craving for comfort."
I detected another flash of unease in the demon's display and probed for the cause. "What are you thinking now?"
The demon said, "I should perhaps have mentioned that through this portal that connects my continuum to yours there can be a certain amount of, shall we say, leakage."
"Leakage?"
"Nothing serious," he said, "but lengthy exposure followed by your complete though transitory corporeal presence in my realm may have had some minor effects."
"My integrator has become some sort of twitching familiar," I said. "I am not sure that effect can be called minor."
The integrator murmured a comment I did not catch, but it did not sound cheery.
It occurred to me that my demonic colleague might be diverting the discussion toward a small embarrassment as a means of avoiding addressing a larger one. "But we were about to hear a confession," I said.
"Rather, call it an explanation," said the demon.
"I shall decide what to call it after I've heard it."
The swirls in the frame flashed an interesting magenta. I suspected that my colleague was controlling his own emotional response. Then he said, "My motive was indeed curiosity, as I originally averred, but let us say that it was . . . well, a certain species of curiosity."
I experienced insight. "Was it the kind of curiosity that moves a boy to apply his eye to a crack in a wall in order to spy on persons engaged in intimate behavior?" I said. "The breed of inquisitiveness we call prurience?"
More silver and green. "Just so."
"So to your continuum this universe constitutes a ribald peepshow, a skirt to be peeked under?"
"Your analogies are loose but not inapt."
"You had best explain," I said.
The explanation was briefly and reluctantly given, the demon finding it easier to unburden himself if I looked away from his portal. I turned my chair and regarded a far corner of the workroom while he first reminded me that in no other continuum than ours did objects exist separately from the symbols that represented them.
"Yes, yes," I said. "Here, the map is not the territory, whereas in other realms the two are indissoluble."
"Indeed." He continued, "We deal in essences. Forms are . . ."
He appeared to be searching for a word again. I endeavored to supply it. "Naughty?"
"To some of us, delightfully so." Even though I was looking into the far corner my peripheral vision caught the burst of incarnadined silver that splashed across his portal. "It is, of course, a harmless pastime, providing one does not overindulge."
"Ah," I said, "so it can become addictive?"
"Addictive is a strong term."
I considered my integrator and said, "It seems an appropriate occasion for strong language."
With reluctance, the demon said, "For some of us, an appreciation of forms can become, let us say, a predominant pastime."
"Is that the common term in your dimension for 'all-consuming obsession'?"
He made no spoken response but I assumed that the mixture of periwinkle-blue spirals and black starbursts were his equivalent of guilty acquiescence. I could not keep a note of disappointment out of my voice. "I thought the attraction of visiting here was the contests of wit and imagination in which you and I engage."
"They were a splendid bonus!"
"Hmm," I said. I had a brief, unwelcome emotion as I contemplated being profanely peered at by a demon who derived titillation from my form. Then I realized that anyone's form—indeed, probably the form of my chair or the waste receptacle in the corner—would have had the same salacious effect. I decided it would be wise not to dwell on the matter. "To move the conversation to a practical footing," I said, "how do we return my assistant to his former state?"
"I am not sure that we can."
The integrator had been surreptitiously scratching behind one of its small, round ears. Now it stopped and said, "I am receiving another communication from Turgut Therobar," it said. "He has added an 'urgent' rider to his signal."
"You seem
I detected another flash of unease in the demon's display and probed for the cause. "What are you thinking now?"
The demon said, "I should perhaps have mentioned that through this portal that connects my continuum to yours there can be a certain amount of, shall we say, leakage."
"Leakage?"
"Nothing serious," he said, "but lengthy exposure followed by your complete though transitory corporeal presence in my realm may have had some minor effects."
"My integrator has become some sort of twitching familiar," I said. "I am not sure that effect can be called minor."
The integrator murmured a comment I did not catch, but it did not sound cheery.
It occurred to me that my demonic colleague might be diverting the discussion toward a small embarrassment as a means of avoiding addressing a larger one. "But we were about to hear a confession," I said.
"Rather, call it an explanation," said the demon.
"I shall decide what to call it after I've heard it."
The swirls in the frame flashed an interesting magenta. I suspected that my colleague was controlling his own emotional response. Then he said, "My motive was indeed curiosity, as I originally averred, but let us say that it was . . . well, a certain species of curiosity."
I experienced insight. "Was it the kind of curiosity that moves a boy to apply his eye to a crack in a wall in order to spy on persons engaged in intimate behavior?" I said. "The breed of inquisitiveness we call prurience?"
More silver and green. "Just so."
"So to your continuum this universe constitutes a ribald peepshow, a skirt to be peeked under?"
"Your analogies are loose but not inapt."
"You had best explain," I said.
The explanation was briefly and reluctantly given, the demon finding it easier to unburden himself if I looked away from his portal. I turned my chair and regarded a far corner of the workroom while he first reminded me that in no other continuum than ours did objects exist separately from the symbols that represented them.
"Yes, yes," I said. "Here, the map is not the territory, whereas in other realms the two are indissoluble."
"Indeed." He continued, "We deal in essences. Forms are . . ."
He appeared to be searching for a word again. I endeavored to supply it. "Naughty?"
"To some of us, delightfully so." Even though I was looking into the far corner my peripheral vision caught the burst of incarnadined silver that splashed across his portal. "It is, of course, a harmless pastime, providing one does not overindulge."
"Ah," I said, "so it can become addictive?"
"Addictive is a strong term."
I considered my integrator and said, "It seems an appropriate occasion for strong language."
With reluctance, the demon said, "For some of us, an appreciation of forms can become, let us say, a predominant pastime."
"Is that the common term in your dimension for 'all-consuming obsession'?"
He made no spoken response but I assumed that the mixture of periwinkle-blue spirals and black starbursts were his equivalent of guilty acquiescence. I could not keep a note of disappointment out of my voice. "I thought the attraction of visiting here was the contests of wit and imagination in which you and I engage."
"They were a splendid bonus!"
"Hmm," I said. I had a brief, unwelcome emotion as I contemplated being profanely peered at by a demon who derived titillation from my form. Then I realized that anyone's form—indeed, probably the form of my chair or the waste receptacle in the corner—would have had the same salacious effect. I decided it would be wise not to dwell on the matter. "To move the conversation to a practical footing," I said, "how do we return my assistant to his former state?"
"I am not sure that we can."
The integrator had been surreptitiously scratching behind one of its small, round ears. Now it stopped and said, "I am receiving another communication from Turgut Therobar," it said. "He has added an 'urgent' rider to his signal."
"You seem
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