"I'd imagine," said Caz, "that if the spoke-and-circle
layout of the city and palace is followed throughout, the
center would be the best place to locate stairways. Third
level, the fellow said."
"I agree," Clothahump replied, "but we do not wish to
find Eejakrat except as a last resort, remember. It is the dead
mind he controls that must remain our primary goal."
"That's simple enough, then," said Mudge cheerfully.
"All we 'ave t' do now is ask where t' find a particularly
well-attended corpse."
"For once, my fuzzy fuzz-brained friend, you are correct.
It will likely be placed close by Eejakrat's chambers. Let us
proceed quickly to the level indicated, but not to him."
They did so. By now they were used to being ignored by
the Plated Folk. Busy palace staff moved silently around
them, intent on their own tasks. The narrow hallways and low
ceilings combined with the slightly acidic odor of the inhabit-
ants made Jon-Tom and Flor feel a little claustrophobic.
They reached the third level and began to follow the
numbers engraved above each sealed portal. Only four cham-
bers from the stairway they'd ascended was a surprise: the
corridor was blocked. Also guarded.
Instead of Ihe lumbering beetle they'd encountered at me
entrance to the palace they found a slim, almost effeminate-
looking insect seated behind a desk. Other armed Plated Folk
stood before the temporary barrier sealing off the hall beyond.
224
THE HOUR Or THE GATS
Unlike their drilling brothers marching single-mindedly out-
side, these guards seemed alert and active. They regarded the
new arrivals with unconcealed interest. There was no suspi-
cion in their unyielding faces, however. Only curiosity.
It was Clothahump who spoke to the individual behind the
desk, and not Caz.
"We have come to make adjustments to the mind," he told
the individual behind the desk, hoping he had gauged the
source correctly and hadn't said anything fatally contradictory.
The fixed-faced officer preened one red eye. He could not
frown but succeeded in conveying an impression of puzzle-
ment nonetheless.
"An adjustment to the mind?"
"To Eejakrat's Materialization."
"Ah, of course, citizen. But what kind of adjustment?" He
peered hard at the encased wizard. "Who are you, to be
entrusted with access to so secret a thing?"
Clothahump was growing worried. The more questions
asked, the more the chance of saying something dangerously
out of sync with the facts.
"We are Eejakrat's own special assistants. How else could
we know of the mind?"
"That is sensible," agreed the officer. "Yet no mention
was made to me of any forthcoming adjustments."
"I have just mentioned it to you."
The officer turned that one over in his mind, got thoroughly
confused, and finally said, "I am sorry for the delay, citizen.
I mean no insult by my questions, but we are under extraor-
dinary orders. Your master's fears are well known."
Clothahump leaned close, spoke confidentially. "An attri-
bute of all who must daily deal with dark forces."
The officer nodded somberly. "I am glad it is you who
must deal with the wizard and not myself." He waved aside
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Alan Dean Foster
the guards blocking the doorway in the portable barrier.
"Stand aside and let them pass."
Caz and Talea were the first through the portal when the
officer suddenly put out an arm and touched Clothahump.
"Surely you can satisfy the curiosity of a fellow citizen.
What kind of 'adjustment* must you make to the mind? We
all understand so little about it and you can sympathize with
my desire to know."
"Of course, of course." Clothahump's mind was working
frantically. How much did the officer actually know? He'd
just confessed his ignorance, but mightn't it be a ploy? Better
to say anything fast than nothing at all. His only real worry
was that the officer might have some sorceral training.
"Please do not repeat this," he finally said, with as much
assurance as he could muster. "It is necessary to apfrangle
the overscan."
"Naturally," said the officer after a pause.
"And we may," the wizard added for good measure,
"additionally have to lower the level of cratastone, just in
case."
"I can understand the necessity for that." The officer
grandly waved them through, enjoying the looks of respect on
the faces of his subordinates while praying this visitor wouldn't
ask him any questions in return.
They proceeded through the portal one by one. Jon-Tom
was last through and hesitated. The officer seemed willing
enough.
"It's still in the same chamber, of course."
"Number Twelve, yes," said the officer blandly.
Clothahump fell back to match stride with Jon-Tom. "That
was clever of you, my boy! I was so preoccupied with trying
to get us in that I'd forgotten how difficult it would be to
sense past Eejakrat's spell guards. Now that is no longer a
226
THE HOUR OF THE GATE
constraint. You cannot teach deviousness," he finished pridefiuly.
"That is instinctive."
"Thank you, sir. I think. What kind of corpse do you think
it is?"
"I cannot imagine. I cannot imagine a dead brain functioning,
either. We shall know soon enough." He was deciphering the
symbols engraved above each circular doorway. The guarded
barrier had long since disappeared around the continuous
curve of the hallway.
"There is number ten... and there eleven," he said excitedly,
pointing to the door on their right.
"Then this must be twelve." Talea stopped before the
closed door.
It was no larger than any of the others they'd passed. The
corridor nearby was deserted. Clothahump stepped forward
and studied the wooden door. There were four tiny circular
insets midway up the left side. He inserted his four insect
arms into them and pushed.
The spring mechanism that controlled the door clicked
home. The wood split apart and inward like two halves of an
apple.
There was no light in the chamber beyond. Even Caz could
see nothing. But Pog saw without eyes.
"Master, it's not very large, but I think dat dere's
someting..." He fluttered near a wall, struck his sparker.
A lamp suddenly burst into light. It revealed a bent and
very aged beetle surrounded by writhing white larval forms;
Startled, it glared back at them and muttered an oath.
"What is it now? I've told Skrritch I'm not to be disturbed
unless... unless..." His words trailed away as he stared
fixedly at Clothahump.
"By the Primordial Arm! A warmlander wizard!" He
turned to a siphon speaker set in the wall nearby. "Guards,
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Alan Dean Poster
guards!" The maggots formed a protective, loathesome semi
circle in front of him.
"Quick now," Caz yelled, "where is it?" They fanned out
into the chamber, hunting for anything that might fit
Clothahump's description.
One insectoid, one mammalian, the two wizards faced each
other in silent summing up. Neither moved, but they were
battling as ferociously as any two warriors armed with sword
and spear.
"We've got to find it fast," Ror was muttering, searching
a corner. "Before..."
But hard feet were already clattering noisily in the corridor
outside. Distant cries of alarm sounded in the chamber. Then
the soldiers were pouring through the doorway, and there was
no more time.
Jon-Tom saw something lying near the back wall that might
have been a long, low corpse. An insect shape stepped up