“I am called Jehamia Cohnahlias.” The boy smiled again. “And that is the only direct information about myself I can offer you, in case you were going to ask me anything further. This city is called Dnark and its inhabitants are called in the outer world The Great Good Ones. You have encountered some of them already, I believe.”

“The glowing shadows?” Hawkmoon asked.

“Is that how you perceive them?”

“Are they sentient?” Hawkmoon queried.

“They are indeed. More than sentient, perhaps.”

“And this city, Dnark,” Hawkmoon said. “It is the legendary City of the Runestaff.”

“It is.”

“Strange that all those legends should place its position not on the continent of Amarehk, but in Asiacommunista, said D’Averc.

“Perhaps it is not a coincidence,” smiled the boy. “It is convenient to have such legends.”

“I understand.”

Jehamia Cohnahlias smiled quietly.

“You have come to see the Runestaff, I gather?”

“Apparently,” said Hawkmoon, unable to feel anger in the presence of the child. “First the Warrior in Jet and Gold told us to come here and then when we demurred we were introduced to his brotherone Orland Fank…”

“Ah, yes,” smiled Jehamia Cohnahlias. “Orland Fank. I have a special affection for that particular servant of the Runestaff. Well, let us go.” He frowned slightly. “Ah, first you will want to refresh yourselves and meet a fellow traveller. One who preceded you here by only a matter of hours.”

“Do we know him?”

“I believe you have had some contact in the past”

The boy seemed almost to float down from his chair. “This way.”

“Who can it be?” murmured D’Averc to Hawkmoon. “Who would we know who would come to Dnark?”

Chapter Seven

A Well-Known Traveller

THEY FOLLOWED JEHEMIA Cohnahlias through the winding, organic corridors of the building. Now they were lighter, for the glowing shadowsthe Great Good Ones as the boy had described themhad vanished. Presumably their task had been to help guide Hawkmoon and D’Averc to the child.

At last they entered a larger hall in which had been set a long table, presumably made of the same substance as the walls, and benches, also of the same stuff. Food had been laid on the tablerelatively simple fare: fish, bread and green vegetables.

But it was the figure at the far end of the hall who attracted their attention, who made their hands go automatically to their swords while their faces assumed expressions of angry astonishment.

It was Hawkmoon who got the words out at last, between clenched teeth.

“Shenegar Trott!”

The fat figure moved heavily towards them, -his plain, silver mask apparently a parody of the features beneath it.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Dorian Hawkmoon and Huillam D’Averc, is it not?”

Hawkmoon turned to the boy. “Do you realise who this creature is?”

“An explorer from Europe,” he said.