“Uh-huh.” Dan had learned that in school. And there were big stretches of land now that didn't belong to anybody- except bandits and brigands, anyhow. “If people other places would just admit Zev was their rightful king…”

Chuck laughed. “Don't hold your breath. The Westside wants the City Council to run everything. Burbank 's got a Director and a Producer. All the other countries think they ought to be top dog, too.”

“But they don't know what they're talking about. We're the only really civilized one.” Dan had learned that in school, too.

“Well, sure.” Chuck had probably also learned it in school. Most people in the Valley had four years of education. Quite a few had six or even eight. Dan did. He could read and write and add and subtract and even multiply and do long division. Adding and subtracting always came in handy. He didn't know if he'd ever use the fancier stuff, but he had it if he needed it.

And reading… Nothing killed time better than reading.

Back in the Old Time, they'd had TV and the movies and radio and records to make time go by. A few records still played on wind-up phonographs. The other things weren't even memories anymore, because nobody still alive recalled using them. But old people remembered their grandparents talking about them, and Old Time books and magazines mentioned them all the time. They had to be for-true.

Sergeant Chuck broke into his thoughts: “If I were you. Dan, I'd start practicing hard. A good archer's worth about as much as a musketeer.”

“Do you think there'll be a war, honest?” Dan asked.

“Sure do,” the sergeant answered. “ King Zev won't let the Westside close the pass. That's too big a slap in the face to put up with. If those snooty so-and-so's get away with it, next thing you know Burbank 'll start pushing us around, too.”