“They were like him, but one was a female, and they did all have the gold streaks in their black hair. They had these streaks to identify themselves to one another. Or identify them to someone else. And there were names, but I couldn’t catch them, I couldn’t catch the name of the city, the city had a name, though, I knew it—but I caught one name, one name and that name was Amel.”

“Well, he’s heard us talking of Amel for years. And now with the Prince and the Court, he’s heard Arion and me speaking of Amel over and over. He’s heard me speaking of Amel from time to time with others who pass through. He can hear keenly. He can hear the conversations we have in the rooms above.”

“No, the name was coming from that time and that place, I’m sure of it, and he didn’t want me to hear it, but he had no control over it. Roland, this Great One, this one who planted the seed that grew into a skyscraper, it was Amel!”

They were moving away. They were leaving him. The door shut, the key turned in the lock. The bolts slid into place. Soft footfalls on the staircase.

“Describe him.”

“Reddish hair, golden. Tall. Finely dressed, dressed as if in my time. Roland, their clothes, their clothes were simple, wool but mostly silk, like the clothes of my time, but it wasn’t my time. It wasn’t any time or place I’ve ever seen. Roland, it could have been long before my time!”

Farther and farther away they moved.

Derek strained to hear them. What have I done!

Rhoshamandes talked excitedly. “This place, I don’t know where it is, but don’t you see, Roland, don’t you understand what this means?”

They lapsed quite abruptly into another language. For a moment the words confused Derek, but he had only to wait, to concentrate before they became clear. He sensed, however, that this was an older and simpler language, a language they’d shared aeons ago. Soon the sense was clear.

“No, what does it mean?” asked Roland. He sounded sullen and cross, Roland. He had not the wit or passion of his friend, Rhoshamandes.

“Good Lord, Roland, if Amel was there in this place with this creature and his friends, don’t you see, he’s not a spirit, not a spirit at all, he’s a ghost!”

“What does that matter? These spirits come from somewhere, don’t they? Maybe they’re all ghosts. What’s the difference between a spirit and a ghost? I’ve never heard of any difference. What does that matter to us?”

“But Roland, if he’s a ghost, if he lived before, if he had a personality and power, why this might change everything!”