They came in darkness to an open land that felt vast, cold, and dry. Stars sparkled with an aggressive fire, unmuted in the clear night sky. Chance knew the terrain well. It was the Great Desert south of the City, a place that boasted some small human presence near the coast and around the scant springs and wells that by some happy geological accident tapped the rich reservoirs of the grasslands on its western border. The rest was waterless, a dead land with neither witness nor impediment to strange happenings.

Chance settled his feet firmly and began.

Light puffs of air trailed chill along the back of his neck. The wind picked up, turning this way and that, flinging up the fine sand to sting his ankles. A small dust devil, gleaming faintly with reflected starlight, coalesced near his right hand. He sent it out with a twitch of a forefinger. More funnels were appearing, each dipping a toe into the smoothly rippling desert and carving a shallow path. They drew more than sand in their wakes; it felt like the tug of a trawling net.

“Fine control,” said the Trickster as the little spinners split and multiplied, chasing all over the landscape in a coordinated flurry.

“Thank you,” Chance replied, his voice distant as he concentrated. “I believe this should be large enough.”

The Trickster stepped back slightly, as if trying to escape from the increasing pull. “Do you need me for this?”

Chance said nothing, quietly choreographed the wind and sand, and waited for the real question. The wind sang and the sand hissed, but the Trickster did not speak until the wind died down and the sand was placed exactly where it should be. Only then did he try again.

“I cannot walk this one with you.”

“I wouldn’t ask it of you,” Chance replied, “but I hoped you might at least remain as an observer. You know me better than anyone. Whatever emerges from this labyrinth, you will know how to deal with it.”

It was a rare occasion to find the Trickster without a smile, whether of glee, bitterness, sarcasm, or mischief, but his face was drained of expression while he contemplated. Eventually he nodded briskly. “I can still be useful. Wait.”

He walked a little farther away from the border of the labyrinth and sat down cross-legged on the bare sand, the gilt-threaded hem of his white wrap glinting in the light as it pressed taut against his legs like a bandage or a strip of winding sheet. Resting his hands on his knees, he bent his head and shut his eyes.

Chance watched closely.