Chapter nineVeils of colored mist swathed the tunnel and the chair carried me hissing through them, brushing them aside like gossamer wings. There was a sweet smell of lavender on the air, most refreshing after the stinks I’d just experienced. I slumped back, still wringing wet, my hair a sodden lump. I pushed it back and my hand dripped water. Used though I was to these extremes of change, all the same, by Zair! a poor ordinary fellow needs to let his pulse settle and get his breath back!
The chair whistled up to a cross passage and slowed.
Another chair cut in from the side, sliding eerily of its own volition. I caught a glimpse of a red foxy face, fiery whiskers, and the bright twinkle of knowing eyes.
“Pompino!” I yelled. “Pompino!”
Scauro Pompino, known as the Iarvin, let his clev
