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"He will save us!" she had whispered In the evenings she sang, low-voiced, the songs going around Os they were About the White Hand and the Black Hand of Justice, the Jay and the Princea bookbinder and a knife-thrower against the Piper and his ar men-at-arms But why not?

After all, didn’t that sound like a good story?

Fenoglio picked up Despina as the soldiers escorting the hunting party rode by

Strolling players followed thelers, brownie-ta to miss any fun, even if--

so they said -- he felt ill at the sight of people being blinded and quartered Then caht in the Wayless Wood, with the kennel-boys who ry on the day of the hunt, and finally the hunters, led by the Milksop, a skinny figure on a horse ly as his sister was said to be beautiful, with a pointed nose that seemed too short for his face and a wide, pinched mouth No one knehy the Adderhead had made him, of all men, lord of Ombra Perhaps it had been at the request of his sister, who, after all, had given the Silver Prince his first son But Fenoglio suspected it was more likely that the Adderhead had chosen his puny brother-in-law because he could be sure the Milksop would never rise against hilio scornfully as the Milksop rode by with a supercilious expression on his face Obviously, this story was now filling even leading roles with cheap supporting actors

As expected, the fine ladies and gentle frorooms had tied them like fruit that had just fallen, haifa dozen of the deer he had thought up especially for this world, with reddish-brown coats that were still as dappled as a fawn’s even in old age (not that these anis, wild boars

The woame expressionlessly Many put a telltale hand to their e in doorways for their mothers

And then--then they carried the unicorn past

Damn that Cheeseface!

There were no unicorns in Fenoglio’s world, but Orpheus had written one here just so that the Milksop could kill it Fenoglio quickly put his hand over Despina’s eyes when they carried it by, its white coat pierced and bloodstained Rosenquartz had told hio about the Milksop’s coh, and all Oht that fairy-tale creature from

A unicorn! What stories could have been told about it! But the Milksop wasn’t paying for stories, quite apart from the fact that Orpheus couldn’t have written thelio With my words! He felt fury clenched like a stone in his belly If he only had the money to hire a couple of thieves to steal the book that supplied that parasite ords! His own book! Or if, at least, he could have written a few treasures for hie even that --

he, Fenoglio, formerly court poet to Cosinificent world! Tears of self-pity ca Orpheus past, stabbed and bloodstained like the unicorn Oh yes!