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In some ways, it was rather as if the wall were transparent—which it was not—and the molded impression of the Key were buried yet visible inside it. But that wasn’t truly the case. In another way, it was like seeing the Key itself, inside out, glued to the side of the pyramid—except that the “image” (or whatever it was) neither protruded from the surface nor was inset into it. The whole thing looked just as preposterous, just as impossible, as the Key itself, only more so.

And it hurt the eyes in just the same way.

Lando stepped back, blinked, and shook his head to uncross his eyes.

“All right, Mohs, suppose you tell us exactly what you know—what your Songs have to say, if anything—about what we’re seeing and what happens if we use the Key in it.”

The old man hummed a little to himself, at first as if to get the right pitch, then as if he knew the data only by rote and had to find the right place before he could start properly.

“This is the Great Lock, Lord. For generations uncounted, no Toka—no, nor any interloping stranger from the stars—has entered into the least of the many sacred shrines They left behind.”

“Marvelous. We already knew that.”

“Ah, yes, Lord, but now it is as it has been told: we shall enter, without entering. We shall walk the hallowed halls and yet they shall not echo to our feet. We shall travel to their farthest corners without going anywhere. We shall dream, therein, without sleeping, and know without learning. And, in due course and in Their time, we shall discover the Harp of the Mind; setting free the Harp, we shall set free the—”

“All right, all right. Politics again. Let me think this over a minute.” He kicked experimentally against the bottom edge of the pyramid where it showed above the ground. There was no sound, no sensation of impact. It was like kicking at water or fine dust. “Vuffi Raa?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Don’t call me master. What do you think about all this interloping business?” He took the Key from his pocket, turned it over in his hand, and thrust it back in his pocket.

“I think I’m long overdue for a lube job, Master, and would just as soon go home and—”

“I thought your lubricated areas were permanently sealed.”

Was that a sheepish look in the droid’s single eye? “Yes, Master, although I did get rather badly punctured and lost a good deal of … oh, I can’t see any alternative to using the Key as Mohs suggests, Master. Much as I would like to.”

Lando laughed. “I don’t much like this enter-without-entering, sleep-without-dreaming stuff myself, truth to tell. Look here, Mohs, what else have you got for us—in plain language.”

For the first time, the old man appeared to be uncomfortable on Rafa V. He had goosebumps all over him, and was shivering with the cold—or something else.

“That is all that is known to the Toka, O Lord. It is all that the Song hath to tell. Thy humble and obedient servant confesseth, in his unworthy manner, that, were I thee, I would consider departing this place without using the Key. All those numberless generations, waiting, waiting … Why me, Lord? Why in my time?”

“Congratulations, Mohs, you’ve just joined the ranks of some great historical figures. That’s what they wanted to know, and usually in about the same miserable, desperate tone of voice.”

Again, Lando extracted the Key, looked it over grimly. “Well, there’s no time like the present. Keep your eye open, Vuffi Raa. Mohs, what do your Songs say about using this thing?” He suppressed a shudder.

The old man gave a highly articulate shrug.

“That’s what I like,” Lando said, “help when I really need it. Here goes nothing!”

Which is precisely what happened. Lando pressed the Key against the lock in a position and at an angle that seemed most likely. It was a little like putting a ship in a bottle—at least it seemed that way at first. Then, in a manner that defied the eye and turned the stomach, the Key was in the Lock.

The sun shone. The wind blew. The sand lay on the ground.

Lando looked at Mohs, who still had some