He shook his head. "The world has always been as it is now."
"What year were you born?"
He scratched at his white hair. "I knew the number once. But I've forgotten."
"I guess the only way I'll find out how long I was gone is to saw that damned elm in two and count the rings—but even that wouldn't help much; I don't know when it blew over. Never mind. The important thing now is to talk to this Baron of yours. Where does he stay?"
The old man shook his head violently. "If the Baron lays his hands on you, he'll wring the secrets from you on the rack! I know his ways. For five years I was a slave in the Palace Stables."
"If you think I'm going to spend the rest of my days in this rat nest, you got another guess on the house! This Baron has tanks, an army. He's kept a little technology alive. That's the outfit for me—not this garbage detail! Now, where's this place of his located?"
"The guards will shoot you on sight like a pack-dog!"
"There has to be a way to get to him, old man! Think!"
The old head was shaking again. "He fears assassination. You can never approach him...." He brightened. "Unless you know a spell of power?"
I chewed my lip. "Maybe I do at that. You wanted me to have a plan. I think I feel one coming on. Have you got a map?"