Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.

LEROY YERXA
(WRITING AS ELROY ARNO)

PERFUME FOR A PRINCESS

RGL e-Book Cover^©
Based on a painting by Jean-Joseph Benjamin-Constant (1845-1902)

First published in Fantastic Adventures, December 1947

This e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2022
Version Date: 2024-07-19

Produced by Matthias Kaether and Roy Glashan
Proofread by Gordon Hobley

All original content added by RGL is protected by copyright.

Click here for more books by this author

Fantastic Adventures, December 1947, with "Perfume for a Princess"

Herbert Coates lifted himself slowly from the box, knowing he was in a very tight spot.

AS you entered the main research laboratories of Planetary Research, you walked more or less into the arms of Jeannie Adams. That is, if you didn't actually, you wished you had, when she looked up with those long lashed, violet eyes, studied you pleasantly and said:

"May I do something for you?"

Of course she didn't say that to Herbert Coates. As he held a position with Planetary Research, and not a very important one at that, Jeannie didn't even reserve a pleasant:

"Good morning."

Sometimes she didn't even look up. That gives one a fair impression of Herbert Coates' value on the feminine allure market.

You were admitted through the swinging gate, very close to Jeannie's domain behind the switchboard. You stared around in amazement at the vast, multi-mirrored laboratories, so full of magnificent apparatus that it fairly shouted importance. You wandered down the vast corridor of Martian marble; staring at tall, good looking young men in white frocks. Here was science at work. Science personified and glorified, like a vast theatrical production.

White-clad assistants, most of them lovely, most of them very young, noted down your problems and ushered you to vast counsel rooms where you talked with His Nibs, Brigham Starr, the shining light of Planetary Research.

But, you are fortunate. Much more fortunate than Herbert Coates. Remember him? He's the man who walked into Planetary Research each morning for ten years.

There was reason for Jeannie to ignore Herbert Coates. Mr. Coates was one of those poor, lack-luster creatures who asked to be ignored. Asked it by his silent manner, his poor, ordinary clothes. He asked to be ignored until that morning he came into Planetary Research just five years ago today, wearing a new suit that fitted his slim body startlingly well, and brought to light certain qualities that had never been noticed previously.

But something happened before that morning. Something so fantastic—so startling, that it made a lifetime change in the habits of the man, Herbert Coates. It made other changes, also. Changes that can be stated modestly as having rocked the planet system. As having turned Brigham Starr's hair white overnight, and caused Jeannie Adams flip-flops of the heart from which she never quite recovered.

Herbert Coates lived an entirely normal life. His was not the glory of the spotless laboratories. Rather, Herbert Coates had been given a small drab office far to the rear of the great building that housed Planetary Research. In that office Mr. Coates followed this routine without variety, for ten long years.

Mr. Coates came into the office rather sleepily. That is, he appeared sleepy, for his mind was millions of miles away, figuring on some wild scheme to take treasure out of the Venusian swamps, of cleaning up a fortune in the head-hunting country of lower Neptune.

Both places were far from Mr. Coates. He had never seen them.

Mr. Coates, pursuing some dream serpent or fighting it out to the bitter end with an imaginary creature of the Venusian slime, would enter, hang his black coat and dark felt hat on the clothes-hanger in the closet. He would wander to his desk, light a short-stemmed, very black pipe, after tamping the tobacco into it gently and firmly. He would draw up the shade, clear his throat and sit down at his desk. For a period of perhaps ten minutes, Mr. Coates would pursue his daydream, squeezing from it every last episode of adventure that it contained.

Then his eyes would gradually focus on the tall stack of papers on his desk, his brain would lurch into focus with the humdrum world, and he would awaken with a start.

"Oh. Oh. Yes!"

No one was ever close enough to hear his exclamation. No one would have cared what he said.

Mr. Coates was chief shipping clerk for Planetary Research.

AT thirty, Coates was dried up inside like an old man. He read his paper each night. He ate sparingly, mostly of soup and fish. He found a worn copy of some lavish adventure novel, settled down with it soon after eight in the evening and never stopped reading until long after respectable people were sleeping a dreamless sleep. Then Coates would smile softly, fold pages of his book together, knock out the ashes that had collected in his one and only pipe, and turn in. He quite often spoke the words out loud, for they gave him the feeling of being free to do as he wished. They gave him the thrill of doing something a little more exciting than just going to bed.

"Guess I'll turn in," he'd say. "Tomorrow is another day."

Yes—tomorrow was another day for Mr. Coates. Another—like all the rest of them.

With his reading, Coates had gathered an immense amount of data on things and places. He could quote every poet who had ever lived—and take it from him, there were a lot of them. He knew the sciences, the best prose—practically everything except what went on about him in everyday life.

And with his reading, he acquired nearsightedness, spectacles that he had to put on at once, upon arising, and discard carefully just before he pulled the cord that plunged his room into darkness.

Mr. Coates, quoting Jeannie Adams, of the Planetary Research switchboard, "Is an odd dope. He lives kinda—inside himself."

So much for this extended description of Herbert Coates. If he's a dope, and Jeannie Adams thinks so, then he is. From what we hear of Jeannie, she isn't a dope. She's sharp. Plenty sharp.

But you forget. You forget that rainy morning when Mr. Coates came in with the well-pressed and brand-new pin-stripe suit, with a red carnation pinned very neatly in the lapel.

It was just an ordinary evening in Mr. Coates' life. He left Planetary Research soon after five, said "Good evening" to Jeannie Adams, who was busy with a bit of mirror and a long pencil of lipstick. He couldn't have told you whether or not she acknowledged his parting words. Frankly, she didn't. Her mind was on a dinner date, and she didn't hear him. Mr. Coates passed slowly down Starr Drive, bought the evening "Tele-News" at the newsstand and hurried directly home. In the third-floor room, a combination of kitchen, study and bedroom, Herbert Coates doffed his outer clothing, started the Radionic heater that fitted neatly into the wall, and placed a plate of dried halibut on the heater. He poured a certain percentage of water into the ilium-burner, added tea and sat down to scan the paper.

AS usual, he passed lightly over the day's news, spent ten minutes reading an installment of a thing called "Headhunters of Mercury," gave it up in disgust, for it was hack material, laid the paper aside and prepared to eat. After dinner he dropped his few dishes into the patent "Clean-glass" washer, watched the suds whirl about the remnants of the halibut, washed them by applying the steam jet and left them to dry.

In his bedroom, Herbert Coates undressed quickly, folding his trousers neatly over the end of the bed, and prepared to stretch out with a new book.

Once comfortable, with the pillow folded neatly in the center and placed under his neck, he reached for the book and opened the cover. He was quite curious about this new find of his. First, because the title caught his eye.

THE FALL OF PRINCESS LELA

The title intrigued him, for he had never heard of Princess Lela. The book was very old (he had picked it up for a "fen" at one of the bookstalls).

The covers were brown and badly tattered. The title page, though rather yellow, was still clear.

He read the title page carefully, as he had a habit of doing. One of them caught his eye at once. It was the publication date. If he could believe the typesetter, the book was set up and printed by the Martian Press in the year of 2025, June fifth.

He reread the date again, glanced at the calendar on the wall and chuckled. According to that title page, he thought, this had gone to press only a week ago. With absolute certainty he recalled the present date as being June twelfth, 2025. Passing the whole thing off as an error on the part of the publishers, Mr. Coates started to read.

"The planet of Thon," the author said, "has reached a period of turmoil. As this account is written, the Princess herself is ready to flee from the Court of Clide and retreat into the hills with a few faithful followers."

Herbert Coates stopped reading abruptly, and tried to recall a planet, even little known, called Thon. Memory failed him. His forehead wrinkled slightly. So this was fiction, and not fact after all? His interest in the book lagged.

He picked up the narrative and read haltingly.

"Even before the mysterious fragrance of Lela's perfume had lifted from her rooms, Clide, the leader of the uprising, had moved into the palace. Clide will have Lela hunted down as he would hunt an animal.

"'She cannot escape,' Clide is said to have stated to his ministers. 'As long as Princess Lela is alive, the dogs of Clide will search for her.'"

Slow anger started to grow within Herbert Coates' chest. Fiction or fact, a man who hunted women with dogs should be stamped out—crushed like a snake.

More interested now, Herbert Coates read on. After a time, he adjusted the pillow again, kicked off his shoes and settled down for a long stay. Nine o'clock came and passed. Ten—eleven —twelve. At ten minutes to one he looked up, decided to read one more paragraph and stop.

"Princess Lela is still well loved by many of her people," the book said. "There are those who claim that even now, they can detect the odor of her violet perfumes drifting from the gardens of her palace. Perhaps, who knows, after these many years, Lela in all her color, will fade and die in the Mountains of Thon. Will her ghost return to haunt Clide? Will her heady perfumes, so well known to us all, drift about the halls of the court?"

HERBERT COATES put the book down reluctantly. Suddenly he had the darnedest feeling.

He sniffed the air. Only the odor of fish assailed his nostrils. Was it only the fish? The book had an immense power over him, he thought. For an instant he had been positive that he had smelted the fresh, heady scent of violets.

He smiled rather smugly. Who could live the lives of others as vividly as he? Who obtained such rare pleasure from...?

He sniffed the air again, and his heart seemed for a split second to stop beating.

The odor of violets was strong on the air.

He jumped from the bed and hurried to the open window. Leaning far out, he sniffed the night. Only the stench of the garbage-burner arose from below. He closed the window and wandered into the kitchen. He was sure of it now. He was positive that the violet odor had spread through the entire apartment.

Shaking a little, he went back to the bed and picked up the book. Leafing through it hurriedly, he found the last page. He read:

"Lela will return to power. She has sworn it. She has faithful, powerful friends beyond the planet of Thon who she will call upon to help her... Lela will overthrow Clide and rule our people. She has promised."

Then and only then did Coates drink the last of the cold tea and settle down, reading the book from cover to cover. He didn't try to escape the violet scent that hung so heavily over the room. It was as though he were being caressed by it—wrapped in its magic fragrance.

Close to five o'clock, he laid the book aside for the last time, looked at the clock and groaned—and rolled over to sleep.

THE following morning, he did not arrive on time at Planetary Research. Herbert Coates was a changed man. A man who suddenly had a new reason for living. He wandered down Starr Boulevard, found a men's clothing store and entered. When he left, the violet perfume followed him closely, clinging to him, making him feel heady and intoxicated. He had discarded the plain black coat and the dark felt hat. Instead, he wore a well-tailored pin stripe gray suit, a gray felt hat, sparkling shoes and a maroon tie of distinctive good taste. His usual time for arrival at Planetary Research had been eight o'clock. This morning he entered those portals at exactly nine-fifteen.

Jeannie Adams looked up and continued to stare at him. Mr. Coates nodded pleasantly and said:

"Good morning, Jeannie."

Jeannie gulped out a reply and stared after him until he was out of sight around the bend of the corridor. She glanced at her watch. Then, startled, she remembered his greeting. This was the first time in ten years that Herbert Coates had ever called her anything but Miss Adams.

Jeannie noticed, alas, for the first time, that Mr. Coates had a nice face, hair that curled neatly across a well-shaped head, and a decent build that had been hidden these many years under the straight lines of the black coat.

Jeannie found her lipstick and mirror. She went to work with them.

Mr. Coates hung up his new suit-coat, adjusted his shirt sleeves above the elbows and sat down. He lighted the pipe with a certain dash, and went to work at once on the shipping invoices. Herbert Coates had a plan. The plan had grown slowly as the story of Princess Lela had been unfolded before his eager eyes. A plan that was so wild and so impossible that it had spurred him to action.

He scanned the shipping invoices speedily, finding one at last that suited his purpose. It read:

One case Radionic parts—consigned to Mead's Outpost, West Rocket Course, Mercury.

That, thought Coates, is as far out as I can get on the regular lines. He shivered delightfully and looked at the invoice once more. His face was a bit pale and his fingers clutched the invoice very tightly as he arose and went into the shipping room.

WE add no comment on the thoughts of his workmen, who had seen Mr. Coates as a dried-up character for these many years, and who suddenly watched him emerge as a butterfly from a cocoon, in a neat new business suit.

They talked some among themselves. They walked circles around him to stay away from a character who had suddenly come to life from the mummy stage.

Mr. Coates found the shipment marked for Mead's Outpost. It was a heavy affair as he hoped it would be. He called an employee.

"Have this case placed in my office," he said. "I'll inspect it there. Valuable parts, you know." He raised an eyelid.

The man said:

"Sure—right away. Shipping it with tonight's consignment?"

Herbert Coates nodded.

"I may leave the office early. If I do, have it taken out in time for the Martian Relay."

The man nodded, and Mr. Coates returned to the office. He sat down and checked a long list, making it up as he went along. He stopped once in a while, sniffed the air and found the perfume still close.

At eleven thirty he arose, donned his coat, brushed lint from the sleeve, and folded the list he had been preparing so that it fitted neatly into his pocket.

At the switchboard he nodded politely to Jeannie Adams. "Beautiful day?"

Jeannie arose, gave him her best smile, and said:

"Yes, going to lunch?"

If he was, she thought, this would be the first time he ever had anything but sandwiches for lunch.

"Why, no!" Coates looked rather startled. "Just—going out for the air."

Jeannie was vaguely disappointed. He might have asked her to lunch. In fact, she had more or less planned on it.

"Oh!" she said, and sat down again.

Mr. Coates left Planetary Research and visited, during the lunch hour, a dozen supply stores. When he returned, he carried a large brown paper bundle. This time his face was drawn and a little white. A man with a purpose. He went directly to his office and closed the door. He locked it. He saw the big box, now in the center of the floor, and went to work with his tools, loosening the top.

An hour later Herbert Coates had placed the Radionic supplies neatly on the shelves in his closet. He had written a letter of resignation to Mr. Starr, and was resting comfortably on a bed of packing floss at the bottom of the box. He had bored a neat row of holes along the bottom of the box, and the package he had purchased lay beside him on the packing floss. He glanced at his watch. Twenty to six. Jeannie Adams and the office staff had left. In five minutes Herbert Coates would be lifted carefully—"Fragile — Handle With Care," and be carried to the delivery truck at the rear of the building. He had on hand one space-helmet, glassite type—several cans of food-pills—a flash-pistol (range seventy rods for killing) ammunition—a pair of boots and a strong leather belt and holster.

In half an hour he was scheduled (or rather one case of Radionic parts were) to be flung into space aboard one of the Martian Relay rocket ships, in the direction of Mead's Outpost, West Rocket Course, Mercury.

Mr. Coates sighed. He had often dreamed of plans like this. This time he had the strength of a certain agent behind him. An agent so strong that it beckoned Herbert Coates to the one adventure of his life.

The agent? A heady perfume of violets, stronger than ever now in the confines of the box. The perfume of adventure, calling him to the side of a lovely Princess.

FOR, make no mistake, Lela was a magnificent woman. Coates had found that out to his full satisfaction in the course of reading the book.

Several times before the box was carried out, Mr. Coates had vague misgivings. He even wondered if perhaps he wasn't a little mad. He shrugged, for weren't all adventurers a little crazy? If not, how could they set out against such tremendous odds, following a will-o'-the-wisp to glory?

"Will-o'-the-wisp," Mr. Coates whispered to himself. "Well, guess I'll turn in."

Repeating this familiar phrase, he felt better. He rolled over on his side and closed his eyes. The perfume lulled him, and he slept.

JARVIS MEAD was rough-cut, with muscles that would have made his shirt bulge, if he chose to wear a shirt. Clad in shorts, helmet (which he detested wearing), and carrying a short-handled hatchet, he entered the storeroom and surveyed the new shipment.

"Hotter'n hell," Mead said to himself. No air in the place. He flung a door open, took a long disgusted look out at the dusty plain and turned to his work. He drew a list of parts from his pocket.

Item 1—Seven large tubes—Type V
1. Sixteen assorted ammunition clips
2. Vita-ray health lamp
3. One box Radionic parts

Item four was it. He needed the parts. Communication with his trading outposts had reached an all-time low. No radios in condition. He attacked the box with vigor. He drew up the cover and swore.

"What the devil?"

Herbert Coates, his head carefully encased in space helmet, sat up. He grinned shyly at Mead. Through the mouth-visor came the greeting Mr. Coates had been thinking of for the past hour, since the last time his box had bumped gently and stayed put.

"I'm Herbert Coates. I can explain..."

To put it mildly, Jarvis Mead was outraged. His face turned several shades redder than necessary.

"The devil you can. How long since Planetary Research started sending out explanations in human form, instead of the stuff I order?"

Mr. Coates was out of the box now, a little wobbly on his feet.

"I—I had to get here somehow. I didn't have the money for the trip. We'll notify Planetary Research. I'm sure they'll...."

Mr. Mead was beginning to understand that he had a stowaway, via Rocket Express. That the stowaway was a rather thin, tired looking man, and in choosing this method of travel, the thin guy had guts to trust his carcass in a packing box for a trip of several million miles.

"Look here," Mead said abruptly. "I don't know whether you're crazy or not, but you must be well beaten up and half starved. Come along. The old lady will fix something."

Herbert Coates sighed. It had been much easier than he thought. He followed Mead across the vast warehouse, through the air lock and into a large living room. The place was neat. It, Coates observed, must feel a woman's touch, for every book was in place in the shelves, each pot of flowers well tended. Mead ripped the helmet from his head and wiped perspiration from his face. The face was big, strong and still red. He called:

"Martha, we got a visitor, via Rocket Express."

Mr. Coates removed his helmet also. He was tired—very tired. He took the chair offered him and stared out the window toward the red, barren hills. A woman came in. She was short, heavy-set, and had a motherly smile.

"My goodness," she said. "I'm glad to meet you."

She stopped short.

"Jarvis Mead!" she said with sudden amazement. "You said this gentleman came by Rocket Express?"

Mead was seated now, a curve stemmed pipe in his mouth. He was staring at Coates.

He nodded gravely.

"But—Rocket Express carries only freight. There's no passengers...?"

Mead smiled.

"Herbert Coates," he said wryly, "is freight. He came from Earth in a packing case."

It was Mrs. Mead's turn to stare now.

"I—I don't understand?"

"I—I must explain," Herbert Coates said. "You see, I've been working for Planetary Research for ten years. I never managed to save much. When this trip became—necessary—I had no choice."

"Coates came in the packing box that was supposed to contain Radionic parts for the outposts," Mead said dryly. "I'm not certain whether we own him now or not. I ordered something and got someone. Why he chose Mead's Outpost to include in his travels, has me stumped."

Martha Mead was a matter-of-fact woman. She didn't question anything. After the crazy stunts Jarvis had pulled during the last twenty years, no one—nothing—surprised Martha.

"You poor man," she told Coates. "You're going to have a square meal. After that, Jarvis Mead can talk all he wants to. You must be half starved and—and all battered to pieces."

Herbert Coates felt as though he might fit that description. He thanked his stars that the end of his first journey had proven not only bearable but actually pleasant.

He liked Martha Mead, and although Jarvis Mead seemed a bit hard and sarcastic, he hoped they would get along together.

During dinner Mr. Coates thought a great deal. What was he going to do next? Where was he going next?

"Yes," he'd smile pleasantly, hearing only half the questions Mrs. Mead tossed at him during the meal. "Yes, furs are the height of style this year."

Coates, you're a fool. Where to next? You're after a will-o'-the-wisp.

"Yes, yes, of course. Everyone— that is the richer classes, are spending the year at the new baths on Mars. They're already famous for the type of youth-water found there."

Pursuit of Lela, Coates thought. He had chosen Mead's Outpost because it was the farthest point "out" from earth. (That is, the farthest point served by the regular lines.)

He was vaguely aware that Mead sent a dozen or so trade ships beyond, and that was why he had come. Coates wanted to take one of those ships— and go so far as he could get beyond the regular trails of the rocket lines. He wanted to get to—well, admit it, Coates. He wanted to get to Thon, the planet where Lela lived and fought.

Yet, Thon was uncharted. It wasn't even shown on the maps.

"Hey, Coates," Jarvis Mead was saying. "Wake up. You've been daydreaming."

Coates started, then sank back in his chair with a smile. Mr. and Mrs. Mead were both staring at him.

"I—I was thinking, Mr. Mead. Would you—could you give me passage on one of your ships—beyond here?"

Mead's face was suddenly frozen. All of the reluctant friendliness went out of it. His voice was a little harsh.

"Where you going?"

Martha Mead said:

"Now, Jarvis, don't you...?"

Mead ignored her.

"Where you going?" he repeated.

Herbert Coates was cornered. He had the feeling that he had overstepped. He had talked too much, for knowing so little of Mead. Still, Coates was not a man to lie. It seemed to him right now, that it might not be healthy to lie to Mead.

"I—that is—have you ever heard of the Planet of Thon?"

Did he fancy that Mead's face turned a trifle pale?

Mead's voice seemed thicker when he answered.

"Thon? No such place. Never heard of it, and my ships touch most of the outlands. No, Coates, you're evidently on the wrong track. I suggest you take the supply ship out day after tomorrow. I won't report you to the space authorities. I'll give you a clean slate when you leave here."

Mead stared thoughtfully at the table.

"Get out, Coates, and don't come back this way. This is no country for a man like you. You're not up to it."

For a time all were silent. Coates felt sick and shaky. His whole adventure was breaking up almost before he started. Still, he was sure that the name Thon wasn't entirely strange to Mead. Mead had a reason for getting rid of him.

Yet, Mead was a good guy, Coates thought. Good—but rough and determined. Mrs. Mead arose.

"I'll show you to your room, Mr. Coates," she said. Her voice was very quiet—friendly. "I think Jarvis is right. You don't look too strong. I'd get out of Mead's Outpost and back where people live—civilized."

He said good-night to Jarvis Mead and followed Martha Mead up the flight of stairs to his room. At the head of the stairs, Coates hesitated and looked back. Jarvis Mead was still smoking. He was staring out the window, a frown on his dark face.

HERBERT COATES couldn't sleep.

Gradually, inside him, a new courage started to make itself felt. He tossed about on the comfortable bed, the odor of the wild perfume strong in his nostrils. The stuff affected his mind, his body, his very soul. It made him stronger—more determined.

Coates was angry. Angry at himself for allowing everyone to overrule every plan he conceived. It had always been this way. It seemed to Coates that during his entire life he had always been at his best when saying such things as:

"Sorry, sir, it won't happen again," or "I know I was wrong. I'll try to do better. Yes, sir, thanks for the advice."

Why? Why, because he was a soft touch—a thin, weak man, whom no one paid any attention to. A man who never had an idea or conviction of his own.

That attitude toward life had to stop —right now.

"Wham!"

The explosion lighted the night, making the prairie beyond Coates' bedroom window light up almost like day. Coates shot out of bed as though the devil were after him. He stood shivering in the center of the floor, for the night was cold at Mead's Outpost. Then, his fluttering heart growing more steady, he moved toward the window and stared down at the sand stretched out before him.

He sighed with relief.

The sound had been no more than a speedy freighter, probably one of Mead's, flashing in for a landing. Mead was out there now, a small figure against the night, running toward the ship. Coates saw a man get out, and Mead shook hands with him. They were talking, but the distance was too great for Coates to hear. His eyes were on the freighter, a slim tube built for speed, and carrying sixteen jets. He liked the lines of that ship. Even before the IDEA came into his head, he had unconsciously approved of the ship.

The IDEA came slowly. He wasn't sure he could handle the IDEA, even though it meant a way out. If he couldn't handle the IDEA, then he was lost. He would be sent back to the main rocket route from the Base Landing, and in ten days would be back home, getting the devil from Brigham Starr for substituting himself for a case of valuable parts.

Suddenly Coates detested himself for not having more courage. Shivering partly from cold, partly from something that disgusted him, he dressed. His helmet was near the bed. His space gun and supplies were still in the warehouse. He crept down the steps slowly, for Mead and his man had long since disappeared from the plain and were evidently in conference, or had retired. Carefully he slipped through the house, donned his helmet, went through the air-lock and into the warehouse.

Almost instantly he knew he had walked right into it.

He heard voices, and saw a faint light moving toward him from the far end of the big room. Coates ducked behind the packing case where he had hidden for the trip, and waited.

He heard Mead speak:

"Good trip. You did okay, Harry."

He heard the other say:

"Thanks, Jarvis. Say, we need those parts, though. If I'da got in a jam, I couldn't have called you if I'd wanted. Screen is busted all to pieces."

They had passed Coates' hiding place now and Mead was fumbling with the door that led directly into the house.

He swore.

"Yes," he said. "And there's a nasty joke behind that, too. I had a case of stuff ordered. When it got here, there was a stowaway in the box. Now we wait another three days for the supplies."

The man Mead called Harry cussed loudly.

"Stowaway by Express?"

Mead said: "Yeah, I could have killed the guy at first. Not a bad sort, though. Martha liked him."

"But—where was he headed for? What's the idea?"

Harry sounded puzzled.

Mead laughed shortly.

"Don't have to worry your head about this guy. He might have the brains but not the guts. Thin, anemic little wart. Searching for adventure. I'm sending him back day after tomorrow—on the supply ship. He'll go like a sheep. Come to think about it—he reminds you of a sheep. Gentle as a lamb, and no guts."

HERBERT COATES felt sick—he felt sick all the way through. They were gone now and for a while at least he was safe.

So he reminded Mead of a sheep, did he? No guts? No, he admitted to himself, he wasn't cut out for adventure. Still, he'd started this thing, and he was going through with it.

With new courage he searched in the darkness and found the holster and pistol. He donned the heavy boots. For a long time he waited in the shadows of the house, then when all seemed dark and safe, he ran swiftly across the open sand toward the ship.

He reached the hatch, opened it swiftly, and dove inside like a frightened rabbit diving into its hole. He found the steps by groping for them in the darkness and crept up to the control room.

Braver now, he pushed the door open and froze against the inside of it.

A hairy, bare-chested giant stood in the middle of the room, staring at him with an amused grin.

"I been watching you for fifteen minutes, out the vise-screen," the giant said. "What do you think you're doing, Rabbit?"

Something snapped inside of Herbert Coates like the bow string on a tightly strung bow. An immense anger filled him. He stood there straight and quiet, thinking of all the times he had backed down and given up without a fight. He drew his pistol and pointed it waveringly toward the big man's chest. He said in a wavery voice:

"Take one step, and I'll shoot."

It seemed at that moment as though the violet perfume grew stronger and filled his head with its wine. He stood there not knowing what to do next.

The giant regarded him with a perplexed smile.

"Look here, Sonny; you ain't getting away with anything."

Coates said nothing. He was thinking fast now. Could he run the ship? Was it the general type displayed at Planetary Research? He knew about them. He had taken a complete course in navigation, piloting and minor points—by mail order. His eyes darted toward the control board, and he smiled.

Usual type, wheel-controlled—straight jet power.

"Give me that gun. You might hurt someone!"

Coates' eyes, partly on the giant, partly studying the cabin, went cold. He was angry all the way through now—and he felt his blood as though it were suddenly red hot.

"I said I'd shoot you down and..."

The big man leaped forward, grabbing at Coates' wrist. The gun went off. A roaring flame flashed across the darkened width of the cabin. The giant sank down on the floor, his eyes wide, face mirroring his bewilderment. He was holding his hand, badly burned by the gun.

"I didn't think you had the guts."

To Herbert Coates the man didn't seem angry—just amazed.

"Shut up," Coates said evenly. "Get over there and sit down."

He motioned toward the dual chair at the controls. The giant moved quickly for his size, his eyes still on the gun.

"Anything you say, half pint, only when Jarvis Mead gets you..."

Alarmed, Coates glanced sidewise toward the house. He could see lights coming on. The front door opened.

Coates found the coil of anchor rope in the corner and tied the man up swiftly. He had hardly finished when Jarvis Mead started pounding on the outer hatch of the ship.

"Hey, Skip, what goes on in there?"

The man beside Coates started to answer. Coates poked the gun into his ribs, and Skip was silent. Coates opened the light switch, and the ship was awash of bright colors. A huge spot cut the night ahead, lighting the entire area around the house.

"Hey, you, Skip. What goes on?"

There was alarm in Mead's voice. He was pounding on the air-lock with both fists,

Coates seated himself and reached for the jet-release lever.

"Thanks, Mr. Mead," he called. He was grinning—a little happily, he confessed to himself. For the first time in his life he was giving orders and doing exactly as he pleased. "Thanks for everything. I'll try to get the ship back safely."

A moment of silence, then:

"It's you—Coates?" Amazement was reflected in Mead's voice. "Get out of there. You can't fly that thing. You'll kill yourself."

Coates laughed a little grimly.

"It may sound melodramatic, but I'd rather die here than go back and face the smug smile of Jeannie Adams."

It didn't make sense to Mead, and Coates knew it didn't.

"What the devil?"

"Get out of the way, Mead. I don't want you hurt when I take off."

IN the next chair Skip was fighting with the ropes. His face was pale, and he was panting, working the muscles of his huge arms.

"If you're in there, Skip, for God's sake stop that poor fool."

Mead's voice was pathetic with worry.

"Skip isn't stopping anything right now," Coates shouted. "Out of the way, Mead. I'll be seeing you."

"Wait! You asked me about Thon?"

Coates seemed suddenly caught in suspended animation. He moved no muscle. He waited.

"Are you listening, Coates?"

"I'm listening," Coates said. Beads of perspiration stood out on his face. The odor of violets was stronger at this moment than ever before. He saw the vision of Lela.

"Then take heed," Mead called. "If you're thinking of looking for that death-infected ball of hell, change your mind, Coates. If you live to get off this planet, remember what I say. If you want to fly the shortest route to hell, set your course at XY-40-ZL-20 —and fly beyond the flat-circle. That's all, Coates, and pleasant journey. To hell with you."

Coates hesitated, then pulled the jet lever back as far as it would go. For an instant he swore that his neck was being yanked from his shoulders. All the breath inside him was crushed out in a sudden painful sigh. The sand below him, Mead's Outpost, all of it jerked abruptly out of sight.

"Beyond the flat-circle—the shortest route to hell—"

Those words kept flashing before his eyes as though posted there on a revolving sign post.

"The shortest route to hell..."

He looked around at the man at his side, and for the first time a feeling of pride filled him. During the takeoff, although it had punished his body terribly, he had been wide awake and alert. Skip, big, brutal Skip, was blacked out. His head had tipped forward, lips white. His eyes were closed tightly.

Coates made a note of the message Mead had given him. In a way, he thought, I can thank Mead for that. He doesn't entirely dislike me or he wouldn't have told me where to fly. He's testing me, sort of. He doesn't think I've got the guts to do it.

He thought about that for a long time.

Then he leaned forward and set the cross-hairs on the dead-reckoning navigation instrument.

The cross-hairs indicated a course to the bull's-eye on XY-40-ZL-20. Coates removed his wrinkled coat and rolled up his sleeves. He thought he must look a little better now. Better equipped, that is, to face...

Skip was waking up. He lifted his head slowly and regarded Coates with a mixture of surprise and sullen admiration.

"Looks like you made it," he said grudgingly. Coates smiled.

"Read a book about these things once," he said, as though that settled any argument.

Skip sighed.

"You're crazy," he said. "Anyhow, I'm here, and it don't look as though I'm leaving for a while. Where we going?"

The smile twitched Coates' lips slightly. His eyes squinted against the darkness ahead. His chin had molded itself in these last few minutes into something a little more determined and square.

"According to the best authorities," he thought of Mead, "you and I are following the shortest route to hell. Good luck to us, Skip. If Mead is right, we'll need it."

Skip was silent for fifty seconds. Then he turned once more. His eyes were twinkling.

"You'll need it, all right," he said. "You better get me untied before we hit the barrier reef. I don't care much what happens to you, but what hits one of us hits the other, so to speak. I value my own hide too much to do anything drastic right now."

IT made sense, and Herbert Coates was beginning to realize that he might need help—lots of it.

He locked the controls and reached for the ropes that bound the hulking Skip.

With the freighter controls locked on course, Herbert Coates helped Skip bandage his hand. Skip, oddly enough, seemed to feel pretty decently toward Coates.

"You're just crazy enough to try something like this," Skip told him. "Funny how a little guy gets his dander up and kicks over the traces."

Coates didn't answer. Although Skip seemed friendly, Coates kept his pistol loose in his belt, ready to grasp it if Skip showed any sign of hostility.

"Where'd you come from?" Skip asked. "What was the idea of running out on Mead that way?"

Coates said:

"If I told you, you'd say I was nuts. You'd say I didn't have a chance."

Skip thought about that for a while. He sat down, his bandaged hand on his knee, eyes bright, centered on Coates.

"I ain't sure of that," he said. "You know I heard what Jarvis Mead said to you, back there at Mead's Outpost."

Coates put the bandages away and went back to the control board.

"Yes?" He was stalling for time. Trying to sound out Skip. The big man had something on his mind.

"Yeah!" Skip said. "About Thon, and the queer way he helped you out by giving you the proper bearings."

Coates remained silent, and Skip scratched the heavy stubble on his chin. He frowned.

"How did you hear of Thon?"

Coates caught his breath.

"I—I, that is, I heard Mead talking about it."

Skip chuckled.

"You're a liar," he said. "Mead never talked about Thon because Mead didn't even know the name of the planet."

Coates sighed. He couldn't tell Skip the truth. Skip would laugh.

He didn't dare trust Skip—not yet.

"Mead knew about the Bright Planet, beyond the charted system," Skip said. "We heard about it but we didn't dare go beyond the flat-circle. The route is so full of trouble that we go a thousand miles around to avoid touching it."

His eyes gleamed.

"You know why I didn't pound the devil out of you? You know why I'm sitting here talking like old friends instead of heading this ship back for Mead's Outpost?"

Coates grinned.

"Because I'd shoot you down."

Skip shook his head slowly from side to side.

"I been shot by better marksmen than you," he said. "Once I got sixteen spots of steel and a couple of fire-burns, all in the guts, I was up and around in a month."

He sighed.

"Nope—not that. I kinda like you. I wanted Mead to try to get through to the Bright Planet. Then, out on the barrier reefs near the flat-circle, I picked up a lost pilot. He was dying. He'd tried to make a trip through the reef and piled up his crate. Before he died, he pointed to the Light-planet and called it "Thon." He said just two words. "Thon—riches."

Skip grinned.

"When you know me better, you'll know that that last word is enough to make me start out willingly on what Mead always called the short route to Hell."

Coates, feeling triumphant in a sense, and frightened in spite of it, wondered how much he could tell.

"So," Skip went on, "You're the second guy who ever called the Bright Planet Thon. There's some connection, and I'm sticking with you until I find out what it is. Maybe you don't know much about it, but I'm going to try to get through the barrier reef with you, just in case."

HERBERT COATES rose and walked around the cabin a couple of times. Skip said no more. He was waiting. At last Coates stopped walking. He looked Skip in the eye.

"I can't tell you anything—yet. If I'm not crazy, and I don't think that I am, I probably know more about Thon than anyone else. You play square with me, and if there is a fortune in it, you'll get more than your share. I guess that's how it will have to be for a while. Share and share alike, and hope for the best."

Skip grinned. He took Coates' hand and squeezed it tightly.

"My full name's Skipper Nealson," he said. "Skip is okay with me, if you feel like having it that way."

"Skip it will be," Coates said. "Mine is Herbert Coates."

"Good," Skip said. "From now on, it will be Skip and Herb. Okay with you?"

That was the first time anyone had ever called him "Herb," and it sure sounded good.

"That's the barrier reef," Skipper Nealson said, and pointed ahead, on course, at the menacing wall of rotating, grinding asteroids, "Like I said, a few men got through it. None came back. I tried once."

Skip sighed.

"I dunno. Guess we only die once, and if you know what you're doing

Suddenly Herbert Coates remembered something he had read in the strange little book. He wished fervently that he dared take the book from his pocket and refer to it.

He stared ahead. The void was suddenly full of tiny asteroids, and the freighter was sliding in among them. The day was dark with dust. The main barrier lay ahead.

Skip sat down at the controls.

"This is going to take both of us," he said. "Remember what you said— wish us luck? Well, here's where we need it."

The book—Coates was thinking desperately.

"The Outsider cannot reach Thon. The secret is hidden from them. The bearing should be changed ten degrees each ten minutes, bearing steadily toward the flat-circle. The channel is narrow."

The words—or the memory of them, were crystal clear in Coates' mind for a brief instant. Without conscious thought he snapped out orders to Skip.

"Change our course ten degrees toward the flat-circle.

Skip glanced out of the corner of his eye.

"So you do know more than you have been telling. I had a hunch..."

His voice faded away. He changed the cross-hairs slightly, and the freighter veered away, straight into the heart of the mass of asteroids.

The main mass of asteroids were close now. Almost solid, grinding together, narrow channels between them. Coates flipped the rudder control again slightly. He thought he had the idea all right. The reef wasn't as solid as it looked. If by changing the course every ten minutes, he could find a channel through... ?

He was conscious of Skip's voice again.

"For a little guy you got nerve."

SWEAT stood out on Coates' fore-head. He couldn't tell Skip that this was the first time he had ever taken a chance in his life—that he was depending on a strange little book tucked away inside his pocket. Still, the closer they plowed into the main reef, the stronger was the odor of that violet scent. The nearer he was to Lela.

They were into the thing badly now, and chunks of ragged metal hit the snout of the freighter, growling and scraping along its metallic length, to fall into the rocket wash behind.

Ten Minutes.

"Change the course again—same amount," Coates said.

All the muscles in his body were tightened up and aching. His mouth was strangely dry.

"Changed, Herb," Skip said, and pride swelled inside Coates.

If Skip only knew how much it meant to him to be called by a simple, every day nickname.

Herb and Lela, he repeated to himself, and color tinged his pale face.

"There ought to be a channel through here someplace," he said after another ten minutes. "Change course again."

They were rushing along almost parallel to the main barrier now. Behind them the void was darkened, thick with smaller asteroids. Beside them, the foreboding dark wall.

Wall?

Coates' eyes picked up the channel. There it was, tiny, far away, with the brightness of light coming from the far side.

"There," he pointed with a shaking hand. "There it is. Change course every ten minutes. It worked. It worked."

Skip swiftly aimed the freighter at the hole through the reef. Skip was cussing under his breath. Cussing with admiration for the slim man who had seen them into the middle of the Hell-reef and was now pointing the way through to freedom.

They shot through, scraping the tail rocket against the impassable reef, feeling the tubes push them ahead with renewed speed. Then—dazzling brilliance. A sky of rainbow hue. Colors passed in profusion, changing. The flat-circle lay dead ahead.

To Herbert Coates the flat-circle was something he had read about in a book. To Skip it was like a sudden look at Heaven.

It whirled in the void, multi-colored, made up of strange, unknown gasses. It whirled like a huge halo of color, a thousand miles across, changing into a whirlpool, the outer circle of a thousand hues, the inner, narrowing down until it became a madly gyrating abyss of deep blue.

And they were here alone. Here on the far side of the barrier-reef in a new universe.

Skip glanced back nervously.

"How the hell did you know where to come through...?"

Coates didn't dare look back. Nothing but help from another—stronger force had seen him through. Help—he dared hope—from Lela.

"We've—come a long way."

Skip chuckled.

"Okay," he said. "I had a hunch you were the guy to ride with. Where do we go now?"

Coates studied the colored sky ahead.

"I don't..."

He stopped short. He had been about to confess that he didn't know. That would never do. At all costs Skipper Nealson had to think that he, Coates, knew every inch of this strange world.

"We've got to steer a course across the top of the flat-circle toward the Bright Planet, or Thon," he said. He hoped that his voice sounded matter of fact. He had no idea where Thon might lie.

The book did not mention the exact location of Thon. He remembered one vague reference made. He racked his mind trying to draw from it that precious line of instructions.

"To approach Thon, the Outsider must first cross the flat-circle. It will be impossible to miss Thon by following these instructions."

That sounded strange. Very strange. The whole thing was frightening.

He took the controls from Skip, and the big man sat back, his eyes fixed on Coates' face.

"Think we'll run into any trouble?"

Coates wanted to tell him that trouble was a thing they would probably meet in considerable amounts. Instead he smiled.

"You wouldn't take candy away from a baby, would you?"

Skip laughed.

"I get it. There's gold in them there rainbows, but it has to be dug out the hard way. Okay, Captain, let's get at it."

COATES took a deep breath, brought the ship around and headed straight out into the rainbow pattern toward the edge of the whirlpool of color. He felt great thermal drafts touch them lightly, sending them up and down at will. There were winds out there, he thought. Bad winds. He knew something about up-drafts. He'd read a lot about them in airmen's manuals.

The freighter responded slowly to his touch. It ploughed out over the whirlpool in void, and Coates, struggling hard with the controls, could hear his own breath coming harder as they moved onward against great resistance.

He heard Skip chuckle. It was a dry, humorless sound.

"I hope you know what you're doing."

Coates didn't answer. He had only one thing to guide him now. That one thing was the fragile violet smell that had become cloying in its sweetness. It hung about him so closely now that he could close his eyes and see the image of Lela standing before him.

A great downdraft sucked at them. He leaned back in the chair, pulling the nose of the ship upward.

The downdraft took hold, and the freighter tipped forward and slid swiftly down, straight toward the center of the whirlpool.

"Hey—we gotta get out..."

He knew Skip was frightened now. Frightened as he was.

"Give me—some—help."

Then Skip was fighting the controls with him, and Coates felt his neck and back muscles ache with the force that fought against them both.

Skip was panting.

"Get this thing outa here."

"I'm trying," Coates said desperately.

Down—down.

They were traveling faster now, pulled onward by the winds. Pulled by the same whirlpool that sucked the color into the bottomless pit of blue.

The colors whirled madly before them. Green-violet-yellow, then yellow—blue.

Blue came last, when all other shadows had faded to nothingness, and the freighter was a tiny struggling speck sucked straight into the great dark pool.

Coates could feel his shoulders fairly tearing loose—his eyes bulged. He felt beads of perspiration ooze from his body and soak his shirt.

He dared glance at Skip. Skip was staring at him—his eyes wide—pleading for help—for reassurance.

Coates smiled faintly.

"Mother of God," Skip's lips were muttering something. Something too low to be heard.

The blue melted in about them, and they had to drop the controls, for the pressure was too great to hold. The rocket jets kicked off automatically. In an instant the ship was deadly silent, rolling end over end, out of control.

The wheels snapped forward against the panel and broke. Only the straps held them in place.. The freighter sank into the great pool, and the inside of the cabin was filled with blue as though they had fallen into the lowest pit of the deepest sea.

In the great silence that engulfed them, Coates heard Skip still muttering, groaning as though something terrible had happened to his body.

At that same instant a great pain shot through Coates, seeming to electrify his entire body. It tingled and burned at him, making him writhe in pain.

He tried to cry out. "Lela—I—help..." The blue turned black, and he knew no more.

"BEFORE he entered the realm," a voice said, "he called the name of Lela."

Herbert Coates was aware of the voice, though it seemed to come from far away, and he didn't connect it with himself or what was happening. Just what was happening? To begin with, he felt drunk. He felt as he had once or twice when he dared to drink more than three beers at Peter's Tavern on Lincoln Avenue.

His head whirled around, and his thoughts, in fact everything about him, seemed to revolve in an intense grouping of color.

It was as though he suddenly lived in a new world of technicolor. Remember, he thought dully, how, after you had seen a technicolor film, everything outside the theater seemed dull—sort of white and black?

The voice came again—or was it a different one?

"How would an Outsider know about Lela?"

Hell, Coates thought to himself, I know all about Lela. I love Lela.

"Listen," he said aloud. "I'm Herbert Coates. I came to..."

He stopped short. He had come to... to what? Why had he come actually? Had he come because a perfume had beckoned? That was no good reason. Had he come to help Lela? How? How could a little run-of-the-mill guy like him help a Princess who had lost her throne?

"The Outsider talks riddles," another voice said.

He opened his eyes. He closed them again, blinked rapidly several times and was able to keep them open. The place was a forest like one of those green, intensely colorful forests in a Travelogue. The kind of Travelogue where a voice says, "And now we leave the colorful hills of the great west and journey across the top of the world to..."

Nuts, Coates thought. This isn't real.

He was in a clearing. A clearing surrounded by greens and blues and browns so bright that they seemed to need toning down to make them real. Two people stood before him.

Were they people?

They had two legs each and two arms. They were dressed in loosely fitted white robes. But the hands, one of them pointing to him even now, weren't hands at all. They were sharp, black claws. The feet were not shod. They were claws also, digging into the earth where they stood. The faces—? He stared at the faces with newborn disgust.

Faces that weren't faces at all. Black, diseased hunks of flesh with green, watery eyes, a red gash of mouth and no nose at all—just two holes in the mud-clot of face.

Coates hugged the ground where he lay. He looked around and saw two objects that brought reality back to him sharply.

Skip—stretched out on the brown earth, was staring at him with awed, dilated eyes. Fifty yards away the freighter lay on its side, to all appearances intact, the hatch broken open, the plastiglass windows gone, almost as if they had simply melted, vanished completely.

Coates sat up. His hand rested on his holster, bringing out the gun slowly.

The two odd-looking creatures edged close to him.

"No weapons, Outsider. We do not permit their use here."

There was intelligence in that voice, Coates thought. Intelligence and cunning. His hand crept away from the pistol. He stood up. Skip, evidently waiting for him to set an example, arose also.

Coates said:

"We had an accident."

One of the pair of creatures said:

"You seek our Princess?"

Dared he hope that he had actually been summoned? He had come because the perfume had haunted him, drawn him here. Yet, to find out that he was expected.

"I—I have been seeking the violet perfume," he said.

HE knew that Skip was watching him closely now. Watching for some sign that Coates was still following a designated course—doing something with a purpose.

The two creatures talked to each other, ignoring his presence. One of them said:

"The perfume of Lela?"

Coates nodded.

"I followed the scent of the violets," he said.

One of the creatures chuckled.

"Then the Outsider is expected. Lela has summoned him."

He motioned toward the forest.

"Tell your servant to come with you."

For many hours they pursued a steady course down across the many pine-clad hills, through small villages toward the valley.

Coates could see the valley ahead of them during almost the entire trip. He saw it and watched it grow larger with a newborn fear growing in his own heart.

Each person they met on the trail— each woman and child in the many villages, was malformed and ugly, as were his guides. The claw-like limbs, the dark terrible faces. Only the voices were gentle and addressed him with respect.

Skip, at his side, said:

"So this is Thon?"

"I guess so."

"You guess? Look here, Herb, if we're going to be pals, I've got to trust you. Dammit man, you haven't made a move yet that didn't indicate you knew just what you were doing. I don't get it. I don't get it at all."

Coates sighed.

"Neither do I," he said.

The valley was wonderful. That is, it looked wonderful. Its towers were rainbow towers, touching the clouds.

Its highways were smooth, wide, and of many colors. It was like being dipped into a rainbow. It was like taking the mists away from your eyes, after they had seen only black and white all your life, and suddenly saturating yourself—drowning in color.

The guides did not talk to him. From their conversations with the people of the villages, Coates knew that these men had been stationed in the hills. That they had waited for many days until he had come.

And what of Lela?

Coates was frightened.

This was a different Thon than he had expected. He remembered reading once that to an elephant another elephant was lovely. Wasn't it possible that among these people, these clawed animals, there were standards of beauty?

Perhaps these monstrosities who guided him to Lela's province were handsome when gauged by Thon standards.

The idea shook his faith in Lela.

Had he journeyed over Mead's shortest route to hell, only to find an ugly Princess?

THE building was the finest of them all. It sent delicately wrought shafts of golden plastic upward into the sky; The gates, carved of cobalt marble, swung open, and peeling bells made the place alive with pleasing sound.

Coates stumbled forward across a court, up endless steps and into a great rainbow room. Skip, panting with excitement, was near him. Skip's lips were moving endlessly, whispering the same words over and over.

"Towers of gold—towers of gold."

Coates wanted to tell Skip to shut up. The guides stepped behind him now, and he stumbled ahead. A giant whirlpool of color hit him. The bells tinkled. Every shade of the spectrum was there, and he feasted his eyes on color. It was as though he was drunk, and he fell forward on his knees, looking up, trying to detect something— anything normal in the swirling pool of light.

Then he saw her.

Herbert Coates, the Outsider, had come this impossible span of miles to see a woman described in a book. Had come to his Princess Lela. And Lela stood before him.

Stood?

He wasn't sure. She seemed to hover there in a central disk of color. She was delightfully small and slim. She was clad in a shimmering, clinging veil of pinks and yellows. She was young. How young he couldn't know. Perhaps twenty, with small, well rounded lips, violet eyes that smiled into his, and a very fair complexion.

He gasped.

Her tiny feet were shod with silver slippers, and she hovered in space—in the revolving disks of color. She smiled and her red lips parted. Her body was like a promise of love. Coates' mouth was dry. He wanted to speak.

"Lela?"

Her finger went to her lips. She was frowning and smiling at once. Cautioning him, warning him. Then, like a faint sigh, he heard her voice,

"You have only arrived. Remember this. I am the true Lela. You did not search for beauty in vain. You must believe that. In spite of what you see, in spite of everything you hear, I am the true Lela!"

"I know," he managed to gasp. "I know—oh God, how well I know. I wanted to come so badly. I..."

His words were gone before he spoke them. There were rising winds that blew the color disks about in profusion. Winds that pushed Lela back until she was lost in the colored disks and was gone. Then the colors were gone also, and he was in a plain blue walled throne room. Skip was beside him, staring.

"What the devil you mumbling about?" Skip asked.

Coates knew suddenly that Skip had not seen Lela. Had not seen the colors. Only he—Coates, had seen.

"Look," Skip said. "You been staring at that monstrosity for five minutes. What we gonna do about her?"

Coates focused his eyes on the throne. Lela was there. He recognized the slippers, the rainbow robe. He knew the slim body...

"Good—Lord...?"

The words were jerked cruelly from his lips. He felt the blood draining from his face.

The creature on the throne was not Lela. The figure and the gown were Lela's. But now he saw the difference, and his eyes and his brain came into sharp focus.

The woman on the throne had the same ugly bloated face, the green eyes, the gash of mouth, the horrible holes where her nostrils should be. Her hands were claws, gripping the arms of the throne. Claws projected from the silver sandals.

She spoke to him, and her voice was husky and low.

"Greeting, Outsider. Lela makes you welcome to the Planet of Thon. You are welcome to the Court of Clide."

Without quite knowing what he was doing, Coates moved closer. He mouthed the question that he prayed would not be answered.

"You—are—Princess Lela?"

She nodded. Her laugh was hollow —terrible.

"I am Lela. Are you surprised?"

He was within ten feet of her now. He still could not believe. "But—the book."

Her arm raised slightly to silence him.

"I know nothing of a book."

"The perfume?"

He tried desperately to make her admit that she had trapped him.

She sounded angry and impatient.

"Book? Perfume? You speak madness. Outsider, be careful or I shall grow impatient. Remember, we are being courteous to you both. Don't force me to forget that you are a guest here. You could as easily become a prisoner."

He nodded slowly.

"Forgive me," he said slowly. "I..."

"Enough," Lela said. "Clide will show you to your room. You are welcome to stay on Thon until you can be sent back to your familiar haunts. That will take some arranging. Meanwhile, watch your tongue and mind that you ask me no more foolish riddles. You are excused."

AS though in a dream, Coates turned away and moved back toward Skip. A man came from the shadows of the room. He was like the others, perhaps taller and better formed. His robe was black instead of the white that had already become familiar to Coates. His eyes, green like the others, held a promise of cruelty.

He spoke with a bitterness that he could not, or refused, to conceal.

"So, an Outsider has to blunder into this place? If Lela wishes it, you are safe. Come with me."

Still dazed, still filled with emotions that would not blend to suit his peace of mind, Coates followed Count Clide from the room. Skip cursed steadily in a low voice.

Only one thing remained now to confront the shipping clerk from Planetary Research. The violet perfume that Lela of the throne had claimed no knowledge of was very close to him here. It wrapped itself about him, caressing him as he followed the gaunt Count Clide down endless halls.

He smiled gently, remembering the vision among the color disks. The girl who had whispered so softly to him:

"In spite what you see, in spite of everything you hear, I am the true Lela!"

Coates was still smiling sardonically when Count Clide opened the door to the dark chamber.

"This will be your room. Your man can sleep at the foot of your couch. When you want me, call me on the color screen."

"Thanks," Coates said.

He watched the ugly face in the doorway. Count Clide grinned, and his green eyes became slits.

"I don't think you will trouble us," he said. It was almost a whisper.

The door closed.

Coates could still hear those words spoken softly in his dream. It was a dream, he assured himself. A dream that he had conjured up of a girl he would have liked to meet on Thon.

"I am the true Lela"

"To hell with you," Coates shouted suddenly. He amazed himself by losing control like that. He looked around at Skip, and Skip was frowning.

"I got a hunch that everybody around here is crazy," Skip said. "Including you. How the devil I let myself get mixed up with a lunatic, I'll never know."

Coates looked at him for a second without replying. Then he stared around him at the immense darkened room. There was a bed in the far corner and some divans. They were all made from the same black material. The room itself, though light enough to see his way about, was decorated in ebony.

"Well" he said without humor, "if this be the asylum, let's make the best of it. I think it's about time I talked to someone, and you deserve an explanation, Skip Nealson. Listen to the babbling of a fool."

It took a long time for Herbert Coates to tell Skipper Nealson everything he had to say. He held none of it back. None, that is, except that last colorful dream he had had just before he faced the ugly Lela. He told about the book and how he had always dreamed of being an adventurer. How he had trusted all along, thinking that a beautiful woman was helping him find his way here, only to find that she was an ugly witch.

"A dark, horrible witch," he said, and sighed. "Skip we don't know each other very well. I can't blame you if you're angry. I think if I were you, I'd wring the neck of a certain Herbert Coates and take a chance of getting out of this mess alone."

Skip seemed to think about that for a long time. Skip was no fool. There was a deep intelligence behind that strong, unlovely face. There was in Skip a great love for riches, but also there was a worship for adventure and for men who sought it. He stared at Coates for some time after the earth-man had finished the story.

"You say you got all this dope out of a book?"

Coates nodded.

"I'd like to see it," Skip said. "I'm beginning to understand that you ain't a fool at all. There's more to this than meets the eye. Doggone, but I can't help thinking that you were chosen to come here. That it was meant that way, like they talk about a man's destiny. All settled in advance."

Coates reached into his pocket. His hand came out empty. He was thinking back swiftly to the place where he had awakened on the ground and found the guides staring down at him.

"Gone," he said. "The book is gone. They must have stolen..."

"No matter," Skip said. "We're here, and this isn't any fiction."

He wandered across the room and sat down on the edge of the huge bed.

"If that Count Clide thinks I'm sleeping on the floor like a dog, he's crazy."

ANGER toward Clide was growing within Skipper Nealson. He looked up suddenly and grinned.

"Herb," he said, "you couldn't have picked a bigger crook to pour out your story to. Now I'll talk. When I get done, you can make some decisions."

He leaned back on the bed and crossed his legs.

"I'm a condemned man," he said.

Coates looked puzzled.

"A what?"

"Condemned," Skip said a little sharply. "I was ready to die on Jupiter for killing off a snag of no good space outlaws. Jupiter law says you can't kill a man even when he's a rat. You're supposed to use the paralysis ray on them and turn them over to the law. There ain't much to my story."

He sighed and went on talking dreamily.

"I was working for the Jupiter Law Patrol. I ran across a bunch of thieves who had been making it hot for legitimate trade all along the barrier. I got trigger happy and polished them off. Jupiter law said I had to die for it."

He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Mead didn't like losing me like that. He gave me the devil for what I'd done and made me promise to use my head in the future. He kept me hidden when my ship was in. Out along the barrier—well—you sorta make your own laws. I wasn't picked up—not when we met."

He wandered across the room and looked down on the machine Count Clide had called the color-screen. He ran his hand along the top of the polished metal.

"You see, Herb, you and I aren't going to be missed. No one is going to go out of their way looking for us."

Coates said:

"I guess we're on our own."

"Like I said," Skip repeated, "no one is looking for us. We can stay here and probably end up by getting the life knocked out of us by this Clide guy. Or maybe we can find our way around and get out. The ship is still up there in those damned hills. Maybe..."

"I am the true Lela."

Coates had stopped listening to Skipper Nealson. Stopped—for his mind was full of the girl of the vision. The room—ugly, black prison, was sweet at that moment with the violet perfume. He remembered the deep, almost pitifully sweet eyes. He seemed to hear the voice again.

"In spite what you see..."

He had seen a horrible old woman on a throne.

His mind went reeling back crazily to the book. In the book Lela, young and lovely, was about to be thrown out of the Court of Clide. Clide was traitorous, ready to seize the realm.

In reality, Lela the witch was on the throne. Clide, her servant, obeyed her orders.

Coates shuddered.

"I think we better go slowly," he said. "If they want to destroy the ship, we can't prevent it. If they forget it, we can still make an attempt to get away after we've had a better chance to look around. I'd—like to find out what goes on here. Are you game, Skip?"

Skip grinned.

"I'm game, Herb. You're the boss. You got the education for it. I got the muscles. How about it? Divide the spoils if we're alive to divide 'em? You get the girl if you want her."

Coates frowned.

"That's one dream I guess I'll have to sidetrack," he said. "Meanwhile we'll try Clide. He's a bad customer."

"About as nasty as his sidekick, Lela," Skip admitted. "Okay, Clide said to call him on the color-screen."

COATES studied the nobbed surface of the panel. It was about five inches square and had three tiny keys built across the surface. Above each key was a glass-like panel of color. Black—red—green. Black indicated the name of Clide with a crest above it. Red—The Throne. Green—Service.

Coates pulled the black key down.

He had somehow expected a bell to ring or an alarm of some kind to result. Absolute silence greeted his effort. Only the colors of the room changed. The black faded, and faint rainbow lights started to play across walls and the floor. The room grew brighter. Then the door opened, and Count Clide, tall and ominous as ever, stood outside.

"Don't let the color disturb you, gentlemen," he said suavely. "I find black disturbing. Whenever my key is pressed, clean, pleasant light combinations result. I enjoy moving in pleasant surroundings."

Coates decided on a direct approach. No sense in fearing this thing. You can't overcome a problem with fear.

"Look here," he said, "we want some explanation. Our ship went out of control after we crossed the barrier. We landed out of control in this place. Why are we being treated as prisoners? When are we going to be set free?"

Clide's face was like a leather mask. It told him nothing.

"You are not prisoners. You are the first Outsiders to come to Thon. We don't want you here. We have no use for Outsiders. You have a certain foreign beauty that makes the people of Thon restless. You would make our people dissatisfied with themselves if you moved freely among them. That is why you have been isolated. Lela will decide what is to become of you."

Coates felt silly, being referred to as a person of "beauty." He understood, however, that Clide might be right. True, everyone he had seen was so ugly that they might make Skip and himself appear handsome. With distaste he remembered the description of Lela's beauty. Certainly a misunderstood set of comparisons had been used there.

"Then we can't leave here until someone decides what is to become of us?"

Clide smiled. It wasn't much of a smile. His lips parted slightly, and the muscles of his hard mouth relaxed.

"On the contrary, you will see all there is to see, and you will be hidden from our people in the color-swirls."

Coates thought that color, the sight of it, the reference to it ever since he arrived in this strange place, would drive him mad. Everything was color. Bright, shimmering rainbows of it.

"I don't get it," Skipper Nealson was saying. "These—color-swirls, what are they?"

Clide came into the room holding a rod for Coates to take. It was about a foot long, an inch in diameter, and made of a dull black metal.

"Whenever people of Thon wish to travel without being watched by curious hordes," he said, "they use the color rod. It's quite harmless. Press the button at the base of the rod."

Coates hesitated.

"It can't harm you," Clide said, and his voice was filled.with biting sarcasm. "What courage you Outsiders have."

Furious at the cutting words, Coates pressed the button. At once a shimmer-ring disk of red light grew about him. Then yellow, pink and green disks added themselves, all shooting from the tip of the rod. He looked at Skip and at Count Clide. Both men were covered by a similar group of light disks.

"Cripes," he heard Skip say, "this is something. What in the...?"

Clide laughed harshly.

"The secret of light and of the color prisms is an old art on Thon."

But Coates wasn't thinking of the rod in his hand. He was thinking of a short time back, when similar colors had sprung up in front of him, with a lovely girl making herself visible in their center. Gradually, the dream was changing to reality. The realization that it had been no dream. There had been a girl in the color disks, and she had been real.

Lela? Then who was the wretch on the throne?

BY relaxing the pressure on the color rod," Clide said, "you can see about you clearly through the color. Others see little of your features. By use of more—or less—color, you can see and be seen, or you can hide yourself completely. There would be no hope of escaping in this manner. All color rods are checked carefully. They are used only in the Court. If you attempted to escape to the hills, the guards would pin you down with spotter guns and destroy you completely. Skip sighed.

"Nice to know that," he said. "I been thinking that you were a little too nice to us, giving us this thing."

Glide didn't trouble to answer.

"Come," he said. "We'll look about. There is enough color about you now. Others will not see your features clearly and will not become unhappy or curious."

They followed him out into a long hall and down wide steps from the black room. As Clide moved forward into various rooms, flashes of light went ahead of him, making the path bright and cheerful. He walked lightly, his slim body erect as a nobleman's should be. He explained as he walked.

"This is the Court of Clide. Each year Lela the Princess chooses a Court, usually the property of some high noble. This year I was so honored, and Lela came here for a period of twelve months to rule her people. After Lela so chooses the home of a noble, that place becomes a shrine. The man who is so honored becomes one of the Honor Guard to watch over and protect the Princess."

They had left the building and were wandering about the courtyard. Coates was looking for some manner of escape. He saw none. High walls reached upward, making the place a prison. Guards marched about high above. There was a garden of strange exotic flowers. Clide led them through it.

"How long will Lela stay here?" Skip asked.

Coates wondered why he had not thought of that.

"She has honored me with six months of her presence," Clide said thoughtfully. "She plans to leave within the coming ten days."

Coates didn't like the way he said plans.

"Where will she go?"

"Into the hills," Clide said. "That is, into the hills, to visit some of the hill noblemen."

Into the hills.

Once more in the black room, Coates knew only this. The castle of the Court of Clide was a tough proposition. He would never escape alive until he knew more than he knew now.

The more he knew, the less he wanted to escape.

"Now you take the way he said "into the hills", Skipper Nealson said quietly. "That guy is crooked. He hates our guts because we're at least human to look at. He isn't. That alone is enough to make him want to get rid of us. He can't allow us to escape because we'd get back here again somehow, some way and throw a real monkey wrench into his machinery. That book you was telling me about, Herb. Didn't it say that Lela would be banished to the hills?"

Coates was thinking about that.

"It said she would be thrown from the Court of Clide and banished into the hills," he said. "Still, the book must have been fiction. Something someone wrote, knowing just a little about Thon and having an entirely wrong idea of Lela's beauty."

Skip was watching Coates closely.

"Still crazy over that pipe dream, ain't you? Lost your heart to a dream Princess?"

Coates didn't smile. He felt miserable.

"There's a riddle here," he said with sudden determination. "A riddle that I'm going to solve."

Skip sighed.

"If you live long enough," he said.

"THERE was no book," the voice said.

Herbert Coates groaned in his sleep and turned over. Skip, snoring at his side, grunted and snored harder.

"There was no book. It was the only way I could send my message."

Coates was having the craziest dream.

"Good morning, Miss Adams," he said, and doffed his hat to the girl behind the switchboard. In his dream he was walking swiftly through the long, spotlessly white halls of Planetary Research with a book clutched tightly in his hands. The book was titled "The Fall of Princess Lela," and he had fallen in love with Lela, who the book said, surpassed all others in her loveliness.

"There was no book!"

Coates was angry. The voice kept saying that, and he knew damned well that there was a book. Could he help it if he lost the thing. Suddenly he was wide awake, staring straight at the ceiling, eyes wide, perspiration standing out on his forehead.

The voice wasn't a dream. The voice and the dream intermingled, but even awake as he was now, the voice came again. It was soft and gentle and it came from a great distance.

"The book was your imagination, I had no other way to make you understand."

"Who are you?" he said in a strained, frightened voice. He recognized the voice. It was the voice of Lela. The lovely Lela of the color disks.

"No matter now," the voice filled the dark chamber with a sigh. "I sent a message to the Outside. We of human visage can do that. Once my father asked for assistance from a great earth laboratory. He preserved the wavelength of the laboratory in his papers. I knew no other wavelength so I contacted the laboratory. I couldn't transmit my voice. No one would believe. No one would help me."

Coates lay quietly. Skip was still snoring. He wondered why Skip didn't awaken—didn't hear the voice. He knew. He knew because he didn't hear the voice himself. He heard it with his brain through thought transmissions coming from outside the room.

"I dared hope someone would help me. We have a secret on Thon. The secret of producing illusions. The book was an illusion. You never really read it. You never saw it. You were hypnotized to believe you saw it."

The perfume. The wondrous violet perfume was like wild flowers in the room.

"And you came. That was the miracle. You came to help me."

"Lela," he said softly aloud. "Lela, for Heaven's sake tell me that the girl I saw in the color disks was you? Tell me, Lela, the girl I saw...?"

The sigh came again. A pitiful, wailing sigh.

"The woman of the throne—or the girl of the disks? I don't know. I can't tell you now. I'm—not—sure. You won't go away? You won't desert me?"

The voice was pleading with him.

"I won't go away." Sweat poured down his face. His fists were clenched. "I can't do anything. My hands are tied. I want to help, God knows. I'd do anything. How could I imagine I read the book? How?"

"You will know," the voice said. "Listen to me. You have a brave man with you. A strong man. You have a fine brain. You have greater knowledge than you think. Use it. Open your eyes to everything that happens. Don't go away from the Court of Clide. Demand to see Lela the Princess. Somehow you will help me. I am sure of it. Watch Count Clide. I sent a thought transference to you. It was a detailed story. What you thought you read in a book must not happen. Do you understand? For the sake of all who dwell on Thon and for your sake, it must not happen. You are the only one who can change it."

"Lela," Coates was getting desperate. It was as though both arms were strapped behind him. How could he help—and when?

"Lela," his own voice was growing weak. It wasn't fright. It was that great tidal wave of feeling of being helpless to act. "What can I do?"

"You can save a planet," she said softly. "You can save the beauty and intelligence of a once great people and you can save a Princess. Surely that is enough?"

"How?"

The voice was low again, filled with promise.

"Demand an audience with Lela."

Her words seemed to echo over and over.

COATES realized that Skip was no longer asleep. The snoring had stopped.

"Skip—did you hear...?"

"I ain't heard nothing," Skip Nealson said savagely. "But I see something I don't like. If you ever wanted to tackle something big and give it a beating, double your fists, Herb. Trouble is coming in at the door."

Startled, Coates twisted toward the door, coming up on one elbow. A great disk of ugly, green and purple light was revolving slowly across the floor. Behind it, the door was open. The disk widened, and sparks of all colors shot from it. Something you couldn't stop or reason with, it came onward, steadily, the fire sputtering weirdly as it shot from the center of the disk.

Without thinking, Coates snatched his holster from the table beside the bed. He ripped the gun from it and aimed at the center to the disk.

"That won't do any good."

Even as Skip howled at him, Coates fired—twice in quick succession. He fired at the direct center of the light.

The light didn't falter. It kept coming, hissing ugly colored death. Skip was already out of the far side of the bed. Coates followed him, perspiration making his whole body wet. He stood there, shivering as the disk hit the bed.

The bed caught fire and smoke rolled upward, mushrooming out on the ceiling. The room was a weird, burning hell of a place, and the disk was past the bed and still pursuing them.

"The door," Skip yelled. "Get out the door."

Together they ran for it. Coates, last, slammed the door behind him. He hesitated, wondering if the disk would come on.

"What troubles the Outsiders?"

Coates whirled around. Count Clide, dressed in a long black gown and dark sandals, stood a few feet down the hall. He seemed greatly concerned.

"Nothing," Coates said savagely. He was really angry now. His blood was up. For two cents he'd smack a fist into Clide's contented face and glory in the blood that would run from the Count's nose. Coates couldn't ever remember a time when he had been angry like this. It—it was just one thing piling up on the other.

"Nothing?" Clide seemed perplexed. "But—why this wild exit from your room? I happened to be..."

"Passing by, of course," Skip Nealson said. "You wouldn't know nothing about that damned fireball in our room."

Clide's face turned a shade paler.

"I don't understand...?"

Nevertheless, he hurried to the door and jerked it open. Smoke rushed out into the hall. He plunged into the room, and Coates followed.

Clide pivoted.

"I see no fireball. Was this a practical joke of the type Outsiders so often love to play?"

Coates pointed to the smouldering mass that had five minutes before been their bed.

"Very funny joke," he said. "If we hadn't been awake, we'd have been burned crisp by your little ball of fire."

Clide's mouth grew harsh.

"I don't like your continued reference to my ball of fire. If there was an accident, I'm very sorry. Steps will be taken..."

"You're darned right they will," Coates growled. "I demand to see Princess Lela. She'll do something for us. We're supposed to be guests. I don't believe she'd appreciate her guests being burned out in the middle of the night."

Clide stood his ground before Coates, his arms crossed, his face reflecting a cold, hateful anger.

"I couldn't disturb the Princess at this time of night."

"You're darned well going to disturb her," Coates said. He even amazed himself with the tone of his voice.

Count Clide backed away slowly. His eyes were like twin jewels of ebony stone.

"I'd be very careful if I were you, little man..."

"CRACK."

Afterward, Coates couldn't decide just how he'd had the nerve to do it. He didn't take time to think. When Clide called him "little man," it burned him up. It hurt his pride.

HE rocked forward gently on his toes, came up swiftly and planted his right fist on Clide's jaw. Clide's eyes popped open wide with amazement. He tried to cry out, but no sound came from his lips, and he sank down on his knees slowly.

Clide shook his head back and forth and got to his feet. The fire in his eyes was intensified, but his voice was suddenly low, almost gentle.

"You made a terrible mistake, Outsider."

Coates was still panting with the effort the blow had taken. It wasn't the strength it had taken. It was the nerve. This was the first time in his life he had hit a man. His courage didn't seem to fail him as he expected it would. He felt as though he'd enjoy hitting Clide again. Maybe he would.

"Shut up," Coates snapped. "I'm tired of talking circles around everything that's important. Princess Lela is ruler here. You're just her flunky, and it's time you started acting like one instead of like the king himself."

He was watching Clide's eyes. They blinked a couple of times. Clide's face got very red.

"I'll see that Lela punishes you for this."

"You would," Skip interrupted suddenly. He had been watching Coates with wide eyes. "You wouldn't fight your own battles. You ain't got the guts."

Clide turned abruptly and strode down the hall. They followed him. None of them spoke for the next few minutes. Clide seemed to pay no attention to them, as though they were so unimportant that their fate was already sealed.

He stopped at the far end of the great hall. He pounded on a huge door. For a few seconds nothing happened, and he pounded again. A voice came from beyond the door. A sleepy, husky voice.

"Who seeks to destroy my slumber?"

No mistaking the voice. It was Lela. Ugly Lela of the throne.

"It is I, Clide."

They heard the sounds of movement

Beyond the door. Then the voice again, angry and impatient.

"And who are you to trouble me at this hour?"

"I'm sorry, Princess." Clide was at once humble, though an ugly smile still curved his lips. "The Outsiders demand to see you."

The door flew open. Lela, dressed in her black night garment, was even more terrible to look at. Her dark, smoldering eyes surveyed Coates and Skipper Nealson.

"And what have these gentlemen to say that is so important it cannot wait until morning?"

Clide laughed. Coates started to say something, then caught his breath. Skip just stared at the ugly woman in the doorway.

"Well?"

"May I suggest, your highness," Clide spoke in mock humbleness, "that the Outsiders be given a safer room in which to lodge."

A patronizing smirk lighted his face.

"They tell wild stories of fire-balls that have entered their room and destroyed their bed. They seem to blame me.The smaller of the two dared strike me."

An emotionless chuckle came from the Princess' ugly mouth.

"I should have liked to have seen that."

"Princess, may I remind you..."

Lela looked suddenly tired. Very, very tired.

She waved her arm in a gesture of dismissal.

"Never mind your pride, Clide. Put the two of them away. Put them under the walls."

Clide looked alarmed.

"You mean to go through with...?"

"What I do is none of your concern, Clide," Lela snapped. "You are still taking orders from me?"

Clide nodded slowly.

"Your wish is my command, Lela."

His voice was as low as a whisper.

"Then—good-night."

The door closed silently.

Clide turned, drew a small whistle from his pocket and blew upon it. A tiny, silvery thread of sound came from it. Three men, all over six feet tall, armed with spears, and each cursed with the black, ugly faces, came swiftly down the hall.

"We are taking the Outsiders to a new lodging," Clide said. "Under the walls."

The men closed in.

"Take it easy, Herb," Skip said. "Those spears are finger-control fire-cannon. You'd be blown to Jupiter."

Clide chuckled.

"Most wise of you to caution your friend," he said. "Although there is no time for caution now. You have listened to your death sentence."

HERBERT COATES hadn't given up hope entirely. For five nights, as near as he could judge, Skip and he had been locked in the tiny rock cell. Clide and his men had brought them here, far below the walls of the palace. There they had been fed, fishy-tasting stuff that felt like corn meal on the tongue, served with rough bread and dirty water. It came into the cell through the bars. No light came with it but the light of the jailer's lamp. When it was gone, day and night were the same.

Yes, Coates thought, it must be close to the coming of the fourth day. He sat alone, head tipped forward against his chest. He couldn't see Skip, but the big man was asleep. They had slept part of the time. They were aware of others locked near them, for the jailer opened many doors along the corridor. Yet there were no voices in the darkness.

No one spoke.

Coates wondered about Lela. He realized that the Lela he dreamed of had to be reality in one way or another. Even his mind wasn't equipped with the imagination necessary to dream of her.

But where did she fit in?

Was she, in fact, a ghost that haunted this place? Lela of the throne may have been young once. May have been lovely. What had changed her?

"Don't tire yourself with riddles for which you cannot know the answer."

Coates jumped to his feet. Three steps took him to the cell door.

"Whoever you are, let us out," his voice was hoarse with eagerness.

For an instant the cell was very silent.

Then the voice came again. The same voice he had heard in his room that night. The voice of the dream Lela.

"I cannot let you out yet. The whole plan would be spoiled. Are you alert? Can you listen and remember every word I say?"

"Yes," Coates said eagerly. "Yes, for God's sake, not much more of this torture. We can't stand it. Skipper is sick. We'll both die down here. Who are you? Where do you manage to hide?"

The violet perfume was close. It pressed against him, warm, alluring.

"I am close but you cannot see me."

"Why can't I? I saw you once. I saw you in the color disks."

The Princess sighed.

"I had to show myself then or you wouldn't have believed. You would have gone away."

He laughed bitterly.

"You've trapped me," he said. "I can't run away now."

"No—no, I haven't. I promise."

"You're old and ugly," Coates said angrily. "You're a smart witch, with your charms and your soft promises. Do you think I'm blind? Go ahead, drive me crazy. I'll die soon enough. Have your fun."

He was positive that Lela was sobbing now.

"No—no! I promised myself not to tell you. Not yet. Now I must. I can't have you thinking..."

Her voice stopped abruptly.

Coates held his breath listening.

"I must tell you everything," Lela said. Her voice was steady now. "Listen to me. Don't interrupt, for I have little time to talk. There are two types of people on Thon. The Ugly Ones, led by Count Glide, have been jealous of the Fair Ones for many centuries. Clide has captured the Fair Ones, a few at a time, and thrown them into the flame pits..."

"The flame—pits?"

"Hush," the Princess' voice was very close to his ear now, almost whispering. "You will learn of them in due time. Lela was a fair Princess. She ruled the Fair Ones for many years. Then her father died. Her father was a man of science. With his passing, Lela no longer had the cunning to outsmart Clide.

"One by one a dozen at a time, Lela's subjects were kidnapped and subjected to the flame pits. They came out blackened, shapeless objects, looking as Clide does. Acting as his people do.

"I, Lela, tried to fight against Clide. I found out that only cunning would succeed. I had almost given up my fight when I learned an amazing fact.

"Clide rules because never yet has a man escaped the pits unharmed. Thon has sought the rule of an Outsider. Clide laughs and tells them that he is far wiser than the Outsiders and that the Outsiders would not associate with so ugly a race."

Coates was listening carefully, trying to understand this odd tale.

"I still don't see..."

"Quiet! The guards will come for you soon. Listen to me. I, Lela, was led to the fire-pits. I went through them but I was prepared to withstand the flame with a secret my father gave me."

"It didn't work very well," Coates said sardonically. He couldn't believe a word she said. She was lying, he kept repeating to himself. She lies—she lies.

"Listen to the remainder of my story. My father told me that if an Outsider went into that pit and came out unharmed, the people would be so impressed that they would overthrow Clide. They would think that the Outsider was a God."

"If you're so darned smart," Coates said, "why didn't you prove how you could withstand the flame?"

The voice spoke, then ended in a pitiful sob.

"I'm sorry," Coates said. He wasn't quite sure of himself.

"I KNOW that you don't understand," Lela whispered. "Father held the secret of outside communication by thought wave. My own gift, the radionic perfume, was to help me also. I set my trap and tried to bring a man here who had the adventurous spirit, the intelligence to help me. I should have known that such a wild story..."

The girl's sobbing—her plea for help was so genuine that Coates was beginning to feel like an unreasonable fool.

"I'm trying to understand," he said. "Tell me some more about this place. If it fits in with what I already know, I'll try to understand."

Her voice became steady.

"What is it you would know?"

"Color," he said savagely. "Where the hell does it come from? Everything is seeped with it."

"The air is a thousand per cent clearer on Thon," she said quietly. "It has been so for many centuries. You see everything in its true value. As for the color shields, disks, and the use we make of it for protection," she sighed. "Well, we are as far advanced in the use of the color spectrum as earth is in other fields. We can travel in the midst of colors. Color is made so powerful by our machines that it becomes solid and strong enough to carry a heavy object from place to place."

"I still don't understand it," Coates said.

"No more do I understand earth plastic," Lela's voice said. "We know nothing of plastic, or how you can make indestructible towers of the stuff. Does that make plastic on earth something that I dream of but that does not exist?"

It sounded reasonable.

"The perfume?" he asked. "Why-how did you send it?"

"That last answer—first," Lela answered. "By including it into the thought wave or pattern of thought. You read a book. Actually, you didn't read the words. You dreamed that you held such a book and studied the words. You see, that thought wave hit the entire area about the laboratory. You had the only brain sensitive enough to pick up the message."

"And being a sucker," Coates said, "I fell for..."

"You still do not believe?"

Coates considered.

"Now I'll do the talking," he said. "I'm Herbert Coates, the little guy who never ran. I'm a simpleton, a dope, and a guy who no one ever looks at twice.

"I got a message. Maybe it's okay. Maybe you're a sweet thing who doesn't eat babies and spit tobacco juice. I don't know. Anyhow, I read a book that I didn't read—I traveled a jagged hunk of impossible miles to nowhere, seeking a girl whom I dreamed about and whose perfume drew me straight to Thon."

He stopped talking, wondering if she were listening.

"Go on."

"Okay," he said. "I'm tossed into a bedroom and sleep in a bed that burns me out the first night. Then I'm locked in a cell and sit here in the dark for three days.

"When I'm on the spot, a nice voice comes along and explains. The explanation only gives me a headache. Well, if you can expect me to understand, then you're giving me credit for something I'm not capable of. I'm not immortal and I'm not very brave. I'm just a guy who's scared and more than anything else, I want out."

"But I do understand," Lela's voice was gentle and understanding. "If you walk through the flame pit and face Clide unharmed..."

Coates groaned.

"I shrink from the flame of a match. Can you honestly expect me to walk in the stuff?"

Her voice was patient and serene.

"You'll do it, for I have faith in you. I, Lela, whom you saw when you first came. I, Lela, who sent a message to earth that couldn't possibly be heard by anyone but a brave, intelligent man."

Coates paced back and forth in the cell.

"Why do people who are punished in a flame pit turn around and worship the guy who does it?"

Lela's voice was low and filled with pain.

"THERE are many kinds of fire," she said. "Fire that burns the brain of a man and makes him animal. There are a few thousand intelligent men left on Thon. The remainder of them dare not be caught by Clide. You are the Outsider whom he hates and fears. He tried to destroy you in flame the night he gave you the rod and told you it was a simple color screen which you should hide behind."

Something snapped into focus in Coates' brain.

"You mean—the color disks? They were meant to destroy Skip and me?"

"What else? To a man of Thon, the color would have meant death. Now Clide knows that he must seek another way to destroy you. Will you allow your chance to escape to go unheeded?"

Coates was miserable.

"I don't know," he groaned. "I told you I'm nobody. I'm so darned frightened now I'd like to run all the way home."

"I wonder," Lela's voice said softly, "if you are half as frightened as you think? I wonder if courage is there, when it is needed?"

"No courage. Nothing but fear."

"You struck Clide. That is more than a man here would dare to do."

"I couldn't help it," Coates admitted. "Besides, I'm going to die for it."

"Would it help if you could see me again?"

"The apparition on the throne?" Her voice was low and sincere. "I mean—the real Lela?" He sighed.

"Dammit, I want to believe. Honestly I do."

"Do you think you would have the courage to fight for—the real Lela?"

"I've got the courage to die for her if she really exists," he said.

Suddenly the perfume was warm and closer than ever before. A face seemed to materialize before his own. A face so young and sweet that as the girl's lips touched his, perspiration broke from his forehead, and his heart seemed to pound until it threatened to break from his chest.

"Good—Lord," he mumbled.

Her voice was soft, pleading.

"You must demand to pass the test of the flame pit. Demand it of the woman on the throne. Make Clide let you enter the pit—while Lela watches."

"But—how can I do that?"

"Lela will find a way."

Then the lips met his own, and the room was a whirling, lost darkness leaving him clinging to that one kiss— then nothing. Lela was gone. The voice came once more.

"You have courage, Outsider. I'm sorry I could only send a vision of myself to you. If you caress a dream of me so tenderly, I long to feel the actual touch of your arms. Don't fail me, Outsider. If you fail me today, we shall both die, you and I."

Empty silence closed in about Coates. The cell seemed darker. Even the perfume was gone. He listened for any sound, anything for comfort. Only Skip's snoring interrupted the stillness of the cell.

"COME out."

Coates stumbled through the open door of the cell. Skip followed. Coates could hardly see. The light of the jailer's lamp nearly blinded him. He recognized Count Clide's voice.

"Where you taking us now?" It was Skip, still ready to fight, still unbeaten.

"You'll know soon enough," Clide said.

He led the way up the long flights of stairs into the daylight. The jailer and the guards, marching behind them, had fire-pistols drawn.

The jailer dropped behind at the last gate to the prison. They went on into the blinding light of the palace corridors, straight to the throne room. Coates was the first to notice that Lela was even more horrible to look at than she had been at first. Perhaps it was the delicate, frothy dress of pale blue, contrasting with the dark, horrible flesh.

They advanced to the center of the throne room. Coates realized that something unusual was going on.

The room itself, more than fifty feet square, was filled with the-subjects of Thon. They were seated, their eyes on Clide, Lela, and on Skipper Nealson and himself. The faces weren't friendly. The room was filled with the murmur of voices.

"You have brought the prisoners," Lela said. It wasn't the gentle voice that Coates had heard in the cell. It was the hoarse, low monotone that frightened him, made him wonder if he were still sane.

"They are here," Clide said. There was respect in his voice. "It is time to discuss them."

The Princess nodded.

"I agree with you," she said. "I suggest you subject them to the fire-pit."

Clide's face turned a trifle pale.

"I thought it was decided that these men, being Outsiders, would not have the opportunity to become citizens of Thon."

"Oh?" The Princess said. "Oh! Yes, we did agree. However, they cannot face the fire-pit without becoming disfigured even as we are. Why not punish them before they die? Punish them for daring to come here? It will serve as a lesson to others."

Clide shook his head.

"I cannot agree, Princess," he said stubbornly. "The pit is, in a sense of the word, sacred. Those who walked through it have been cleansed and sanctified so that they might dwell on Thon in unity and brotherhood. To send two criminals into such a place would be spitting in the face of our Gods. I'm sure you will agree?"

Excited murmurs arose about the room. It was hard to tell what went through the minds of those people. Some wanted to see Coates and Skip burned in the fire. Others agreed with Glide. The fire-pit was sacred and not to be used for such a purpose.

Lela came slowly to her feet. There was deep anger in her voice.

"It seems to me, Clide," she said sternly, "that you have been increasingly against any suggestion I make. Do I rule from your throne, or am I a figurehead, and you the true ruler?"

Clide's face was flaming red.

"But—my Princess. Of course, your word is power. I'm sorry if I...?"

"Don't waste time being sorry," Lela said quietly. "See that these Outsiders perish in the fire-pit."

Beyond the gardens, through a small door in the wall, they made their way. Behind them came Lela, carried in her litter, and at her side, Count Clide, a fierce scowl on his face.

There were soldiers of Clide, wearing his colors, and men and women of the Court. Each of them was enjoying this in their own way. Some had been handsome once, and Clide had forced them into the fire-pit and claimed them as his subjects, even as he planned to claim Lela. Others were born among the Ugly Ones, and had never seen the fire-pit.

Coates marched beside Skipper Nealson, his mind working furiously, wondering how much he could depend on the comforting voice that had come to him in the dungeon.

THEY went down long steps, at first into an open pit, then lower into the earth itself. Torches carried behind them sent weird lights ahead. The tunnel narrowed, and the steps grew short. Coates felt very warm. The heat down here was dry. It swept up and past them from a chamber further down. They were pressed ahead swiftly by the throng behind.

"I don't like this mess," Skip said grimly. "We ain't got any chance to get out of here."

Coates wondered what he should tell Skip. If he mentioned Lela?

"Listen, Skip," he kept his voice low. "I can't tell you all of it because I don't know for sure myself. Somehow, there's someone trying to help us. If we keep our mouths shut and our eyes open, I think we've got a chance."

Skip shot him a puzzled glance.

"Riddles again, huh?" He scowled. "Sometimes your riddles pay off and sometimes they don't."

They continued on in silence.

"Okay," Skip said finally, "I'll watch you. You give the signals."

They emerged into a small, rounded chamber. It was a simple place, carved from the white, soft stone. In the center Coates saw a small pit, perhaps three feet deep, with a series of two inch holes perforating its floor,

"The fire-pit," Coates whispered. Clide caught up with them now, and Lela was at his side, ugly, purposeful. Coates found it harder than ever to believe now.

The people of the Court circled the pit. They leaned back against the wall watching. Clide was nervous. He didn't seem to enjoy the situation.

"Well?" Lela snapped. "What are you waiting for? Put them through their hell. Torture them all you wish."

She made a brutal movement with her hand as though she were slicing Coates' neck.

Clide swung around, his hands on his hips, eyes suddenly like cold steel.

"How can we be sure that they will not escape the fire-pit? That it will...?"

He stopped short, for Lela was laughing at him aloud. She tipped back her head and laughed until Coates, sickened by that leering face, had to look away. When she was breathless, she spoke to Clide, but Coates felt that she was talking more directly to everyone of them in the small crypt.

"You speak riddles, Count Clide." Lela's lips curled. "At times I fail to understand you. Are you not the leader of the Ugly Ones?"

Clide was very angry but he betrayed himself only with his eyes. His voice remained calm and respectful.

"I am."

"Then listen to me, Clide," Lela demanded. "There were two factions on Thon. The Ugly Ones and the Fair Ones. You convinced many that the fire-pit was the only way to wash away sin. You convinced them that by becoming a member of the Ugly Ones, they would never again cause the Gods to be jealous. The fire-pit took away our beauty, and we followed your gospel. Once I asked you why it was necessary to be ugly to prove that we are good. You said:

"'Only the Gods themselves could enter the fire-pit without being changed.' To be disfigured and ugly, is to prove that we care nothing for beauty and were paying proper respect to our Gods."

Lela paused, breathing hard.

"Do you fear that these may be Gods?"

She included Skip and Herbert Coates with a sweeping gesture of her hand.

"Rot," Clide snapped. "Course..."

"Then into the pit with them," Lela cried.

Clide raised his arm. At the command a slave came forward and manipulated a series of levers beside the shallow, empty pool. A large disk of purple flame shot upward from the pool. The people gasped. The purple grew lighter until crimson flames shot upward to the ceiling of the cave. The crimson was broken up by darting yellow and gold highlights. The room was hushed, waiting.

Clide's voice grew strong. Either he was a perfect showman, or he had an ace hidden somewhere.

"Throw them into pool"

"Wait," Lela said sharply. "Don't touch them. If I am not mistaken, they are not men, but Gods. They will go into the pool of their own accord."

She was talking directly to Coates.

He knew she was, though he didn't dare look at her. He spoke to Skip in low, urgent tones.

"It's the same light that we saw in our room that night. It burns the Thonians. Their skin is different than ours, I think. It doesn't harm us."

"Yeah?"

Coates' mind was working furiously. He knew that if they walked out of those flames alive Clide would take care of them and Lela. Clide had everything at stake now. If he failed in one way, he'd try another.

"Follow me in. If I'm right, no harm will come to us."

HE took a deep breath and plunged into the pit. For an instant the color blinded him, and he thought that he was truly burning. Then the feeling passed. He heard Skip grunt with surprise at his side. Though the pit was small, they could see nothing. The lights arose about them, traveling up their bodies, seeking out every inch of them as though it were true flame. Nothing happened.

"Outsiders," Lela's voice came to Coates. "Are you suffering?"

Coates answered her, trying sincerely to play the part she wished him to play. Pretty or not, she was on his side now. She had proven that.

"We are not harmed"

"You feel no pain?"

Coates laughed aloud. He paused impressively, then said:

"Princess Lela, you know that we can feel no pain. Haven't you carried this joke far enough? Must we go on pretending that we are foolish mortals?"

Before she could answer, Coates grasped Skip by the arm and whispered into his ear.

"Laugh, damn you. Laugh like you've never laughed before. Make this sound like the biggest joke that's ever happened to you."

Skip didn't question him. He let a belly laugh roll upward from his stomach. Coates laughed with him. They laughed like two insane men, catching their breath and doubling over with the effort.

Lela's voice came again.

"You are satisfied with the fool you have made of yourself, Clide?"

"Now", Coates said suddenly, "Let's get out of here."

Clide's voice, suddenly cold and purposeful, stopped Coates short.

"Wait," Coates urged.

"Lela, you're a fool," Clide was calm in his rage. "It's time you found it out."

Coates could sense a terrific tension out there in the chamber.

Lela made no reply.

"It's time that you realize that I am the power on Thon."

So this was the time, was it? Coates was tense and waiting. Lela had needed him. Needed him when Clide, who had been preparing for it a long time, finally decided to act.

"I don't think I understand?"

It was Lela, calm, polite.

"You will," Clide said sternly. "You aren't the ruler of Thon. You ruled the Fair Ones, and once they were powerful. Then I and the Ugly Ones grew powerful. With the Fire Pit I converted many of your kind. They have been loyal to me."

"Because the flame affected their brains and made them dull and listless. They followed you, yes, like cattle."

Clide chuckled.

"Then you became an Ugly One," he said mockingly. "Need I remind you that you also are dull—a follower, not a leader?"

The room was silent.

Coates walked to the edge of the pit and jumped out into the room.

LELA and Clide were drawn up proudly before each other. A gasp of amazement came from the crowd as Skip followed Coates out of the pool and stood there at his side, unharmed.

"Gods," Lela said calmly. "Untouched by the flame."

She pivoted, ignoring Clide, facing the people.

"To the few of you who are here, carry this message to the outside."

She paused dramatically.

"I, Lela, am only a woman. I have ruled the Fair Ones and the Ugly Ones in complete fairness for many years. Before me, my father ruled you. Clide's power grew as he grew, until he managed to kidnap enough of my people and dull their brains so that he could build up a vast army of dullards as his followers.

"I have known that he plotted treason. I came to his Court knowing that I would die before I left here or that Clide would die, and with him, his evil power."

Clide laughed.

"Save your voice. You cannot escape now. My men await above the tunnel. They have their orders."

Lela ignored him.

"I am a Princess but I am only a woman. I needed the help of powerful men. I called upon the Gods."

She motioned toward Coates.

"You have the answer. Could the Fire Pit harm these men?"

Lela was a good showman, Coates thought. She was weakening Clide's argument.

"The Gods have answered my call," Lela said softly. "They will lead my people back to me and they will destroy Clide."

"Not while I'm armed!"

Clide whipped around, backing toward the tunnel, flame-gun in hand.

"Now—who are the Gods?"

Lela seemed not to notice him. She continued to speak.

"I have one favor to ask of the Gods," she said. "They journeyed far. They need rest now."

She took three steps forward, facing Coates, her eyes staring into his.

"You are powerful, Outsider," she said in a whisper. "One kiss for an ugly Princess before she dies?"

What madness was this, Coates wondered. Had Lela given up so easily? He stared down into the ugly face, the straight, red gash of mouth. Suddenly the eyes softened and became Lela's eyes. This was Lela of his dreams.

Without hesitation, drawn by a strange magic, he bent forward and kissed her lips.

She sprang away from him.

"Thank you." Her voice quivered with emotion. Before Coates' eyes an amazing change took place. Lela was no longer ugly. She was facing her people, slim, vibrant with youth, her lovely, childlike eyes upon them. She was smiling, sure of herself.

A startled cry came from their lips. They believed in her power now. Dulled brains were stirred and awakened.

Clide, still near the entrance of the tunnel, laughed wildly.

"So, that also was a trick. You were not affected by the pit. You practiced black sorcery."

Lela turned upon him.

"Shoot me, Clide," she said. "You tried to destroy my beauty in the pit and you thought you had succeeded. If I go above ground again, and the Ugly Ones see me, they will worship me. They will forget what you told them. They will forget their ugly Princess and yearn for their pretty ruler again. You will have lost, Clide. Shoot now or you will lose."

Coates lost his head then. He dashed forward straight into the muzzle of the flame pistol. He heard it go off, and the full impact of the flame hit his shoulder and twisted him half around.

SMOTHERING the cry of pain that came to his lips, he fell forward, knocking Clide off balance. The room was alive with cries for revenge. Clide slammed him aside and started toward Lela. Coates caught him by the arm and dragged him down. Inside of Coates, intense hatred was burning. One thought was uppermost in his mind. Lela must live. Clide must not have the chance.

They rolled over and over on the floor. Clide was struggling to reach the gun. He managed to get his knee under Coates' chin and pushed with all his strength. Coates fell back panting, his burned shoulder paining him almost beyond endurance. He lunged out, throwing himself on top of Clide. They slipped and fell into the pit.

A strange and terrible thing happened. The light had not harmed Coates. Yet, though he could not see inside it, he heard Clide scream with agony. He felt flames racing up Clide's clothing, and the man started actually to fall apart. Coates struggled free from the suffering Count and tried to drag him from the flame. It was too late.

Clide was burned so badly that Coates could no longer find a place to grasp him.

He heard Lela speak to him.

"You are safe, Outsider. Leave him where he has fallen."

The huge room was decorated with color-flame. The weird, beautiful light sprang up from the walls, decorating the throne room with bright pinks, blues, and yellows. Lela, dressed in her best, was seated smilingly on the throne. Before her, seated row on row, were the high men of Thon.

At Lela's right Herbert Coates and Skipper Nealson had been placed on thrones much like her own.

This was Lela's show, Coates thought.

His eyes were for Lela alone. All his dreams were answered at last. He had tried to be faithful to that dream, and she had materialized. Lela wore a long silver dress that clung to her slim body. Her hair, her face, were so serene, so beautiful, that she might be a goddess.

She spoke to the throng assembled in the room.

"Yesterday Clide died. You men of the Fair Ones were asked not to interfere with me until I delivered Clide's body to you. Now you have Clide or what is left of him. I'll attempt to explain."

Coates thought, "I hope she can explain a few things for me also. It's still—a puzzle."

Lela went on speaking quietly.

"Clide had a strong Kingdom started here. His Ugly Ones were beginning to realize their power. They followed his bidding and never questioned him. They thought he was a God.

"We could have come here from the provinces beyond the hills and killed Clide and his people. You wished to do that but you forgot one thing. His people were also my people, and though they were wrong, it was not their fault. It was Clide's. I could not see them slaughtered."

She sighed.

"So—I asked you to let me come alone to the Court of Clide. When I allowed him to hypnotize me and force me into the fire-pit, he thought that his triumph was complete. He was wrong.

"My father, who was powerful in science, taught me the power of the fire-pit. Men of Thon are sensitive to color-rays. They burn us as fire burns the people of other planets. Therefore, I practiced with the chemistry of my father. A chemistry of color that allowed me to effect false change in appearance. I was untouched by the pool for I never entered the pool. I was taken by two of Clide's men. They felt sorry for me. I promised them that Clide would never know I could effect a chemical change without entering the pool. When I emerged from the tunnel, I looked as though I had entered the pit, and Clide was happy."

She stopped talking and regarded Coates with happy, smiling eyes.

"I had to practice a magic strong enough to turn Clide's people against him. I had to find someone who would not be changed by the fire-pit. If I could do this, alone, then alone I might bring Clide's people back into my kingdom without war.

"I sought a God who would not be touched by the fire. I asked for one," she laughed a tinkling laugh, "and received two—one a huge, impressive looking fellow who actually frightened Clide when he looked at him."

Skip grinned happily,

"So—that is my story," Lela said, "Clide's people, my people, saw that Clide was not powerful at all. They saw me change before their very eyes and they saw my Gods walk from the fire-pit without being harmed. In this manner we have gained back a hundred thousand people without slaughter and bloodshed."

MEN arose, and watching her with worshipping eyes, left the room. The bright colors faded and died. The room was deserted save for the three of them.

Lela arose, and they followed her example.

She smiled at Skipper Nealson.

"Your ship is intact," she said. "It is well guarded. You deserve a reward, and the ship will be loaded with riches. You are free."

Skip looked foolish.

"Thanks."

Lela was suddenly solemn.

"It is I who owe you both thanks," she said. "Remember but one thing. You entered Thon through the vortex of the flat-circle. You entered it only because I wished it and made the proper arrangements. No Outsider will ever enter it again. Go—and be happy with the fortune I give you. Don't come back seeking more."

"Wait a minute," Skip begged. "You're getting way ahead of me. In the first place, I don't want anything for what I've done. I just stood around and looked pretty. If it hadn't been for Herb, I'd have got myself killed a half dozen times. Me, I like you, and if you got a job for me, I'd like to stay on Thon."

Lela's face lighted in surprise.

"You—don't wish to return to the Outside?"

Skip shook his head.

"Nope," he said. "I guess Herb will be staying here, and I'm kinda a pal of his and yours. Besides, this may not be the end of trouble. I could come in pretty handy."

Lela turned slowly toward Coates. Her face had gone white. Her eyes stared into his. Her voice was breathless.

"You do not plan to leave? You will stay here—with me?"

Coates took one step toward her and hesitated. His throat was dry.

"I want to stay—more than I've ever wanted anything," he said.

She seemed for the first time genuinely amazed.

"I—truly thought that you were a God," she said at last. "You came here not because you wished to help me—because you—cared for me?"

He nodded.

"I've been a fool," she was in his arms, clinging to him. "I didn't think that my trap would work. I thought that you were real Gods from the Outside. What shall I say?"

"Don't say anything," Coates urged.

He felt like a completely self-reliant man for the first time in his life. He took her in his arms and kissed her. When he let her go, he stood there watching her tremble, her cheeks very red. To tell the truth, he thought, I'm trembling a little inside myself. He glanced over her shoulder at Skip.

Skip was grinning at him.

"Guess you've found your Princess at last, Herb," Skip said.

Coates smiled down at the girl.

"She was with me all the time," he said gently. "There were times when I just couldn't see her."

He wished that Jeannie Adams could see him now. Herbert Coates, the shipping clerk at Planetary Research, standing in a strange castle on another planet.—A beautiful Princess nestled against his shoulder.

He still didn't quite understand Lela with her strange magic of colors and thought waves.

Yet it wasn't so puzzling. It would take even longer for her to understand the strange things that took place on earth.

He wondered, for example, if she would understand how a man like himself could be frightened to live with other people. Be frightened to speak even to a girl like Jeannie Adams for ten long miserable years. If she could grasp what it meant to him to be jerked suddenly out of that humdrum life and shot across several million miles of space to become a God on the planet of Thon.

IT was in the quiet of his own room—the magnificent room that had been prepared for him, that Herbert Coates finally felt the full satisfaction of what he had done.

It was during those last few moments of drowsy contemplation, before he felt himself engulfed in the immense softness of the royal bed, that the full meaning of his new life swept over him.

Quite overcome by it, he sat on the edge of the bed and dreamed of the day soon to come when he would marry Lela and become King of Thon.

Herbert Coates smiled the soft smile of the completely contented man.

"Well" he said, remembering the little apartment where he had first smelled the violet perfume, "guess I'll turn in."

Those last words left nothing to be desired. He lay for a long time on his back, and the perfume of Lela, Princess of Thon, wafted into his room and promised wonderful things.

THE END

Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.