performance, imagined the boss’s possible reaction, and prayed to the indifferent heavens to arrange this meeting for me. When I finally forced my mind to shut up and made myself look down, I
saw that the ground was much closer than it had been before. If Sir Lonli-Lokli wanted to give his longrange shooting experiment another go, he had a very good chance—a hundred percent
chance, rather—to complete it and tuck it under his belt as the crowning glory of his brilliant career.
Then I realized that neither Lonli-Lokli nor the remains of my favorite amobiler were anywhere to be seen. This was a different street. I was just a few blocks away from the Ministry of Perfect
Public Order, and it was in my best interests to be on the ground—the sooner the better.
No sooner had I thought about it than my feet touched the sidewalk. I didn’t even try to understand how I had managed first to defeat gravity and then to join the Greater Pedestrian
Community as though nothing had happened. I dashed to the House by the Bridge. Quite possibly, I beat the sprint record that night, however meaningless it was under the circumstances. Fortunately,
my heart, though indignant at the inexcusable overexertion, hadn’t blown up in my chest, although I have to admit it tried to the best of its ability. My other heart—the mysterious
one—simply ignored the situation, which was either below its dignity, beyond its comprehension, or simply out of its jurisdiction.
When I crossed the finish line on the Street of Copper Pots, I remembered that the boss’s shift had long been over, so I didn’t bother going inside Headquarters and instead sank into
the driver’s seat of one of the company amobilers. Praise be the Magicians, I didn’t have to explain anything to the driver. The fellow had probably gone off to have a cup of kamra in
the company of his colleagues. That was very wise (and timely) of him: I could not possibly have uttered a single comprehensible word at that moment. I’d no doubt have scared him to death if
I tried.
I grabbed the lever and tore along to the Street of Old Coins: Juffin had said that I could find him there tonight. I really hoped I would. I seriously doubted that I could use Silent Speech: it
would have been as difficult as making a phone call under general anesthesia.
I hit the brakes by the door of my old apartment on the Street of Old Coins almost as hard as I had a few minutes before when I had to save my own precious skin. Well, maybe not quite that
hard.
I didn’t have to get out of the amobiler: Juffin was standing in the doorway. I nearly died from relief when I saw him. I was so happy, I was about to demonstrate a mixture of hysterics
and a swoon, but I got a grip on myself just in time.
It’s not over yet, I said to myself. Far from it. If you think about it, it’s just the beginning.
“Someone tried to kill you,” said Juffin. He didn’t ask—he stated it.
I nodded. I still couldn’t speak: I needed a little more time to come to my senses. Praise be the Magicians, I could use the breathing exercises that—oh, the irony—Lonli-Lokli
had taught me.
Juffin watched me very calmly, and I think I even detected a hint of curiosity in his gaze. He noticed the effort I was making to calm down and recover, nodded in approval, and got into the
amobiler beside me.
“Let’s go to the House by the Bridge,” he said. “It’s the best place to solve any problem. Actually, that’s what it was built for.”
I nodded again, and we drove back. Now I was driving at a normal, human speed, maybe even a little slower than usual: Sir Juffin Hully’s presence, along with the breathing exercises, had a
most salutary effect on me.
The boss was lost in thought all the way back. He spoke only when we were already in the hallway leading to our office: “I still don’t understand who was trying to kill
you.”
“Shurf,” I said in a wooden tone. Then again, a wooden tone is better than
saw that the ground was much closer than it had been before. If Sir Lonli-Lokli wanted to give his longrange shooting experiment another go, he had a very good chance—a hundred percent
chance, rather—to complete it and tuck it under his belt as the crowning glory of his brilliant career.
Then I realized that neither Lonli-Lokli nor the remains of my favorite amobiler were anywhere to be seen. This was a different street. I was just a few blocks away from the Ministry of Perfect
Public Order, and it was in my best interests to be on the ground—the sooner the better.
No sooner had I thought about it than my feet touched the sidewalk. I didn’t even try to understand how I had managed first to defeat gravity and then to join the Greater Pedestrian
Community as though nothing had happened. I dashed to the House by the Bridge. Quite possibly, I beat the sprint record that night, however meaningless it was under the circumstances. Fortunately,
my heart, though indignant at the inexcusable overexertion, hadn’t blown up in my chest, although I have to admit it tried to the best of its ability. My other heart—the mysterious
one—simply ignored the situation, which was either below its dignity, beyond its comprehension, or simply out of its jurisdiction.
When I crossed the finish line on the Street of Copper Pots, I remembered that the boss’s shift had long been over, so I didn’t bother going inside Headquarters and instead sank into
the driver’s seat of one of the company amobilers. Praise be the Magicians, I didn’t have to explain anything to the driver. The fellow had probably gone off to have a cup of kamra in
the company of his colleagues. That was very wise (and timely) of him: I could not possibly have uttered a single comprehensible word at that moment. I’d no doubt have scared him to death if
I tried.
I grabbed the lever and tore along to the Street of Old Coins: Juffin had said that I could find him there tonight. I really hoped I would. I seriously doubted that I could use Silent Speech: it
would have been as difficult as making a phone call under general anesthesia.
I hit the brakes by the door of my old apartment on the Street of Old Coins almost as hard as I had a few minutes before when I had to save my own precious skin. Well, maybe not quite that
hard.
I didn’t have to get out of the amobiler: Juffin was standing in the doorway. I nearly died from relief when I saw him. I was so happy, I was about to demonstrate a mixture of hysterics
and a swoon, but I got a grip on myself just in time.
It’s not over yet, I said to myself. Far from it. If you think about it, it’s just the beginning.
“Someone tried to kill you,” said Juffin. He didn’t ask—he stated it.
I nodded. I still couldn’t speak: I needed a little more time to come to my senses. Praise be the Magicians, I could use the breathing exercises that—oh, the irony—Lonli-Lokli
had taught me.
Juffin watched me very calmly, and I think I even detected a hint of curiosity in his gaze. He noticed the effort I was making to calm down and recover, nodded in approval, and got into the
amobiler beside me.
“Let’s go to the House by the Bridge,” he said. “It’s the best place to solve any problem. Actually, that’s what it was built for.”
I nodded again, and we drove back. Now I was driving at a normal, human speed, maybe even a little slower than usual: Sir Juffin Hully’s presence, along with the breathing exercises, had a
most salutary effect on me.
The boss was lost in thought all the way back. He spoke only when we were already in the hallway leading to our office: “I still don’t understand who was trying to kill
you.”
“Shurf,” I said in a wooden tone. Then again, a wooden tone is better than
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