VARANIA! Bob stood on the stone balcony and looked out across the rooftops of the ancient city of Denzo. In the morning sunshine the city was a mass of waving treetops, pierced by tiled roofs and the tall towers of public buildings. The golden dome of a great church rose from a small hill about half a mile away. In the stone-paved courtyard below, scrubwomen with buckets and brushes were shining the very stones.

Behind the five-storey stone palace the Denzo River, broad and swift, wound through the city. Small excursion boats moved slowly along the river. It was a very colorful scene, and from the balcony of their third-floor corner room, Bob had an excellent view.

“It’s certainly different from California,” Pete said, stepping out through the French doors to join Bob on the balcony. “You can tell just by looking at it this city is old.”

“Founded in 1335,” Bob said. He had, of course, read up on Varania and its history in the hectic days before he and Pete and Jupiter had set out on their exciting journey. “Invaded several times and destroyed, but always rebuilt. It’s been at peace since 1675 when Prince Paul put down a rebellion and became the big national hero, like our George Washington. Everything we’re looking at is about three hundred years old. There’s a modern section to the city, but it’s out of sight over that way.”