"D-don't call me 'old man'!" said Merlin, his voice cracking once again.

Wyrdrune and Kira exchanged glances. It was unsettling, watching two people

in

the same body arguing among themselves.

"The point is, Merlin could do it, and I could too," said Makepeace. "I would

prefer having Blood's voluntary cooperation, but if he refuses, well, he can

be

persuaded, so to speak."

"I don't like it," Wyrdrune said. "It's wrong."

"I agree," said Merlin. "And there is also the fact that a man under a spell

of

compulsion, especially a spell that compels him to act in a manner radically

opposed to his basic nature, is not functioning at one hundred percent

capacity.

His reasoning becomes impaired, his reactions are slowed down, he tends to

hesitate. In a policeman such a state would render him physically vulnerable.

It's not quite the same as making a man who already likes to drink get drunk.

A

spell of compulsion could easily get him killed. I couldn't justify it."

"Yeah, it would make us no different from the necromancers," Wyrdrune said.

"Okay, forget I mentioned it," said Makepeace. "We'll just have to use reason

to

persuade him. And if that doesn't work, we'll cloud his mind about what

happened

during the past few hours, teleport him out of here, and do our best to keep

out

of his way. In the meantime, as soon as Jacqueline gets Archimedes all set up

with that modem, we can try a little creative hacking. We can locate the

appropriate public records office, break into their files, and see if can

find

out anything about recent real-estate transactions."

"Real-estate transactions?" Wyrdrune said, puzzled.

"You did say you dreamed that Modred was being held prisoner in a dungeon?"

Makepeace said: "Maybe somebody bought a castle lately."

Every day after work, Roger Harris hit the pubs, prowling for secretaries or

salesgirls, always approaching them aggressively on the theory that it would

be

more difficult to say no to a man who came on strong and forcefully. He also

came on strong and forcefully in the office, at the watercooler, in the

company

cafeteria, in the corridors of the building where he worked, and even in the

supermarket, where he was not above crashing his cart into a likely prospect,

just so he could apologize and "break the ice." He believed in occasionally

varying his approach and in working volume on the principle that if you got

turned down nine times out of ten, the tenth time made it all worthwhile.

He had it all down to a science. He had an entire library of books on how to

pick up girls, how to talk to single women, how to find a woman's G-spot, how

to

conduct affairs with married women, how to make love to the modern woman, and