I hit the brakes and cut hard to the left, slapped his right rear wheel, slid back. He braked too; that was a mistake. The heavy car lost traction, sliding. In slow motion, off-balanced in a skid, it rose on its nose, ploughing up a cloud of dust. The hamper whirled away, the cloak fluttered and was gone, then the pirate car seemed to float for an instant in air, before it dropped, wheels up, out of sight over the sheer cliff. We raced alone down the slope and out onto the wooded plain toward the towers of Bar-Ponderone. A shout went up; Owner Gope leaned forward to pound my back. "By the nine eyes of the Hill Devil!" he bellowed, "masterfully executed! The prince of pipers is a prince of drivers too! This night you'll sit by my side at the ringboard at Bar-Ponderone in the rank of a hundred-lash Chief Driver, I swear it!" * * * * * I spent the first day at Bar-Ponderone rubbernecking the tall buildings and keeping an eye open for Foster, on the off chance that I might pass him on the street. By sunset I was no wiser than before. Dressed in the latest in Vallonian cape and ruffles, I was sitting with my drinking buddy Cagu, Chief Bodyguard to Owner Gope, at a small table on the first terrace at the Palace of Merrymaking, Bar-Ponderone's biggest community feasting hall. It looked like a Hollywood producer's idea of a twenty-first century night club, complete with nine dance floors on five levels, indoor pools, fountains, two thousand tables, musicians, girls, noise, colored lights, plenty of booze, and food fit for an Owner. It was open to all fifty-lash-and-over goodmen of the estate and to guests of equivalent rank. Cagu was a morose-looking old cuss, but good-hearted. His face was cut and scarred from a thousand encounters with other bodyguards and his nose had been broken so often that it was invisible in profile. "Where do you manage to get in all the fights, Cagu?" I asked him. "I've known you for three months, and I haven't seen a blow struck in anger yet." Cagu finished off an oily greenish drink and signalled for another. "Here." He grinned, showing me some broken front teeth. "Swell places, these big Estates, good Drgon; lotsa action." "What do you do, get in street fights?" "Nah. The boys show up down here, tank up, cruise around, you know." "They start fights here in the dining room?" "Sure. Good crowd here; lotsa laughs." * * * * * I picked up my drink, raised it to Cagu--and got it in my lap as somebody jostled my arm. I looked up. A battle-scarred thug stood over me. "Who'sa punk, Cagu?" he said in a hoarse whisper. Cagu took a pull on a fresh drink, put the glass down, stood up, and threw a punch to the other plug-ugly's paunch. He oofed, clinched, eyed me resentfully over Cagu's shoulder. Cagu pushed him away, held him at arm's length.