Rhialto told Ildefonse: "Gilgad has been quick to accept the dictates of high fashion."

Ildefonse held up his hand. "Listen!"

From the display came Gilgad's thin voice, now raised in anger: ''—grime and grit in profusion; it may have served during my previous half-human condition, but now many things have altered and I see the world, including this sordid kitchen, in a new light. Hence forth, I demand full punctilio! All areas and surfaces must be scoured; extreme neatness will prevail! Further! My metamorphosis will seem peculiar to certain among you, and I suppose that you will crack your little jokes. But I have keen ears and have little jokes of my own! Need I mention Kuniy, who hops about his duties on little soft feet with a mouse-tail trailing behind him, squeaking at the sight of a cat?"

Rhialto touched a scallop to remove the image of Gilgad. "Sad. Gilgad was always something of a dandy and, if you recall, his temper was often uncertain, or even acrid. Ensqualmation evidently fails to ennoble its victim. Ah well, so it goes. Who next?"

"Let us investigate Eshmiel, whose loyalty surely remains staunch."

Rhialto touched a scallop and on the tabouret appeared Eshmiel in the dressing room of his manse Sil Soum. Eshmiel's previous guise had been notable for its stark and absolute chiaroscuro, with the right side of his body white and the left side black. His garments had followed a similar scheme, though their cut was often bizarre or even frivolous².

In squalmation, Eshmiel had not discarded his taste for striking contrast, but now he seemed to be wavering between such themes as blue and purple, yellow and orange, pink and umber: these being the colours adorning the mannequins ranged around the room. As Rhialto and Ildefonse watched, Eshmiel marched back and forth, inspecting first one, then another, but finding nothing suitable to his needs, which caused him an obvious vexation.

Ildefonse sighed heavily. "Eshmiel is clearly gone. Let us grit our teeth and investigate the cases first of Hurtiancz and then Dulce-Lolo."

Magician after magician appeared on the tabouret, and in the end no doubt remained but that ensqualmation had infected all.

Rhialto spoke gloomily: "Not one of the group showed so much as a twitch of distress! All wallowed in the squalming as if it were a boon! Would you and I react in the same way?"

Ildefonse winced and pulled at his blond beard. "It makes the blood to run cold."

"So now we are alone," said Rhialto. "The decisions are ours to make."

"They are not simple," said Ildefonse after reflection. "We have come under attack: do we retaliate? If so: how? Or even: why? The world is moribund."

"But I am not! I am Rhialto, and such treatment offends me!"

Ildefonse nodded thoughtfully. "That is an important point. I, with equal vehemence, am Ildefonse!"

"More, you are Ildefonse the Preceptor! And now you must use your legitimate powers."

Ildefonse inspected Rhialto through blue eyes blandly half-closed. "Agreed! I nominate you to enforce my edicts!"