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to
sleep as long as he could. He didn’t look to have slept a moment. He had aged
twenty years during the night; his face was bleak and drawn, his stoop more
pronounced. He peered about the room vacantly and smiled and thanked me for
tidying up, but I knew well that he wasn’t seeing any of it.
    He went to the kitchen. I brewed
tea and brought him buttered toast. He stared hopelessly at the toast, but he
drank his tea.
    “Sit down, Reuven,” he said in
his quiet, gentle manner. “I have made a decision.”
    I sat down, hoping to persuade
him to eat. At that moment the doorbell rang, and at the same time there was a
knock on the back door. I gave my master a helpless glance, and with a wry
smile and a shrug, he went to answer the front door while I took care of the
back.
    The army of policemen, having
secured the street, now moved into our house. A woman in a business suit, who
said she was head of Earth Force security, took charge of Saryon and me,
telling us that her people would be searching and securing the premises. She
marched us back into the kitchen, sat us down, and laid out The Plan. A team of
cool-eyed, professional, and thorough people moved in behind her, bringing with
them cool-eyed, professional dogs.
    I could soon hear them upstairs, down in the cellar, and in every room in the
house. Whether or not they found any more green-glowing devices I do not know.
I assume they did, they found everything else, including a half-eaten biscuit from beneath a couch cushion, which one of the men
politely handed over to me. I offered it to his dog, who was, however, far too professional to accept such treats while on the job.
    Seeing that Saryon’s thoughts
were turned inward and that he was not paying the slightest bit of attention to
The Plan, I devoted myself to listening and understanding what it was we were
to do. All the while I wondered what decision he had made.
    “His Majesty King Garald and
General Boris and their aides and entourage will arrive in the same vehicle at
precisely thirteen hundred hours. The Right Honorable Kevon Smythe and his
aides and entourage will travel in a second vehicle and will arrive at
precisely thirteen-thirty. They will all depart at fourteen hundred.”
    Pardon me, ma’am. I started to write my words on a
tablet, which I usually kept with me, but she indicated that she understood
sign language, for which I was grateful. “How many aides and entourage will
there be?”
    I was thinking of our small
living room and wondering where on earth we would put them all. Also if we would be expected to serve tea. If so, I was
going to have to make a run to the store!
    She reassured me. We were not to
worry about a thing. She and her staff would handle all the arrangements. I
could tell, by the sounds of furniture scraping over the floor, that the living
room was being adjusted.
    At this point Saryon, with a
blink and a sigh, rose from the table, and with a slight bow and a vague smile
for the woman— I’m convinced he had no idea who she was or why she was there—he
left, saying something to the effect that he would be in his study and to call
him when it was time.
    The woman frowned, displeased. “He
appears completely insensible to the fact that he is being paid a great honor.
For such eminent and important figures to completely rearrange their schedules,
and travel—some of them—halfway around the world, all to honor this gentleman
on his birthday! . . . Well! It seems to me that he should be exhibiting far
more gratitude.”
    His birthday! I had forgotten, in
all the turmoil, that this date corresponded
approximately to the date he had been born in Thimhallan. I was the one who had
figured it all out (Saryon would have never bothered) and I had, in fact,
planned a small celebration for us that evening. His gift, a new chessboard,
with figures formed of dragons and griffins and other supposedly mythic
animals, was neatly wrapped upstairs in my room. I wondered how anyone else
knew