More doors. More halls. More rooms. The place was like a maze--the very Labyrinth itself. Yet not once did Ariadne hesitate. Swift, sure, she led Burke on and on through one murky chamber after another. Then, as they rounded a final corner, a block of greyness came to mark the end of a passage. In seconds, they were once more out into the open and the night. Ariadne paused and pointed. "That's the place," she whispered. "Daedalus' quarters?" "Yes." Narrow-eyed, Burke studied the looming bulk a moment. Then, tight-lipped, he strode towards the geometric shadows that marked the entrance. But now Ariadne caught his arm. "Please, my lord Dion--let me be the one to talk to Daedalus." "Let you--?" Burke stared. "But why?" "You wish him to speak, do you not--to tell you the things you seek to learn?" "Do I want him to talk--?" Burke spoke between clenched teeth. "Believe me, it's more than that, Princess. He's got to!" The girl laughed softly in the darkness; and somehow there was a ring of steel beneath the velvet. "That's why I must be the one to face him, Lord Dion!" * * * * * Without waiting for further word from Burke, she stepped forward and knocked upon the door. No answer. After a moment, she knocked again. This time, a faint stir of sound rose from within. Then, abruptly, the door opened, framing a brawny, bearded man who glowered out at Burke and the girl from below a sputtering, hand-held lamp. Uncowed, without hesitation, Ariadne stepped forward. "Come, Daedalus!" she chided smoothly. "Would you leave your master's daughter standing here wind-whipped on your threshold in the night?" The belligerence vanished from Daedalus' face, replaced by an impassive, noncommittal mask. For an instant his eyes flicked to Burke. Then he stepped back heavily; opened the door wider. "Enter, my princess. What brings you to my poor quarters at this hour of the night?" Uninvited, ignoring the hostility that gleamed in their host's deep-set eyes, Burke followed Ariadne in and closed the door behind them. Simultaneously, the girl said, "It was a terrible thing for you to do, Daedalus! Did my father know it, he'd have you flayed alive!" Even Burke rocked back on his heels: the words were that much of a shock, that unexpected ... cool, conversational, without preliminary. As for the smith, he stood very still. The deep-set eyes seemed to retreat yet further into the broad, high-domed skull. "And what is this terrible thing of which you speak, Princess Ariadne?" he asked finally. "What is it--?" Ariadne's eyes distended, then narrowed. Her voice took on a taut, dangerous note. "Do you think to mock me, artisan? Me, daughter of Minos, favored beyond all women of this realm?" Daedalus' hairy chest rose and fell in heavy, almost deliberate rhythm. Turning, he crossed with short, clumping steps to the nearest stand and set down his lamp, then made a small business of straightening the wick.