"Take it easy," advised Jonathan. "It's hard to get used to at first. And put that thing away--it's a weapon of some kind, I suppose. The last transportee had one that spouted a streamer of purple gas. He was a very unpleasant customer. What do you shoot?" "Metal slugs," said Hugh, feeling faintly hysterical. "Where am I, anyhow?" "Outside." "Outside what?" "That's the name of the country," the man explained patiently. "My name, by the way, is Jonathan Bell, and this gentleman is Oliver Martin." "Hugh Tracy. Ph.D., F.R.A.S.," he added automatically. "So now I'm inside Outside, eh? How far am I from New York? I'm all mixed up." "New York!" exclaimed Martin. "That's a new one. The last one said he was from Tir-nam-beo. At least I'd heard of that before. How did you get here, Tracy?" "Suddenly," Tracy said succinctly. "One minute I was bashing at the door of Jeremy Wright's apartment, all set to shoot him and get my wife out of there; and then, blooey!" "Know this Wright fellow very well, or anything about him?" "No. I've seen him once or twice, that's all. But I know Evelyn's been going to his place quite regularly while I was at the observatory." Bell pulled a folded and badly soiled bit of paper from his breast pocket, smoothed it out on the splintery table top, and passed it to Hugh. "Look anything like this?" he asked. "That's him! How'd you get this? Is he here somewhere?" Bell and Martin both smiled. "It never fails," the younger man commented. "That's Yero, the ruler of this country during fall seasons. He just assumed power again three months ago. That picture comes off the town bulletin board, from a poster announcing his approaching marriage." "Look," Hugh said desperately. "It isn't as if I didn't like your country, but I'd like to get back to my own. Isn't there some way I can manage it?" "Sorry," Martin said. "We can't help you there. I suppose the best thing for you to do is to consult some licensed astrologer or thaumaturgist; he can tell you what to do. There are quite a few good magicians in this town--they all wind up here eventually--and one of them ought to be able to shoot you back where you belong." "I don't put any stock in that humbug. I'm an astronomer." "Not responsible for your superstitions. You asked my advice, and I gave it." "Astrologers!" Hugh groaned. "Oh, my lord!" "However," Martin continued, "you can stay here with us for the time being. If you're an enemy of Yero's, you're a friend of ours." Hugh scratched his head. The mental picture of himself asking an astrologer for guidance did not please him. "I suppose I'll have to make the best of this," he said finally. "Nothing like this ever happened to me before, or to anybody I've ever heard of, so I guess I'm more or less sane. Thanks for the lodging offer. Right now I'd like to go hunt up--ulp--a magician."