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had been other affairs that Linda knew about, both inside the castle and out. Before tonight she had regarded these with a boys-will-be-boys attitude. But now they seemed vaguely threatening.
    That was stupid. How could she possibly feel that way? Gene was just a friend. That's all he was.
    She sighed. Or was he? Let's see; add it all up . Gene was handsome, intelligent, resourceful, trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, cheerful...
    Hey, this guy was Boy Scout of the Year! So why the hell wasn't she head over heels in love with him? What did she want? What was she waiting for?
    Kid, you've got to realize that you're no spring chicken anymore. I mean, the big Three-Oh has come and gone; up ahead, the scary Four-Oh, heading right at you.
    If not now, when?
    Something came into the room. She stared at it before she realized what it was, or rather before realizing that she didn't quite know what kind of creature it was. Her first thought was of a hairless monkey in dungarees, but the head was too large for a monkey's.
    Whatever it was, it was humanlike. A gnome? A dwarf? Something like that.
    And whatever was it doing sweeping up?
    It began its cleanup on the bare part of the stone floor and came toward her.
    “Hello,” she said as pleasantly as possible. She couldn't tell whether it nodded in response or was just bobbing its bald head, which it constantly did when it moved. She rather thought the latter.
    It swept on by her, busy with its straw broom.
    One of the servants? she guessed. Was there a new policy to hire the ... “differently abled"? Well, if so, that was very commendable. She watched it make a quick circuit of the room, marveling at how fast and efficient it—he? she?—was. The longer she watched, the more energy and animation the creature seemed to acquire, until it became a little whirlwind of housecleaning activity. It let go of the broom only to start dusting the shelves with a rag it pulled from its blue bib overalls, carefully lifting every objet d'art to wipe underneath.
    It went through the room in no time, leaving the faint odor of cleanliness behind, a whiff of furniture polish, a hint of lemon oil and wax.
    When it was done it walked briskly out of the room, moving with a curious bouncing gait, head lolling back and forth. She got up, followed it out, and stood at the arched entrance to watch it go galumphing off down the hall.
    “Strangest thing,” she said.
    It turned a corner and was gone.
    “Now, I wonder—"
    She heard tiny footsteps behind her, turned, and was amazed to see the same creature heading toward her, broom tucked under its arm. She cast a confused glance back down the corridor. No, it couldn't possibly be the same creature; but this one was absolutely identical to the first, down to the mincing walk and the checkered cloth hanging out of a back pocket.
    She watched it go past. It moved purposefully, totally dedicated to its mission, which seemed to be to ... clean things.
    At any cost.
     

 

 
     
    Club Sheila
     
    Incarnadine was on his third Kamikaze, watching for an opportunity to get Trent alone. A window of opportunity had not presented itself in some time. At the moment Trent was being lionized by a pride of female guests. His Highness had a way with the ladies.
    Meanwhile, His Majesty was feeling his liquor, despite a small but usually effective sobering spell. His magic didn't seem to work very well here. No matter, there was time. A little, anyway.
    “Your Majesty! How are you tonight?"
    He turned to Cleve Dalton. “Cleve! Fine, and you?"
    “Chipper, my lord, chipper."
    “Getting in any good golf lately?"
    Dalton shook his head sadly. “Thaxton's given it up."
    “Oh, I'd forgot. But surely you could find another partner?"
    “But half the fun was watching his lordship."
    Incarnadine laughed. “Yes, I chanced to see him hacking once. Has quite a temper."
    “The worst. I do get in an occasional round, but it's not the same."
    “Why don't we