The Colony was even more grotesque and wonderful a place than Kesley had imagined, in that first dazzling introduction in the park. After the darkness of the world of the Twelve Dukes, and the different darkness of Mutie City, the Colony stood forth as a land of beacon. Total anarchy prevailed, for one thing. People lived where they liked, ate as they pleased, worked or did not work. There was always enough food. The Colony was self-sufficient, insular, smug in its seclusion. And inscribed in deep-cut letters over the inside of the main gate were four words: _DO WHAT THOU WILT_ "The guiding motto of the Abbey of Theleme," Lisa explained, when Kesley commented. "Theleme?" "A reference to Rabelais," she said. "Oh, I see you don't know that either. It's a book--I mean, he was a writer. You don't read much, do you?" "No," Kesley said distantly, staring at the huge letters in the stone. _Do What Thou Wilt._ They were shattering words; he wondered what Duke Winslow's reaction would be if he ever had an opportunity to see them. But there wasn't much chance of that. The Colony was even older than the Twelve Empires, having been established back in the days of the chaos by a group of artists and poets determined to preserve their way of life while the rest of the world crumbled about them. They had succeeded; and now, the outside world did without them. They had no part in Empire doings, and the Empire kept its distance from them. It was, Kesley was told, all part of the uneasy balance in which the world was held. No one dared tip the scales. He was welcomed to the Colony warmly, even though he was quick to make clear that he himself was no artist and that he was here solely in quest of Daveen. The night of his arrival they held an immense party, supposedly in his honor. He recognized a few faces. The girl named Lisa had appointed herself his guardian; she stayed close by his side. Somewhere else in the huge roomful of milling people, he spotted the man named Colin, looking like an aging Silenus with his baggy eyes and fuzzy crown of graying hair. He was engaged in animated conversation with the girl Marla, who had modeled nude that afternoon. Now, she wore a transparent plastic blouse and tights; it was an even more startling costume. Finally, Kesley got to speak to Colin. The balding man was very fat and very drunk, he noticed. He stared curiously at Kesley for a few minutes, then said, "You're the newcomer, aren't you? The one we're all here to honor?" "I'm looking for a man named Daveen. You know him?" "No," Colin said loudly. "Never heard of him. Want a drink?" Kesley shook his head. He flicked a glance warily at Lisa, who was smiling enigmatically. "He's a poet," Kesley said. "A blind man. Lisa thinks she remembers him." "Lisa will say anything. I don't remember any Daveen."