“I warned her,” he replied, sitting up. “Did I not beg her to go away? But she died very easily. She did not wait for the beauty she spoke about. She heard nothing of the passion, nor even of the rhythm. Neither have you.” Maskull looked down at him in indignation, but said nothing. “You should not have interrupted me,” went on Earthrid. “When I am playing, nothing else is of importance. I might have lost the thread of my ideas. Fortunately, I never forget. I shall start over again.” “If music is to continue, in the presence of the dead, I play next.” The man glanced up quickly. “That can’t be.” “It must be,” said Maskull decisively. “I prefer playing to listening. Another reason is that you will have every night, but I have only tonight.” Earthrid clenched and unclenched his fist, and began to turn pale. “With your recklessness, you are likely to kill us both. Irontick belongs to me, and until you have learned how to play, you would only break the instrument.” “Well, then, I will break it; but I am going to try.” The musician jumped to his feet and confronted him. “Do you intend to take it from me by violence?” “Keep calm! You will have the same choice that you offered us. I shall give you time to go away somewhere.” “How will that serve me, if you spoil my lake? You don’t understand what you are doing.” “Go, or stay!” responded Maskull. “I give you till the water gets smooth again. After that, I begin playing.” Earthrid kept swallowing. He glanced at the lake and back to Maskull. “Do you swear it?” “How long that will take, you know better than I; but till then you are safe.” Earthrid cast him a look of malice, hesitated for an instant, and then moved away, and started to climb the nearest hill. Halfway up he glanced over his shoulder apprehensively, as if to see what was happening. In another minute or so, he had disappeared over the crest, travelling in the direction of the shore that faced Matterplay. Later, when the water was once more tranquil, Maskull sat down by its edge, in imitation of Earthrid’s attitude. He knew neither how to set about producing his music, nor what would come of it. But audacious projects entered his brain and he willed to create physical shapes—and, above all, one shape, that of Surtur. Before putting his foot to the water, he turned things over a little in his mind. He said, “What themes are in common music, shapes are in this music. The composer does not find his theme by picking out single notes; but the whole theme flashes into his mind by inspiration. So it must be with shapes. When I start playing, if I am worth anything, the undivided ideas will pass from my unconscious mind to this lake, and then, reflected back in the dimensions of reality, I shall be for the first time made acquainted with them. So it must be.”