all the world like the Black Knight had stepped out of the stories of Sir

Walter

Scott.

"Ah, good evening, Lord Blood," he said, smiling charmingly and offering his

hand. "So good of you to come. I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure."

"No, we haven't met. And please call me Royce."

"Then you must call me Nigel," Joey Lymon said. "Everybody does. Tragic news

about your son. My deepest sympathies. It was a terrible shock."

"Yes, it was," said Royce. "Did you know Andrew?"

"Only slightly, I'm afraid. We'd only just met socially."

"Ah," said Royce awkwardly.

"Yes, terrible thing. Still, one must go on. May I offer you a drink?"

A redheaded young woman of incomparable beauty had suddenly appeared at his

side

with a tray.

"Yes, thank you," Royce said, suddenly feeling the need of one. How did she

know

to bring me Scotch? he wondered. "I came with someone..." he began, but was

uncertain of how to finish. He looked around for Damon, thinking perhaps that

he

should perform an introduction. "Can't seem to find him now."

"No matter. If he's a friend of yours, I'm quite sure he's all right. He's

bound

to be about somewhere, mingling. We have our own rather exclusive little club

here, you know."

"No, actually, I didn't."

"Yes, we call it the Inner Sanctum." A self-deprecating smile. "Sounds rather

foolish, doesn't it? Schoolboy sort of thing."

Which was precisely what Royce had been thinking, only Carfax coming out and

admitting it like that made it seem somehow less pompous and self-indulgent.

"Still, I find that's part of its charm, in a way. Brings back that whole

boyhood secret society sort of thing. A refreshing bit of foolishness in a

depressingly serious commercial world. You know, it's often been said that

the

more complex the life one leads, the greater the need for simple play. Men

are

just big boys, after all, only with more sophisticated playthings."

"Yes, I'd noticed," Royce said wryly, looking around at the "serving wenches."

Their hip-rolling gait, coy smiles, and come-hither glances seemed to be as

much

a part of then" function as their medieval costumes, which managed to cover

them

chastely while at the same time leaving precious little to the imagination.

He