cerpt from _Le Morte d'Arthur_. The
Joseph of Arimathea bit had been an excerpt, too, he realized now,
probably lifted word for word from the text. It was odd indeed that a
sixth-century damosel who presumably couldn't read could be on such
familiar terms with a book that would not be published for another
nine hundred and forty-three years.

But not so odd if she was a twenty-second century blonde in a
sixth-century damosel's clothing.

Remembering Perfidion's secretary, Mallory felt sick. No, there was no
noticeable resemblance between her and the damosel that hight Rowena;
but the removal of a girdle and a quarter of a pound of makeup, not to
mention the application of a "lustre-rich" brown hair-dye and the
insertion of a pair of plum-blue contact lenses, could very well have
brought such a resemblance into being--and quite obviously had. The
Past Police were noted for their impersonations, and most of them had
eidetic memories.

_Come on, Easy Money_, Mallory encephalopathed. _You and I have got a
little score to settle._

* * * * *

When he entered the chamber of the Sangraal, Rowena IV was arranging
the red samite cover around the Grail. She jumped when she saw him.
"Marry! fair sir, ye did startle me. Methinketh ye be asleep in thy
castle."

"Knock it off," Mallory said. "The masquerade's over."

She regarded him with round uncomprehending eyes. He got the
impression that she had been crying. "The ... the masquerade, fair
knight?"

"That's right ... the masquerade. You're no more the damosel Rowena
than I'm the knight Sir Galahad."

She lowered her eyes to his breastplate. "I ... I wot well ye be not
Sir Galahad, fair sir. It ... it happed that aforetime I did see Sir
Galahad with my own eyes, and when ye did unlace thy unberere and I
did see thy face, I knew ye could not be him of which ye spake."
Abruptly she raised her head and looked at him defiantly. "But I knew
from thy eyes that ye be most noble, fair sir, and therefore an ye did
pretend to be him the which ye were not, ye did so for noble cause,
and it were not for me to question."

"I said knock it off," Mallory said, but with considerable less
conviction. "I'm onto you--don't you see? You're a time-fink."

"A ... a time fink? I wot not what--"

"An agent of the Past Police. One of those do-gooders who run around
history replacing stolen goods and turning in hard-working people like
myself. You gave yoursel