“I salute thee, Arthur Eld,” she said, and dropped her deepest curtsy. “Please bless these things I’m about to take to my use. And to the use of my chap. Good evening to you.” She could not wish him long days upon the earth, for his days—and those of most of his kind—were gone. Instead she touched her smiling lips with the tips of her fingers and blew him a kiss. Having made her manners, she walked into the dining hall.

It was forty yards wide and seventy yards long, that room. Brilliant electric torches in crystal sheaths lined both sides. Hundreds of chairs stood in place at a vast ironwood table laden with delicacies both hot and cold. There was a white plate with delicate blue webbing, a forspecial plate, in front of each chair. The chairs were empty, the forspecial banquet plates were empty, and the wineglasses were empty, although the wine to fill them stood in golden buckets at intervals along the table, chilled and ready. It was as she had known it would be, as she had seen it in her fondest, clearest imaginings, as she had found it again and again, and would find it as long as she (and the chap) needed it. Wherever she found herself, this castle was near. And if there was a smell of dampness and ancient mud, what of that? If there were scuttering sounds from the shadows under the table—mayhap the sound of rats or even fortnoy weasels—why should she care? Abovetable, all was lush and lighted, fragrant and ripe and ready for taking. Let the shadows belowtable take care of themselves. That was none of her business, no, none of hers.

“Here comes Mia, daughter of none!” she called gaily to the silent room with its hundred aromas of meats and sauces and creams and fruits. “I am hungry and I will be fed! Moreover, I’ll feed my chap! If anyone would say against me, let him step forward! Let me see him very well, and he me!”

No one stepped forward, of course. Those who might once have banqueted here were long gone. Now there was only the deep and sleepy beat of the slo-trans engines (and those faint and unpleasant scampering sounds from the Land of Undertable). Behind her, the gunslinger stood quietly, watching. Nor was it for the first time. He saw no castle but he saw her; he saw her very well.

“Silence gives consent!” she called. She pressed her hand to her belly, which had begun to protrude outward. To curve. Then, with a laugh, she cried: “Aye, so it does! Here comes Mia to the feast! May it serve both her and the chap who grows inside her! May it serve them very well!”