Times Without Number by John Brunner Page A

nature to think of things like that at times when they

might be helpful.

Don Arturo had a reputation for resenting any younger member of the

Society who achieved too notable a success. The allegations were being

borne out by the way he had treated Don Miguel lately. Simply for his

own comfort Don Miguel reasoned, he would be well advised to play up a

bit to Don Arturo.

But he wasn't going to start doing so this evening. Not after Don Arturo's

performance aboard the barge.

"Are you going to sit here all night, Miguel?" Don Felipe said, clapping

his friend on the shoulder. "Have you suddenly conceived a liking for that

badly padded seat?"

Don Miguel sighed and roused himself, giving a rueful glance at his hands.

"Why did I not think to bring leather-palmed gloves instead of my best

white silk pair which the oar would have rubbed to shreds? Ah well,

it's over, and I'm thankful. How long do you imagine it will be before

we can find a drink?"

Companionably arm-in-arm with Felipe he made his way towards the gangplank.

The Prince was ashore by now. The wharf had been carpeted with purple,

and a pathway of the same material led up over the rolling green lawn

towards the main portico of the palace. Either side of the carpet,

huge immobile Guinea-men stood with flaring torches to light the way;

candles in coloured glass balls had been hung like fairy fruit on the

branches of the trees and glowed red, yellow, blue, white among artificial

leaves. Every window of the palace was ablaze with light except for

the upper two floors where the servants and slaves were quartered under

the eaves, and the higher windows of the great central tower where the

Commander's own time apparatus was housed. Don Miguel had a sinking

feeling that before the night was out at least one person would have

been persuaded to take a royal or noble visitor up that tower and show

off the gadgetry, involving the miserable technicians in a day's frantic

work tomorrow re-adiusting the delicate settings.

The strains of a band playing the currently fashionable dance-music

drifted down from the palace. There was at present a fad for the chanted

melodic lines and intense drumming of the Mohawks, and as Prince of

New Castile, of course, the Commander could have the finest American

musicians at call.

Distantly visible through the huge windows flanking the entrance door of

the main hall Don Miguel made out the General Officers of the Society

waiting to greet the King who by now was almost at the threshold. Red

Bear, inevitably, was the most readily identifiable, with his heavy

black braids of hair -- and, also inevitably, one of the officers was

absent. Father Ramón would not be here until later.

Surrounded by a gaggle of courtiers, the two royal brothers and the

Princess Imperial followed the King towards the house. Their faces

eloquent of their suspicion that these high-ranking amateurs might

have done the valuable barges some harm, the Society's watermen were

taking over the pot-bellied craft again to paddle them back to the

boat-houses. Most of the temporary crew had already set off in the wake

of the Princes.

"Move, you two!" Sharper than ever, Don Arturo came bustling across the

wharf waving his wand. "Don't you see the mooring must be cleared? There

on the river is the barge of the Ambassador of the Confederacy --

we dare not keep him waiting!"

Don Miguel might have answered back this time, now the Commander

was out of earshot, but Don Felipe sensibly warned him against it by

closing fingers hard on his upper arm. Together they obeyed Don Arturo's

instructions, while the watermen hastily shoved off to make room for

the next arrivais.

"Come on, Miguel!" Don Felipe urged. "We don't want to get fouled up in

the Ambassador's train, do we?"

"No, we don't -- I'm already fouled up enough." Don Miguel tore his dull

gaze away from the looming, lantern-outlined shape moving with plashing

oars down the river towards