Verkan Vall took the wafer and pared off three of the four edges,
which showed black where they had been fused. Unfolding it, he found,
as he had expected, that the pyrographed message within was in the
alphabet and language of the First Paratime Level:

Vall, darling:

Am I glad you got here; this time I really _am_ in the
middle, but good! The Assassin, Dirzed, who brings this, is
in my service. You can trust him implicitly; he's about the
only person in Dash you can trust. He'll bring you to where I
am.

Dalla

P.S. I hope you're not still angry about that musician. I
told you, at the time, that he was just helping me with an
experiment in telepathy.

D.

Verkan Vall grinned at the postscript. That had been twenty years ago,
when he'd been eighty and she'd been seventy. He supposed she'd expect
him to take up his old relationship with her again. It probably
wouldn't last any longer than it had, the other time; he recalled a
Fourth Level proverb about the leopard and his spots. It certainly
wouldn't be boring, though.

"Tell the Assassin to come in," he directed. Then he tossed the