home of a man who provides counting services for the Federa-
tion tax collectors. He is quick with numbers and tallies far more
accurately than others of his skill. Once, he was an advisor to
the people of the city, but the people couldn’t pay him as well
as the Federation, so he took his services there. All day long,
he works in the building where the taxes are held, then goes
home to his family, his wife and his daughter, to whom Everlind
once belonged. Last week, the man bought his daughter a new
toy kitten, silky white fur and green button eyes. He bought it
with money the Federation gave him from what they had col-
lected. So his daughter discarded Everlind. She found the new
kitten far prettier to look upon.”
He looked at them. “Neither the father nor the daughter un-
derstands what they have given up. Each sees only what is on
the surface and nothing of what lies beneath. That is the danger
of living above ground.”
“It is,” Damson agreed softly. “But that is something
we must change, those of us who wish to continue to live
there.”
The Mole rubbed his hands again, looking down at them as
he did so, lost in some contemplation of his own. The room was
a still life in which the Mole and his visitors sat among the
discards and rejects of other lives and listened to what might
have been the whisper of their own.
The Mole looked up agam, his eyes fixing on Damson.
“Beautiful Damson, what is it that you wish?”
Damson’s willowy form straightened, and she brushed back
the stray locks of her fiery hair. “There were once tunnels be-
neath the palace of the Kings of Tyrsis. If they are still there,
we need to go into them.”
The Mole stiffened. “Beneath the palace?”
“Beneath the palace and into the Pit.”
There was a long silence as the Mole stared at her unblink-
ing. Almost unconsciously, his hands went out to retrieve the
animal he had been holding. He patted it gently. “There are
things out of darkest night and mind in the Pit,” he said
softly.
“Shadowen,” Damson said.
“Shadowen? Yes, that name suits them. Shadowen.”
“Have you seen them. Mole?”
“I have seen everything that lives in the city. I am the earth’s
own eyes.”
“Are there tunnels that lead into the Pit? Can you take us
through them?”
The Mole’s face lost all expression, then pulled away from
the table’s edge and dropped back into shadow. For an instant,
Par thought he was gone. But he was merely hiding, returned
to the comfort of the dark to consider what he was being asked.
The toy animal went with him, and the girl and the Valemen
were left alone as surely as if the little fellow had truly disap-
peared. They waited patiently, not speaking.
“Tell them how we met,” the Mole spoke suddenly from his
concealment. “Tell them how it was,”
Damson turned obediently fo the Valemen. “I was walking
in one of the parks at night, just as the dusk was ending, the
stars brightening in the sky. It was summer, the air warm and
filled with the smell of flowers and new grass. I rested on a
bench for a moment, and Mole appeared beside me. He had
seen me perform my magic on the streets, hidden somewhere
beneath them as he watched, and he asked me if I would do a
trick especially for him. I did several. He asked me to come
back the next night, and I did. I came back each night for a
week, and then he took me underground and showed me his
home and his family. We became friends.”
“Good friends, lovely Damson. The best of friends.” The
Mole’s face slipped back into view, easing from the shadows.
The eyes were solemn. “I cannot refuse anything you ask of
me. But I wish you would not ask this.”
“It is important. Mole.”
“You are more important,” the Mole replied shyly. “I am
afraid for you.”
She reached over slowly and touched the back of his hand.
“It will be all right.”