To whom it may concern: if you have found this cell, you are a roundear, because only
a roundear could penetrate to it without setting off the self-destruct mechanism.
I am Mouvar—and I am a roundear.
But because the natives look with disfavor on aliens, I masked my ears so that I could
work among them without hindrance. I used the technology of my home frame to set
things straight, then retired, for it was lonely. I set up the prophecy of my return, or
the appearance of any roundear, to facilitate better acceptance in future centuries.
The tools of my frame are here, and you may use them as you find necessary.
If you wish to contact me directly, seek me in my home frame, where I will be in
suspended animation. Directions for using the Flaw to travel to the frame of your
choice are in the book of instructions beside this letter. Please return any artifacts you
borrow. Justice be with you.
The man who had been king looked around and saw no artifacts. There was only the closetlike
transporter, the table, the parchment, and the instruction book. He read the book. Phew! There was
extraordinary power here! He could change the settings, and—
No, it was better not to tempt fate further. He wanted to leave no evidence of his presence at this
time. Later, when he had a better notion of the situation outside the chambers, he might return and
do something. All in good time. He was amazed at what he had learned already.
Smiling with satisfaction at the change in his fortune, he crossed the chamber to the big, round metal
door. He pushed the lever. The door opened onto a ledge above an underground river—a complete
change from the high cliff at the entrance to the chamber on his own world. The surface of the water
was eerily lit by luminous lichen on the rock walls. And there, as if specifically placed for him, was
waiting one small boat.
Former King Rowforth of Hud, the kingdom in the other frame, smiled his crudest smile and clapped
his big, powerful hands. Again he felt that mysterious influence, as if this had been prearranged.
Ordinarily he would be suspicious of such a thing, but in this case he was thankful, because he
suspected that it had saved his life and freedom. Maybe it was destined: he was fated to survive and
dominate. If that smooth-skinned boy, Kelvin Knight Hackleberry, could claim a prophecy applied
to him, why could not he, a legitimate king, have a preordained destiny? All his life he had believed
himself destined to conquer, so why not here first, instead of his home world? Might he not
eventually conquer all kingdoms in all worlds? The notion was intoxicating!
There came a kind of laughter in his head. Rowforth jumped. It was like his wife's voice, his queen,
yet also quite unlike hers. This was the sound of victory and cruelty, while his wife was a submissive
and kind creature, fool that she was. Insanity? No, surely not, for he was a king, and a king could not
be insane. It had to be some kind of magic.
With rising excitement, the king launched the boat on the somber river, got into it, and applied
file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/D...0-%20Kelvin%203%20-%20Chimaera's%20Copper.htm (7 of 258) [2/2/2004 2:32:30 AM]