"Sebastian?" Billy said. "What'she going to do?"

"Sebastian?" Billy said. "What'she going to do?"

"Moveus?" Kira said. "What do you mean,move us?"

"Pack up Archimedes and all our personal possessions and move us."

"How the hell's he going to do all that before the Bureau moves in? He'll never have the time!"

"He said it would be no problem."

"Is he nuts?" said Kira. "He weighs over three hundred pounds! He looks like he's never performed the

least bit of physical labor in his life! How the hell's he going to move us? It'll take him forever!"

"No it won't," Modred replied. "Trust me."

Dr. Sebastian Makepeace, Professor of Pre-Collapse History, poet, gourmet, raconteur, international

criminal, government spy, and fairy—no, notthat kind—stood in the center of the penthouse living room,

all three hundred pounds of him, dressed in a voluminous black leather trench coat that looked big

enough to make a sail for a Roman galley, a black and white checked houndstooth sport jacket, green

wool slacks, a yellow silk shirt, and a scarlet scarf tied around his neck, Flemish style. His black beret

was set at a jaunty angle, his long white hair cascading down from beneath it as he bounced and swayed

in the center of the room to the tune of theDance of the Polovtsi by Borodin.

All around him, various items of clothing and personal articles danced and swirled in midair in graceful

arabesques, like some explosion in a department store captured in slow-motion. Dishes and silverware

twirled through the air and stacked themselves carefully in padded packing crates. Shirts waltzed with

each other, dipped, and folded themselves neatly inside suitcases. Socks came scampering across the

carpeting and somersaulted in the air, rolling themselves up into balls and dropping into the bags. In the

center of this surreal, magical flurry of activity, Makepeace stood like a conductor leading an orchestra, a

look of majestic serenity on his face as he gestured with his arms and scat-sang in time to the music.

As the suitcases and crates became filled, they rose into the air and, in time to the music, seemed to

dance on invisible strings, heading across the living room, out the sliding glass doors leading to the patio,

and over the balcony railing, floating high above the city over Central Park. One by one, the paintings on

the walls followed them, and the pieces of furniture, even the beds and sectional sofa, and, finally, the

stereo and speakers, the music still playing. Then little Archimedes followed, with a high-pitched cry of

"Wheeee! This is fun!"

Then, with a flourish, Makepeace flung one arm out straight before him, the other angled back, in a pose

reminiscent of Mary Martin playing Peter Pan, and, despite his huge bulk, rose gracefully and effortlessly

into the air, to follow the bizarre parade across the sky.

A short while later the door was broken in by a squad of B.O.T. agents with their weapons drawn. They

found nothing but bare walls.