. He looked up and saw a rectangular hole in the ceiling. “Whoa!” He looked down at the gecko on his bedspread. “So that’s what disturbed you.” Denny considered where he had stood when he dispelled Nomik’s conjuration to hide the bedroom door. The angle was correct. “I killed two illusions with one blow.”

He looked back up. A pipe crossed the center of the opening. It ended in brackets on either side. “A chin-up bar. Did Cory put that there?” Uncle Ian had often remarked on Denny’s inability to run beneath a stout branch without executing a chin-up. Denny was not sure why it always felt so good, but it did. He stood on the bed. The ceiling was high. He had to jump to catch the sturdy bar. He did a chin-up, poking his head into darkness above the ceiling, and dropped back down. It occurred to him that Cory might have hidden more exercise equipment, but experimental dispelling spells revealed no other illusions in the room.

Denny lay down on the bed. He cast a spell to hide the bar, restoring the false ceiling. Then he revealed the hole again and hid it, for practice. He was suddenly aware of the magical energy expended in his lesson. A nap, considering his location, seemed the reasonable thing to do. The gecko took to the wall, and then the ceiling and was soon hanging comfortably from the illusion above the sleeping wizard.

It had taken days for Nomik to find the time to touch up Denny’s eyes. He stepped back to evaluate the effect. The accurate color worked better with the rest of the portrait. He thought, even an impressionist must tip his hat to good suggestions from reality.

Nomik put down the palette and took off his smock. He smoothed his clothing before opening the door and entering the courtyard. The place was bustling with youth. Grand as it is to have you children here, I miss the old formalities.

Nomik understood his youthful appearance contributed to the relaxed air of community. Were the Grandfather still alive, he would undoubtedly inspire more respect. Nomik, on the other hand, was treated almost as a contemporary despite his being as old today as the Grandfather ever got to be. Young men might pat him on the shoulder, and the women would come close, with smiles, nods, even going so far as to provocatively bump against him.

For thousands of years, any woman of European ancestry wearing so little cloth in public could be arrested.

Nomik examined a gathering of Panza cousins and their friends. One young woman was at that age of peak ripeness, and Nomik was a man with a sensitivity to the overripe. Her figure could make a fellow gasp. She wore nothing that might conceal it. Is she aware that what she thinks of as short pants was originally seamless underwear?

Nomik looked her up and down. Nails on both fingers and toes were painted in glittering colors. She had piercings and tattoos. In my youth, my original youth, only a dockside prostitute would have looked like that. If I mentioned the fact today, you would all think me the wicked one.

She wore rings on every finger, bracelets, and a pendant on a gold chain around her neck. Coupled with the piercings, a walking jewelry store. With that face and figure, unadorned and modestly dressed, you would be a thousand times more . . .

Nomik’s thought was stopped short by a flash reflected from the stone in the pendant. It was round but had a single facet. He drew close. The young folk smiled and nodded.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Motchk.”

“That is a lovely necklace you have there.”

“Do you like it?” Nudges, winks and titters went through the gathering. Nomik Motchk was, despite his reputed age, a handsome young man with a reputation for ignoring the ladies. Of course, it would be Conchita who drew his attention. The other young wizard had already noticed her. She had such beautiful tattoos.

“May I see the stone?”

“You may.” Conchita did not take it off. Instead, she stepped so close to Nomik he could feel her breath on his face. Looking down, he could admire the stone between her breasts, which might as well be bare for all her T-shirt did to conceal them.

The stone was black—a peculiarly deep blackness.

“Where did you buy that?”

“It was a gift. A rare black pearl.”

“The blackest. Who would be so generous?”

“Your apprentice.”

“My apprentice? Do you mean Denny Broome?”

When Conchita nodded, her dangling earrings tinkled.

“How generous of him. Did he tell you anything about this pearl?”

“He said it is good luck. He said I should keep it with me every moment of every day and night.”

“I am sure he did. Nothing more?”

When Conchita shook her head, her earrings tinkled even louder.

“You must excuse me.” Nomik left abruptly, almost running to the iron stairs and up to the balcony. The young people followed his progress with their eyes. They watched him knock on the door closest to the hacienda wall. The older wizard, older looking anyway, came out. Nomik brought him to the railing. The two looked down. The young people stopped staring but took turns glancing up from time to time, with one explaining to the others what was going on.

“He’s pointing this way. They’re talking. They seem upset. They’re casting spells.”

Almost everyone looked up for this. Despite living among wizards, it was rare to see a spell cast. The wizards’ eyes grew large and dark. They spoke again and then disappeared into Ian Urquhart’s bedroom.

“What was that about?”

“No idea,” said Conchita.

In his bedroom, Denny Broome was tying scrying stones together. The gold wire was soft enough to prevent scratching. By pressing many small stones against the big one in the middle, he hoped to reduce his burden in the field. He would carry only the stone paired to the large, central stone. Using the seeing spell, he should be able to look into that one stone and beyond it into whichever of the others he wanted to examine. Mr. Motchk and Uncle Ian were going to be impressed when he revealed this innovation.

But then the wall beside him vanished, and Mr. Motchk and Uncle Ian were right there. Denny yelped.

“Laddie, why did you never tell me about this hidden arch?”

Denny’s mouth hung open. “The arch? I—well—I was going to.”

“When?”

“I do not know. I was going to surprise you.” Denny looked into his mentor’s face and then to Mr. Motchk. “Am I in trouble?”

“Never mind the arch,” said Nomik. His tone was as dark as his expression. He picked up and examined Denny’s new scrying project. “Ian, get to the point.”

“Denny,” asked Ian, “did you give a necklace to one of the local girls?”

Denny’s face turned red so quickly Nomik almost laughed. Ian had promised the boy would speak the truth, but words proved unnecessary. Nomik growled. “Show us the other stone.”

Denny trembled as he rose and went into his bedroom. His accusers followed. As he reached under his bed, his mind was racing but only in circles, seeking an exit that was not there. He pulled out a box and placed it on the bedspread.

“Open it.”

Denny looked between the wizards, hoping for any indication of receptiveness to pleas. Their eyes were large and dark, the effect of seeing spells. There seemed no point in begging. “We have to turn the light off.”

“So she will not know,” said Nomik.

Denny nodded sheepishly.

Ian flipped the switch and closed the bedroom door. In darkness, Denny lifted the lid. The stone inside was large. It glowed with the sunlight of the courtyard. Nomik and Ian found themselves looking down onto the curves of a young woman’s tight T-shirt, every thread revealed to their magically enhanced vision.”

“Give it here,” said Nomik.

Denny complied. Then he heard the scratch. Mr. Motchk must have a pocket knife. The stone went dark. Ian turned on the light. He and Nomik both blinked against the glare although the magic was fading from their eyes.

“She does not know what she wears,” said Nomik.

Denny shook his head.

“You told her to keep it with her always, for good luck.”

Denny nodded. Ian’s frown deepened. Nomik glowered.

“Does she wear it to bed and in the bath. Or does she rest it on her dresser? Keep it hanging on a hook, perhaps.”

“Most of the time, she has it in her jewelry box.”

“Her good luck charm?” Nomik sounded disbelieving.

“It turns out she is not superstitious.” Denny could not keep the disappointment from his voice, a fact Nomik found infuriating.

“Laddie, you know better.” Uncle Ian’s tone accused.

“Has he done this kind of thing before?”

Ian nodded.

“With scrying stones?”

“No. You taught him that. The first time was one of my lessons. He put his eyes into a neighbor’s cat.”

Nomik stared at Denny in a way that made him feel extremely small, but he wanted to be smaller. Preferably microscopic.

“This is how you use the arts we teach, your gifts—your ‘genius,’ as Ian calls it—thinking up new ways to violate the innocence of women? When I think of that poor girl . . .”

“I never saw anything. Mostly her other jewelry. Nothing I can’t see any day.”

Ian winced.

“Nothing you can’t see,” said Nomik.

Denny heard his reflected contraction.

“I will tell you what you cannot see, laddie.” Nomik imitated Ian’s accent with disturbing accuracy, tinged with sarcasm. “You cannot see me.” And with that, Nomik vanished.

“What happened? How did he do that?”

Ian sighed. “A wizard like Nomik? Who knows? A time spell? A super running spell? Teleportation? Invisibility? Some skill neither of us has ever heard of and perhaps now never will? Difficult to say.”

“Exsomem, memorandum. Denny Broome is not an idiot. He is much worse. I will teach him nothing now. If he knew any more, I would have killed him already.” Then Nomik recounted for the memo the entire incident of the scrying pendant in richly painful detail.

Downstairs in the studio, new paint was drying. Denny Broome’s eyes had been redone again, this time in burning red. Nomik had intended to rework the entire image, but once the eyes were changed, nothing more was needed. One could guess what the monster might be leering at. It worked so well that it had made Nomik laugh.

The knock at the door was varied: slow, fast, slow, and then a series of irregular taps. Nomik smiled and shook his head. Years earlier, he had demonstrated the effects time magic could have on rhythmic sounds. Ever since, Miguel had knocked this way in imitation. “Come in.”

Miguel entered cautiously, a practice that had saved his life on more than one occasion, but nothing dangerous was going on today. Nomik closed the memorandum on his computer, one in which he reminded himself of a painful incident from the period of his childhood disability. “What can I do for you, my welcome distraction?”

In the past, Nomik had let his servants stand or lean, but once he acknowledged Miguel’s father as a friend, he installed a chair in his study so the visitor might sit. Miguel took advantage of it. “Nomik, you have disappeared.”

Nomik feigned surprise. He examined his hands, patted his knees and touched his fingers to his face. “Am I not present?”

“Your absence has been noted in the house.”

“Nonsense. I had a long chat with your wife in the kitchen after breakfast.”

“Which she appreciated. She’s missed you. We wondered why we’d seen so little of you. Today, Ian explained the situation.”

“Ah.” Nomik examined his hands again, this time more critically. “Did Ian tell you the cause?”

“He said Denny disappointed you. He gave no details.”

“Ian is more thoughtful than Denny deserves.”

“Do you want me to send them away?”

Nomik hesitated. What did he want? “That wretched boy out of the house should be the obvious choice.”

“So yes, then. Good enough. They’re gone.”

“No!” Nomik had said it. Now he had to explain it to himself. “Your children. The extended family. Everyone loves them. The conflict is between Denny and me. I have adequate ways of avoiding Denny and Ian.”

“In your own home? How does that work?”

Nomik muttered, waved his hands, and vanished.

“Are you still here?”

“I am.”

Miguel looked around the room. “Where?”

“Right in front of you.” Nomik reappeared. “You know how lenses work, how light bends where various materials modify its velocity?”

“I think so.”

“Perhaps not. Light is more complex than in basic textbook explanations. Quantum electrodynamics is involved. Photons prefer the path of least time. I use time magic to make a sort of lens. Light behind flows around and emerges as if passing through me.”

“Invisibility? I’ll never feel alone again.”

“Less funny than you know. You might spot me by dim patches at the back of the head since light must reach my eyes if I am to see. I have magic to suppress sound as well.”

“You’ve been skulking around your own home. That’s no way to live.”

“I decide how I live. It is not skulking. But I will try to make the effort to be apparent to your wife.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate it if you’d call that a promise. Wouldn’t want the wife to worry in the bath.”

“Nor would I. A promise it is.”

“It isn’t just her. The children miss you.”

“With minor difficulty, I could direct the effects so only Denny and Ian do not perceive me.”

“Why such effort to accommodate unwanted guests?”

“I have explained myself adequately. The situation stands.”

“All right.” Miguel rose. “I still don’t get it, but as you say, you decide for yourself.”

“I do.” But after Miguel left, Nomik entered a memorandum in which he admitted not fully understanding his own choice. He did a lot of that these days.

At the meal that evening, Denny and Uncle Ian shared the table with a man who was not there. It was odd the first night, but everyone got used to it in time.

A time wizard is constantly aware of the location of the sun but does not align his workday to it. How could he when he might pass an hour in a single minute or stretch a second across a day? So, it was not unusual that Nomik Motchk was dreaming while the sun was high. He carried a candle down a narrow spiral staircase. He heard a boy’s laughter behind him. And music. An accordion? It was a dream he had dreamt a thousand times before. He recognized it, but when he woke, he did not recall the candle, or the boy, or the spiral stair. It was the recurring dream of his lifetime, yet he was unaware that he had a recurring dream.

What woke him? Music? Nomik rose and pulled on a robe. He followed sounds. Definitely instruments but other things as well. Children’s voices. And animals? Denny would be involved. Nomik became undetectable.

The door to the music room was closed. He cast a time spell that made him so quick he could open and shut it again before anybody noticed. The trick was the gentle tug at the end. The closing door would make no sound, particularly difficult since he was moving so fast he would be well away from the door before any error could reach his ears.

Nomik chose his spot in the room and then released the time spell, although maintaining complete invisibility. Music returned. The room was a menagerie. He shook his head to confirm for himself that he no longer dreamed.

Chirps of birds and frogs, barks and growls of mammals were charmingly controlled, pleasant and tuneful. The use of insects to provide a harmonic drone was particularly successful. In the long debate between judging art solely on its merits or filtering perception through knowledge of personal characteristics of the artist, Nomik always sided with the art. Just because this was Denny’s work was no reason for Nomik to deny himself the pleasure.

Nomik looked inside an unfamiliar jar. From time to time, a fish would rise above the water at the bottom and contribute a fascinating bloop. The children used their own skills unmodified by magic, a good idea as it enhanced their pleasure in showing off for listening parents what they had learned. Guillermo and Amorita were all right for their ages, but Bartolomé’s piano work was surprisingly fine. His mother was all smiles.

Even Ian was performing. Nomik anticipated bagpipes, but the Scottish wizard held a fiddle. Nomik looked longingly at a guitar. He could pick it up and play. With magic, he would control who heard his contribution, but that might prove disruptive. The sad hostility of such an act disturbed him. He slipped out again. Let them enjoy themselves.

Nomik came back hours later, after the music stopped, expecting an opportunity to disapprove of damage, but the music room was spotless. Either they had done a splendid job of cleaning up, or Denny’s control of animals was absolute. Could his spells control a man? Or a woman? Nomik recalled the practices of his old business partner, Ruby, and shuddered.

The concert had made Denny happy, mostly because it made the kids happy. He loved doing that. Uncle Ian had a good time too. Denny hoped word would get back to Nomik. Maybe he had even heard the performance from a distance.

Denny was about to open his door when he detected a sound. He turned to look. The great hall was empty. Across the hall, on the second level, the music room was visible above the partial wall. He thought he saw some sort of shimmer. Denny cast the seeing spell, but it revealed nothing unexpected. He gave up the search and went into his room.

The wall between Denny’s room and Uncle Ian’s had been restored. Ian had allowed this as an indicator that he, at least, still trusted his apprentice. The magic of the wall stood up against the magic of the enhanced seeing, which was really nothing more than improved attention to individual photons. Denny did not see Ian’s room.

Denny had not swept enhanced vision across the map of scrying stones before. It was kind of fun. Not much action yet, but the sun was getting lower, and soon more animals would be moving about.

He went into his bedroom. He had a trick he particularly enjoyed. He would jump onto his bed while casting the spell to remove the illusory ceiling. It would vanish just in time for him to grab Cory’s chin-up bar. If his timing was off, he might bump his hands, but that only added to the sense of accomplishment when it worked.

This time, his timing was perfect. It always was after music. He stopped his chin-up at the top and held it. He had never had his head up in the ceiling with the enhanced vision spell before. What was he seeing in the distance? A box?

Denny dropped down and hung. He looked up and considered the opening. It was bigger than it needed to be to allow room for exercise. Was it possible this was not a chin-up bar at all?

Denny swung his legs. In the first two attempts, he did not make it, but on the third he got one foot onto framing around the hole, which let him pull up the other. He hung upside-down. He was looking with enhanced vision at the gecko, who was right-side up now. The gecko blinked. Denny laughed so hard he almost lost his grip. Then, through some squirming, he got himself up into the space above the ceiling.

It was dim, but with the seeing spell, not too bad. He had enough room to crawl toward the suspected box. Spider webs clung to the young man’s face. Denny cast a minor wind spell, one he used sometimes while tracking animals, one he had never cast before indoors. In the confined gap above the ceiling, air was concentrated. Denny found himself choking in a cloud of disturbed past. He crawled back to the opening to breathe and cough. His bedspread was graying with accumulating dust. “Good thing Mom is not here.”

Denny hung his head into his room while waiting for debris to settle, amusing himself with close examination of the lizard in its inverted habitat, considering gecko characteristics that might become a spell. New viewpoints suggest new possibilities. At last, Denny returned to the space above the ceiling and crawled forward, this time unhindered by webs. A gap opened above his head. That was not a box at all. It was the bottom step in a staircase spiraling into darkness. “Whoa!”

Denny considered going back to get Uncle Ian—for about a half a second—and then he started up the steps. The ceiling passage formed a light trap effective against even the seeing spell. He realized he would be climbing blind and decided against that. What to do for lights?

A minute later, Denny was back at the base of the spiral stairs but now carrying two large scrying stones. Their mates were outdoors absorbing and transmitting sunshine, making them perfect lamps in here. He placed a stone on the bottom step and carried the other as he climbed.

Was this a second tower? How had they not seen it from outside? Magic must be hiding it, as the entrance had been hidden. This staircase was different from the one to Mr. Motchk’s study, not so big or open, wrapping around a central core of stone. The higher he climbed the tightening spiral, the narrower and steeper the steps, and the closer the stone walls. Denny feared he might run out of room for his shoulders. Then his head hit the ceiling.

He rested the scrying stone on a step in front of him, reached overhead and pushed against the wood, a tricky maneuver in confined space. The barrier moved only a little. No handle, latch or hasp was visible. Denny spoke an unlocking spell, an ancient conjuration in the language of another continent. Wood swung away. He climbed through a circular opening in the floor of the room above.

The seeing spell was wearing off. Denny held the scrying stone high, his only source of light. The magic breeze had not gotten by the trapdoor, so dust lay thick here. He reached tentatively forward. Yes, there were cobwebs. Rather than choke himself again with wind, he relied on waving fingers to keep them from his face.

The room was smaller than Mr. Motchk’s study. Where there should have been windows, there were framed black panels. Denny tapped one. It sounded like glass, but no light passed through. It was cold to the touch.

He glanced into the scrying stone—the mountain with an eagles’ nest and the ocean in the distance. The sun was low but not yet set. Why were this tower’s windows dark? He considered time magic possibly shifting the tower into night, but not even moon or stars were visible.

The ceiling was probably no higher than in Mr. Motchk’s study, but in this narrow space, the shelves and dark windows seemed taller. Some shelves were empty. Others held fascinating objects, although none of them gave off light. Here was a wooden toy: a tiny cart. Denny reached for it but then recalled a warning about touching things in a wizard’s study.

Was this a wizard’s study? Denny looked into the middle of the room. There was a desk and chair but no computer. There was a candle on the desk. Denny saw no electric lights or switches. Could this room have been built and perhaps closed before electricity caught on? Besides desk and chair and shelves, the room held an old wooden chest and a cabinet. The lid on the chest was locked. Denny cast his unlocking spell. Hinges squeaked as the lid swung open. The chest was full of bones.

Denny was used to bones. Nature has no cemeteries. Thanks to predators and scavengers, bones are often found in scatters or heaps. And Denny’s favorite high school class had been biology. He had seen the inside of an animal. It did not shock him. To live with nature was to live with life and death. And he had seen a human skeleton, although not a real one. The one in his classroom had been plastic with the logo of the manufacturer molded onto a femur.

These bones were real. These bones were human. The disturbing thing about them was how they were arranged, which was not at all. It was like a toy box where a child had put his toys away just all tossed in. Denny closed the lid. The gesture made him feel as if something should be said. Were the bones inside a complete skeleton? Or perhaps more than one person? “Lord have mercy on these bones.”

Denny turned his attention to the desk. Dust here was thinner, as if the surface might have been swept in the previous decade. He opened the middle drawer. It held pencils, pens, a ruler, a protractor, and a slide rule. Denny had never seen a slide rule before except in videos. They were an early kind of calculator from before there were computers. He pulled it out and looked at it. Maybe he should not have touched it, but it seemed harmless and interesting. He surprised himself by successfully multiplying three times four to get the answer twelve. “Not bad.”

The right-side drawer held paper in a loose stack. The left held candles and a box of matches. Denny used a match and lit the candle on the desk. It was as bright as the light from his scrying stone, and pretty, so he left it burning. No matter where he put the stone, it would cast shadows. The second light added a pleasant flicker to them. And the light from the scrying stone was waning as the sun went down.

Denny rested the stone on top of the cabinet, just above his head. This put the front of the cabinet in shadow as he stood before it, his body blocking light from the candle, but he could see the handles well enough to grab them and swing the thin doors open. He stepped aside to let in candlelight. Inside were shelves and on them stacks of notebooks with a spiral binding. They looked newer than anything else in the room. How old was spiral binding, anyway? Denny did not know. Perhaps the reason they looked new was the lack of dust. The cabinet must have protected them.

He pulled out a notebook and opened it, holding it up into light from the scrying stone. The first page had a name and date. The notebook was more than ten years old. The name was Cory Lariston.

Denny glanced at the chest full of bones. No, that idea was crazy. Denny’s father had investigated the Lariston murder. The body was held in the morgue. There would have been a funeral. Denny still had no idea who was in the chest.

He looked back to the notebook. He turned the page and shuddered at what he found. He turned another and another. He flipped to the middle, which was just as bad. He closed the notebook, set it aside and picked up the next one. And then the next. He tried one at random from another stack on another shelf. All the same. All terrifying.

Denny put the notebook back. He wanted to close the cabinet doors but could not do it, his eyes held in dreadful fascination. He retreated to look the cabinet up and down. Four shelves, and on each shelf three stacks, and in each stack what? Ten notebooks? And in each notebook the same thing. Denny’s eyes grew wide in horror. On every page in every notebook on every shelf—mathematics!

Denny felt sick. He rested a hand on the desk and sat in the chair. Old wood squeaked. He stared into the candle flame, breathing deeply until he felt better. All right. All right. 

He stood back up. He took the first notebook from the cabinet again, closed the doors and took down the scrying stone. He blew out the candle. The sun was down. The scrying stone was dim and would grow dimmer.

By the time he reached the base of the stairs, the stone he had left there was almost black, as was the one in his hand. He crawled back to his bedroom, dropped onto the bed and flipped on a light. He went into the sitting room. His tablet was on the desk. He made a call. A woman’s face appeared.

“Carol.” Denny held up the notebook and opened it to a middle page.

“Closer,” said his sister.

He moved the notebook closer to the tablet camera. Carol screwed up her face as she examined the image on her screen. “Little brother, it looks like you need help.”

“No kidding.”

“You will have to send me pictures.”

“I will. Lots and lots of pictures.”

“How many?”

The cover of the notebook was facing Denny. It mentioned its own dimensions and then said seventy sheets. Denny considered for a moment. “Around eight thousand.” He was amazed when he realized he had done the calculation in his head.

“Uncle Ian, tell me about Cory Lariston.”

Ian stretched. They had been waiting almost an hour above a jaguarundi den. “Those who would see nature in the wild require patience.”

“You will not tell me?”

“We are waiting for our cats. I have already told you plenty of things about Cory.”

“Tell me how he died.”

“Ruby killed him.”

“How, exactly?”

“The grim details?”

“Nature is red in tooth and claw. You will not shock me.”

“Why the sudden interest?”

“I sleep in his old bed.”

“And you lack adequate nightmares?”

“Was his death a nightmare?”

Ian shifted to ease the pressure on a leg. “It was for me.”

“Sorry, Uncle Ian. Never mind.”

“Ruby teleported his brains out of his head. She dropped them on his carpet.”

“Whoa!”

“Auggie Kalonimos felt your father was fortunate to be able to investigate a brand-new kind of murder.”

“Why did she do it that way?”

“She was inside his head when she decided to kill him.”

“Inside?”

“A strange spell she used to understand people by exploring them in analogy. She moved her awareness into another person’s brain, seeing it as a house.”

“A house?”

“Cory was a mansion of madness by the time Ruby found him. Too dangerous to live, she felt.” Ian’s voice, already a whisper, became nearly inaudible. “She was right.”

“What happened to Cory to make him mad?”

Ian leaned forward, holding a hand for silence. He stayed that way for quite some time but then leaned back again. “Sorry. False alarm. You would think her kittens would have her up by now.”

“Yeah.” Denny moved a twig to improve his view of the den. “Cory?”

“It happened in stages. He was always a challenging apprentice even before he killed those men.”

Denny almost lost his balance and had to grip the tree trunk. “What men? How many?”

“Three. Have I not told you?”

Denny shook his head.

“While I was napping, he used a reflection spell to steal my appearance and went into a pub. One thing led to another, and he found himself in an alley fending off three men who believed he, that is I, deserved a beating. Being young and inexperienced, Cory panicked. He combined magical speed and strength spells, took a knife away from an assailant and used it to cut their throats.”

“How old was he?”

“Ten.”

“Ten!”

“Hush!” Uncle Ian pointed downward. “The cats.”

“Sorry. But ten? Killed three men at the age of ten.”

“He was never the same after that. The burden of his crimes weighed upon his mind.”

“And that is what made him crazy.”

Uncle Ian shook his head. “Many years later, the Eighth Doll pushed him over the edge.”

“How?”

“Nomik said it was what she showed Cory when he went to murder her.”

“Murder again? Oh, right. Nomik trying to escape from forever. What did the Eighth Doll show Cory?”

“Everything. Literally. The entire universe at once.”

Denny nodded. “I suppose that might do it.”

“But I think the fact he had been sent to kill her was a part of it. Just because one has killed before does not mean one is prepared to kill again. It takes practice to become a predator. Speaking of which, here come those kittens. Oh, they are adorable.”

In late November, Denny Broome and Ian Urquhart returned to the United States. Nomik breathed a sigh of relief. But too soon—the next week they were back. They left in mid-December but returned again in January. The same thing happened in March. “He is treating this place as if it was his college. Are you billing him for room and board?”

“Do I bill you?” asked Miguel.

Nomik scowled. “I am serious. With the energy he and Ian expend running around outside, they eat like a team of oxen. It must be costing you.”

“Costing my father, and you know how he feels about supporting education.”

Nomik glanced toward the computer on his desk. Miguel knew this to be a habit Nomik had of late when thinking of the past. “And your mother. Jinasu feels guilty because of her part in what happened to Cory Lariston. She must see this as a kindness to poor old Ian.”

Miguel nodded. “I think she does. But I’ve told you, I’ll send them home the day you say so.”

“And make me the villain in the tale? I have had enough of that. If they are no burden to you, do nothing on my account.”

“Then I’ll send them home myself. I tire of their shenanigans.”

“No. Let them stay.”

“But why?”

“Perhaps a kindness to your whole family, your mother included. You think me capable of kindness, do you not?”

“Of course. A good enough explanation. Promise me one thing though.”

“What?”

“Promise me that when you figure out the real reason you’re letting them stay, you’ll tell me.”

Nomik huffed. “As soon as I know.”

Nomik went to the reservoir. It was a pleasant place, nothing terribly special, a private reserve of water at the base of a cliff. Yes, there were fish, but surely the rest of the world held fish of equal or greater fascination.

Nomik went to the mountains. He saw eagles but did not find their nests. He imagined there would be many animals in the woods, but he lacked the skill to locate them.

Nomik followed Ian. Although Nomik was undetectable, this did not feel like spying. The men were, after all, in open air where anyone was free to walk. But following Ian was infuriating. The Scottish wizard would run like a madman in a zigzag. Then he would stop and stand for minutes at a time, staring into the middle distance at nothing at all and then suddenly take off running again. Nomik supposed the key to finding animals was to think like one. Ian had managed to bring his thoughts down to that level. And where the hell was Denny all this time?

Nomik stood outside Denny’s door. He knew he had all the skills necessary to open it unnoticed. Was there some slight chance Denny would detect him—catch him doing the sort of spying of which he had accused the boy? What a humiliation that would be. But no, Nomik was sure he could remain undetected. The reason he did not go into people’s rooms uninvited was because he was better than that.

And why should he go in, anyway. Nomik had no interest in Denny Broome.

Giggles? In a house full of children, Nomik heard giggles often. What was it that made these different? He came out of his bedroom and looked down the corridor toward the great hall. Something moved rapidly across the opening. It was on the ceiling. It giggled.

Nomik became invisible and went onto the balcony. The ceiling of the hall was covered with children—Miguel’s, their cousins, and their friends. Bare feet and palms of hands were sticky enough to keep them from falling, yet they could peel away a palm or foot, shift and reattach, and repeat the process on another limb so quickly that they skittered with alarming speed.

Below them, Denny stood in the center of the room, clutching a gecko in each hand. The lizards hung limply, apparently deceased. Denny waved them over his head, keeping up a constant chant. Beside him parents craned their necks to watch their children.

Was the boy insane? And how could parents be so irresponsible? Any interruption of Denny’s spell might plunge those children to their deaths. Or worse, to incapacitating injury, a state Nomik had experienced in youth. Nomik cast the running spell and a time spell to allow him even faster movement. A moment later he was standing beside Denny. He would stay completely invisible so as not to startle Ian’s idiot apprentice by causing a stir among the parental crowd. Where was Ian, anyway?

“Hurry, Bartolomé.” Ian emerged from the dining room, a cup of coffee in his hand, shouting encouragement toward the ceiling. “Your sister is going to get away.”

Nomik looked back up and realized the children were playing an inverted game of tag. Bartolomé was chasing Amorita, whose long hair waved in the space below her. Nomik waited, braced for action. In an emergency, he might need to catch an entire herd of falling babes. If only magic had a flying spell or anything to counter gravity.

“OK,” shouted Miguel. “That’s enough. Everybody back to the chimney.”

The air above him filled with complaint. “Not yet.” “Just a little longer.” “I’ve almost caught her.” “We’re having fun.”

“Down! Now! Or I’ll make Denny drop you.”

Denny continued chanting and waving of limp geckos. The children, still protesting, made their way across the ceiling, crawled down the chimney and around the fireplace to the floor. All except one who ran circles on the ceiling.

“Diego, come down now,” called Diego’s mother.

“I’m having too much fun.”

“Denny, make my boy come down.”

Denny stopped his chanting. Horrified, Nomik rushed to the spot below Diego and held out his arms to catch the child, but Diego did not fall.

“I can’t move,” called Diego.

“No,” said Denny. “So long as I do not chant, your hands and feet are stuck. Will you come to the chimney, or shall I leave you there while everyone else has ice cream?”

Diego looked wildly around. The other children were already pouring into the dining room. “I’ll come, Denny. Let me move again. Please.”

Denny resumed his chanting. Nomik realized the spell was safer than it looked. The default state was not to fall but to be held in place. He was glad he had remained invisible to everyone, so none had witnessed his unnecessary panic.

When the last child was down, Denny shook the lizards in his hands. The pair stiffened and then appeared to return to life. Magic had extracted abilities to transfer to children. Once no longer needed, Denny placed the geckos on the mantle. They climbed the chimney to the ceiling as if intending to inspect their recently violated domain.

Nomik modified his invisibility so only Denny and Ian did not see him. He joined the children for ice cream, although he stopped after a single bite. Guillermo asked Nomik if he had seen everyone when they were being geckos. Nomik said he had and asked what it was like. As the child provided an answer full of enthusiastic detail, Nomik looked up. Denny could not see him, but the young master of animal magic could tell what was going on by Guillermo’s chatter to an empty chair. Denny nodded respectfully. Then he politely looked away from the man he was not supposed to know was there.

Nomik followed Ian to the reservoir. Ian stopped on a rocky ledge and peered into the pool. Nomik waited undetectably beside him until he could stand it no longer. He made himself visible. He intended to say, “At the very least, blink your eyes,” but before he got as far as blink, a startled Ian spun around, shrieked and fell into the water. Apparently, it was deep here.

Nomik tried to stop himself from laughing. To engage in such impolite, almost cruel behavior, gave Ian something of a social upper hand. But Nomik could not stop himself. His laughter echoed off the rocky cliff above them.

Ian sputtered to the surface. “Sweet Jesus, Nomik. Do not sneak up on a man like that.”

Nomik did what he could to assist as Ian crawled up onto the ledge. The Scottish wizard knelt on all fours and shook himself dry exactly as a dog would, starting at the head and ending with rapid rotation of the rump. It was surprisingly effective, drenching Nomik, who was now convulsed with laughter. He finally managed to say, “Ian, I am truly sorry, although I would have thought it harder to surprise one so skilled in woodsy lore.”

“Predators lack your abilities in magic.” Ian rolled himself to a sitting position. “Just as well, or they would eat us all.” Unlike the wizard who had startled him, Ian was completely dry. His shaking off of droplets had been magically enhanced. Nomik cast a spell of his own. The water on his clothing rose in a puff of vapor. Ian tipped his head in acknowledgment of skill. “Now how did you do that?”

Nomik wafted mist away. “I created a thin sheet of accelerated time just beyond my skin. Moisture evaporated naturally during the hour that passed there.”

“So this is what time magic is used for: a high-speed human clothesline.”

“Yes. Exactly why I studied all those years.”

Both men chuckled, a sound that blended into nature as light breezes splashed reservoir ripples against the rock beneath them. The sun was pleasantly warm.

“Nomik, what brings you out here?”

“I wanted to talk.”

Ian patted stone beside him. Nomik hesitated but then lowered himself, copying Ian’s cross-legged position. “Well, this is odd.”

“What is?” asked Ian.

“I used to sit this way all the time. When I became middle-aged, or more, I gave it up. My body is young again, but I am only now reminded how easy this is.”

“Glad to be of service to you. Would you like me to teach you how to climb a tree?”

“I may take you up on that someday.” Nomik’s glance toward mountains above held honest longing. “Ian, what is Denny doing here?”

Ian looked around them. “Where?”

“I mean here in Mexico. In my house.”

“Miguel told us you wanted him to stay.”

“I did not want him to go. That is different from wanting him to stay.”

“You must forgive us for not picking up that subtle distinction.”

“So, if I say he is free to leave, he will?”

“No.”

“Why not? What does he hope to gain here? Are our fish that fascinating? Have you suggested to him the wonders of African wildlife? Lake Chad is marvelous.”

“When were you last there?”

“Middle of the previous century? Maybe earlier”

“Thought so. Humans have wrecked the place.”

“Really? Too bad. Still, Africa is huge. Must be other places fascinating for animal magicians.”

“Denny wants to be a time wizard.”

Nomik shook his head in disbelief. “I have had no contact with the two of you in six months. Was this not hint enough that Denny is not my apprentice?”

“He knows that he is not.”

“Then what is he doing here?”

“Mathematics.”

“What mathematics?”

“How would I know? I never touch the stuff. You are the one who gave him that paper.”

Nomik stood, unfolding his legs with surprising ease. “One sheet of formulae?”

“Yes. I guess so. His sister helps him.”

“His sister teaches mathematics with Will Hilsat, who is a great instructor. Denny has spent six months trying to learn a single page of high school algebra with the aid of such a skilled tutor? Ian, that fact alone proves the boy will never be a time wizard. You must tell him.”

Ian stood to meet Nomik eye to eye. “I have.”

“And he will not listen?”

“Not until you say it.”

“You want me to be cruel?”

“I want you to be straightforward. It is what you must be if you want us to go away.”

“Do you want to go?”

“I want what is best for Denny. I am still right. Denny can learn anything. Have you seen the magic he is doing? That thing with geckoes?”

“Yes. Impressive.”

“He came up with that entirely on his own. He designed it once, decided it was too dangerous and redid the whole thing from scratch so the children could not fall.”

“I caught that fact.”

“Despite his limits, Denny is no fool. If you want him to believe a subject is beyond him, you must offer proof.”

“You are the expert on Denny. How do I do that?”

“I have no idea. You are the expert on time magic.”

Nomik nodded. He was the expert, and Denny never would be. But how to prove it to him?

Nomik followed Denny, which proved a surprisingly easy thing to do. The boy started his day at dawn, pacing in the courtyard and great hall. It was a funny sort of pacing. Denny walked to the fireplace and stood for quite some time, looking up and down and all around. Then he walked outside and did the same thing by the fountain. Back to the fireplace. Back to the fountain. Always looking. In and out. In and out. Over and over and over.

Nomik stood invisibly on the balcony. He was outside but by a window that let him look in, observing Denny’s entire route in bemusement. What on earth was that boy doing? The punctuated pacing went on so long it gave Nomik time to think. How to prove a negative? How to prove to Denny Broome that he could not learn time magic?

How could Denny not already know? His only attempt in the field had burned off half his hair. He had shaved his head and still maintained the look. How could he pass a mirror and not understand that he would never be a time wizard? Clearly, getting Denny to flub a spell was not the answer. What then? Six months struggle with a single page of basic algebra? Again, apparently no deterrent.

Following another examination of the region of the fireplace, Denny crossed the great hall and then the courtyard to the fountain. This time, rather than examining the fountain, he waved his hands in the air as he chanted. Nomik watched, curious to see what this spell would produce. Denny vanished.

Nomik swept his vision across the court. Where had the boy gone? He turned and looked through the window. There was Denny by the fireplace, his face in an ecstatic grin.

A running spell, thought Nomik. It had to be a newer, faster running spell. Nomik was sure of it. There was no other explanation. Well, there was, but no. Impossible! Nomik cast a time spell. This one increased his own perception of events. If Denny ran again, no matter how fast, Nomik would see every step.

And Denny was casting again. With the time spell in place, Nomik had opportunity to observe each gesture. He recognized a pattern in them. It could not be. Absolutely not! Yet when Denny reached the final stroke, as his fingers curled upward, Nomik knew exactly what would happen. Nomik spun and saw the instant Denny arrived at the fountain. No steps were taken. It was teleportation, plain and simple. Only a master of spacetime could cast that spell.

In another instant, Nomik was at Denny’s side. Denny was bound at wrists and ankles, seated on the bench beside the fountain, his mouth stuffed with leaves held tightly in place by vines, the only materials at hand. Nomik loomed over him, peering into his face.

“You are an idiot. Just because you are a genius, that does not mean you are not an idiot. And Will Hilsat? Did he work with Orrin Viderlick? That would at least make some sense, but where is the controller? The breathing apparatus? The dog-man Grover Hughlings’ controlling aromas have to reach you somehow. Is it miniaturization? Of course, it would be. Just the kind of thing Viderlick would do to amuse himself in an idle decade. Were those nanobots involved?”

Denny was baffled. None of this made sense. He did not remember sitting down or being tied up. What was in his mouth? It tasted awful. Bitter and dirty and maybe poisonous. He tried to spit it out but was unable.

Then Nomik stuck his fingers deeply into Denny’s nostrils. “Your controller has to be here somewhere.”

Denny tried to shout, but vegetation muffled him almost into silence. Denny had a bad habit of picking his nose. As a child, he had been spoken to on the subject often. As an adult, he restricted such activity to moments of total privacy, and even then he felt embarrassment. To be sitting in a public place with another man’s fingers up his nostrils, even if no one else was looking, was humiliating. Not to mention painful. His bindings and the back of the bench prevented escape. Denny could not breathe.

At last, Nomik withdrew his digits and wiped them on Denny’s shirt. “Nothing. You cannot imagine how much I wish I had found a controller. You did this on your own?”

It sounded like a question. Did Mr. Motchk mean the teleportation? Denny nodded yes.

“Then Will Hilsat is deranged. What could have possessed him? Has mathematics finally driven him mad? No, there has to be more to it. He must have a purpose. What is going on?”

Denny was wondering the same thing. His violated sinuses were filling with fluid. Coupled with whatever filled his mouth, Denny was still finding it hard to breathe. He made as much noise as he could, fearing he might suffocate before Nomik realized what was happening. At last, he got the time wizard’s attention.

“You want me to let you talk?”

Denny nodded vigorously.

“On one condition: you only respond to questions. If you start talking on your own, in particular if I hear a single syllable of spell, I will stuff your mouth again before you know it.”

Denny made noises he hoped would be heard as “OK.” His vision was beginning to blur when Nomik finally got the leaves out. Denny gasped deeply, appreciating oxygen. He was not ready to answer questions, but that was all right. Nomik did not seem ready to ask them.

“You!” was all Nomik managed.

Denny blew out through his nose, drippy but necessary.

“Will Hilsat!” said Nomik.

Denny was beginning to breathe more normally.

“Insanely dangerous!” Nomik declared.

Denny looked like he might be able to speak now.

“Even so, how?” That was a question, but not complete enough for Denny to answer. Nomik tried again. “Do you expect me to believe Will Hilsat has abandoned everything he believes?”

Denny hesitated. That was a question. What did Dr. Hilsat believe? What did it have to do with him? “Uh . . . I don’t think so?”

“Then why would he teach you how to teleport?”

“He didn’t. Did not.”

“Do not lie to me, boy.”

“I am not lying”

Nomik stood back from Denny. “In the history of the world, there have been four magic users who could teleport without Orrin Viderlick’s controllers. We made sure of that. Two of those magicians died when you were a child. Do you expect me to believe you were taught to teleport at that time and have kept the secret for a decade?”

“No.”

“We both know I did not teach you. A page of high school arithmetic did not give you this power. That leaves only Will Hilsat.”

“Cory Lariston taught me, but not when I was a child. He has been teaching me here.”

Nomik held a hand to Denny’s mouth, a call for silence. Not wanting to be stuffed with leaves again, Denny waited quietly while Nomik thought. Unexpectedly, the old wizard tipped his head back, aimed his face straight up at the sky and shouted. 

The sound was a marvel. Denny was sure it was the loudest thing he had ever heard, yet he could barely hear it. He knew people in the nearby village, perhaps even in the city beyond, would sense that sound and ignore it because it was not meant for them. The sound was a single word, “Ian.”

Denny found himself struggling with a strange compulsion. He wanted to be Uncle Ian, and he wanted to come to Nomik Motchk’s location despite the fact that he was already there. He was not in the least surprised when he heard the sound of Uncle Ian rushing up the iron staircase. His mentor leapt from the balcony with the power of the jaguar. It was just how Denny would have done it in response to Nomik’s call—faster than opening the gate.

Ian landed like a cat but was a man again. He took in the scene. Nomik, who had dared to use the Spell of Command upon a fellow wizard, scowled over Ian’s bound apprentice. This called for combat, but the decision to take on a time wizard should not be made in ignorance. “What is going on?”

“Cory Lariston,” said Nomik.

Ian was caught off guard. In this situation, the name of an apprentice who had had to be murdered held a horrible implication. “What about him?”

“Alive or dead?”

“What?”

“Is Cory Lariston alive or dead?”

Ian studied his apprentice. What was in the young man’s face as he stared up at Nomik? Worshipful distress? Unhappy awe? It was an expression generally seen only on small children or puppies, probably the effect of his first exposure to a command spell. Ian plucked leaves to wipe Denny’s dripping nose. “Nomik, you were at the funeral.”

“I was. I saw a box.”

Ian turned to Nomik. Was he kidding? “I saw the body.”

“You are certain he was dead?”

Ian sighed. “The morgue was aware, under the circumstances, that they would be holding him for some time. The place was designed by people who dislike aroma. Long-term guests are frozen. He was solid as a rock.”

“I have heard stories of animals that freeze and are then revived. Turtles or frogs, I think it was. Could such animal ability be put to magical use?”

“Nomik, his brains were beside him in a bag. That they had escaped his head without apparent struggle led the medical examiner to perform an extensive autopsy.”

“So definitely dead, then. No possible magical revival?”

“We cannot live forever, and we cannot raise the dead. Surely your mentors taught you that.”

“Ian, I am living proof that the first half of that old saw may be incorrect. Your religious beliefs, as I recall, include violations of the second half.”

“Jesus raised the dead but not through magic. I have faith, on the day of resurrection, I will see Cory again. Not before.”

“Then how does your apprentice claim to have been taking lessons from Cory Lariston?”

Ian looked at his apprentice, who was still staring fixedly at Nomik. “Denny?”

The boy continued to stare.

“I must be holding him with the command,” said Nomik. “Good to know I can, under the circumstance.”

“You understand I came by choice,” said Ian.

“Of course you did. Denny, answer your master.”

Denny turned to Uncle Ian. “What was the question?”

“Do you claim to have been learning from Cory Lariston?”

“Not from him directly. From his notebooks.”

This revelation sent Nomik in a quick run around the fountain, as if he could not stand another moment with Denny and Ian but could not leave them either. “You found Cory’s notebooks?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I turned this house inside-out, almost literally, looking for those notebooks. Where did you find them? Up in the hills? Sunken at the bottom of the reservoir?”

“No, sir. They were in the tower.”

“You were in my study without my permission?”

“No, sir. The other tower.”

Nomik was thunderstruck for the third time in a morning. He had an experience known to those in deep denial at the moment when a fact arrives that forces them to finally face the truth. He saw in his memory instances when he had detected distortions induced by magic hiding the other tower and dismissed them as heat rising from the rooftop or wrinkles in old glass.

Nomik backed away from Denny, Ian, and the fountain. He kept walking backward until his spine rested against the inside of the gate. The sky was an unmitigated blue with nothing in it to distort and give away the second tower, but Nomik knew without a doubt that it was there. It would have a spiral staircase. And candles. And an accordion, perhaps? “Show me.”

Denny would obey.

“The arch is gone.” Nomik stood before the blank wall between Denny’s and Ian’s rooms.

“We agreed to restore the illusion,” said Ian. “A young man wants his privacy.”

“I am sure he does.”

“It was when you showed me how to take away illusions,” said Denny, “that I accidentally found the tower.”

When Nomik saw the large opening above Denny’s bed, he was thunderstruck again. “I took this room apart. How could I have missed that?”

“It was hidden, sir,” said Denny.

“Hidden was what I was looking for. Ian, did you know of this?”

Ian shook his head and muttered. “Too much privacy, perhaps.”

Despite Ian’s active lifestyle and his long stay at what he thought of as the Hacienda of Good Health, it took aid from younger men, or seemingly younger, to pull him up into the space above Denny’s bedroom. The three crouched their way to the base of the spiral staircase now lit by scrying stones along its length. Denny stepped up. “I will go first.”

Nomik rose beside him. “Ian first. Then you. Then me.” As they climbed, Nomik noted how steep the spiral was. The steps in front of him were close enough to be used as shelves. He could have reached out and rested a candle on one. Why a candle? In Nomik’s mind, an ancient wall was crumbling. “When we get to the top, we go through a circular trapdoor into a wizard’s study.”

“You have been here before, then?” asked Denny.

“The windows are similar to my study with views all around. A gigantic wooden chest is there, full of bones.”

“Yes on the chest, but the windows are all black.”

“I should have foreseen that. To hide the tower, light will be deflected. When the spell was new, I bet the surface was flawless. Old magic decays. It wrinkles. Even so, the wizard who cast it must have been immensely powerful. The Grandfather.”

“If you say so.”

Ian called from above. “Do I just push?”

“No,” Denny and Nomik said together.

“Use an unlocking spell,” said Denny.

A moment later, they stood inside the study. Nomik examined a shelf with a dusty wooden toy: a tiny cart like ones the locals used to make. “This belonged to . . . was it mine? The Grandfather brought me here. To hide that memory, the old man must have used a mind spell. That is why I never questioned what I saw when I looked this way and, in my search for Cory’s notebooks, never tested the ceiling. I disapproved of Ruby using such magic. Now, I realize a mentor used it on me. Disgusting!”

“I suppose it depends how you use it.”

“And why.” Nomik looked around. “I know he did bone magic. Where is the chest?”

Denny pointed down to it. Nomik laughed.

“What is funny?”

“This chest was so tall I could barely see inside.”

“You were a child.” Ian raised the lid. “Who is this?”

“His enemies.” In Nomik’s memory, he was hearing the Grandfather answering the same question.

“Looks like he had only one,” said Ian. “Commendable.”

“He took a single bone from each of them.”

“Losh! In that case, quite a mob.”

“The Father accused him of being cantankerous. The Grandfather claimed his goal was to collect a full skeleton.” Nomik reached into the chest and pulled out a skull. “He did not have one of these when I was here.”

“Poor devil.”

“It crosses my mind that the Father used to say the Grandfather was his own worst enemy. A fine jape it would be if, when the Grandfather died, the Father used his skull to complete his set.”

“Good one.” Denny sounded unenthusiastic.

Nomik went to the desk. “You have been working here?”

Denny nodded. “Like Cory before me.” He opened the desk drawer, pulled out a box of matches and lit a candle.

“You work by candlelight?”

“Or scrying stones. Or I go back downstairs.”

Nomik pulled out the slide rule.

“That still works,” said Denny.

“The batteries have not gone dead?”

All three men laughed a little.

“The notebooks?”

Denny crossed to the cabinet and opened doors.

“So many?”

“One hundred twenty-three.”

Nomik lifted a notebook from the stack, handling it as if he feared they might crumble into dust. “How many have you read?”

“I have seen every page, but I am only studying my way through the sixth one.”

“In six months? How long would it take to finish them?”

“At that rate, ten years,” said Denny. “But I am picking up speed as I get used to thinking mathematically.”

“I am afraid I must slow you for the moment. I need to confiscate the collection.”

“Why?”

“As Ian knows, it was my intention to tell you that you would never be a time wizard—that your brain was inadequate to the task. I was going to be gentle, of course, but that was the gist. You rendered that plan pointless by demonstrating mastery of one of the most complex spells in all of spacetime magic. You played me for the fool.”

“I was not trying to fool anybody. I wanted to show . . .”

“That you were a genius. That Ian was right about you.”

“That I can learn the magic if you give me time.”

“Congratulations. Six months in my home was enough to make yourself insanely dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

Nomik sat on the edge of the desk. He picked up the candle. “My friend Peregrine use to say that Will Hilsat would not trouble to learn a spell unless it could destroy the world.”

“That is not how my sister describes him. Carol says he’s a great boss and a gentleman.”

“Will lived a double life. Literally. He grew up as an apprentice wizard—my apprentice—in an alternate reality, so I have no recollection of it. He lived those same years again as a professional mathematician, a life without real magic. His two lives were brought together through the Spell of Unweaving and a ring that carried memories. Even with his double set of skills and the aid of a team of brilliant assistants, it took years to create the Spell of Teleportation. He first cast it in this very house.” Nomik pointed downward with the candle. Red wax dripped. “In the room at the end of the grand gallery on the second floor: the Chamber of Eternities.”

“The one Miguel told us not to go into.”

“Will went into it. He knew I was going to kill him. That room is designed for the casting of the most difficult spells. He used tools there to visualize his magical mathematics in the space around him to help him cast the first teleport. He went back to Nevada in an instant, escaping with his life.”

“Why were you going to kill him?”

“Because he went into the Chamber of Eternities.”

“We have never been in there,” said Ian.

“Right,” said Denny. “Never.”

“So where,” asked Nomik, “did you first practice teleportation?”

“In the courtyard today. You saw me.”

“That was your first teleport?”

“Yes, sir.”

Nomik was growing used to being thunderstruck by now. “How did you visualize the curve of the spell?”

“I have been working on that for a couple of months.”

“The curve of a teleportation exists in six spatial dimensions.”

“Yup. It took a lot of mental practice.”

“Hilsat used the tools of the Chamber of Eternities for his first teleport. So did I. Ruby used a framework built by Hilsat’s partner, Toby Bis. One of Orrin Viderlick’s controllers guided Cory. But you did your first teleport with no external scaffold? Alone? Nothing but your mind?”

Denny nodded.

“Ian, you were right. He actually is some sort of genius.”

Denny beamed. “Thank you, sir.”

“Do not thank me. You force me to make a decision. Either I accept you as my apprentice . . .”

“That is all I ever wanted.”

“Or I kill you now. Add one of your bones to that chest. Probably the logical choice.”

“Kill me?” Denny gulped in that way people sometimes do when their lives are credibly threatened. “Why?”

“Because you can teleport with no controller.”

“I thought that was a good thing.”

“Denny, if one of your friends revealed to you that he had an atomic bomb hidden in the ceiling above his bedroom, would that be a good thing?”

“Teleportation is not a bomb.”

“No. It is vastly more dangerous. Teleportation was the reason both Cory and Ruby had to be killed.”

“I thought my dad killed Ruby.”

“He did because she was about to teleport you and Ian into space. Your father killed Ruby to save your life.”

“Uncle Ian, is that right?”

“I was her target,” said Ian. “You were leaning on my knee. Your dad feared you might become a doomed innocent bystander. He had to choose between shooting Ruby or shooting me.”

“Shoot you? Why?”

“He had just learned I was wanted for a triple homicide, the one Cory committed when he looked like me. Your father was thinking Ruby might be right that I needed to be killed because I was a murderer who could teleport.”

“You can teleport?”

“No, but Ruby thought I could. Fortunately, your father had also figured out that Ruby murdered Cory. It was a hard decision for him. Considering his ensuing difficulties, I am always grateful he chose as he did.”

“So, Dad killing Ruby, losing his job, Earth losing its colonies, all that was because Dad saved my life?”

Ian put his arm across Denny’s shoulders. “It was not your fault. You were only eating ice cream.”

It was Denny’s turn to be thunderstruck, a fact that Nomik found rather pleasing. “My life will never be worth what it cost to save it.”

“One more pebble,” said Nomik, “on the side of the balance suggesting I should kill you. But the danger is the greater factor.”

“OK, I could kill a person, but so can a gun. You said teleporting was like an atom bomb. How is it so dangerous?”

“If you do not know, I should not tell you.”

“He will figure it out,” said Ian. “He figures everything out eventually. Better he does it here with us.”

“Good point.” Nomik indicated the cabinet to Denny. “Those notebooks would not contain my best acceleration spells, which means you do not know them. I could beat you in a duel before you raised your hands above your waist. Keep that thought in mind. Now, let us see if you can work out how it is you are so dangerous.”

A long pause followed. At last, Ian said, “Perhaps you should tell us what you are thinking.”

“All I can think about is that collection of bones,” said Denny. “I do not want to make a contribution.”

“My fault,” said Nomik. “We should go. I can kill you just as easily downstairs.” Ian led Denny down the spiral. Before Nomik’s head disappeared below the floor, he cast a spell. Light streamed through windows. “No doubt the sudden appearance of this tower will cause talk among the servants.”

There was talk. There was also much standing outside the hacienda pointing upward. Miguel was asked to find out what was happening. He saw the expressions on the faces of the wizards and decided to wait until they were in a better mood. People who shared quarters with magic must accept the unexpected, things like the mysterious arrival of an ancient tower.

In their visit to that tower, the wizards had missed breakfast. Denny was particularly hungry. Ian suggested the magic had drained his energy. Nomik pressed a hand against Ian’s chest. “Hush. Let the boy think.”

Ian seemed about to protest but then shrugged his shoulders. He asked one of the women if there were anything still to eat. She assured him she would arrange it. When food arrived, it at first seemed more than they needed, but Denny’s appetite was great—perhaps that of a young man who had expended energy, perhaps the appetite of the condemned at his final meal.

“Energy,” said Denny. “Is that it?”

“How do you figure?” asked Nomik.

“Carol is working with Dr. Hilsat on his research. She helps me, but sometimes I help her.”

“Do you really?”

“They think magic is powered by dark energy.”

Ian asked, “What is dark energy?”

“The thing that pushes galaxies apart,” said Denny. “The problem Dr. Hilsat has is that dark energy is thin. It is most of the energy there is but spread uniformly through the universe. There is an awful lot of it but not much in any one place.”

“Then how would it supply a magician?” asked Nomik.

“Dr. Hilsat thinks it has something to do with the quantum entanglement of the universe. Carol says he thinks distance is an illusion when you think like a photon. We draw chemical energy from where we are, like me eating breakfast.” Denny popped a sausage into his mouth to demonstrate. He chewed as he continued. “We use this energy to power our drawing of dark energy from the universe as a whole, from everywhere all at once.”

“Magic is ancient,” said Ian. “How would magic users have come up with such a scheme ten-thousand years ago? Did anybody even know about photons or this dark stuff?”

Denny swallowed delicious sausage. “Animals breathed for millions of years before someone discovered oxygen.” He stabbed a pineapple chunk with his fork. “It was a surprise that plants use quantum mechanics in photosynthesis, as if we could not believe plants figured it out before we did. But plants did not figure anything. They evolved in a quantum world. In the same way, we evolved in a world with dark energy. Witches and wizards could use it naturally before our minds knew it existed.”

Nomik’s hand stopped the forkful of fruit on its way to Denny’s mouth. “What do you know of quantum mechanics?”

“Stuff Carol told me. Stuff in Cory’s notebooks. Stuff I looked up online.”

“And what, specifically, are you thinking about energy?”

“Not sure yet.” The pineapple found Denny’s mouth, muffling his remark. “Let me think some more.”

An hour later, Denny was still thinking. Nomik would not let the boy out of his sight. Denny paced and thought, sat and thought, stared out a window and thought. Nomik and Ian chatted on the couch before the fireplace.

“He is going to get it,” said Ian.

“Before you die of old age?”

“Today, I bet. Or maybe tomorrow. He is on the right track already.”

“He was. I suspect he is stopped at a siding.”

“Do not underestimate him.”

“Never again, Ian. I have seen what he can do. Not only a first teleport without guidance. Developing that gecko spell. The musical menagerie. The innovations with the scrying stones. I believe you about his genius, but can we trust him with this power?”

“We can.”

“You believe we can. I must decide based on what I see.”

“What more do you want?”

“I want him to apologize.”

“You were out of the loop on his progress because you refused to talk to him. The fault there was yours.”

“Not to me. I want him to apologize to the girl.”

“What girl?”

“The one to whom he gave the scrying stone.”

“Conchita? He already did.”

“You made him apologize to her? Good for you, Ian.”

“The apology was his idea. I advised him not to.”

“Why not?”

“Why stir up trouble? She knew nothing of the stone, or so I thought.”

“Do you mean to say she knew?”

“The whole time. You see, Denny kept the other stone in darkness, but when he pulled it out to look at it, light came through, even if only from the lamp on her dressing table. It illuminated his face, so she saw him in her stone.”

“Then why did she continue to wear it?”

“She is fond of Denny. She enjoyed undressing as far as her underwear and then putting the stone inside her jewelry box and closing the lid.”

Nomik had not anticipated being thunderstruck again. “What kind of girl would do a thing like that?”

“The tease is not unusual. The scrying stone aspect may be unique, but it happens all the time with cell phones. Young women send revealing photos to their beaus.”

“That is outrageous.”

“It is not that bad. Generally, the pictures reveal no more than you would see if you bumped into the girl at the beach.”

“What would others think if they knew? What if Conchita tells her friends what Denny did?”

“She does not have to. He apologized in public, out in the courtyard, the same day we confronted him. Their friends all heard it.”

“And their reaction?”

“She took it as a compliment. They understood.”

“No disapproval?”

“She said he should have asked permission.”

“Permission? To spy on her in her boudoir?”

“The rest thought it was funny. Her brother was a bit put out but came around. He still razzes Denny sometimes.”

“Razzes? No duel? Not even a fistfight? I do not understand this generation.”

“Must be difficult for you, Nomik, being thrust into it.”

“Thank you for reminding me, Ian.”

“Nevada?” Denny called out from where he had been pacing across the great hall. “You mean in the United States?”

“Yes,” said Nomik, “that Nevada.”

“Where would Dr. Hilsat get the energy for such a trip?”

“From the universe, if his theory is correct.”

“Carol says there is a limit to how much energy a wizard can conduct.”

“Your non-magical sister is your source for an awful lot of magical lore.”

“It is what they research. Carol tells me wizards can hurt themselves, even die, trying to use too much energy.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Have you made that mistake?” asked Ian.

Nomik laughed. “More than once. You should have seen my duel with Peregrine. It ended when I produced a blast of sound that nearly killed him. He dragged himself back to England a broken man. Fortunately, he did not look back. He would have seen me limping away half-dead.”

“You mean Peregrine Arnold?” asked Denny. “I thought you were friends?”

“We are.”

“But you tried to kill him?”

“Almost as often as he tried to kill me.”

“That does not sound friendly.”

“We are old men. Plenty of time for ups and downs in a relationship. Our rough patch ran twenty years or so.”

“A rough patch when you tried to kill each other.”

“I almost got him once. He was in a boat with Ruby. They were completely exhausted. I was full of pep. I tossed a ball of lightning that should have been the end of them.”

“Ruby? You tried to kill your business partner?”

“Would have, if Will Hilsat had not intervened. He saved their lives by accident. Funny. I had not thought about it, but he saved all three of us that day. I do not believe I ever thanked him.”

“He stopped Peregrine from killing you?” asked Denny.

“No. Stopped me from killing myself.”

“Why were you trying to kill yourself?”

“That was the day I tried to kill everybody. I was going to be the first to die, but no human would have survived if I had succeeded.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember hearing about that.”

“Laddie, you look pale,” said Ian. “Less talk of killing. You were saying something about Nevada.”

“Right. Nevada.”

Nomik and Ian looked expectantly at Denny.

“Dr. Hilsat teleported to Nevada. I used energy just to get from here to the fountain. How much energy would it take to get to Nevada?”

“Interesting question.” Ian winked at Nomik.

Denny took out his cell phone and pulled up a mapping application. He began to pace again, muttering about the distance to Nevada.

“He is going to get it.”

“Wonderful. Then I have to kill him.”

“Nonsense, Nomik. Do you know why Conchita’s friends were so forgiving?”

“Because their generation has no morals?”

“Because they like Denny. He is a good lad at heart, and they sense that.”

“I like him well enough. And I do owe him a favor. He brought back memories today, clearing up a mystery that has haunted my . . .” Nomik’s voice drifted off. His eyes fixed disturbingly on the fireplace.

Ian looked but saw nothing unexpected. “What is it?”

“A nativity.”

“Do you mean an epiphany?”

“Before we went into the Grandfather’s tower, we were looking at the nativity on the mantle. It must have been at Christmastime.”

Ian smiled. “You and the Grandfather shared a moment appreciating our savior’s birth?”

“The Grandfather interrupted us. It was another boy and me. Gozio was his name. He and I used to go swimming together.”

“Would that be up at the reservoir?”

“No. His family lived near the river.”

“Family? Not an apprentice, then?”

“Local people. They had no knowledge of magic. Gozio swam like a fish. Taught me to swim, though I was never as good. That day, we were admiring the camels on the mantelpiece. The Grandfather told us to follow him. Gozio asked if he might bring his new toy cart, so it must have been after Christmas. Or his birthday. Gozio was a New Year baby. The Grandfather allowed him to bring the cart.”

“Thoughtful of him.”

“I can see Gozio’s face as if he were standing here before us, but I never saw that face again after we followed the Grandfather into his tower. And Gozio’s little cart is still up there. I forgot Gozio because the Grandfather did not want me to remember.”

“Good lord! What do you suppose happened to the boy?”

“I have no idea. But I have Denny to thank for restoring the memory, and memory is what we are.”

“And you thank him by threatening to kill him.”

“Ian, you know that with what he knows . . .” Nomik had turned to look at Denny, but Denny was gone. “Where is he?”

“Denny?” called Ian. “Bad time for games, laddie.”

Nomik jumped to his feet, casting three spells at once: the seeing, the hearing, and the running. Ian had not realized simultaneous casting was possible until he saw it done. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” Nomik was looking behind every object and into every room around the hall.

“Cast more than one spell at the same time.”

“I learned it from necromancers. Their strange magic demands it. Where is that boy?” Nomik ran into the courtyard.

It occurred to Ian that if Nomik could cast more than one spell at a time, in addition to the accelerations available to a time wizard, he would be nearly unbeatable in a duel. Ian followed Nomik out into the courtyard. “He may have felt a need for privacy while he thinks.”

“Or he may be done thinking. He has discovered his power and no longer needs to obey us.”

“Denny is not like that.”

“Then, where is he?”

“In his room, perhaps?”

Nomik ran into the hacienda and back out again a moment later on the second-story balcony. “Nowhere.”

“Did you try the tower?”

“Of course. Both towers.”

“That was quick.”

In an instant, Nomik was at Ian’s side. The sound of his footsteps on the balcony and iron stair arrived after he did. “It is Cory Lariston all over again.”

“It is not. Denny is a hundred notebooks behind Cory.”

“I have secured the notebooks, but teleportation is enough. He could kill us all.”

“Cory was insane. That makes a difference.”

“You assume Denny’s sanity, but where is he? We have to find and kill him.”

“Nomik, you are not killing anybody.”

Nomik assumed an air of calm. “Of course not, Ian, but think how much better I will feel when I see the sanity shining in Denny’s face. Where would he go to think, assuming he could teleport to get there? It would have to be a place he knew well enough to visualize perfectly.”

“I do not know. He loves the reservoir. Maybe there.”

Nomik cast a spell and vanished. For all this talk of teleportation, Ian had never seen the spell cast before. It was impressive, both in effort and effect. There was a sound left in the air that Ian took to be part of the spell but realized a moment later was his cell phone. He pulled out the device and sat on the bench by the fountain. Shade on the screen made it easier to read the text message that had arrived. He was chuckling as Nomik reappeared.

“Not there.” Nomik was dripping wet.

“Did you fall in?”

“I do not know the area well enough. I could have missed my target. The safest place to teleport to was the air above the water.”

Ian laughed. “I suppose so.” He could afford a laugh now that Denny was safe. “Good thinking.”

“Ian, where else could Denny be?”

“He is home.”

“Upstairs?”

“His parent’s house.”

“In the United States? How do you know?”

Ian held up his phone. “His mother sent a text.”

“Ian, this is terrible.”

“She was pleasantly surprised by his arrival.”

“I know nothing of that region. I cannot teleport there.”

“She says hello to you. Take a couple of steps back and to the left.”

“Why?” Nomik looked about him in the air.

“So the water dripping off you lands on those thirsty flowers.”

“Ian, this is no time for jokes. You must convince Denny to come back here.”

“Not a joke. The plants could use the drink.”

“Be serious.” Nomik cast a spell. A cloud of cool mist rose from his dry clothing.

Ian’s phone chirped. “Denny has anticipated us. He says he will not come back because he wants to live.”

“Tell him I will not harm a hair on his precious head.”

“And you will not. The Eighth Doll never lets you kill anybody, remember?”

“My hope for Denny was to use him to kill her. In that case, she might make an exception.”

“I had not thought of that. But in that case, you should be the one who wants him alive.”

“Alive and sane. And under my control. Our control. Ian, get him back here.”

“If he comes back, that alone is proof of his sanity and obedience.”

“Obedience? Why did he teleport away?”

“Fear, perhaps? You have been talking quite a bit about killing him.”

 Nomik sat next to Ian on the bench, expelling a deep sigh as he did so. “I am calming down.”

“Good for you.”

“You may tell him, if you wish, that it is safe to return.”

“I shall.” Ian tapped his screen. “Funny coincidence.”

“What?”

“Us talking about a boy disappearing when Denny disappeared.”

“Ian, the vanishing of Gozio a hundred years ago is not my primary interest at the moment. I am more concerned with protecting all of life on earth.”

“I understand,” said Ian. Although his own interest was in preventing another permanent disappearance.

The pulling of long strings allowed a private jet to take an unscheduled direct route from Mexico to a U.S. airport that was not an international. The absence of a customs officer hardly mattered as the passengers, two wizards, had no luggage. A waiting car took them directly to the home of Donald Broome, private investigator. The detective’s oldest daughter, Carol, had already rejoined her family, accompanied by her employer. Including her mother and sister, the house now held four Broomes and three wizards, none of them Denny.

“Will Hilsat,” said Nomik. “How was your flight?”

“We drove.”

“Of course. And still managed to beat us here?”

“Dr. Hilsat has a lead foot,” said Carol.

“I gather you have told him what happened.”

Dr. Hilsat’s face expressed disapproval. “You’ve allowed another apprentice to learn uncontrolled teleportation.”

Nomik pulled himself to his full height. “Responsibility rests with you.” Nomik dominated the sitting room in a way Mrs. Broome found disturbing. Mr. Broome, whose police training had covered such non-magical tricks, was unimpressed. What neither Broome recognized was that part of Nomik’s problem was his dislike of Will Hilsat’s use of a contraction. Bad enough in an apprentice, but in a successful wizard? It was too irritating.

Like her mother, though, Carol felt the impact of Nomik’s attitude and stepped forward to defend her boss. “Dr. Hilsat didn’t know.”

“You take the blame upon yourself alone?”

“Carol knows nothing of teleportation,” said Will. “The subject is off-limits in my lab.”

“The mathematics. She must know by now.”

“Carol?”

“I’ve been helping Denny work through Cory Lariston’s notebooks. I couldn’t do that without learning something of the math, but I don’t understand any of the magic.”

“There’s blame enough to go around,” said Ian. “I take some of it myself for not keeping my eyes on the laddie.”

“And blame is not the issue,” said Nomik. “Where is Denny Broome?”

“We don’t know,” said Suzie.

Mrs. Broome pulled her younger daughter close. “Welcome to our home, Señor Motchk.”

Nomik focused his attention on the mother. “You invited me to drop in anytime. I have. You will tell me everything that happened from the moment your son arrived. You will omit no detail.”

Both Will and Ian looked away. Using the voice of command on a non-magical person was fairly standard practice and perhaps necessary in this instance, but it still seemed impolite. Donald Broome felt an instinct to protect his wife but decided against it. He, too, wanted to hear exactly what she knew.

“I was in the garden pulling grass out of the chives. I like fresh chives in cottage cheese, but grass gets into them if you don’t weed often enough. I heard the door open and looked up to see Denny coming out of the house. He was wearing white sneakers, blue jeans, and a beige T-shirt. No socks. He is still bald. He looked healthy but worried. I asked him when he’d gotten in. He said he’d just arrived. I told him he should’ve called. I said we’d have met him at the airport. He said he hadn’t flown. I asked if he’d driven all the way from Mexico. He said he hadn’t. I asked if he’d used that running spell of his. He said I should know better than to think a person could run that far, even with a magic spell. I said I couldn’t be expected to remember all the details of how magic works. He said his own mother should take more interest. I said I was very interested, but if I tried to know my job, his magic, Carol’s mathematics and Suzie’s junior college courses, not to mention his father’s activities, I’d need five heads to keep it all. As a librarian, I told him, I’m particularly aware that we use external devices, books and computers and such, to store information, because one person can’t possibly know everything.”

“Stop,” said Nomik. “You make an excellent point. Perhaps we do not require every single detail. Did Denny say why he had come home?”

“He said it was an accident.”

“He cast one of the most difficult spells known to magic and traveled two-thousand miles by accident?”

“Don, you had more of a conversation with him about that, didn’t you?”

“Detective?” Nomik did not use the voice of command. By now, Donald Broome’s career had given him too much experience of magic.

“Denny said you and Ian wanted him to understand the energy involved in the spell of teleportation.”

“We did.”

Dr. Hilsat huffed. “As if you didn’t have enough trouble already.”

“He would have figured it out on his own eventually,” said Ian. “We thought it best if we were with him when he did. Go on, Donald.”

“Denny said he’d cast the spell up to a point, intending to see how the energy worked, but found he’d gone too far and couldn’t stop.”

Nomik nodded. “I suppose I could see that happening, particularly with someone new to the spell, but why did Denny not immediately return to Mexico?”

Denny’s father looked seriously at Nomik. “He said you’d threatened his life.”

Nomik sighed. “I suppose I did.”

“And you expected him to come back?”

“If I had run away every time one of my mentors threatened to kill me, I would never have learned magic.”

“It was an empty threat, then?”

“As parents, I imagine you must threaten to kill your children every now and then.”

“No,” said Mrs. Broome. “We don’t.”

“Of course not!” said Mr. Broome. “Not in such a way that they might believe we meant it.”

“Denny should know I would certainly not kill him,” said Nomik. “Not unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“How on earth could it be necessary?” asked Carol.

“If no one had taught him mathematics behind my back, it would not be an issue.”

“Anyone has a right to learn mathematics.”

“Perhaps so, but the world has the right to defend itself against the consequences.”

“What consequences?”

“Carol,” said Dr. Hilsat, “there are consequences.”

“Possible consequences,” said her father. “And only if Denny were untrustworthy.”

“Which he isn’t,” added Mrs. Broome.

Carol stamped her foot. “What consequences?”

Nomik had never seen a woman stamp her foot that way. He found it charming. He responded gently. “Have neither Ian nor your father told you the story of Cory Lariston? Why it was necessary for Ruby to eliminate him?”

“No.”

“Perhaps someone should have.”

“So, tell me now.”

Mrs. Broome had provided plenty of comfortable places in her tasteful sitting room. Nomik sat and gestured for the rest to join him. “The reason your brother was able to teleport hundreds of leagues is because the spell of teleportation does not scale. Increasing distance has no energy consequence.”

Carol’s research with Dr. Hilsat involved magical energy. She looked to her boss. “How is that possible?”

“Teleportation is an almost purely mathematical conjuration,” said Will. “It finely modifies the structure of higher-order dimensions determining location and adjacency. Increasing teleportation distance tenfold is about as hard as writing another zero on a number.”

“And somehow this is a threat?”

“It works the same for the volume enclosed.”

“So?”

“Think about it,” said Nomik. “A man who can teleport himself from Mexico to here can just as easily relocate Mexico City to the bottom of the Gulf. He could swap the orbits of Earth and Mercury. Imagine the consequences.”

The silence that followed was broken by the younger sister. “The oceans would boil. Everyone would be steamed.” Suzie’s favorite subject in high school had been Earth and Space Science. Though now studying to be a librarian like her mother, it was still an interest.

“Your brother may be a fine boy,” said Nomik, “but even a good boy should be a concern if he has easy access to a weapon that could end all life on the planet.”

“We understand your concern,” said Donald, “but Cory Lariston was mad. Denny is completely sane.”

“Sane but capable of teleporting by mistake, as you have acknowledged. He requires guidance. I require the assurance of being his guide.”

“Do you finally intend to take him as your apprentice?” asked Mrs. Broome.

“It would be my honor. I would like to inform him personally. Where might I find him?”

“We really don’t know. He vanished.”

Dr. Hilsat scowled and shook his head. “You mean he teleported again.”

“He did.”

“When was that?”

“This morning. We only spoke for a few minutes, and then he was gone.”

“He must have told you where he was going.”

“Not a word.”

“It is Cory Lariston all over.” As soon as Nomik made the declaration, he saw distress on every face. “No, it is not. I understand that. I just mean our lack of information is upsetting, as it was in Cory’s case. Cory was mad, but Denny is sane. And Denny is nowhere near as dangerous as Cory. Without access to Cory’s notebooks, Denny is restricted to destroying things one planet at a time.”

“Why would access to the notebooks make things worse?” Something in the way Carol asked that question sent a chill down Nomik’s spine.

“How, exactly, did you help your brother with the mathematics?”

“I asked you a question first.”

“Fair enough. Cory and I devised a spell to destroy the Eighth Doll.”

“Destroy what?”

“A person who is a threat to me. If your brother still had access to the notebooks, he could learn that spell.”

“OK, a spell to kill a person would be bad, but not as bad as what he already knows, apparently.”

“I’m afraid it could be worse,” said Donald. “Nomik, you never told me exactly how that spell works.”

“Hang on. Your daughter owes me an answer first.”

Carol was hesitant to respond but felt the pressure of a dozen eyes. “Denny took pictures of the notebook pages. He sent them to me so I could figure out the equations. He sent them all before we went to work on studying them.”

“Do you mean to say . . .” Nomik took a deep breath and lowered his voice back from a shout to a normal level. “You have an electronic copy of Cory’s notebooks?”

Carol nodded.

“Where?”

“On my computer at work.”

“I’ll call Toby Bis and have the machine secured,” said Dr. Hilsat.

“Have it destroyed,” said Nomik. “Carol, are there any other copies?”

“Denny took the pictures with his tablet.”

“The tablet was still in his room. I sealed that.”

“There were too many images for email. He sent me links. He transferred them by way of the cloud.”

“Cloud? What cloud?”

“Data stored online.”

“Where?”

“There were a lot of files. We used a couple of services.”

“I mean physically.” Nomik was emphatic. “Where is this data now?”

“Physically? I’m not sure.”

“Spread across server farms,” said Mrs. Broome. “There are usually backup copies so probably more than one site. Could be anywhere.”

Nomik took three long, deep breaths. “In answer to your question, Detective, the spell creating the Eighth Doll also created her universe. In a sense, she and that universe are one and the same. In order to assure her destruction, Cory and I devised a spell to split a universe in half and swap the halves by teleportation.”

“Interesting idea,” said Will. “Not sure it would be that great a threat to our world. Your selected center line might be disrupted, but most of the universe wouldn’t know for millennia that anything had happened.”

Nomik raised his hand for silence. “The spell is recursive.”

“What does that mean?” asked Donald.

His wife explained. “Recursion means it repeats again and again, taking new conditions as the input, with possible variations like increase or decrease of an index value.”

“How do you know that?”

“How do I know anything that surprises you? I’m a librarian.”

“He splits the universe, and then he splits the halves?” asked Will.

Nomik nodded.

“You keep splitting those, always swapping pieces through teleports until . . . what, Nomik? What’s your boundary condition?”

“As Cory explained it to me, there is a volume below which it is impossible to say anything has really happened.”

Will whistled. “You start mixing at the scale of the whole shebang and end with Planck cubes. That should do it.”

“Do what?” asked the detective.

“Purée the universe. Nomik, where do you get the energy?”

“The universe. According to our calculations, there is just enough.”

“So, essentially, you wrote a spell to induce a premature heat death: the end of everything.” Will Hilsat frowned at Nomik. “It takes a lot of nerve for you to question someone else’s sanity.”

“We had a different universe in mind. The important thing now is that instructions on how to do it are stored out there in some sort of cloud. We need to delete those files, and we need to locate Denny Broome.”

“Carol and I will get to work on the files,” said Will. “We’ll contact the cloud services to make sure all backups are securely erased. Believe it or not, I’ve had to do this sort of thing before.”

“With your history,” said Nomik, “I believe it. Detective Broome, where is your son?”

“Honestly, he didn’t tell us.”

“He must have given you some sort of hint.”

“He said he was going to fix things around the house,” said Mrs. Broome, “so I know he’ll be coming back.”

“When?”

“I was assuming before dinner. In fact, I was surprised he skipped lunch.”

“He had a late breakfast,” said Ian. “A big one.”

“I can’t picture Denny missing two meals in a row. Can you?”

Ian smiled and shook his head.

“Speaking of dinner, Don, can you help me in the kitchen for a moment?”

“In the kitchen?” asked Mr. Broome. “Now?”

“I’m sure Carol can play hostess.” Mrs. Broome gave her husband a look he recognized. He followed her to the kitchen, where she asked, “How are we going to keep these wizards entertained while we wait for Denny to get back?”

“Entertained?”

“Don, this is a key moment.” Mrs. Broome pulled a can of lemonade from the freezer. She mixed it with water as she spoke. “Denny is in trouble with Mr.  Motchk but at the same time is on the verge of becoming his apprentice, which is what he wanted all along. We don’t need these men sitting in there mulling over whether or not Denny is some kind of threat to the world. Get them out of there. Take them outside. Start a game of horseshoes.”

“Horseshoes? Are you serious?”

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

“What makes you think Motchk plays horseshoes?”

“If he doesn’t, you can teach him. Go easy on him. We want him in a good mood. Our boy’s future depends on it.”

“We were discussing the future of the universe.”

Mrs. Broome pulled cheese from the refrigerator and crackers from a cupboard. “The universe will take care of itself. Denny is our concern. Now get back in there. Carol can’t be hosting. She’s a guest, now.”

Donald returned to the sitting room in time to hear Ian say, “Thousands of places. How many places around the hacienda did you know well while you were growing up?”

“Well enough to teleport to?” Nomik moved his head as if looking at locations. “A dozen or so.”

“Denny was an outdoorsy sort of kid. We spent a lot of time in a lot of favorite haunts all over this town, the valley, the whole region.”

“No one place stands out?”

“Even if it did, he has had plenty of time to move away from wherever he teleported to.”

“Still nothing on your text message?”

Ian glanced at his phone and shook his head.

“Does that not seem suspicious?”

“Denny has ignored my calls before. He may need time to think.”

“Time when he could be . . .”

Donald interrupted. “We have time to kill—spend, that is—before Denny gets back for dinner. I was thinking you might enjoy a game of horseshoes.” The conversation stopped. Everyone stared at Donald as if, he felt, they thought he had lost his mind.

But then Suzie said, “Good idea, Dad. I’d love a game. Señor Motchk, do they play horseshoes in Mexico?”

The abrupt change of subject brought a hesitation, but then Nomik answered. “We have pits at the hacienda. At one time, I regularly entertained people from the petroleum industry. The game was popular with that crowd.”

“Are you any good?”

Nomik smiled. “I had to make an effort to let them win.”

This brought a mocking “Ooo” from the gathering.

“Donald has a point,” said Will. “Other than Carol and I contacting cloud services, there doesn’t seem to be much we can do until Denny gets back.”

“All right,” said Nomik. “Horseshoes.”

Everyone followed Donald into the back yard.

“Detective, your pits are a little close together.”

“It’s a family game. We’ve been playing since the kids were, well, kids. Let’s see. How shall we divide up?”

“Carol and I can observe while we work,” said Will. Carol directed Will to a picnic table from which they would watch the game. They pulled out their phones.

“Broomes against wizards,” said Suzie.

Nomik looked doubtfully at Ian.

“Don’t worry. Uncle Ian has played with us for years. He’s a good partner.”

“I will depend on that.”

Partners aligned themselves at opposite ends of the court. Suzie and Ian would be pitching east, Donald and Nomik west. They started with practice tosses. Suzie and Ian did well enough. Nomik’s first shoe came down in the front right corner of the pit and his second in the back left.

“Looks like you’re finding our range,” said Suzie.

In a second round of practice tosses, Nomik’s first shoe landed dead center in the front of the pit. His second was a high arching toss that came down just in the pit but well behind the stake.

“And you’ve got the direction, now. Can you put those two together well enough to score a point?”

“Suzie!” said her father.

“I’m sure Mr. Motchk knows I’m just teasing.”

“Teasing guests is inappropriate.”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

Donald hefted his horseshoes. The set had originally been painted, two green and two red. Only tiny flecks of color remained on the old steel shoes to distinguish them. Donald pitched one green-flecked shoe and then another. The second came down resting at an angle against the stake.

“Good one, Dad.”

“That reminds me, Nomik,” said Donald. “We play by National Horseshoe Pitchers Association rules.”

“You are members?” asked Nomik.

“No, but we looked the rules up. Some people count a leaner like that as two points. Officially, it’s one.”

“I have played it both ways. I will gladly follow the rules of the local court.”

“OK, then. Would you like another practice round?”

“No, thank you.”

“Since you’re the guest here, we’ll let you decide who goes first.”

“After you, Detective.”

Donald’s first official shoe came down four inches from the stake. His second went wild, but rolled end over end, entering the box to come to rest even closer than the first.

“Playing by the rules . . .” said Nomik.

“Yeah,” said Donald. “Only that first one scores.”

“Assuming I don’t get closer.” Nomik hefted a shoe identified by a single spot of red still clinging to a heel, held it sideways, level with the ground, took one step, and pitched a perfect ringer.

“Lucky start,” said Carol.

“No kibitzing,” said her father.

“That wasn’t kibitzing,” said Carol. “That was commentary.”

Nomik threw his second shoe. It landed on the first and slid tight against the stake.

“Double ringer!” said Carol. “Six points.”

“No commentary,” said her father. “Don’t you and Will have something to do?”

“I’m multitasking.”

“And Ian, tell your partner about the no magic rule.”

“I do not believe that was magic, Donald.”

Nomik assumed an attitude of being mildly offended. “Magic, Detective, would hardly be in the spirit of the game.”

Ian and Suzie both threw reasonably well. Suzie scored a point. “Wizards up by five,” observed Carol.

“Your old man can count points,” said Donald.

Nomik threw a double ringer exactly as he had before. The game continued in this manner until Nomik and Ian achieved an easy victory. Suzie asked Uncle Ian, “are you sure Nomik’s not using magic?”

“Positive.”

“So how does he pitch like that?”

“Skill. Great players often get double ringers.”

“Yeah,” said Suzie, “but he’s not just pitching double ringers. He’s pitching the same double ringer every time.”

“What do you mean?” asked her father.

“You probably can’t see it from over there, but every shoe he tosses comes down in exactly the same spot. The first one lands dead center on the stake. The second lands squarely on top of the first, almost bounces over the stake, but catches and scores a double. It’s like he’s a machine.”

“Consistency is the key to horseshoes,” said Nomik. “That is why it makes a drab spectator sport. The higher the quality of play, the harder it is to tell players apart.”

“I’m enjoying it,” said Will. He and Carol had apparently completed their phone calls. At some point during the game, Mrs. Broome had brought out lemonade and plates with cheese, crackers, and sliced fruit.

“Even the best players don’t make ringers every time,” said Donald.

“I have unfair advantages,” admitted Nomik.

“Such as?”

“I began pitching horseshoes as a youth, perhaps a hundred years ago, but the Eighth Doll has seen to it my body lacks the usual failings of one with such long experience. Additionally, I have the awareness brought by my wizardry.”

“Assuming you don’t break the rule against magic, how would being a wizard help?”

Nomik held a pair of horseshoes in his hands, tapping them together lightly as he spoke, producing metallic tings to emphasize remarks. “My mentors began their careers as time wizards.” Ting. “During their lifetimes, they came to understand that what they manipulated with their magic was not time. It was spacetime.” Ting. “Time does not exist independent of space. Thank you, Dr. Einstein.” Ting. “A time wizard like myself must have an awareness of his medium. As a painter notices light, or a detective has an instinct for clues, I have an intense awareness of the time and space around me.” Ting. “So must your son.”

“Denny can’t pitch shoes like you do.”

“Did he pitch today?”

“No.”

“You may find his skill increased.” Ting. “One cannot cast an accurate teleportation without deep understanding of both the origin and termination of the teleport. I watched Denny practice knowing places.” Ting. “The reason he came here today was because years inside this house gave him a target he could visualize completely in his mind. Let me show you something.” Nomik pitched a perfect ringer.

“We’ve seen that before,” said Suzie.

“Tell me, Detective, how you would score this shoe.” Nomik held his second shoe differently than he had the first, pitching it end over end in a high arc that came down exactly on his ringer. It bounced up and came to rest on top of the stake, where it hung in an inverted U.

Will, Carol and Suzie clapped. “I guess,” said Donald, “I’d have to call that a double ringer.”

“You would be wrong. The rules state a shoe is only a ringer if a straight line connecting the heels does not intersect the stake. On that shoe, such a line would pass through the heart of the stake. A leaner. Added to the ringer, four points.”

Donald considered the hanging horseshoe and nodded. “That’s right. I think I need a beer.” He took two steps toward the house, recalled his manners, and stopped to ask, “Can I get a beer for anybody else?”

“I’m fine with lemonade,” said Will.

“Us, too,” said Carol, speaking for herself and Suzie. Ian shook his head.

“I think I would enjoy a beer,” said Nomik.

Donald nodded. He went into the kitchen, where he was greeted by his wife. “How’s the game going?”

“Great.” Donald took two bottles from the refrigerator. “Nomik asked for beer. Thought I’d join him.”

“You remembered what I said?”

“Don’t worry. I’m going easy on him. He’s winning.”

Mrs. Broome gave her husband a peck on the cheek. “Knew I could count on you.”

“When’s dinner?”

“As soon as Denny gets here, I’ll have it in a jiffy.”

“Any word from him?”

“He may have his phone turned off.”

Donald doubted that but saw no profit in saying so. Returning to the backyard, he tossed a beer to Nomik, who caught it with a grasp that matched the falling arc of the bottle, minimizing shaking of the brew.

“Thank you, Detective.”

Donald twisted the cap off his bottle and took a deep swig. “Technically, it’s incorrect to call me Detective anymore.”

“I am sorry. I thought you and Ian were still doing that. Have you retired or taken up a new profession?”

“I’m a detective, but the title went with my old job.” Don sipped his beer. “When I was with the police force.”

“My apologies, Donald. Perhaps I should call you Gumshoe.”

Donald laughed. “Sure. That’ll be fine. And no need to apologize. Easy to misunderstand.”

“Nonsense. It was thoughtless of me. How could it have slipped my mind that . . .” Nomik stopped like a wind-up toy that had come to the end of its spring. He stared at Donald.

“Really. Don’t worry about it.” Donald moved his head from side to side. Nomik’s eyes did not follow him. “Are you all right?”

“Mrs. Broome, get out here.” Nomik’s voice brought her from the kitchen at a run. “You said Denny was going to fix things around the house. What sort of things?”

“Well.” Mrs. Broome had to think a moment. “We’ve been having trouble with the water heater.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the water heater,” said Donald. “I’ve told you that.”

Nomik looked doubtfully between the Broomes.

Suzie came over to explain. “Mom likes her bath really hot, but Dad’s afraid we’ll all be scalded.”

“There are very reasonable limits on how high a water heater should be set,” said Donald.

“So, why is the water tepid no matter how you set it?” asked Mrs. Broome.

“I need to know Denny’s exact words,” said Nomik. “Did he mention the water heater? Did he specifically say he would be helping around the house?”

“He said . . .” Mrs. Broome stopped to think again. “He said, ‘Mom, I am going to fix things for Dad.’”

Nomik pulled out his phone and made a call. It was answered almost instantly. “Jinasu? Where would I find Orrin Viderlick these days?” Pause. “Still? But with nobody who can teleport, the gates should be idle. What would a man like Viderlick do with himself in Beowawe for a decade? Did they not close the brothel?” Pause. “Fine, I will ask him. Has his number changed?” Pause. “Thank you, Jinasu. My greetings, as always, to Sancho.” Nomik ended the call and began another.

“What’s going on,” asked Mrs. Broome.

“I know where your son is going.”

“Where?”

“Hello, Orrin,” said Nomik into the phone.

Mrs. Broome pulled on Nomik’s arm to place her head between his face and his telephone, trying to press her ear as close as possible. Nomik pulled the phone away. Suzie reached over his arm and tapped a button on his screen. The phone went into speaker mode. Everyone could hear a voice say, “Nomik Motchk, I might have guessed you would call.”

With its volume increased, Nomik winced and pulled the phone away from his face. “What tipped you off, Orrin?”

“I had a visit from your apprentice.”

“My apprentice?”

“Denny Broome.”

Mr. and Mrs. Broome exchanged glances.

“He has been there already? How is that possible?”

Ian looked sheepish. “A couple of our old haunts were near the airport. Denny could have teleported to one and been flying to Nevada while we were coming here.”

“Orrin, you have to keep him there.”

“Too late, I am afraid. Very much too late.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“Heaven, I hope,” said the voice on the phone. “He is certainly no longer on this world, and I hate to contemplate the alternative.”

Mrs. Broome shrieked. Her husband took her in his arms, but his legs gave out beneath him as he did. He only succeeded in dragging her to the ground. This, as much as the news of their brother’s death, set both the girls crying.

Ian wiped a tear from his eye. Nomik’s voice held both disappointment and relief as he asked, “How did Denny die?”

“No, no!” said the voice on the speakerphone. “Not that Heaven. The other one.”

The Caius arrived in space seemingly from nowhere. The spaceship automatically pushed away severed ends of disposable ceramic arms, pieces of the structure that had held the craft before its launch. A cube of air accompanying the ship dissipated into vacuum. The pilot checked his computer monitor. “Gentlemen, we’re here.”

“Always a safe observation,” said Nomik.

“And good shooting, Mr. Motchk. Not bad for a first interstellar teleport. The computers will do the math, but it looks like we should be about three weeks away from Heaven.”

“Usually not a safe observation,” said Ian. “Will the nanobots help you?”

“I’m afraid I don’t speak nanobot.” The pilot glanced at Nomik, knowing the wizard held that arcane technological collective in one of his pockets. “Our ship’s systems will be adequate, although it will take a moment.”

Like all pop-and-drop ships, the Caius had an open space for the caster of the Spell of Teleportation. Nomik detached straps that had done what they could to stabilize him while he had moved through the casting process. Now he took his seat between Donald and the pilot. “Too bad Hilsat did not have the nerve to come. A mathematician could have assisted.”

“Is Dr. Hilsat afraid of space?”

“Will is afraid of anything that carries him above the ground. He drives all day to avoid an hour’s flight.”

“Just as well he isn’t here, then.”

“He is keeping an eye on Donald’s household in case Denny returns while we are in transit, so not entirely useless.”

“Was that it?” asked Donald. “Are we really off the Earth? Other than weightlessness, I never felt a thing.”

“Welcome to teleportation,” said Nomik. “One of its curious characteristics is that nothing moves. The magic simply induces the universe to change its mind about what is next to what.”

“Do we unbuckle seat belts now?”

“You may,” said the pilot. “Although you’ll have to put them on again in a moment.”

“Why did we buckle them in the first place?”

“In case the nanobots and I were wrong about our target,” said Nomik. “No telling what could have happened.”

Donald had gained just enough experience of practiced weightlessness during the weeks leading up to this trip that he was succeeding in keeping breakfast down. He unhooked his harness and moved carefully toward a window. “Where is the planet?”

The pilot joined Donald for a moment to indicate three bright dots, each a different color on a field of darkness. “Those are Heaven’s stars. Heaven is a speck over there.”

“That orange one?”

“No, below it.”

“Down that way?”

“Down is toward the stars. The dimmer blue speck.”

“Ah, I see. No wonder it’ll take weeks to get there.”

“Could have been worse. The original mission to Trantor teleported to an arrival point a year’s flight away.”

“Were you the pilot?”

“I’ll never forget it. Put quite a strain on the recyclers keeping everyone alive to planetfall. We should have it easy. Thanks again, Mr. Motchk.”

“You can thank the nanobots. I only followed orders.”

The pilot could tell from Nomik’s voice that following orders was not the young wizard’s favorite thing to do.

“How soon do we accelerate?”

“A moment.” The pilot consulted a monitor. “Yes, we have the numbers. Mr. Broome, if you’d strap in again, we can be off.”

Donald turned and immediately regretted doing so. He had drifted more than he had realized while stargazing and was not at the angle he anticipated. By the time he was back in his seat, the embrace of the harness provided a welcome reorientation. The acceleration of the Caius’s engines added a sense of down, even if that down was actually up as they accelerated toward the triple stars. “Now this feels more like a rocket should. Like we’re really getting somewhere.”

“You won’t care for the next bit then,” shouted the pilot over the engine roar.

“Why not?”

“Hang on!” The pilot’s attention was focused on a monitor. For a time, all four men listened to the engines. Then the pilot threw a switch, and silent weightlessness returned. “We’re still getting somewhere, but you won’t feel it now. Until we enter orbit, it’s just this for three weeks.”

“Wouldn’t it be faster to keep the engines on?”

“Yes, if we had that much fuel.”

“Nomik, couldn’t you teleport us closer?”

“Or farther away. Or into a star. I am unfamiliar with the territory. The only reason I hit the spot I did was because the nanobots had been in this system before and managed to translate their awareness of our arrival point into my mind.”

“They couldn’t have picked a closer spot?”

“The last time they were here was many years ago. That we came in as close as we did is a tribute to their capacious memory and the reliability of physics. The chosen spot was intentionally far from the planet to assure our safety. The only safe way to teleport to a significantly closer location is to fly there first.”

“There must be some way to use your powers.”

“It is possible to cast a looping series of tiny teleports, but that would move us slower than our current velocity. The technique of pop-and-drop was well worked out during the era of colonization.” 

“So, what do we do now?”

Nomik reached into a pocket. “Card games are famously effective for passing time.”

“All right. I’m up for that. Ian, you in?”

The Scottish wizard undid his harness. “Ryan, do you play bridge?”

“As a matter of fact,” said the pilot, “I do.”

“Splendid. That gives us a foursome. A few weeks should be no problem, then.”

“Nomik, are you a bridge player?” asked Donald.

“I was thinking more of poker, but yes, I play bridge.”

“Playing poker on the way to Heaven,” said Ian, “hardly seems the thing to do.”

“We’ll have time for bridge and poker and crazy eights,” said the pilot. “One of the things we had to let go in order to meet your schedule was installing a library. All we have to read or watch are technical manuals and ACT corporate documents on the history of the colonies.”

“I have skimmed those histories,” said Nomik. “Dry stuff.”

“Grand opportunity to get to know each other,” said Ian. “If you will forgive my saying so, Ryan, you do not look like an Irishman. How did you come by the name?”

“My ancestry is Arabic. That’s not how the name is properly pronounced.” The pilot said his name, stretching syllables and shifting emphasis. “But it’s close enough to Ryan that I gave up correcting people.”

“I’ll remember that,” said Ian. And he did.

Nomik fanned the cards. “Looks like a normal deck today.”

“Is that unexpected?” asked Rayyan.

“These cards have a mind of their own, but as long as we anticipate four standard suits, that is what we will get.”

“Are they some kind of magic?”

“Not at all. This deck of cards is the nanobot collective.” Nomik shuffled and then began handing cards around, the best way to deal in a weightless environment.

When Nomik passed a card to Rayyan, the pilot took it from him gingerly. “You mean to say this playing card is some kind of little robot?”

“That playing card is more robots than you could count in a lifetime.”

“Is it safe to handle? I mean, being made up of all those complex subunits?”

“So are your fingers.”

“But how do nanobots feel about being used like this?”

“The same way cells feel about being in your finger.”

“What about the collective as a whole?”

“The nanobot collective has no consciousness. As a whole, it feels no more than it does as parts.”

While Rayyan took a second card from Nomik and then a third, he still appeared uncomfortable. “They helped us evolve intelligence. They led us to the stars. Handling them this way seems disrespectful.”

“The nanobots chose this form. Structures in these cards draw energy from manipulation. Back in the years when I was the regular possessor of a deck, my secretary feared for my sanity because I played so much solitaire. It seemed to him I was compelled, and he was correct. My suggestion of this game today was almost certainly their idea.”

“You say they chose this form,” said Donald. “That implies agency. Yet you claim they have no consciousness.”

Nomik finished dealing. “The agency of the thermostat. We say a mechanism decides to turn on the furnace when it gets too cold, but there is no conscious choice.” Nomik fanned his hand of cards. “These mechanisms are vastly more complex but have no more consciousness. In fact, that is why they came to Earth, helped us to evolve and to establish colonies at other stars.”

“I do not understand,” said Ian.

“The nanobots’ late unlamented designers gave their robots the purpose of exploring space to inform conscious beings but wisely denied them, in their fundamental structure, any hope for consciousness of their own.” Nomik reorganized the cards in his hand as he spoke. “Not that they hope.”

“So, they make decisions without awareness that they decide?” asked Donald.

“Just so. You open the bidding.”

Donald opened with one heart. Over the next three weeks, the four men played a great deal of bridge. Donald enforced the rules. He was particularly strict that whichever player was dummy could only touch the card the declarer told him to. “We learned early to enforce that one with the kids. Not sure it’s in the bridge rulebook, but if you don’t mind, I’m used to it.”

“May dummy speak?” asked Nomik.

“Only if he makes no mention of the game. Other than that, talking is encouraged. Some bridge clubs frown on conversation, but I feel they’re missing the point of cards.”

“We bow to the authority of the former policeman.” 

The weeks progressed. The men conversed while playing bridge, poker, crazy eights, and other games as they recalled them, teaching their old favorites to each other. The more they played, the more they felt like playing. Each had his turns at victory. Time passed pleasantly for everyone on board, including the nanobots. When the radio crackled into life, it came almost as a surprise that a planet was looming outside the viewing port.

“This is the Authority of Heaven. Do you read us?”

“Loud and clear, Heaven,” answered Rayyan. “Sorry we didn’t contact you first. Guess we got into range without realizing it.”

“I’m patching through Mr. Godot. Please wait.” There followed a delay long enough that a few more cards were played.

“Did he say Godot?” asked Ian.

“I believe so,” said Nomik.

“Do you realize what that means we are doing?”

Everyone laughed. By this time, they had come to know each other well enough that explanation of Ian’s sense of humor was unnecessary.

The radio came alive again. A new voice asked, “Is Dennis Broome on board?”

“At least we know he got here,” said Ian. This news brought a smile to Donald’s face but not to Nomik’s.

“No,” said Rayyan. “Mr. Broome is not with us, although his father is.”

“Who are you, then?”

Nomik took the handset from Rayyan. “This is Nomik Motchk. Who are you?”

“The Nomik Motchk?”

Nomik clicked off the microphone. “My reputation precedes me. I hope that will not be a problem.” Everyone in the spaceship chuckled. Click. “This is Nomik Motchk, Director of ACT and all her colonies.”

“What an honor, sir. I am Samuel Godot, Chief Administrator of the Authority of Heaven. I don’t suppose that little ship of yours is crammed with radioactive materials?”

Nomik clicked off the microphone again. “What kind of question is that?” Everyone looked baffled. Click. “No, Mr. Godot. Our cargo is not especially radioactive.”

“What about my daughter? Is she on board?”

Ian rolled his eyes. Donald’s mouth fell open, but no words came out. Nomik snorted and then took a moment to regain his composure. “No, Mr. Godot. No women on board.”

“Have you heard from her?”

“We were unaware of your daughter.”

“Dennis didn’t mention her?”

“We have had no communication with Denny Broome since he left Earth two months ago.”

“That explains a lot. Come on down, then.”

Nomik returned the handset to Rayyan, who began exchanging landing information with the ground.

“Well,” said Nomik, “sounds like Denny has been busy.”

“I can hardly wait to hear the story,” said Ian.

Denny’s father only shook his head.

The procedure for approaching the planet, entering orbit and landing, took long enough that more cards were played, although no bridge, because the pilot was distracted by his duties. The ride down through the atmosphere was a dazzling rush of fire and multi-colored clouds. Finally, the door opened, and four men climbed down a ladder. One by one they stepped off, turned and gasped in astonishment.

Before them spread a gleaming city on a plain divided by a luminous river whose islands held either fascinating dwellings or marvelous churches. Beyond the city, the land was flat, with shades of green and gold speaking of various crops. Then, so suddenly as to be astonishing, rose cliffs with delightful waterfalls reflecting and refracting the colors of three suns in dazzling coruscation. Thus decorated, a range of dark mountains thrust magnificently skyward.

And what a sky! Each visitor thought similar thoughts. As if I had never seen clouds before. The forms were much like those of summer days on Earth but with shapes discovered and disclosed in ways no single star could manage, with each curve expressed in a gradient of colors chosen by the sun or suns reflected or obscured.

“No wonder they call it Heaven,” said Ian.

“Wait till you see sunset,” said the man who met them.

“Marvelous, I imagine,” said Nomik.

“Different in each year and season, depending on the order in which suns go down. Sunrise reverses that order for a whole new show.”

“You have night here? Even with three suns?”

“Unlike many triple systems, our suns are a trinity we orbit at a distance. Yes, we have night, though always shorter than our day and almost never entirely black.”

“Grand as it is, we have come to Heaven for the company rather than the climate. We would like to speak with Mr. Godot.”

“Of course. He would insist. A levicar is waiting.” The man eyed Rayyan. “Your pilot will, I hope, remain with your ship. I assume he has duties to perform.”

“Does he?”

“I do,” said Rayyan. “In case you want the Caius ready.”

The drive through the city was distracting. The architecture of even the lowliest object was intentionally grand. “Absolutely everything is fluted,” said Nomik. “This place has the loveliest dumpsters in the universe.”

“I can’t get over the shadows,” said Donald. “Even concrete blocks would be beautiful in this light.”

“Heaven,” said Ian. Then he sighed and said it again.

The levicar glided to a stop. When not moving, it floated magnetically above the ground, solid as a rock. The men stepped out before an edifice that might have been a cathedral. “Our humble capitol building, gentlemen.”

Nomik laughed.

“Is something funny, sir?”

“Sorry. I missed the humility.”

“Yes, I see. But you must understand the glory, even in our civic structures, is all to God.”

Donald nodded. Ian smiled.

“Is that God there?” Nomik indicated a giant head looming above a wall.

“That is Noah Godot.”

“A relative of the Chief Administrator?”

“Samuel Godot’s father. The concept of our Heaven was born inside that head.”

Nomik contemplated the balding profile with its large lips and weak chin. “What thoughtful stone that must be.” They were led to a gate passing through the wall. Inside the courtyard, they beheld the full statue of Heaven’s founder carved from pure white rock and clothed in dark blue metal. “Nice suit.”

“Expensive tailor, I bet,” said Ian.

“It’s a neat effect,” said Donald, “the metal clothing on the stone statue. Why don’t we see that more often?”

“Expansion coefficients. I understand the engineering was a challenge.” Their guide turned to indicate a second statue on the opposite side of the courtyard. “Particularly on her skirt. Our Beloved Mother of Heaven is fifteen and a quarter meters high. The skirt is seven meters.”

“Ruby!” As Nomik identified the statue, he gave the R a Spanish trill. “Taller than I recall, but the artist has perfectly captured her face.”

“What?” asked Ian. “You mean the Ruby who . . .”

“Donald,” exclaimed Nomik loudly. “Are you all right?” Donald Broome was pale and trembling. Nomik reached to prevent him falling. “The atmosphere, I imagine. Even on an earthlike world, the mix of gases is unfamiliar. Not to mention this disorienting light. Some people are more sensitive than others. He needs time to adapt. May we have a place to sit inside?”

“This way,” said their guide.

The interior managed to be spare yet sumptuous. Nomik and the guide helped Donald to a chair, insisting that he sit and catch his breath. “I’m fine. Really. It was . . .”

“Nonsense, Donald. You are still pale. May we have a glass of water?”

The guide gestured through a doorway to some hidden servant. “It’s coming.”

“His skin is clammy. I will cast a heartening spell. Meanwhile, perhaps a blanket could be found.”

The guide stepped through the doorway to call additional instructions to the servant seeking water. Nomik spoke strange words and waved his hands. “Ian, Donald, stay exactly where you are. I have cast a time bubble, so we can talk in private.”

“A what?” asked Ian.

“A technique my old friend Peregrine taught me when we were boys. Time now passes at a different rate for us. We have a few minutes to chat. When I release the spell, nobody will be the wiser.”

“What did you want to chat about?”

“The fact that a gigantic statue of Ruby sits at the heart of the capital of this planet.”

“Yes, we saw that.”

“I thought it worth remembering that one of us once put a bullet through that woman’s beloved head.”

“Yes. I see.” Ian sat on the arm of Donald’s chair. “Conversation could get awkward. Thank you for pointing that out.”

“Stand up, Ian. In order to avoid suspicion, you must remain where you were when the spell was cast.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Ian stood and tried to position himself properly.

“Close enough. I chose to cast in an instant when no one was looking directly at us.”

Ian looked about and realized he saw only sides and backs of heads on their unmoving hosts. “Good thinking.”

“Donald, you really did turn pale. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, now. It took me by surprise. The day it happened, I was looking up at Ruby from below. Looking up at the statue, I flashed back on that moment.”

“Understandably upsetting. I imagine a policeman never forgets his kills.”

“I only ever had the one.”

“The point is, we do not know what these people know about it. Did Denny even tell them Ruby is dead? We must not let ourselves be caught out in a lie. We should avoid offering too much information.”

Donald nodded. “We keep quiet.”

“Play it by ear,” said Ian.

“Let me do the talking. Anything else we need to say?” Donald and Ian shook their heads. “Fine, then.” Nomik broke the spell.

The guide returned. “We’ll have that blanket in a moment, too.”

“Thank you.”

“Honestly, I don’t think it will be necessary.” Donald took in and expelled a deep breath. “Needed to sit a moment, I expect. And that heartening spell is a wonder. Wouldn’t want to keep the Chief Administrator waiting.”

“You’re sure?”

“Nomik and Ian will watch over me, for which I am truly grateful.”

The Chief Administrator’s office, reached by way of a private spiral escalator, carried forward the theme of spare sumptuousness. Two comfortably padded couches, upholstered in white and gold damask, faced a desk of blonde wood. The Chief Administrator’s chair was high and narrow and empty.

“Oldest trick in the book,” whispered Nomik. “Establish your importance by making people wait. He is probably in the next room watching us through a keyhole.”

As if on cue, a door opened. The man who entered could have been the model for the statue in the courtyard, an easy comparison to check as the giant profile was visible through the window behind the desk. In living color, his large red lips produced a disturbing contrast against white skin. “Chief Administrator Godot,” said the guide, “allow me to introduce Nomik Motchk, Donald Broome, and Ian Urquhart.”

Hands were shaken. “Gentlemen, please be seated.” Rather than sitting at his desk, the Chief Administrator joined them on the couches. “Welcome to Heaven.”

“Thank you, Chief Administrator,” said Nomik.

“Please, call me Chief. Everybody does.”

“Splendid. And you may call me Director.”

This offer set the Chief off balance for a moment. “Yes. Director of ACT. You look so young. Magic, I presume. What brings you to Heaven, Director?”

“We are seeking Donald’s son.”

“Dennis? I wouldn’t mind finding him myself.”

“He has been leading us a merry chase.”

“A leisurely one. You are trailing him by quite a bit. He was here for more than a month and left, along with my daughter, a week before you arrived.”

“Yes. He took the one ship ACT kept ready in case a teleporting wizard should appear. We had to wait while another craft was taken out of mothballs.”

“Why was only one ship kept ready?”

“There has been a shortage of wizards who could teleport. As Orrin Viderlick explained it to us, the one was kept fully functional for political reasons. Powerful families have relatives on the colonies. The government wanted to appear prepared to contact them if and when that became possible.”

The Chief nodded. “Makes sense. Had I been there after Ruby’s death and the collapse of the teleportation system, I might have done the same.”

“You know about Ruby’s death, then.”

“Dennis told us. Shot by a policeman, he said. Dennis is so inherently kind that he tried to excuse the man’s foul act, but it came as dreadful news to us. Heaven observed three days of mourning. Reactions were passionate. There were many suicides.”

“What a noble gesture. Thank you.”

Donald was becoming pale again. Ian reached to steady him. The Chief gave Donald a sympathetic pat on the hand. “My dear sir, I see the memory of it still affects you even though you must have heard the news of her death many years ago. She was an amazing woman.”

“Yes,” said Donald. “Her death affected more people than I could have foreseen. And at greater distances.”

“Particularly here on Heaven. When so much of the world rejected my father’s vision, Ruby understood. She shared his dream and worked in secret to make that dream come true.”

“Secret indeed.” Nomik stood and walked to the window to contemplate the statue of Noah Godot. “I must admit that I am unfamiliar with your father’s dream.”

“Yet you see it all around you.”

“The dream of a world of flying cars and well-lit fluted architecture?”

“The dream of a world united in its race.”

“Race to what, exactly?”

“Our race. The white race. Have you not noticed? You will see no taint of dark-skinned men on this blessed globe.”

Nomik turned in time to see Donald and Ian exchanging horrified glances behind the Chief’s back. “No, I had not noticed. How unexpected.”

“So you really were unaware of our founding program. Did Ruby keep our secret even from her fellow Directors?”

“She did. I saw nothing in the corporate history.”

The Chief looked worried. “There was much objection to my father’s views on Earth. I must ask, do you share that objection?”

Nomik looked out the window again. “It is your world. What you do on it is entirely your business.”

“Wise words,” said the Chief. “As I suspected, your bringing a dusky Arab among us was an innocent infraction.”

“Dusky Arab? You mean Rayyan? Our pilot does not strike me as particularly dark.”

“I’m told he is the blackest man on this planet. It’d be best if he stayed aboard your ship.”

“We will keep that in mind.”

“Is he a Muslim?”

“I did not ask, although now that I think of it, I believe he did some quiet praying during our flight.”

“With things the way they are on Heaven now, that might be a greater offense than his skin. It could put him in danger if he walked abroad.”

Nomik looked to Donald and Ian. Each seemed to struggle to withhold comment. “On Heaven now, Chief, how are things?”

“Our dream has met with difficulties, but when Dennis brings us the radioactive materials he promised, our problems will be solved. That’s why the sight of your ship in our sky particularly excited us, although what we’re really looking for are those big teleportation containers that appear directly on the ground. Whole buildings full of nuclear materials would mean so much.”

“I wonder about that.” Nomik looked out the window again. “You use vehicles that float on magnetic levitation. You keep them in the air even when they are parked. Your architects favor continuously running escalators over elevators. I have, by paying close attention, convinced myself that on a world which experiences only limited hours of darkness, you keep your street lamps on all day. The lights in the courtyard intended to illuminate those statues appear to be on right now.”

“Your point, Director?”

“This does not strike me as a world starved for energy.”

The Chief laughed. “Hardly. Ruby granted us a planet awash in the stuff. Those three suns drive an active ecosystem. The life forms native to Heaven are primitive, but there are plenty of them, and their substances are easily converted to fuels. Along with the obvious solar capacity, wind and water power are abundant as well. We have seen to it that the only way to find darkness in the cities of Heaven is to intentionally block out our light.”

“Then why have you asked Denny Broome to bring you radioactive materials? Why would you even think of nuclear power plants?”

“We don’t think of them, Director.”

Nomik turned back to look the Chief in the eye. “Weapons? You want atomic bombs?”

“We certainly do.”

Behind the Chief’s back, Donald and Ian exchanged startled glances once again.

“What on Earth . . .” Nomik caught himself. “What on Heaven for?”

“For the bloody Catholics.”

“Catholics?” asked Ian. “What have you got against them?”

“Before I answer that, may I ask your religion?”

“Presbyterian.”

“And Mr. Broome, Dennis has told us your family are Methodists. I understand, Director, you come from Mexico.”

“Which is a largely Catholic country, but I was brought there by my mentors. We were a non-denominational household.”

“Good. That will make it easier to relate our history.”

Nomik rejoined the men on the couches. “I always enjoy a history lesson.”

“Heaven seemed a true paradise at first, a world of natural bounty inhabited by men united in their grand vision and superior heredity. It did not take long, however, for us to recognize the flaw in our scheme. We had concentrated so much on bringing a pure race to this world that we had forgotten purity of faith. Considering the name we had chosen for our planet, that must seem unbelievable.”

“Not at all. Men of vision like your father often focus too intently on a single goal.”

“Kind of you to say so, Director. And it is the truth. It was conservative Jews among us who pointed out our mistake in bringing atheists from Earth. Ironic, considering that once we corrected that error, it was those Jews who were the next to go.”

“Go where, exactly?”

The Chief hung his head a moment and sighed. “Another flaw in our plan. Earth is a hostile cesspool of miscegenation. Ruby and my father had agreed Heaven would be safer on its own in the universe, so once we were established, she sent no further teleportation containers. Our spaceport was entirely closed, inactive for decades until the arrival of your son, Mr. Broome.”

Donald nodded weakly. He saw where this story was going. “Did you have nowhere you could put them?”

“Concentration camps? Reservations? Such evil places would be a permanent scar on the face of Heaven. No, better to solve the problem straight away.”

“A final solution,” said Nomik.

“Exactly. The Jews led the elimination of the atheists, along with a handful of light-skinned representatives of other faiths, and then my father led the elimination of the Jews. At that point, on a planet entirely white and Christian, we thought our problems were solved.”

“Your naivete was charmingly consistent.”

“Director, that observation is so insightful. The innocence of honest men. When Catholic bishops began electing cardinals, a hierarchy to compete against the legitimately constituted civil authority, it came as an utter shock to my father. They chose as Pope a man who had worked shoulder to shoulder with us in wiping out the Jews. We were appalled by this betrayal of our trust.”

“So, you are working toward yet another final solution.”

“Not as easily, this time. It was astounding how large a Catholic population we had.”

“Yes. I would have anticipated mostly Southern Baptists.”

The Chief’s expression brightened. “My own faith and that of my father. What happened with the Catholics was an all-out war.”

Nomik looked toward the windows. “Your city shows no sign of one.”

“The Catholics had anticipated conflict. The Irish occupied the mountains. We have reason to believe there are a handful of surviving Jews among them.”

Nomik clucked his tongue and shook his head.

“The rest of the papist mob absconded to the southern continent, stealing most of our seaworthy craft. It took us years to build a fleet to follow them. Today, we are trapped in an endless round of naval battles, plus border skirmishes with the micks. Bounteous as Heaven is, it proved lacking in much of the materials required for modern warfare. At sea, you will find us using ropes and hooks in boarding wooden vessels and fighting hand to hand with swords.”

“That sounds inadequate for a final solution.”

“Exactly, Director! You do understand our need for atomic bombs. With them, we can take control of this planet and establish the Heaven of my father’s dream.”

“Did you tell Denny about the bombs?” asked Donald. “Did my son know what you intended to do?”

“He certainly did. We are already drawing plans to add a statue of your son in that courtyard. When he returns with the promised nuclear resources, he will be one of Heaven’s greatest heroes.”

“And with your daughter,” said Nomik.

“Yes. With Dulce. Once we can build those bombs, we’ll write Dennis’s name in eternal glory across the skies of our southern hemisphere.”

“You are a man of grand vision, Chief. The enormity of your plan takes away my breath, but you must understand we take a personal interest in the status of Denny Broome. I can tell his father is aching to ask about this relationship with your daughter. Dulce, was it? Is that an Italian name?”

The Chief hung his head. “You are touching very much on the personal.”

“Forgive us,” said Nomik. “We are strangers here.”

“You will hear the story somewhere. May as well be from my lips. Dulce Maria’s mother, my wife, was the daughter of the man who now styles himself the Pope.”

“Where is Dulce’s mother now?” asked Nomik.

“She is no longer with us.”

“You mean she has gone into the mountains? Or to the southern continent?”

The Chief raised his head and looked defiantly at Nomik. “No, sir, I do not. My wife was given the opportunity to remain loyal to the Authority of Heaven or to stand with her precious Pope.”

“A dilemma. Her husband or her father.”

“Her white nation or her misguided faith. She chose unwisely and paid the ultimate price.”

“Are you saying you had your own wife executed?”

“Could I have granted my wife privileges I would not grant another man’s? The example of justice was essential to Heaven’s future.”

“I understood there was mercy in Heaven.”

“We will be able to afford mercy when our world is safely united. Security demands justice.”

Nomik nodded. “Leadership includes the burden of difficult decisions. You have my sympathy at the loss of your wife. How did your daughter take it?”

The Chief looked toward the ceiling and sighed. His heavy lips pursed and then worked as if whispering a silent prayer. At last, he said, “She was a child. It was difficult to make her understand. She came around eventually. I am proud of her.”

Donald started as if to stand, but Nomik waved him back, quickly saying, “Chief Godot, we have had a long journey, and this has been an emotional conversation for us all. Rest, time to think, perhaps a meal is called for.”

“Of course, gentlemen. You must think me a poor host.”

“Not at all. You have had so little opportunity to welcome visitors from off your world.” Nomik rose and gestured for all to join him. The Chief mirrored his gesture.

The guests were fed and seen to their rooms in a nearby hotel. The triple sunset was as magnificent as promised.

In the dim light of midnight, a man in a dark uniform entered the capitol building and rode the spiral escalator.

“Chief?”

“Ah, I’ve been waiting for this. What does research have for me?”

A single page was slid onto the desk.

“What am I looking at?”

“A photocopy from a schoolbook. According to a label in the front, Denny Broome’s social studies text. He brought it to catch us up on the years of Earth’s history we had missed.”

“And this page?”

“The story of Ruby’s assassination.”

“And?”

“Look at the circled words and the note in the margin.”

The Chief did as directed. He gasped. “Oh, my dear God!”

“Please, Chief. Not the Lord’s name in vain.”

The Chief looked up, his face decisively fixed. “Nothing vain about it. We’ve got them. But we must be careful. That arrogant boy, the Director, is a powerful old wizard. He, or Dennis Broome, or both of them, are our hope for victory in this war.”

Exuberant lettering on the cafe door pleased Ian. He would be satisfied even if Nomik were not inside, but upon entering he found the double reward of a delightful coffee aroma as well as the person he was looking for.

“How did you manage to track me down?”

“We each have our skills, old man. You know tracking is one of mine.” Ian joined Nomik at the coffee bar. “Cappuccino.”

“Hush.” Nomik pressed a finger to Ian’s lips. “On Heaven, we do not use the name derived from the brown robes of Catholic Capuchin monks.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Never more so.” Nomik raised his voice. “My friend will have a thick coffee with steamed milk foam.”

“Yes, sir. One Noah coming up.” The barista snapped into action. “An honor to have you with us, Mr. Urquhart.”

“If you say so.”

Nomik chuckled. “Did you actually track my spoor across the city?”

“Not difficult.” Ian indicated the television behind the busy barista’s head. “We are in the news. I am recognized wherever I go. They tell me my friend was here. I ask where he went. They point.”

“You doubled my route all the way from the hotel?”

“In and out of everywhere. I began to fear you would never stop for coffee.”

“Where is Donald?”

“He decided to spend the morning in.”

“Probably a good idea, all things considered.”

“I know how you spent your morning,” said Ian, “but not what you had in mind. Why were you pestering businessmen at dawn?”

“Businessmen tend to be more candid before business hours. No offense.”

“None taken,” said the barista. “You’re right.”

“The customer always is, which is why I learned more truth in the time before I became a customer.”

“And what have you learned?” asked Ian.

“That the Chief Administrator is a great leader.”

“Oh, really?” Ian looked doubtful.

“Ask our server what he thinks of Catholics.”

“No need to ask,” said the barista. “I hate ‘em.”

“And when did you start hating them?”

The barista handed a cup of Noah to Ian. “I’ve always hated Catholics. Not the people, you understand. We don’t hate people on Heaven. I should have said, I hate their sinful ways.”

“Thank you. We will take our coffees to that table by the window.”

“You’ll like that spot, sir. Plenty of suns this morning.”

“Might I have a scone?” asked Ian.

“Fresh ones coming up, sir. I’ll bring it over.”

“Lovely.”

Nomik and Ian sat. Steam from cups cast multicolored shadows on the tabletop. Ian kept his voice low. “What, in that display of religious bigotry, makes you think Mr. Godot is so great?”

“A good leader convinces others to believe as he does.” Nomik sipped his coffee. “A great leader convinces them that his ideas were theirs all along.”

Ian scowled. “I see nothing good in that.”

“Perhaps I should have said effective. Judgments of good and evil are not ours to make here.”

“Because we are on another planet?”

Nomik focused his attention outside the cafe window. “Exactly so.”

“Do you not believe there are universal moral truths?”

“I do not.”

Ian put his coffee firmly down. “Now I understand how you were once convinced to try to wipe out the human race.”

“Excellent example. It was a complicated situation. As a member of that race, you can be expected to view my position with bias.”

“What? And now you unbiasedly share Godot’s biases?”

“I did not say that. I simply remarked upon his skill.”

“I begin to wonder if Ruby was the only Director of ACT responsible for this fluted nightmare of a planet.”

“I told the truth when I told Godot I had no knowledge of Ruby’s work with his father. By the time the first colonies were being established, I was a doubly silent partner in that enterprise, neither speaking nor listening.”

“I thought you were the public face of the outfit.”

“Ruby, Dexter Toole, and I were the three founders. And funders. I was world famous as the wizard who had revealed the existence of real magic. Dexter was prominent only in business circles. Ruby, who really ran the place, was shrouded in mystery, which was the way she liked it.”

“I heard, before ACT, she ran a brothel.”

“The most expensive in the world, and that was only one of her income sources.”

“What else? Drugs? Murder for hire?”

Nomik laughed. “Sort of.”

“So, she was the kind of monster needed to dream up this Heaven, and you let her do it.”

Nomik shrugged. “As I said, I was no longer active in the business when Heaven was colonized, but I was aware of Ruby’s views. She and I had many a chat as ACT was being initially created. She made good points. Fascinating woman.”

Ian huffed over his coffee. “I do not think I would have liked her.”

“She would have liked you.”

“Because of my race and religion?”

“Not at all. Ruby was no bigot. On the contrary, she had a clearer insight into human nature than anyone I ever met.”

“Gentlemen,” said the barista as he placed Ian’s scone upon the table, “your friend is in the news.”

“We have been in the news all morning,” said Ian.

“Not like this. He’s been arrested.”

“Oops,” whispered Nomik. “That was quick.”

“What for?” asked Ian.

Nomik answered loudly enough for anyone in the coffeeshop to hear. “Undoubtedly an infraction of some minor local ordinance, the bane of travelers everywhere. Surely the authorities will let him off with a warning.”

“I doubt it,” said the barista. “He’s been arrested for the attack on Our Beloved Mother of Heaven.”

“What?” asked Nomik. “They think he vandalized the statue?”

“The real woman. The charge is murder. They’re saying he’s the policeman who shot Ruby.”

“Nonsense,” said Nomik. “That was more than a decade ago. Ian, you know Donald Broome so much better than I do. He was never a policeman, was he?”

Ian opened his mouth. Nomik could almost hear the gears grinding away inside the Scottish wizard’s head. “Yes,” said Ian. “He was.”

“I do not understand what would make you say that.” Nomik meant it.

“Only this morning, I was telling the clerk at our hotel how I was Denny Broome’s mentor for all those years.”

Nomik immediately saw the dangerous corner Ian had painted himself into by bragging up his association with Heaven’s new hero. Ian had admitted to a witness that he was a long-time friend of the Broome family. He had probably told a truthful tale or two.

“And Donald was a policeman back then?”

Ian nodded.

“But surely you were unaware of this alleged association with the tragic death of my fellow Director at ACT?”

Ian’s gears were turning again. What would Donald tell the authorities? What did they already know? Yesterday, Nomik had said they must not be caught out in a lie. “Not entirely unaware.” Ian became aware of a change in the room. Other patrons had been stealing glances their way since he came in. Now, they were openly staring. “It is a complicated situation.”

“We must seek out Chief Godot immediately and tell him everything we know,” said Nomik. “What do we owe for coffees and a scone?”

“Nothing,” said the barista.

“You are too generous.”

They walked into the sunslit street, Ian carrying his scone. “That was nice of him about the coffees.”

“He may not want to be seen taking money from accessories to history’s greatest crime.”

“Oh, dear. I suppose not.”

“Oh, dear, indeed. Ian, when we get to the Chief Administrators’ offices, let me do the talking. In fact, I should speak to the Chief alone. You stay in the courtyard. Make sure you are visible at all times. Admire the statues with sincerity in case we look down from the window. Above all, refrain from using magic.”

“Nomik, are we in trouble?”

“Not if we play our cards right, but it is a tricky hand.”

“And I am playing dummy?”

“To my declarer? Yes, that would be best.”

Ian did as he was told. In the courtyard, he ran through a scenario of being a man who respected the achievements of the founders of Heaven. It got confusing when he came to how he would feel about somebody who murdered one of them. He did not want to look like a co-conspirator, but neither did he wish to appear disapproving of Donald Broome. He decided it was best to move away from the statues and admire flowers. He hoped this would work with Nomik’s plan. Some local insects genuinely fascinated Ian. He did not look up toward the Chief Administrator’s window so never knew that nobody was looking down.

“Prisoner 59301, you have a visitor.”

Donald was startled and could only stare in response. He was led from his cell, down a long corridor, up an escalator, into a room filled with empty chairs and tables. The people in the room were a dozen standing guards and Ian Urquhart. “Thoughtful of you to drop by, Ian. It’s been at least a week. Shall we sit?”

“Donald, what happened to your eye?”

“It’s healing. Apparently, I resisted arrest. Somewhat ironic. Rules against police brutality are lax on Heaven.”

“They have you in chains.”

Donald clanked as he sat. “Yes, they have.”

“Do they think you would try to run for it?”

“The thought has occurred to me. It’s my first time on this side of the law. Surprising how my mind keeps drifting back to the spaceship, wondering if Rayyan has it ready to take off. I suppose most of the criminals I arrested must have felt this way.”

“Donald, you are no criminal.”

“That point is in dispute.”

“And anyway, a breakout would be useless. Even if the Caius was meant to lift off from the ground without magical aid, which it was not, it has now been disabled.”

“What? Why?” Donald held up a heavy link. “Do they doubt the strength of these?”

“Nothing to do with you. The authorities found out that everything except the engines was powered from a nuclear battery. They confiscated the plutonium.”

“Good Lord. Was it enough to make a bomb?”

“Nomik thinks not.”

“What does Rayyan say?”

“No idea. They are holding him aboard the Caius.”

“Holding him? Is he charged with anything?”

“Being what he is. Islam is enough.”

“So, without the battery, could he take off at all? Jury rig a short hop to another continent?”

“No. They never refueled the ship. Rayyan is being held in a dead shell. They will not bring him here because they do not want prisoners to be forced to share facilities with a dark-skinned Muslim.”

“Of course not. Wouldn’t want to make us murderers uncomfortable. Any good news?”

Ian smiled. “You are to be tried by a tribunal of three justices in the High Court of Heaven.”

“What an honor.”

“Nomik will be serving on that panel.”

Donald stared. “What are you talking about?”

“The colonies were all chartered by ACT. Heaven uses that charter as the foundational document of their government. Godot’s position as Chief Administrator of the Authority of Heaven comes directly from it.”

“So?”

“One of the charter provisions is that a Director of ACT is automatically an ex officio member of any and every government body. Nomik knew that. All he has to do is ask, and they have to let him in.”

Donald smiled. “I imagine a death penalty case on Heaven must require a unanimous vote.”

“No. Simple majority.”

Donald’s smile weakened. “Still, if Nomik convinces one other judge, I’m off.”

“Sorry. The ex officio member is non-voting and also non-speaking. When the three justices meet, he will just sit with them.”

Donald huffed. “What’s the point of that?”

“As Nomik explained it, the provision was originally written in by Ruby. Before she got into teleportation, her particular magical skill was the manipulation of minds. Once she was in the room, she could control the outcome.”

“Clever.” Donald looked toward a barred opening above the heads of guards. He had not seen an outside window in days. “Can Nomik do that kind of magic?”

“Afraid not. He was recently upset because he found out a mentor had used mind control on him a hundred years ago. He hates that sort of thing and never learned it.”

Donald leaned close and whispered, “And you?” A guard stepped forward, raising a nightstick as he did so. Donald leaned back.

“No,” said Ian. “Nothing like it. I have never even known someone who could read minds. Although, I am pretty good at guessing what an animal will do next.”

Donald eyed the guard but decided to withhold comment. “Ian, I’m going to need legal representation. Have you and Nomik been working on getting me someone?”

“I am to have that honor.”

Donald felt his mind come to a halt. “Say again?”

“The Chief Administrator asked me to serve as your attorney. I agreed to do it.”

Donald’s startled stare was getting a workout today. “Why?”

“You said yourself, you need representation.”

“Ian, I need a lawyer. Have you studied law?”

“Quite a bit this week. It was last night I came across the regulation saying they had to let me talk to you.” Ian proudly smiled. “That is how I am here this morning.”

“Well done, but have you had any experience in court?”

Ian looked down at the floor. “There was that time you arrested me for the triple homicide.”

“That’s true. I’d almost forgotten. Not really what I had in mind, though. If you’ll recall, you had the advantage that you were innocent, but you hired a real attorney anyway.”

“Yes, Donald. I understand.” Ian looked up. “You need a real attorney, but what you have is me.”

“Why do I have you, Ian? Why not a professional?”

“Because no professional wants to be seen defending the murderer of the Mother of Heaven.”

“Nonsense, Ian. There’s always a lawyer willing to take on a big case like this. It’s a boost to the résumé.”

“People are not thinking like that.”

“At the very least, the court must appoint a qualified attorney. That’s the law.”

“On Earth. In the United States. This is Heaven.”

“Funny, it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Donald, you have to understand, I am doing everything I can. I tried to get you a real lawyer, but you are the most hated man on this planet.”

“Time’s up.” said a guard. The rest of them immediately closed on the prisoner to lead him away.

“Do not despair, Donald. You are not alone. This card game is not over.”

“Thank you, Ian.” Donald managed a weak smile, but it faded quickly as he was taken from the room. “Must admit, though, I have a terrible hand.”

“Something bothering you,” asked a guard.

“He said I am the most hated man on the planet.”

“Oh, yeah. I hear people are lining up at the Chief Administrator’s door begging for the opportunity to be your executioner.”

“Seriously?”

The guard nodded. “Wouldn’t mind the job myself.”

Donald rode down the escalator in silence.

The High Court of Heaven deserved the name. The triangular chamber was Heavenly, at least in the sense that every upright surface was fluted, which emphasized the severe verticality. Each of the three judges had his own bench in a corner near the top of the space. The accused was in a central pit with justice looking down on him from all around. A domed glass ceiling let in the lights of Heaven’s heavens in such a way that the accused would be nearly blinded each time he looked up.

Donald waited in the pit. He and his guards had been the first to enter. The prisoner wore drab grey, while his guards were outfitted in special black and white checked uniforms for the day. They were joined by the prisoner’s black-robed legal representative.

“Where have you been?”

“Working day and night on your defense.”

“I’ve been worried sick, Ian. Couldn’t you have dropped in to tell me how it was going?”

“Oh, sorry. Last time we met, I forgot to mention the law only allows the accused’s attorney a single visit before trial. They want to be sure we are not conspiring.”

“Conspiring? With my own legal team?”

“The laws of Heaven, in my opinion, lean somewhat in favor of the prosecution. Noah Godot did not want guilty parties getting off on technicalities, so prosecutors can do whatever they please without fear of rule or regulation. The defense, on the other hand, is sharply restricted.”

“What about my rights?”

“Criminals are assumed to have denied the rights of their victims and thereby forfeited their own.”

“But I’m not a criminal. I haven’t been tried.”

“Ah, you are thinking of the presumption of innocence. Noah Godot felt that presumption was a bias against the rights of victims. It is banned from Heaven’s legal system.”

“So, I’m presumed guilty.”

“Not at all. We disapprove of any presumption.”

“We?”

“Oh, sorry, Donald. I have spent so much time in Heaven’s law book that I almost feel myself a citizen.”

“Law book? Not books?”

“They only have the one. We like things simple here. I understand now why the Chief Administrator believed I could represent you. The law of Heaven is a quick study.”

“What about legal precedent?”

“The colony has existed for a single generation. As the Chief says, the burden of our past is a light one. They intend to keep it that way. On the assumption that times change, all legal precedent more than ten years old is to be disregarded. Not necessarily a bad idea.”

“You sound like you’re starting to like the place.”

“This bigoted madhouse? Goodness no.”

“That’s a relief.”

“I think Nomik may settle here, though. He fits in. He spends more time with the Chief Administrator and members of the White Body than he does with me.”

“The what?”

“The White Body. Sort of the Chief Administrator’s cabinet and legislature all rolled into one.”

“Is there no separation of powers between executive and legislative branches?”

“Nor judicial. Your three judges will be members of the White Body.”

Donald sat back into his chair. “Good that Nomik is spending time with them. Winning them over to my side.”

“Yes,” said Ian. “We could hope that.”

“How’s that going? Does Nomik think he can get me acquitted?”

Ian hesitated. “He does not talk about it. In the rare moments I have had with him, he generally enthuses on one or another wonderful thing he has found on Heaven. The other day, I ran into Nomik and a few of the Chief’s men in a rug merchant’s shop. Nomik wants me to travel with him to the lake country. Chief Godot is supposed to have a marvelous lodge that hovers above the water. Nomik is invited for a weekend.”

“Swell. Am I included in the invitation?”

Ian considered. “Now that you mention it, I do not recall your name coming up in that conversation.”

“Great. After my execution, the two of you can have a lovely time with your new friends.”

“Do not be ridiculous.”

“A few weeks ago, I was afraid I might not see my son again. That now applies to my wife and daughters as well. Denny may be home by now.”

“Assuming he is not out gathering nuclear materials.”

“What is going on with that?”

“No idea.” Ian’s expression was puzzled. “It does not seem like him.”

“Neither does running off with someone’s daughter. When you see him, you must ask about that.”

“When we see him.”

Donald shook his head. “When you see my family, tell them I was thinking of them.”

“You must not talk like that, Donald.”

“Then you and Nomik get me out of here. These people clearly respect their own laws. How are we going to get across to them that I was a law enforcement officer following the laws of my own land?”

“Good point.” Ian pulled a notepad and pen from his robe and jotted down a memorandum. “I must mention that when I present your case.”

Donald leaned back and looked up toward the ceiling, sighing in something close to an acceptance of his fate. “Am I seeing movement up there?”

“That would be the judges, in red, green and blue robes, each representing one of Heaven’s stars.” Ian squinted against the glare from the dome. “Kind of hard to see from here. After they are seated, the prosecution will arrive. The level between us and the judges belongs entirely to prosecutors and their witnesses.”

“What about the public? Where do they sit?”

“No public. Trials on Heaven are held entirely in secret. Noah Godot believed testimony would be more candid if the public was not listening.”

“Of course,” said Donald. “I should have guessed. At least it’s not a show trial.”

“Well, it will be videoed. The Chief Administrator has the option of releasing it to the public later if he feels that will be in Heaven’s best interest.”

“Like if I lose. Will my execution be televised?”

“Yes,” said Ian. “I saw that on the schedule for the station I was watching last night.”

Donald started to stand, but two guards stepped forward to push him back down into his seat. “My execution is already scheduled?”

“I have confidence they will have to make a substitution when the time comes.”

“What else did you see on television?”

Ian grunted. “Their fiction consists of weak storylines threading together scenes of violence.”

“And their factual programming?”

“Mostly religious services.”

“Why were you watching television, anyway? I thought you were studying the law.”

“There is only so much law to study. Everyone needs a break now and then. Oh, here comes the prosecution’s team.”

A line of white-robed individuals entered and took seats behind long tables arranged in a triangle surrounding the pit. “What a mob. Ian, they can’t all be prosecutors.”

“Prosecution witnesses wear white as well, but I understand quite a number of prominent citizens have honorary prosecutorial status in this case. It was highly sought after.”

“Everyone wants a piece of me.”

“Yes.” Ian stood to get a better view of the arriving prosecutors and their witnesses. “Good Lord!”

“What is it?”

“Is that Nomik?”

Donald looked where Ian pointed. Nomik Motchk was taking a seat. He was wearing a robe matching those of the woman to his right and the man on his left with whom he was engaged in animated conversation. “That’s him. Does this mean something?”

Ian sat again. “Not sure. The judges’ benches are really chairs. I suppose Nomik could not sit in a justice’s lap. I guess I had not thought of where he would be.”

“Were you expecting him down here?”

Ian caught Nomik’s eye and waved. Nomik frowned and did not wave back. “Possibly. I certainly was not expecting him to be robed in white. Although, his position is an unusual one. Perhaps they have no special robe for ex officio members of the tribunal.”

“The prosecution will please begin,” declared the red-robed justice.

“They get right down to business in this court,” said Donald.

“We pride ourselves on a lack of ritual,” said Ian. “They, I mean. They. Not we.”

Above them, a white-robed man sitting across from Donald and Ian rose. “Your honors, we shall begin with introductions.”

“That is the Chief Prosecutor,” whispered Ian. “He is also Chairman of the Judiciary Committee of the White Body and a key man in this town. According to this morning’s news, he and Nomik were spotted dining together last night. I hope Nomik had some influence on him.”

Donald sighed. “And not the other way around.”

Much of the morning was taken up by the Chief Prosecutor introducing members of his team, each of whom made a speech explaining why, in his or her position, he or she was particularly appropriate for assisting in the prosecution of such a horrific crime against humanity.

“They have high hopes this trial will eventually be released to the public airways,” whispered Donald.

Ian nodded. “One does get that sense.”

Next, the prosecution began its case with a series of witnesses testifying to the character of the murder victim. They spoke from where they sat behind the tables above the defendant’s pit. This had Donald and Ian listening as voices from their right and left, in front of them and from behind, droned on seemingly endlessly about how wonderful Ruby was and what fine things she had done for Heaven and its people. And not only Heaven. It was asserted that elsewhere in the universe a planet existed where everyone was dark-skinned, another of Ruby’s programs. The occupants of Heaven did not see themselves as prejudiced against those people. They honestly believed each race could achieve happiness only on a planet of its own. This was Noah Godot’s vision, and the beloved Ruby had understood.

“Would I be exhibiting a bias,” whispered Donald to his legal counsel, “if I wished I was on that planet right now.”

“They might be just as likely to arrest you.”

Donald nodded. “Probably the case.”

The praise for Ruby continued as Donald watched the suns cast colored triangles of light that crept around the walls. Witnesses ran out of good things to say about the Beloved Mother of Heaven so took turns repeating each other’s comments and complimenting each other on them. This went on so long that the process had to be interrupted for lunch.

Donald ate with his guards in a small room adjoining the defendant’s pit. When Ian returned from lunch, he was good enough not to discuss his meal, and Donald did not ask. The trial resumed with further praise for the murder victim.

At last, the Chief Prosecutor stated, “We now offer physical evidence opening an important window on this crime. Your Honors are each being presented with copies.” The prosecutor looked down into the pit. “The defense should also receive two pages.” He spoke loudly enough to alert Ian, who was nearly nodding off.

As papers were handed to them, Donald asked his legal representative, “Have you seen this before?”

“Of course not, Donald. That would be cheating. The prosecution has not seen our evidence, either.”

“Do we have evidence?”

Ian shook his head as he scanned the pages and muttered, “Oh, dear.”

“Your Honors, the sheets before you are exact reproductions from this book.” The prosecutor hoisted a hefty text with brightly colored lettering and images on its front and back covers.

“Do you recognize that, Donald?” whispered Ian.

“One of Denny’s old textbooks, I think. What was it called?”

“It is titled Your World and Ours,” declared the prosecutor almost as if he had overheard the whispers in the pit below him. “The first photocopy is taken from a bookplate inside the cover. It indicates the owner to be Denny Broome. Dennis brought it during his visit to our small planet and presented it to the World Library. He hoped it would, in his words, ‘bring us up to date.’ We will be presenting testimony that the defendant, Donald Broome, was identified to us on his arrival here as the father of Denny Broome.”

“Never denied that,” said Donald.

“We may want to,” muttered Ian.

“The second photocopy,” said the prosecutor, “is taken from page 239. Below the heading Colonies Lose Contact, note the highlighted sentence, ‘During the investigation of the murder of a teleportation engineer, Director Ruby of ACT was killed by a police officer.’ I draw the court’s attention to the fact that the words a police officer have been circled in blue ink. In that same ink, in the margin of the page, at the end of the line containing the circled text are written by hand the words My Dad.”

Murmurs filled the courtroom. “That’s hearsay,” whispered Donald. “Denny isn’t present so can’t be questioned as to exactly what he meant.”

“Noah Godot,” whispered Ian, “believed it was wrong to exclude evidence against a criminal just because the witness was unable or unwilling to testify in court.”

“He would. I’m really beginning to dislike that man.”

“Anyway, what Denny wrote is true, is it not?”

“Well, yes, but . . .” Donald looked around the room in exasperation. The prosecution called an expert to testify that the marginal note in the textbook matched samples of Dennis Broome’s handwriting. The man produced a seemingly endless series of enlarged images comparing letters, one to another. 

“What is Nomik doing?”

Ian stood to get a better look. “He has his cards out. He appears to be playing some sort of solitaire.”

“I can’t blame him.”

From high above, the green-robed justice called in a voice that echoed off the walls. “Does the defense rise to some purpose?”

“Ah,” said Ian. “Yes. Purpose. Well, we were thinking this evidence is hearsay.”

“But our handwriting expert is present,” said the Chief Prosecutor. “And anyway, our Founders wisely allow hearsay in the Courts of Heaven.”

“Yes, we know that. But without having Denny Broome available to testify, it would be difficult to ascertain exactly what he meant when he wrote My Dad.”

“I should imagine that he meant his father.” This remark by the blue-robed justice drew laughter which was quickly suppressed with a tap of the red judge’s gavel.

“The defense makes a fair point, Your Honor,” said the prosecutor. “It is for this very reason that we will hear our next witness. The prosecution calls Nomik Motchk.”

“That explains the white robe,” whispered Donald.

As Ian sat, he nudged Donald in the ribs. “This is going to be good.”

Donald winced away from the nudge. “What’s good about having one of the only people on this planet who doesn’t hate me testifying for the prosecution?”

“There is a reason I take my best apprentices to Nomik Motchk. Your son, like Cory Lariston before him, reached an age when he was too smart for me. Nobody is too smart for Nomik.”

“You mean . . . what?”

“I mean, Nomik is about to play this prosecutor fellow like a cheap fiddle. Sit back, Donald, and enjoy the show.”

“You mispronounced my name.”

“I’m terribly sorry. Perhaps you’d like to enter the correct pronunciation into the record.” The prosecutor indicated his microphone to remind the witness that each seat had its own mic. Since they were not amplifying sound, Nomik understood this must be for recording. Lights in front of him and the prosecutor indicated both their mics were on.

Nomik Motchk stated his name, softening vowels and tightening the consonant cluster to a single sound.

“Not sure I could pronounce that,” said the prosecutor.

“Understandable,” said Nomik. “It is an old Caucasian name that would not come easily to a tongue unfamiliar with the languages of the region.”

“Ho ho.” Ian nudged. “Did you catch what he did there?”

“Yes,” said Donald. “Could you please stop poking me? My ribs are tender.”

Ian looked concerned. “Did they beat you again?”

Donald observed the light on Ian’s microphone. It was off, but could it be trusted? Donald opted not to answer. He realized he was less concerned with what the judges heard than with what his guards were thinking.

The prosecutor asked, “Mr. Motchk, please tell us how you first became acquainted with the defendant, Detective Donald Broome.”

Ian jumped up. “Objection, your honors. The prosecution is putting words into the mouth of the witness.” Donald noticed the light by Ian’s microphone had come on as he spoke. How was that being controlled?

The prosecutor looked puzzled. “What words?”

“Nothing has been introduced into evidence to suggest that Donald Broome is, or ever was, a detective.”

“Oh, good point,” said the prosecutor. “Allow me to rephrase the question. Mr. Motchk, how did you first become acquainted with Donald Broome?”

Ian nodded his satisfaction at the new wording.

“My first contact with Detective Donald Broome,” said Nomik, “came when he called me on the telephone in his role as a police detective.”

Ian was no longer nodding.

“He was investigating the death of my apprentice, Cory Lariston.”

“Our apprentice,” said Ian.

“Now who’s putting words into the witness’s mouth?” asked the prosecutor.

“Oh. Sorry.” Ian sat again.

“Ian is absolutely correct,” said Nomik. “Cory was our apprentice, first Ian’s and then, at the time of Cory’s death, my own. But I am sure Ian still felt a strong connection.”

“I certainly did.”

“I remind the defense counsel,” said the red judge, “that he is not the witness at this time.”

“Sorry again, your honor.” The light by Ian’s microphone flickered and went off.

The prosecutor nodded his gratitude up to the red-robed justice. “What questions did Detective Broome ask you, Mr. Motchk?”

“He asked about my relationship with Cory and what I knew about the spell that killed him. He wanted to know if it were possible that Cory’s death had been an accident.”

“Was that possible?”

“I doubted it. Cory was too skilled to make such a mistake. Detective Broome asked who could have killed Cory intentionally. I told him it had to be one of three people: Dr. Hilsat, Ruby, or myself.”

“Would that be Ruby, Our Beloved Mother of Heaven?”

“Yes, that Ruby.”

“And Dr. Hilsat would be the famous co-inventor of magical teleportation?”

“Mathematician, wizard, inventor. Yes, Dr. Will Hilsat”

“Why those three people?”

“Cory Lariston was killed by a spell only we could cast, or so I said. Detective Broome suggested suicide, and I had to admit that was a possibility. Four suspects.”

“Cory could have cast the spell that killed him?”

“He had that skill. I taught it to him.” Nomik’s voice was tinged with regret.

“Do you believe Cory Lariston was responsible for his own death?”

Nomik’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I do.”

“Could you repeat that, please, so our judges can hear.”

Nomik cleared his throat and firmly stated, “I do believe that Cory Lariston initiated the circumstances leading to his own demise.”

Ian squirmed in his seat.

“Did you have further conversations with Police Detective Donald Broome?” The prosecutor put emphasis on the detective’s title.

“I did.”

“About the Lariston case?”

“Yes.”

“What was the content of those conversations?”

“I gave Detective Broome information about the spell that killed Cory. I guided him to witches, including Ruby, and wizards who could tell him more.”

“What did he find out?”

“He learned that Cory was an extremely powerful wizard, probably the most powerful who ever lived.”

“More powerful than the great wizards of old?”

“Knowledge accumulates and power with it. Just as legendary armies of ancient days would be no match for a well-outfitted modern division, so an ancient wizard brought suddenly forward into our times would find himself overmastered on all sides.”

“Magic has made that much progress?”

“As has any science.”

“I see. What else did Detective Broome learn from you and the people to whom you directed him?”

 “He learned that Cory possessed a spell capable of tremendous damage to the human race. And he learned that Cory Lariston had become almost entirely insane.”

“Are you saying that Lariston was dangerous?”

“By himself, he was a greater threat to Earth than all the Catholics are to Heaven.”

“Mr. Motchk,” said the prosecutor, loudly enough to quell the murmurs that were running through the courtroom, “how did you learn of the death of Ruby?”

Nomik closed his eyes and took a deep breath, seemingly taking a moment to collect himself. “Like most of the population of the Earth, I heard it initially through the news media.”

“We on Heaven were cut off from that earthly media. Enlighten us. What did they report?”

“That Detective Donald Broome had killed Ruby in the line of duty.”

“There you go,” said Ian to Donald.

“What did they mean by ‘in the line of duty?’” asked the prosecutor.

“The claim was that she was in the process of casting a deadly spell against a wizard.”

“Was that usual for the police to interfere in a—I believe they are called—a magical duel?”

“Such interference had never happened before. To my knowledge, it has not happened since.”

“What brought about this unprecedented action?”

“We were told that Ruby was suspected of killing Cory Lariston and was threatening to kill Ian Urquhart.”

“The very dangerous Cory Lariston. And are we speaking of the same Ian Urquhart who is counsel for the defense?”

“We are.” This brought another murmur in the court.

“What was the relationship between Detective Broome and the wizard Ian Urquhart?”

“Ian was the mentor of Detective Broome’s son Denny.”

“So, would Urquhart also be a friend of the family?”

“At that time, the mentoring relationship had not been formally established. Ian was primarily a friend.”

“And Detective Broome interfered in a magician’s duel on the side of his friend.”

“No,” said Nomik. “It was not like that at all. The media accounts were scanty, but some months ago I had the opportunity for a long conversation with Detective Broome in which he revealed to me the full details of the tragedy.”

The prosecutor raised an eyebrow so dramatically that Ian and Donald could easily see his doubt. “Only months ago he recounted the entire story of an event from the previous decade. That seems a rather happy coincidence for our trial.”

“No coincidence. Our presence on Heaven today and Donald’s telling me the story then both grew out of Ian’s decision to ask me to take on Denny as my apprentice.”

“I’m not sure I understand that decision. Cory Lariston’s apprenticeship ended in his madness and death. Why would Urquhart bring you another apprentice after that?”

“You would have to ask Ian. Or is that allowed, what with him being the defense counsel?”

“On Heaven, prosecutors face no restrictions in their pursuit of truth.”

“How very wise.” Nomik’s voice, as far as Donald could tell, held no hint of irony, and Donald was trying hard to find a hint. “In that case, with the prosecution given such broad discretion, would torture of the defendant be precluded?”

“Of course not,” said the prosecutor. “We wouldn’t have a criminal go free simply because his jailers became overzealous.” Donald gingerly fingered his aching ribs. “What did Detective Broome tell you about Ruby’s death in that long conversation you mentioned?”

Nomik looked down at Donald in the pit, the first time he had done so. The wizard’s expression communicated nothing. He seemed only to be drawing up memories. “The Detective related telephone calls he had received from Will Hilsat and from Sapphire, who was Ruby’s key assistant.”

“Everyone on Heaven knows of Sapphire. She met with all the colonists before they came here.”

“I am sure she did,” said Nomik. “With Ruby nearby. They were a most efficient team.”

“What did Sapphire and Dr. Hilsat say in these calls?”

“As Donald related it to me, each made rather vague suggestions that Ruby might have murdered Cory, although they refused to accuse her directly.”

“Did Detective Broome have any proof of these vicious slurs against Our Beloved Mother of Heaven?”

“To my knowledge, none at all.”

Ian looked to Donald for confirmation or dispute, but Donald’s eyes were fixed on Nomik Motchk.

“Did you personally ever hear proof of this slander?”

“Never. I did not need to.”

“But of course. You have already told us that you believe Cory Lariston committed suicide.”

“I said Cory was responsible for his own death. There is no doubt in my mind that Ruby killed him.” This statement produced much more than a murmur. It took some time to gavel the courtroom back into order. Ian was grinning broadly through the din, but Donald only stared at Nomik.

“Mr. Motchk, I cannot imagine you understand how such an accusation against Ruby sounds to a citizen of Heaven.”

“Accusation? Cory Lariston was insane, yet not entirely so. A part of his mind knew what was happening to him, and the danger he posed to the human race. He also knew that only a witch of Ruby’s skills had any hope of stopping him. Cory used her as his weapon. He called her to him and placed her in such a position that she would have but one chance. When Ruby killed Cory, she saved us all. Heaven is not the only planet whose population owes its existence to Ruby. So does Earth.” This speech, rather dramatically delivered in Ian’s view, drew first a silence and then wild cheers from the courtroom. The judges took their time suppressing the outburst.

“So, Ruby was the hero of the human race, but Detective Broome did not know that?”

“He knew.” Nomik finally returned Donald’s stare, his tone unmistakably accusatory. “When he pulled that trigger and blew my business partner’s brains out, he knew exactly who he was executing.” Ian winced, but Donald was a stone.

“I don’t understand,” said the prosecutor. “Why would any man do such a thing?”

“As Detective Broome related it to me,” said Nomik, “he did it to save the life of his son.”

“But the story he supposedly heard was that Ruby was a threat to Ian Urquhart. How was Denny Broome involved?”

“At the key moment, Denny was leaning on Ian’s knees. The spell that Donald thought Ruby would cast could kill Denny along with his mentor. Donald told me he saw Ruby already casting and knew he had only a moment to save his son. He had a choice: either shoot Ruby or shoot Ian.”

The prosecutor was shocked. “Why shoot Ian?”

“If Ian were dead, Ruby would have no reason to attack.”

“But if Detective Broome shot at Ian, wasn’t there a danger he might hit his son instead.”

“Donald was the best shot on the police force. He was indoors where no wind would interfere. He knew he could hit Ian without posing any danger to Denny.”

The prosecutor nodded. “A difficult decision. Ian was his innocent friend, yet he did know that Ruby’s seeming crime had saved the entire human race.”

“He knew more than that. He had learned that very day of an accusation against Ian.” Nomik pointed down into the pit. “Denny’s mentor was wanted in Scotland on charges of commission of a triple homicide.”

This revelation created an uproar in the court, over which Ian could be heard shouting, “I was exonerated.”

“Very true,” said Nomik. “Ian was found innocent. The real murderer was Cory Lariston, or so the court decided, but Detective Broome would not know that until weeks later.”

“Are you telling us . . . ,” began the prosecutor, but he had to wait until conversations in the courtroom were gaveled into silence. “Are you saying Detective Broome, motivated by the desire to protect his son, had to choose between killing the woman who had saved the human race or the man wanted for three murders, and he chose to kill the woman?”

Nomik paused to think. “Funny thing,” he finally said, “Ruby had actually helped to save the human race twice before.”

“Did Detective Broome know of these noble actions?”

“Yes. I and others had told him. Despite this, he chose to kill her rather than a wanted murderer.”

Everyone in the court now looked at Donald Broome, contemplating the monster. Perhaps they expected him to rise and twist in a frenzy of guilt, shouting his confession, but he only stared at the witness who had condemned him.

By now, the three triangles of light that had spent the day arcing down the walls of the courtroom and back up again had begun to fade. “Are we through yet with this witness?” asked the green justice.

The prosecutor turned, but Nomik beckoned him to wait. White-robed attorney and witness held a whispered conversation. At last, the prosecutor looked up to the judge and said, “No, your honor. And considering the time, we suggest the court adjourn for the day. Mr. Motchk has much more to say.”

“Very well. We will reconvene at nine tomorrow morning. Court adjourned.”

Before he left the courtroom, Nomik paused to sweep up playing cards he had laid out on the table. He did not again look down into the pit.

“What is the matter with me?” asked Ian. “I trusted that man with Cory, and Cory died insane. I trusted him with Denny, and now Denny has wisely fled. God help us, I trusted him with you, Donald. I keep making the same mistake.”

“Maybe he lied to you about not being able to control men’s minds.”

Ian shook his head. “We wizards and witches learn in youth how to protect ourselves from such magic. My only excuse is my own stupidity.”

“I was just as stupid, and I’ll pay for it with my life. Ian, remember, if you ever get back to Earth, tell my family I was thinking of them every moment.”

“Do not talk like that. Nomik is not the only wizard on this planet. I will get you out of this.” At Ian’s words, guards seized Donald and lifted him nearly off the ground despite his heavy chains. Rough handling exacerbated injuries. He groaned as they hurried him from the courtroom. Ian called after them. “Courage, Donald. This card game is not over yet.”

By the time Ian reached the spaceport, only the blue sun remained above the horizon, casting long shadows. The color suggested cold, but the blue sun was the hottest and had kept the evening warm. Ian found this paradox added to his growing dissatisfaction with Heaven.

When the travelers had arrived, their attention had been toward the city and its surrounding landscape. Now that Ian took a good look at Heaven’s spaceport, he realized how limited it was compared to Earth’s facility at Beowawe. Only three vehicles were visible. The largest by far was the vast squat teleportation container, a structure that had brought the final colonists from Earth decades ago but which had never really moved. Ian had been told of the way magical teleportation reorganized the universe without motion. He never understood it. He thought a sphere would be the natural shape to teleport, but, for technical reasons, the engineers preferred rectangular boxes.

The remaining vehicles were two rockets. One was the Caius in which Rayyan was now held prisoner. The other, well, what was that?

“The Triumph brung Noah Godot to Heaven,” said the spaceport’s caretaker. “Ruby did the teleport her own self and once stood on this very spot. She give us the ship so we could make a commemorative of it.”

“How generous of her.”

“Well, they ain’t all that expensive. These pop-and-drops only have to land, so the engines are pretty small compared to the monsters men once used to reach Earth’s Moon.”

“Are you saying the Triumph cannot take off?”

The caretaker shook his head. “Never could of, and today, it’s gutted to make room for museum displays. Same as what we’re doing with the ship you come in.”

Ian turned and looked up at the vessel that had brought him to Heaven. “Do you mean they will disassemble the Caius?”

“Well underway. Started days ago. Hope to use the parts in a smaller missile to carry a warhead someday.”

“The disassembly must be disturbing for Rayyan.”

The caretaker looked down at the ground. “Your pilot ain’t here no more.”

“Where is he?”

“They took him.”

“Who?”

“The Chief Administrator’s bully boys. Same crew what used to round up atheists and Jews. We had a few white Muslims, too, back then, though most Sons of the Prophet ended up on the darker Heaven.”

“Where did they take Rayyan?”

“His grave, I should imagine. Those boys don’t lead folks nowhere else.”

At a loss for words, Ian kicked at the pavement.

“Don’t take it so hard. Your Islamic type would never fit in here. This Heaven ain’t meant for such as him.”

“You seem like a decent man. How can you say a thing that is so hateful?”

The caretaker shook his head. “Ain’t no hatred in it. We don’t hate Muslims, or Jews, or even atheists. But once you have a planet cleaned of such folk, you have to protect yourself against their wicked ways. It’s only their ideas we hate. Love the sinner, hate the sin.”

Ian needed nature. He sent his taxi home empty. As he walked back to town, he decided that even if nobody on Heaven would admit to hating here, it was a hateful place. Ian hated it.

For one thing, as he confirmed on his walk, Heaven had no native animals. The climate was so conducive to life, and that life so young on this world, that nothing had evolved a brain in order to compete. Even the insects were more a kind of flying plant. Passing through a cloud of them was like being in a leafy breeze. They neither bit nor stung. Perhaps a magical botanist could make use of such creatures, build them into a smothering swarm, but Ian’s animal magic had no effect on them. On Heaven, he may as well not be a wizard.

Although, he knew, he still had running spells. He could get away. Go into the hills to join the Irish Catholics. But that would be no help to Donald. And would Catholic bigots be any better company? With no spaceship and no pilot, how could Donald and Ian escape this world? “If you ever get back to Earth,” Donald had said. For Ian, that if was just now sinking in.

The sky was dim and Ian tired when he got back to the hotel. He took dinner in his room, not wanting to face the disapproving stares he would undoubtedly draw in a restaurant. After eating, Ian stepped onto the balcony. Far below him, someone was splashing in the pool. Was that Nomik, relaxing after a day's foul work? Ian turned back to his room in disgust. He turned on the television. The evening news included scenes from the trial. Apparently, the Chief Administrator felt things had gone so well that he could release the video even before the inevitable guilty verdict.

There must have been a camera mounted near the dome. Some of the footage was shot almost straight down. Ian saw the cards Nomik had laid out before him. It was no ordinary solitaire Nomik was playing. Three sets of cards were fanned face down, and a fourth, the dummy, laid out in columns by suit. Throughout the morning testimony, Nomik had been playing bridge, needing neither partner nor adversaries. I wonder, thought Ian, does he imagine he can forget what is in each hand long enough not to cheat?

Other camera angles showed the end of Nomik’s testimony: key remarks and their disturbing effects on the court. Ian got to watch himself become visibly more dour as he had realized how Donald had been betrayed. Then a justice asked if the testimony were over. Nomik and the prosecutor held their whispered conversation. In the courtroom, it had been inaudible, but their recording mics were on. The television audience got to listen in.

“Not yet,” said Nomik.

“I really think you’ve done enough. You’ve put Broome’s neck on the block for sure.”

“Broome, yes. Tomorrow I can do the same for Ian Urquhart, but I need time to prepare.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“The Chief Administrator believes it is.”

“Oh, very well, then.”

The television news cut back to the anchor desk. The attractive blonde reporter spoke. “A terrible day for the alleged murderer of Our Beloved Mother of Heaven, and it looks like tomorrow will be just as bad for his attorney, a man once accused on Earth of triple homicide.”

The previous day’s comments about overzealous jailers had proven inspirational. Donald waited in the defendant’s pit, nursing fresh bruises but not so obviously as to satisfy his captors. The courtroom was dimmer today. Despite sore muscles, it was easier to look up. He overheard guards discussing the approaching rainy season. One spoke of how the children liked this time of year when heavier clouds produced blobs of colored sunslight that chased each other merrily across the landscape. Another said his kids were crazy about those. It was odd for Donald to hear these brutes speak as loving fathers.

When the council for the defense entered, Ian’s woebegone expression was almost enough to make Donald smile. “Cheer up, Ian. None of this is your fault. We’re leaves blowing in a storm.”

As Ian sat, he leaned close. “This storm has taken its first victim. Rayyan is dead.”

Donald blanched. For a moment, he was speechless, looking to Ian for words that did not come. At last, he asked, “You saw the body?”

“No body left to see. Already buried, I believe.”

“Of course, they’d kill the Muslim first. No trial needed, and it shows respect for my religion.” Beyond Ian’s shoulder, Donald saw a guard nodding agreement.

Donald leaned back and looked up. He could see so much better today. The judges’ benches were smaller than he had thought, three pulpits in corners high above the prosecution level. “Yesterday, the judicial panel came in before the prosecution.”

“They will again today,” said Ian. “A sign of the court’s respect.”

“But not before us. No respect for the defense?”

“That is not Heaven’s tradition.”

Above the benches, Donald saw the glass dome with clouds beyond blocking sunslight but still tinged with merry colors. “Even an overcast day here looks like a party.”

“An effect that is wearing on me,” said Ian.

The glass dome curved in interesting ways to be a triangle at the bottom but a circle at the top. “Is there some symbolism in the three-sided courtroom? I mean beyond the planet having three suns?”

“It is all about the Holy Trinity.” Ian’s voice was weary. “These people like everything in threes. That is why the idea of adding a statue of Denny in their courtyard holds such appeal for them. Maybe that is why they plan to execute me after Rayyan and you.”

“Execute you? What makes you think that?”

“It was on the news last night.”

“But why?”

“For being your attorney, I suppose.”

“That’s no reason.”

“More reason than they had for poor Rayyan. Today, Nomik intends to testify against me.”

“Do you suppose he was involved in getting rid of our pilot? They are trying to keep us here no matter what.”

“The lack of a pilot would not matter. The spaceship never could take off and is being disassembled as we speak.”

Donald realized to what extent the existence of the rocket had stood in his mind as a final hope, if not for an escape to Earth then at least to the southern continent. Despairing gloom settled in his heart. The thought he did not express, perhaps not even to himself, was that his doom was deserved. But not Rayyan’s. Not Ian’s.

Above them, judges arrived. As the green- and red-robed men looked down, Ian nodded back with more respect than he felt. The blue-robed justice did not look. White-robed prosecutors entered with Nomik. Many of yesterday’s witnesses had not returned. Their work was done.

As Nomik sat, he began dealing cards onto the table in front of him. He said something to a prosecutor. Both men laughed. Beyond them, Ian saw the judges, the dome, and the sky. He longed to see a solidly white cloud. Perhaps he never would again.

“The prosecution will please resume,” declared the red-robed judge.

“Your honors, we beg the indulgence of the court. We will depart somewhat from usual procedure.”

“With what purpose?”

“The pursuit of truth and justice.”

Three judges nodded in unison. “Proceed.”

“Nomik Motchk, while continuing his testimony, will also join our prosecuting team.”

“Not sure what you mean,” said the green judge. “Why?”

“Mr. Motchk wishes to be recognized as a prosecutor so that during his testimony he may call witnesses of his own.”

“What the hell?” asked Ian out loud. This brought a shocked rumble through the courtroom.

“I remind the attorney for the defense,” said the red justice, “that this is a civilized court in which propriety is expected. Its opposite will not be tolerated.”

“What?”

“Watch your language.”

Ian gathered what little tolerance he could find remaining within himself. “Sorry, your honors. I was taken by surprise. I find it difficult to imagine how Nomik Motchk can be a prosecutor and at the same time serve as ex officio member of the team sitting in judgment on this trial. That must lead to a conflict of interest.”

“Justice is our shared interest,” said the blue judge.

“Yet Ian has a point,” said Nomik. “It is for this very reason I will forego my right as an ACT director to sit with the judicial team. I have complete confidence that you three gentlemen can reach a fair conclusion without my interference. It is far more important I join the prosecution, a position from which I can bring to this court extremely valuable evidence dealing with the death of Ruby at the hands of Donald Broome.”

“What manner of evidence?” asked the green judge.

“Yesterday, we made it clear that Broome’s explanations for the shooting, both official and unofficial, make no sense. To execute a suspect before her arrest or trial is hardly action in the line of duty. A father seeking to protect his son had a choice between shooting the woman who saved the human race three times or shooting a man living practically in the bosom of the Broome family while hiding the fact that he was a fugitive from justice suspected of triple homicide. The detective’s lack of explanation for why he killed that woman exposed the great puzzle of this case. We have means and opportunity aplenty. We lack a credible motive.”

“That could benefit us, could it not?” Ian asked Donald. “Prosecutors need to prove a motive.”

“I wish him luck. I have no idea why I did it.”

Nomik should not have been able to hear their whispers in the pit, but he chuckled and then stood, raising his voice so it rang from the courtroom’s triangle of walls. “It is my intention today to demonstrate the death of Ruby was nothing less than a political assassination, a plot founded in a vile conspiracy of religious bigotry with interstellar scope.”

“He cannot be serious,” said Ian.

“And for that purpose . . .” Here Nomik had to wait while the red judge gaveled down rising courtroom murmurs. “For that purpose, I must ask the court’s particularly wise indulgence while I call upon the testimony of Rayyan Abd Al-Rashid.”

This brought gasps from almost everyone, including the attorney for the defense. “Perhaps I was wrong. Unless the dead are allowed to testify, this is good news.”

“The dead could speak where hearsay is allowed,” said Donald, “but we can hope.”

“I will not ask the witnesses for the prosecution to share floor space with a Muslim.” Nomik signaled. A door below was opened. Guards brought in Rayyan. “The false believer will be questioned in the pit of the accused.”

“Most appropriate,” said the blue judge.

“I will join him there.”

“Must you lower yourself, Director? I am sure he can hear you from where you are.”

“I must, your honor. This testimony involves a physical demonstration of guilt which I will personally coordinate.”

Rayyan was led to the center of the pit, directly in front of the table where Donald and Ian sat. The pilot had a fresh scar on his cheek. Donald sighed in empathy. After him came four men carrying a large rolled carpet. They placed it on the ground.

Nomik descended a stairway to the level of the defense. At his painstaking direction, the carpet was unrolled. He tugged its corners into position with great care. “Rayyan, do you recognize this object?”

“What? The rug?”

“Do you recognize what kind of rug this is?”

“No idea. I’m not much on textiles.”

“The pattern.” Nomik walked around the carpet, keeping his voice loud enough to be heard by the judges high above. “How would you describe it?”

Rayyan examined the rug. “A square of squares. Black trimmed in gold. Three by three. They look to be about a meter on edge, so nine square meters total, more or less. Are we playing tic-tac-toe?”

“And the asymmetric element?” Nomik bent low to brush his fingertips over the design of interest.

“One of the edge squares has a white circle in it, with points inside, sort of like a compass. Both X and O.”

“Exactly like a compass. The pointer at the leading edge is green. Does that not suggest the carpet’s purpose?”

“To cover the floor?”

“Notice the marks on that floor. I had them taped there last night to assure the carpet’s correct orientation at this exact hour.”

Rayyan looked at the marks which squared the carpet’s corners. A straight strip extended from the green lozenge. He shook his head to indicate a lack of comprehension.

The red judge said, “For the sake of the record, the witness will respond aloud.”

“I have no idea what he’s getting at,” said Rayyan.

“I consulted an astronomer,” said Nomik. “The green pointer indicates the direction toward the Earth. What does that suggest to you, Rayyan Abd Al-Rashid?”

Rayyan shook his head again. “Nothing.”

Nomik looked up. “Your honors, what are we to make of a Muslim man who fails to understand the purpose of a rug oriented toward Mecca?”

“Oh, I get it,” said Rayyan. “It’s a sort of prayer rug.”

“A sort of Muslim prayer rug.” Nomik’s tone was mocking. The men who had brought the rug stepped away as though fearing contamination. So did the guards. “Now you recognize the object. I suppose this court can understand your reluctance to acknowledge a tool of your particular faith.”

“I didn’t see what you were getting at. It doesn’t look like any prayer rug I’ve ever seen.”

“But you do know how such a rug is used?”

“I do.”

“Please, demonstrate.” This request produced expressions of shock throughout the courtroom. “I beg your honors indulgence,” said Nomik. “Reluctance to see this sort of thing within Heaven’s court is understandable, but in the interest of bringing forth the truth of the conspiracy that took the life of Our Beloved Mother of Heaven, I assure your honors it is necessary. The Chief Administrator has approved this line of questioning.”

“Although this is a most distasteful proposition,” said the green justice, “if the Chief Administrator approves, proceed.”

“Rayyan Abd Al-Rashid, kneel upon that rug.”

Rayyan stood unmoving. Ian slowly shook his head. Donald clenched chained fists beneath the defense’s table. Nomik signaled to the guards. They lifted Rayyan onto the middle of the rug and forced him to his knees. He glared up at Nomik.

“You tap your head against the ground, do you not?” Rayyan did not respond. At Nomik’s signal, guards held back Rayyan’s arms and forced his forehead against the carpet. “Go ahead. Deep breath so we can hear you. Pray for us.”

Rayyan breathed deeply but spoke no word.

Nomik stepped onto the carpet. “Nice rug. Thick and soft. I had it made especially for you. The local weavers do good work.” Nomik waved the guards away. They withdrew again from the zone of threatened Islamic prayer with visible relief. Nomik stepped over Rayyan’s back, straddling him. He raised one foot and kicked Rayyan’s flank with his heel, like a rider spurring on a horse. “Pray, boy.”

Rayyan only continued to breathe deeply, as though in a state of rage.

“Perhaps you need a call to prayer.” Nomik threw back his head and sang toward the ceiling in imitation of a muezzin on a minaret. “Allah, Allah outs in free.”

Ian noticed the red judge waited until he had finished guffawing before gaveling down the rest of the courtroom’s laughter.

“Ian, bring your client over here.” Nomik beckoned them to leave the defense table. His voice bordered on the tone of magical command. “I want him to get a good look at this and render his opinion of the proceedings.”

“This is despicable. We will have no part in it.”

“You heard me, Ian. Do not waste the court’s time.”

“Do what you wish. We will not participate.”

“The defense will accede to the prosecution’s request,” said the red justice.

Nomik sat down on Rayyan’s back, like a child riding a parent as a horsey. “Ian, I do declare, you are a dummy.”

Ian stared at Nomik, at Rayyan, and at the square of carpet. “Donald, get up.”

Donald indicated the guards. “I doubt they’ll let us walk out of here.”

“We are not walking out. The justice has said accede, and accede we will. Get up, and do as Nomik tells you.”

“You said this was despicable, and you were right.”

Ian stood. “As your legal counsel, I advise you now to do as the prosecution asks. It is in your best interest to obey the court. Accede!”

Donald did not stand. Ian gestured to the guards. They lifted Donald from his chair. Nomik indicated the spot where the green lozenge met the carpet’s edge, and Donald was forcibly placed there. “Ian, on the other end, behind me. I want both of you to have a view of our Muslim’s antics.” 

Ian stepped onto the rug behind Nomik and Rayyan.

“Donald Broome, you would know a Muslim prayer if you saw one, would you not?”

“Not really. I mean, I’ve seen clips on TV, but I’ve never been inside a mosque.”

“Is that so? Closer, man. I want you to have a good look.” Nomik reached forward and bunched up the front of Donald’s prison uniform in a tight fist. He tugged. Donald was aware of Nomik’s age and always thought of the Mexican wizard as an old man despite his appearance. In fact, Nomik was extremely strong. Donald was yanked forward until he stood over Rayyan’s head. Guards took the opportunity to withdraw a third time. Nomik slapped Rayyan’s shoulder. “Pray your nonsense prayer!”

Rayyan raised his head quickly in response, bringing it up hard into Donald’s crotch. Donald winced in pain. The court erupted in howls of laughter. “Sorry, Donald. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Ian, you get in here, too.” Nomik twisted back, grabbed Ian by the belt, and pulled him close over Rayyan’s rump. “I am sure you know the Prophet’s ways.”

Ian’s awkward crouch above Rayyan’s bottom added to the court’s amusement as he said, “Honestly, we do not see much of this sort of thing in Scotland.”

“None of the gibberish and the gestures? Nor the mumbo-jumbo and the pagan passes of the head and hands? I suppose you would claim to be unable to distinguish the real from an imitation?” With this, Nomik began to call again. He spoke his imitation gibberish and moved his hands through a broad series of mocking gestures.

“Breathe,” said Rayyan.

Donald had emptied his lungs in response to the painful blow from Rayyan’s head. He tried to step back, but Rayyan had dropped to his elbows and gripped Donald’s ankles.

“Breathe.”

Donald doubled over, leaning low above Rayyan’s back. “Nomik, get off the man. He’s having trouble breathing.”

“Not me,” said Rayyan. “You.”

Donald’s view at this point was Rayyan’s back, Nomik’s legs, and the prayer rug, which began to ripple. He felt it give beneath his feet as though it was no longer in contact with the floor. Had this poor imitation of an oriental rug become a flying carpet? For just a moment, it seemed it had.

But the carpet was not flying. It was falling. It hit the water hard. Nomik raised one foot above Rayyan, placed it on the pilot’s back, and kicked him to one side. Rayyan rolled off the rug as Nomik bent backward to push himself and Ian into the water and pull Donald down onto the carpet, which sank beneath the weight of the prisoner in his chains, enfolding him as it did, dragging him into airless darkness.