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Marquesa claimed, magnificent. And it was more

than merely a mask. It was a representation in beaten gold of the

head-dress, face and shoulder-plates of an Aztec warrior. The square,

snarling face was nine inches deep, the head-dress was twice as high,

and the shoulder-plates were a good fifteen inches on each side. It

nearly dizzied him with its rich yellow lustre.

"Ah, you're capable of being impressed after all!" exclaimed the Marquesa.

"I'd begun to imagine you lacked all traces of emotion! Am I not justified

in feeling proud of it?"

Don Miguel put out his hand to touch the thing, half hoping it would prove

to be a mere illusion. But the heavy metal was solid and cool to his

fingers. He stepped hack, his mind in a whirl as he noted the signs of

genuine Aztec workmanship the mask bore.

"Why do you not say anything?" the Marquesa cried.

Don Miguel found his voice and heard it creak like the rusty hinges of

a cellar-door.

"All I can say, my lady, is this. I hope to high heaven that it's forged."

"What?" She took an astonished pace towards him. "No, of course ifs not

a forgery!"

"I tell you it had better be. For if it is not . . ." He could not complete

the utterance; his mind quailed bofore the implications.

"But why do you say such a thing?"

"Because this is perfect, my lady. As perfect as though the goldsmith

finished work today. Therefore it is not a buried relic dug up from the

ground and restored. No restorer of the present time could so precisely

adopt the Aztec style. A forger might -- just -- achieve a uniform

pseudo-Aztec style over the whole of a work like this, if he had long

steeped himself in the period."

"But I don't want it to be a forgery!" The Marquesa was almost in tears

all of a sudden. "No, I'm certain that it's genuine!"

"In that case," Don. Miguel said ruthlessly, "I must take possession

of it in the name of the Society of Time, as contraband mass illegally

imported to the present!"

How much does that thing weigh? Twelve pounds? Fifteen?

When every single grain of dust gathered by a time-traveller had to

be beaten and shaken from his clothing before he made his return, what

might not a theft of that size from the past mean in terms of changes

in history?

"Where did you get it?" he pressed. The Marquesa, stunned, glared at

him and ignored his question.

"You're joking!" she accused. "It's a cruel joke!"

"No, my lady, it's a long way from joking, I'm afraid. It's as well for you

that the first Licentiate of the Society to hear about this thing is under

your roof as a guest and obligated by your hospitality. Otherwise I can't

guess the consequences. Don't you realise that offences concerning

temporal contraband come directly under the jurisdiction of the Holy

Office?"

All the colour drained out of the Marquesa's face bar the artificial

smears of rouge on lips and cheeks. She said faintly, "But how can one

be -- be punished for accepting a gift?"

Ah. The words made it clear to Don Miguel that she had in fact suspected

the mask might be contraband; it would have been surprising if she had

not, since anyone with the intelligence of an average two-year-old would

have jumped to that conclusion. It could only have been a combination

of vanity and alcohol which led her to show the thing off to him. Now

she was deeply regretting the impulse.

"A gift!" he repeated. "Did you inquire about this gift at the Society's

office here in Jorque? Did you check whether it had been licensed for

importation?"

"No, of course not! Why should I?"

Don Miguel bit back the answer which rose to his lips; there was no point

in angering her further. Adopting a more conciliatory tone, he said,

"I see. You realised it was an import, but you took the existence of

the license for granted?"

"Why -- why, yes!" She put her hands to her temples and swayed.

"Who gave it to you, then?"

"A -- a friendl"

"My lady, it would be better to tell me than an Inquisitor . . .