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thousand kilodays wouldn’t be enough, either.”
    Jodor still seemed to be unconcerned. “If this wasn’t stormy Fra’toolar, I’d say you’d been out in the sun too long, Toroca. We know the world is seven thousand kilodays old; therefore, whatever process you’re concerned about could not have taken longer than seven thousand kilodays to occur.”
    Toroca dipped his head. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said. But then he swung around, looking out over the panorama visible from the top of the cliff, before Jodor could see his muzzle turn blue with the liar’s tint.

*8*
    Capital City: The Avenue of Traders
    It was well-known that Emperor Dy-Dybo didn’t care much for parades, but this was Jostark’s Day, in honor of craftspeople. The parade was important to Capital City’s economy, launching the ten-day festival that brought skilled workers from all over the province to trade their wares in the central marketplace.
    The day was sunny, the sky a pristine, cloudless mauve. Four pale moons were visible despite the daylight, two of them on either side of the brilliant sun, crescents bowing away from the tiny white disk. The constant east-west breeze blew harbor air over the city, but the usual background sound of ships’ bells and drums coming up from the docks was gone. All work had suspended so that everyone could attend the parade.
    In addition to all the city folk and the many tourists, there were two unexpected spectators. One was Rodlox, the governor of Edz’toolar province, about the same height as Dybo, but trim and well-muscled. Yes, strictly speaking, his name was now “Dy-Rodlox,” he having recently ascended to the governorship upon the death of his predecessor, Len-Ganloor, but he suffered the use of the praenomen that honored Dybo only on the most formal of occasions. At all other times, he was merely “Rodlox.” He stood, arms folded in front of his chest, leaning back on his tail, waiting. Next to him was his aide, Pod-Oro, about twice Rodlox’s age.
    Governor Rodlox and Pod-Oro would be missed today in Edz’toolar, for a corresponding but much less elaborate parade was being held in that province’s capital to mark Jostark’s Day there. But they had come here, to the Capital, precisely to see the Emperor, chubby Dybo himself, march down the public streets.
    Rodlox and Oro watched from the side of the Avenue of Traders, one of Capital City’s widest thoroughfares, as the procession approached. At the front of the marching group was Lub-Galpook, daughter to Afsan and Novato, who, since the death of Jal-Tetex, had become the new imperial hunt leader. She moved with stealth, as if stalking prey. Behind her, fanned out in a traditional pattern, were nine of the town’s best hunters. As Galpook continued forward, she would periodically hold up her hands in the hunter’s sign language, redeploying her pack. The nine would silently take on new configurations.
    The governor of Edz’toolar paid little attention. His mind was on other matters, weightier matters. He couldn’t stand the name “Dy-Rodlox,” but thought that “Rod-Rodlox” had quite an attractive ring to it…
    And then, at last, Dybo was visible, there, in the distance, at the very end of the parade.
    The Emperor. The mad Emperor who wanted to take them to the stars.
    Dybo was almost exactly the same height as Rodlox, but the Emperor’s girth … Rodlox thought it was like seeing himself stretched wide, reflected in some distorted mirror. Still, that he saw any of Dybo in himself was disturbing. It robbed him of some of his individuality. Did Dybo have the same fears as he did? The same weaknesses? One’s innermost self should be private. But here, waddling toward him, was another iteration, a caricature, a mockery of himself.
    The crowd lining the road was sparse. Even to see the Emperor, Quintaglios would not pack themselves tightly together. The parade would continue for a distance of many kilopaces so that everyone