fingers, and he continued to read aloud from the book in his slow, strong voice. It was a knowledgeable voice, and never stumbled, though its owner was translating an old language to a new one as he read. Still there were hesitations, as if the reader wanted to make very sure of every word before he gave it irrevocable pronunciation. He read:
''And the god Ardneh said to the men and women of the Old World, once only will I stretch forth the power of my hand to save you from the end of your own folly, once only and no more. Once only will I change the world, that the world may not be destroyed by the hellbomb creatures that you in your pride and carelessness have called up out of the depths of matter. And once only will I hold my Change upon the world, and the number of the years of Change will be fortynine thousand, nine hundred, and forty-nine.
''And the men and women of the Old World said to the god Ardneh, we hear thee and agree. And with thy Change let the world no longer be called Old, but New. And we do swear and covenant with thee, that never more shall we kill and rape and rob one another in hope of profit, of revenge, or sport. And never again shall we bomb and level one another's cities, never again… ' '
Here the reader paused, regarding his prisoner sternly. 'Is something bothering you, sirrah? You seem distracted.'
The man inside the cell started visibly. 'I, Sir Andrew? No, not I. Nothing is bothering me. Unless… well, unless, I mean, it is only that a man tends to feel happier when he's outside a cell than when he's in one.' And the prisoner's face, which was an expressive countenance when he wished it to be, brought forth a tentative smile.
Sir Andrew's incipient frown deepened in response. 'If you think you would be happier outside, then pray do not let your attention wander when I am reading to you. Your chance of rejoining that happy, sunlit world beyond yon windows depends directly upon your behavior here. Your willingness to admit past errors, to seek improvement, take instruction, and reform.'
Kaparu said quickly: 'Oh, I admit my errors, sir. I do indeed. And I can take instruction.'
'Fine. Understand that I am never going to set you free, never, as long as I think you are likely to return to your old habits of robbing innocent travelers.'
The prisoner, like a child reprimanded in some strict school, now sat up straight. He became all attention. 'I am trying, Sir Andrew, to behave well.' And he gave another quick glance around his cell, this time as if to make sure that no evidence to the contrary might be showing.
'You are, are you? Then listen carefully.' Sir Andrew cleared his throat, and returned his gaze to the yellowed page before him. As he resumed reading, his frown gradually disappeared, and his right hand rose unconsciously from the book, to emphasize key words with vague and clumsy gestures.
''…and when the full years of the Change had been accomplished, Orcus, the Prince of Demons, had grown to his full strength. And Orcus saw that the god Draffut, the Lord of Beasts and of all human mercy, who sat at the right hand of Ardneh in the councils of the gods, was healing men and women in Ardneh's name, of all manner of evil wounds and sickness. And when Orcus beheld this he was very wroth. And he…''
'Beg pardon, sir?'
'Eh?'
'That word, sir. 'Wroth'. It's not one that I'm especially familiar with.'
'Ah. 'Wroth' simply means angry. Wrathful.' Sir Andrew spoke now in a milder tone than before, milder in fact than the voice in which he generally read. And at the same time his expression grew benign.
Once more he returned to his text. 'Where was I? Yes, here…'In all the Changed world, only Ardneh himself was strong enough to oppose Orcus. Under the banner of Prince Duncan of the Offshore Islands, men and women of good will from around the earth rallied to the cause of good, aiding and supporting Ardneh. And under the banner of the evil Emperor, John Ominor, all men and women who loved evil rallied from all the lands of the earth to…''
'Sir?'
'Yes, what?'
'There's one more thing in there I don't understand, sir. Did you say this John Ominor was an emperor?'
'Hm, hah, yes. Listening now, are you? Yes. The Emperor in those days — we are speaking now, remember, of a time roughly two thousand years in the past, at the end of what is called Ardneh's Change, and when the great battle was fought out between Orcus and Ardneh, and both of them perished — at that time, I say, no man was called emperor unless he was a real power in the world. Perhaps even its greatest power. It might be possible to trace a very interesting connection from that to the figure of mockery and fun, which today…'
'Sir?'
'Yes?'
'If you don't mind, sir. Did you say just a moment ago that Ardneh perished?'
Sir Andrew nodded slowly. 'You are listening. But I don't want to get into all that now. The main thrust of this passage, what you should try to grasp today… but just let me finish reading it. Where was I? Ha. 'In all the Changed world, only Ardneh himself…' and so forth, we had that. Hah. 'In most dreadful combat the two strove together. And Orcus spake to Ardneh, saying…' Ah, drat, why must we be interrupted?'
The prisoner frowned thoughtfully at this, before he realized at just what point the text had been broken off. Sir Andrew had been perturbed by certain new sounds in the middle distance, sounds steadily drawing near. A shuffling of feet, a sequential banging open of doors, announced the approach of other human beings. Presently, at the highest observable turn of the nearby ascending stair, there appeared the bowed legs of an ancient jailer, legs cut off at the knees by a stone arch. The jailer came on down the stairs, until his full figure was in view; in one arm, quivering with age, he held aloft a torch (which surely had been of more use on the dark stair above than it was here) to light the way for the person following him, a woman — no, a lady, thought the prisoner.
She was garbed in Sir Andrew's colors of orange and black, and she brought with her an indefinable but almost palpable sense of the presence of magical power. She must have been a great beauty not long hence, and was attractive still, not less so for the touch of gray in her black hair, the hint of a line or two appearing at certain angles of her face.
As soon as this lady had become fully visible at the top of the stairs, she paused in her tent. 'Sir Andrew,' she called, in a voice as rich and lovely as her visual appearance, 'I would like a little of your time, immediately. A matter of importance has come up.'
Grunting faintly, Sir Andrew rose from his stool, turning as he did so to address the visitor. 'It's really important, Yoldi?' he grumbled. And, a moment later, answered his own question. 'Well, of course, it must be.' He had long ago impressed upon everyone in the castle his dislike of being interrupted when he was at his favorite work of uplifting prisoners.
Sir Andrew went to the stair, and took the torch from the hand of the aged jailer, making a shooing motion at the man to signify that he was dismissed. Then, holding the flame high with one arm, bearing his precious book under the other, the knight escorted his favorite enchantress back up the stairs, to where they might be able to hold a private conference.
Once they had climbed round the first turn, Dame Yoldi glanced meaningfully at the old book. 'Were you obtaining a good result?' she asked.
'Oh, I think perhaps a good beginning. Yes, I know you're convinced that my reading to them does no good. But don't you see, it means they have at least some exposure to goodness in their lives. To the history, if you like, of goodness in the world.'
'I doubt that they appreciate it much.'
There were windows ahead now, tall narrow slits in the outer wall where it curved around a landing, and Sir Andrew doused his torch in a sandbucket kept nearby. Trudging on to where the windows let in light, he shook his head to deny the validity of Dame Yoldi's comment. 'It's really dreadful, you know, listening to their stories. I think many of them are unaware that such a thing as virtue can exist. Take the poor lad who's down there now, he's a good example. He has been telling me how he was raised by demonworshippers.'
'And you believed him?' Good Dame Yoldi sounded vexed, both by the probability that the true answer to her question would be yes, and the near certainty that she was never going to hear it from Sir Andrew.
The knight, stumping on ahead, did not seem to hear her now. He paused when he reached the first narrow window, set where the stair made its first above-ground turn. Through the aperture it was possible to look out past the stone flank of the south guard-tower, and see something of the small permanent village that huddled just in
