Closing his hands around it, he let his forehead drop to rest against his thumbs. He was still sitting immobilized when a soft knock jarred him from his troubled thoughts. He took several deep breaths, and, slipping the stone into a pocket, he went to open the door.

Marlena stood there and her presence so soon after the reprobate who had taken their son's form had left nearly broke him down. Marlena would never forgive him if he didn't tell her, but he didn't dare. He looked away from her eyes.

"Randor," she said. "I just saw Adam. He seems in better spirits today."

"Yes. I agree." Randor looked down at his hands.

With her usual perspicuity, Marlena said, "Is something troubling you?" He didn't respond. "Is it about Adam?"

"No, my dear," he lied. "I just have a great deal of work I've left on my desk."

"Oh, I see." She didn't look entirely convinced, but she changed the subject. "I reminded him that he still has to go to physical therapy, and he didn't seem to mind. Perhaps he really is feeling better."

"Perhaps," Randor said, cursing himself for lying to her. "I'm sorry, Marlena, I really must get back to my desk." He went back to the table and picked up the plans, then moved past her.

He could feel her eyes on his back as he went down the hall. What was he going to say to her? How could he behave normally around that - that imitation of his son? Sunk in this inner turmoil, he returned to his office and sat down heavily behind his desk, head in his hands, pondering just how he was going to put this to Duncan.

After a moment, he reached into his pocket and drew out the flat rock. Caressing its smoothness in his hands, he spoke the word. "Activate."

The image appeared again. Adam was walking slowly but determinedly in circles around the room. Randor placed the rectangular bit of stone flat on the desk and watched. His blond hair was disheveled, and Randor realized that he could see no sign of toiletries in the room. He pursed his lips, irritated by that lack. Randor watched his son for a long while. It had been so hard to watch Adam stuck in bed, forcing himself to be cheerful. He'd always been a very active boy. And social. A long bout of enforced solitude wouldn't be easy on him.

He'd give his left leg to be able to speak to the boy. Perhaps if he asked politely - Randor growled and brought his fist down with a crash on the desk. The rock bounced, and Randor sucked in his breath, afraid for a moment that he'd damaged the magical artifact. He didn't want to ask that creature for anything.

A rattling of the doorknob alarmed him. He snatched up the enchanted stone and, not daring to speak, shoved it into his pocket with the image still going.

Duncan ran in. "Randor, something very odd is happening. Cringer's got Adam pinned in a corner, and he won't let anyone near him."

"What?" Randor hadn't thought about the cat. Neither had the imposter, clearly, but Cringer's reactions while Adam had still been confined to bed had given strong evidence of his protectiveness toward his young master. And obviously, the double hadn't duplicated his scent.

Man-at-Arms said, "Follow me!" Randor ran out of the room after him and they soon came to a chaotic scene. Half the court was gathered around, though they all kept a wary distance. All but Teela, who had started walking toward Cringer.

"Teela," Randor snapped in a commanding tone. She froze and looked at him. The double looked wonderfully terrified and oddly grateful to see him. "Teela," he said again, in a more moderate tone, "back off." Teela obeyed without question. Randor walked over to Cringer's side. All of Cringer's fur was standing on end, and he seemed swollen to twice his normal size. His tail lashed back and forth as he growled at the imposter. "Adam? Have you done something to annoy him?" The imposter seemed caught in his terror, unable to react to anything else.

"Randor," Duncan said incredulously, "this is more than annoyance."

Randor nodded resignedly. "Cringer," he said in a firm tone, the cat looked up at him. "Stand down." An expression of desperation entered the cat's eyes, and he seemed bewildered. He looked back at the imposter and growled again, then looked at Randor. Sighing, for this was not kind to Cringer, Randor bent and gripped Cringer's scruff firmly. "Stand down, Cringer. What's gotten into you?"

Cringer started to struggle against him, but Randor gave him a shake and said, "Come along. We'll have Dorgan take a look at you." He dragged the cat off toward the infirmary, the crowd parting as he went. This was going to take some explaining. Cringer let off howls of protest as he pulled him away.

During the time Dorgan examined the cat thoroughly and, puzzled, pronounced him healthy, Randor had time to come up with a story that would cover the occasion. Not well, perhaps, but at least some sort of explanation he could give for the cat's behavior. When Duncan asked Dorgan what could possibly have caused this, Randor pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Do you suppose, Duncan, that Beastman could somehow be affecting him?"

Duncan's eyes widened, and Dorgan gave an alarmed whistle. Cringer threw a betrayed look up at him, a low growl sounding in his throat. Randor gave him a covert scratch and the cat subsided in apparent confusion.

"But then why," Duncan started, shaking his head. "Why would he obey you?"

"He didn't really. Beastman's orders may have been too specific for him to be certain what to do. I don't know. It's just a thought, really."

"An alarming one," Dorgan said, gazing down at the cat.

"Yes. I think we'd better lock Cringer up for a time, until we can be sure of just what is going on."

Duncan nodded reluctantly. "He seems all right now."

"I know, but we can't be sure when he might do it again. What if he had an attack like this while Adam was asleep?" Randor suddenly realized that this was all too plausible. Was it possible? Once this was over, they'd better look into it.

Between them, they dragged Cringer to a room near the infirmary and locked him in. "I'll devise some sort of cage for him, so he can be fed safely," Duncan said as they walked away, listening to the sound of Cringer's agonized howls. They both winced at every yowl. Randor felt like a villain and a traitor for preventing Cringer from protecting his master. Somehow, he'd have to make the cat understand.

"Duncan, I need to talk to you in my office." Man-at-Arms nodded, and they walked in silence back to Randor's office. Randor picked up the scroll, preparing to hand it to his friend, but he was forestalled by Duncan.

"We're going to have to do something about this. Cringer is -"

Randor cursed internally. Of course Duncan would assume he wanted to talk to him about the problem with Cringer. He thought desperately, then came up with a solution. "I'll put Man-E-Faces on it. He seems to have managed to resist Beastman himself, perhaps he can think of something." Duncan nodded thoughtfully, and opened his mouth. Randor lifted the scroll to draw his attention. "I have something I need you to build."

"Oh?" Duncan tilted his head curiously.

"Yes, it's a digging machine." He spread the plans out on the desk. "Do you think you can construct this?"

Duncan leaned over the plans, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, I do believe I could, though it would take time. Randor, I don't -"

"How much time?" Randor asked.

"Several weeks at least," Duncan said, surprised by Randor's impatient interruption. "I don't understand what you need it for, though. And who designed it?"

"Weeks? Why weeks?" ** Adam, alone in that little box for weeks. No, that's completely unacceptable. **

"Some of these materials are extremely rare." Pointing out various features, he said, "I don't have any dendromine in my stores. And the elpinar is - well, it's very hard to find." Randor just stared at him for a moment, stymied. He hadn't considered supply difficulties. "You do know that I haven't finished with those -"

"I need this as soon as you can possibly produce it." Randor shook his head and waved at Duncan to stop. He did, clearly taken aback. "Find the supplies you need however you can. You can use whichever of the masters you need."

Duncan looked sharply at his face. "What is it, Randor? What aren't you telling me?"

Randor gritted his teeth, irritation making his tone snappish. "I am telling you that I need this machine yesterday, and you're still here talking to me. I'll tell you what you need to know when I am ready."

Duncan stiffened into a precise parade rest. "Yes, sire," he said, his tone curt and formal. Randor could tell that he was hurt and confused behind the soldier mask, but he could do nothing about it. Duncan gave him an abrupt nod and, turning on his heel, marched out of the office. Randor leaned back against the desk, weary beyond words.

A moment later, the door opened and the imposter strode in, slamming it behind him. He started to speak, but Randor held up a hand. "I think we'd better have this conversation in my study," he said. The fellow glared, but he nodded. They proceeded once more through the halls and Randor ushered him into the study, locking the door behind them to prevent any curious wives or friends from peeking in. He'd made both of them suspicious. It was only a matter of time before they started talking to each other.

"I want that cat -"

"How long were you striding about like that?" Randor demanded, cutting across his words. "If you don't want anyone to guess that something's wrong, you'd best curb your reactions!"

The imposter stiffened as though he'd been struck. Then he nodded slowly. "You're right. One hopes that they will put it down to adrenaline." Randor just gave him an irritated glare. "I want that cat put down. He's dangerous."

"He is the most timid creature alive," Randor said, "until you put his master in danger. Which you've done. Idiot!"

"Well you can see that he's a danger to us in this situat-" The imposter's words broke off in a squeak as Randor pinned him against the wall, one hand on his neck.

"'Us?' First of all, there is no 'us.' Second, if you want to make everyone in this palace certain that either Adam's gone insane or that you're not Adam, go right ahead and recommend that the cat he's doted on since childhood be put down because of one aberrant action."

The doppelganger blinked at him, looking stunned. His hands were wrapped around Randor's wrist, and it was clear from his expression that he found the king's strength alarming. Randor judged that he'd had enough and let him loose. He slid sideways away from him, then pushed himself off the wall and stood in the center of the room.

"Fine. I guess you probably know better than I how your moronic son would react in this situation. But you are going to order me to stay away from that animal, so that I don't have to go near it and pretend to care. It would be a bad idea for me to do so anyway, to judge by his reaction today."

"Very well. Now, if you really want to avoid arousing suspicion, I suggest that you put on a very sullen expression, the one you've got now would do very well, and hobble back to your room. And stay there the rest of the day. Adam would not be thrilled to be forbidden to visit Cringer, no matter what the reason."

The double glared, but he made to follow the advice. Before he opened the door, however, he turned back. "By the way, for that little show of temper, your son will be missing a few meals." Then he rapidly exited the room. Randor slammed his fist into the wall.

***

Adam lay back on the bed, contemplating his prison. Six flat, blank squares of yellow wood. What lay beyond them? He didn't dare try to find out. If it wasn't enough that the wizard had threatened his mother with death, he had no idea what lay on the other side. He could be underground, in the middle of a forest, or even under water.

Breakfast had appeared in the exact center of the table top. Adam hadn't eaten much. He hadn't been very hungry lately, anyway. After working on his legs for awhile, he'd placed the plate back in the center of the table, just to see what would happen. A few moments later it had vanished. He contemplated standing in the center of the table to see where it took him, but he somehow doubted that would be effective. Besides, what if the plate just became nothing? Adam shuddered at the thought.

It was very quiet in this box. He heard a slight click on the table and sat up to see what it was. Another plate and glass had appeared in the center of the table, but there was no food. A slip of paper lay across the middle of the plate instead. There was water in the glass, though.

It was about lunchtime, he pondered. Curious, he got up and picked up the paper.

There was a terse sentence written in a bold hand. "You have your father to thank for your lack of lunch."

Adam blinked in astonishment, then he chuckled. "I guess Dad must have gotten under the little rodent's skin." He snorted. "Go Dad." After a moment, he tucked the page under his mattress. It might come in handy later. He drank the water, then went back to lay down on the bed. This was already getting old. "Are we there yet?" he murmured, then he sighed.

***

Randor stared at the image in the depths of the stone. Poor Adam. That vindictive little weasel. The note was taking it a step too far. He got up and went to Adam's room. He nodded at the guards as he went in, then locked the door. The imposter glanced up at him, scowled and looked back out the window.

"There's something of a hitch in your planning," he said, sitting down next to the imposter on the window seat. The fellow shifted himself a little sideways, away from Randor, who felt a stirring of satisfaction.

"A hitch?" he demanded skeptically. "Are we talking about something that would make Adam uncomfortable?"

"Actually, yes, but not in the way you mean. First of all, the materials you want used in that device are rare and will take some time to gather. According to Duncan, it could be several weeks."

The little weasel looked up at him suspiciously. "You're not just delaying?"

"Why would I delay? I want Adam back now." Randor pursed his lips. "Which brings me to my second point. The way you're treating Adam is unacceptable."

"You brought the food deprivation on yourself."

"Not that. The boy can survive a lost meal or two. It's the blankness of the space, the lack of anything to look at, much less do." His enemy looked up at him, seeming perplexed. Randor shook his head. "It's a form of torture. Surely you know, or -" He knit his brows. "You've never been a prisoner, have you? And never held one?"

"Not in the sense you mean," he said gruffly. "But I think I know what you're getting at." Randor nodded encouragingly. "I'll give it some thought."

"Thank you," Randor said, standing up and walking out.

As he shut the door, Randor looked up to see Duncan coming towards him. "How is he?" he asked, gesturing at Adam's room.

"A bit shaken is all," Randor said, not moving aside. "He wants to be alone."

"Well, sulking in there isn't good for him. I've got something that's -"

"Leave him be, Duncan!" Randor said sharply. His vehemence was more than he had intended, and Duncan's eyes widened slightly. The guard on the door seemed to go invisible, he was ignoring them so thoroughly. Randor put a mollifying hand on his friend's arm, gently but firmly steering him away. "I've just asked him to stay away from Cringer for awhile and he's not very pleased with me."

"Are you sure that's wise, sire?"

"Are you sure it isn't?" Randor countered before Duncan could marshal any cogent arguments. "Adam isn't really in any condition to flee if Cringer turns on him, and I'm not willing just yet to bet his life on Cringer's ability to resist another's control." Randor offered up silent apologies to the cat and promised himself that he'd make it up to him.

Duncan stopped and caught his arm, forcing Randor to stop as well. "But, sire!" he started.

Randor hated himself for it, but he dared not get into a long debate with Duncan, or his oldest and dearest friend would see through his dissembling. He hardened his expression, and gazed sternly at Duncan. "Don't you have a task that needs to be completed, Man-at-Arms?" he said coldly.

That brought Duncan up short. Randor saw the confusion and dismay in Duncan's eyes before he smoothed them over. He bowed and murmured, "As you wish, sire." Then he walked off down the hall without looking back. Randor turned away, ignoring the curious and concerned stares of the passers-by, and returned to his office to gaze upon Adam in his prison.

When dinner time came, a servant knocked and delivered his meal. Randor covered up the magical device while the servant was present, but ignored his food. Another empty plate had appeared on Adam's table. The boy just shrugged and went to bed, but Randor sat and simmered. He stayed in the office all night, falling asleep finally over the top of the viewer. He was awakened in the morning by a servant coming in to bring him breakfast. His stomach growled but he disregarded the tray. When the servant was gone, he looked back at Adam. The boy was gazing at yet another empty plate. How many meals was he going to miss?

Randor wanted to go order the imposter to feed his son, but he didn't dare antagonize him. Instead, he went to look in on Cringer. The great cat was lying despondently on the floor behind the bars that Man-at-Arms had installed, his head resting on his enormous paws. Randor opened the passgate and went to sit on the floor beside Cringer, who gazed up at him reproachfully.

He put a hand on Cringer's head, and Cringer shook him off.

"Cringer, I'm sorry. There was nothing else I could do." The cat's eyes narrowed skeptically. "No, really. I know that's not Adam." He figured telling the cat could do no harm since he clearly already knew, and he couldn't exactly tell anyone else. "But that villain's got Adam, and he might hurt him if we don't do just what he says." Cringer's eyes widened, and he licked Randor's hand. "I'm doing what I can. I'll think of something to get us out of this, Cringer. But for now, you have to stay here. I'm sorry I made those rotten suggestions about why you were growling at Adam, but I couldn't think of anything else."

Cringer shifted so that he could lay his head across Randor's lap. The king guessed that he was forgiven. "I must say, though, it gave me a great deal of satisfaction to see that weasel cowering in terror." Cringer butted against his hand with his head, and Randor sat there for a long, long while, petting his son's cat and wondering how he could possibly rescue the cat's boy.

Hours later, he got up and went back to his office, giving Cringer a final rub. He'd better at least try to get some work done.

***

Adam stretched his legs in all the ways Dorgan had told him to. He couldn't lift the weights since they weren't here, but he walked around the room in circles until he was dizzy. Then he turned around and walked the other way. Just to keep his mind occupied, he started reciting all the poetry he'd ever been forced to memorize as he walked.

An empty plate was delivered at lunch. He ignored it, knowing that it would be whisked away before long, but he did drink the glass of water. All the exercise he'd been getting had made him thirsty. He sat for awhile at the table and rested his legs. The he dragged himself back to his feet. He wanted his legs to be strong again so he could kick that rotten imposter all the way to Snake Mountain and back.