n his next dreamcast Gavir sang the Song of the Blood Feud. He pictured a Desert Man whose father had been killed by a drock.
The Desert Man ran over the red sand, and he found the drock. He did not throw his knife. That would not have satisfied his hatred. He fell upon the drock and stabbed and stabbed.
The Desert Man howled his hunting-cry over the body of his enemy, and spat into its face.
And the fanged face of the drock turned into the square, battered face of Jarvis Spurling. Gavir held the image in his mind for a long moment.
When the dreamcast was over, a studio page ran up to Gavir. "Mr. Spurling wants to see you at once, at his office."
"Let him come and find me," said Gavir. "Let us go, Sylvie."
They went to Lucifer Grotto, where Gavir's wealthiest admirers among the Senile Delinquents were giving a party for him in the Pandemonium Room. The only prominent person missing, as Sylvie remarked after surveying the crowd, was the Hat Rat. They wondered about it, but no one knew where he was.
Sheets of flame illuminated the wild features and strange garments of over a hundred Century-Plus ladies and gentlemen. Gouts of flame leaped from the walls to light antique-style cigarettes. Drinks were refilled from nozzles of molded fire.
An hour passed from the time of Gavir's arrival.