"Spare me any witchmaster's obfuscations, Shredlu. Speak only with precision and concision. What might a tackoo be?"

Shredlu maintained his bland exterior. Even an apprentice as raw as Shubam - who had gasped - knew, though no tackoo assault had been reported for generations. Magician's generations.

But the dark reaches of the world still harbored many nightmares from the Old Times. Shredlu summoned one or another himself occasionally.

"Tackoo. One of the Artifact Folk. A vampire of dreams. See the mark on her temple." That was a rusty hourglass an inch tall formerly concealed by Winter's hair. "It took her dreams. Now she is trapped in a sleep where no dreams occur. If she does not dream, she cannot awaken as Everay Ake Winter." Shredlu straightened a strand of golden hair, then thumbed open an eyelid, exposing an empty blue iris. It was not necessary for Sloot to know she could be wakened as something else. "My lord. It's going to be a long siege amongst the books."

Lazy Shubam made a whimpering sound.

3

In private, Lord Everay Sloot seldom betrayed the impatience and petulance so often demonstrated before an audience. Shredlu suspected the public Sloot of being a pose. Indeed, he suspected Lord Everay wore several personas, onionlike; the real man might never be found by peeling. Shredlu did not let Sloot concern him overly much. One day he would be replaced by the yet unborn Vonce. Sfoot waited quietly while Shredlu consulted his library. Shredlu instructed Shubam who directed a covey of raven men who made haste to comply, lashed on by Lord Everay's unforgiving gaze.

Shredlu sketched a gesture with his right little finger. The light went out of the book before him. It closed itself.

"Magician?"

"This is a matter best not discussed in every pantry and alleyway, my lord."