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trouble was dying down (indeed, it did seem to be), and set to work on his own task of preparing for Por-Paulo’s visit.
    The estate of Thuemorix seemed quite satisfactory, despite its distance from the town—more than twice as far as Aëlorix, for instance. He hired a flyer, contracted for food, equipment, extra servants, entertainment, and all the thousand and two things needful. It was not only that he wanted his efforts to be successful from a career point of view. He sincerely liked Por-Paulo. The elective kingships of M.M. beta were mankilling jobs. Por-Paulo needed the change.
    Thuemorix himself, a middle-aged man with a wry sense of humor, had made the very courteous gesture of sending his family on ahead to Hathis-port, where they had close friends. He stayed behind to offer his assistance to Jon-Joras. “I find that the warmth of affection is often in inverse proportion to the distance between the friends,” he said. “As it is, they’ll give me such a hail-and-fare-well party in Hathis that we’ll never forget it. Between sea-sickness and the fact that we’ll have to spend at least four months with my wife’s aunt in Bachar, I’ll be needing all the pleasant memories I can get.”
    He brought out his best from the strong-rooms and storerooms to furnish the quarters engaged for Por-Paulo and his aides and guests, moving furniture with his own hands to be sure it was arranged right. Jon-Joras had been helping him, and they were looking around them in sweaty contentment, when the signal of a flyer brought them out to the wide park-like lawn where the vessel had put down.
    “What’s up, Roe?” the host called out as they approached. “Don’t tell me—an imprompt?”
    Roedeskant nodded while several Gentleman called greetings. “Yes, your High. Wish you’d come along. A big drag’s been sighted by the river fallows what’s part of the Lie lands, and as its Gentleman’s owed me a drag this two-three years, why, he’s kind enough to have give me the hunt of it. Now, your High will recollect that I owes you a drag. So, if he don’t mind taking it now as an imprompt—?”
    Thuemorix didn’t mind at all. His face lit up. “Just the thing for a send-off,” he said, directing his servants to get his huntgun. “And one for my young guest, too. I don’t think it improper for you to take a chance on a shot,” he said to Jon-Joras, “before your liege arrives, since it’s an imprompt, and hardly counts. Won’t give you a title if you pierce your dragon, you see. We are so particular about the dragons, you see,” he said, his manner suddenly becoming much more serious, “because the dragons used to be so particular about us. Do you know what I mean? The Kar-chee used them like dogs, to hunt us down. That’s why, I suppose, that we never use dogs to hunt anymore. Fact. Only of course they are a bit bigger than dogs, a bit fiercer… and, leaving sarcasm aside, infinitely more intelligent…”
    Jon-Joras said, “I had really known nothing about all this—”
    Thuemorix nodded. “It’s a wonder that there were any of us alive at the end, there, at all… Well.” He relaxed, smiled a bit, and with a wave of his hand invited the outworlder to admire the view below.
    Over the forests, denser and denser as they proceeded upriver, the thick meadows and marshlands, the flyer made its way. The atmosphere was cheerful and relaxed. An impromptu hunt was evidently quite a different thing from a regular one. Many of those aboard were younger sons—some of them surprisingly young, including that son of Aëlorix whom Jon-Joras had seen at target practice. Evidently the archers today were all gentlemen amateurs.
    “Drag’s a monstrous big one, I hears,” said Roedeskant. “The tenant at Lie village sent word down by boat. Don’t know his call, they says.”
    “A wanderer, I suppose. Seems to me that there’ve been rather a few more of those than usual, wouldn’t you say, Roe?”
    A shadow seemed to