"He has been," the guard answered. "You armed?"
"Pistol and truncheon," Kesley said.
"Leave 'em out here. You can pick them up when you're leaving."
Kesley didn't like the idea of parting with his weapons, but he seemed to have little choice. Reluctantly, he surrendered them and rode inside, into what seemed to be a park.
A fantastic array of houses was visible beyond the park. For a moment, Kesley thought he had wandered into a lunatic's asylum. Then he remembered it was simply an artists' refuge.
A nude girl stood unashamedly in the center of a lawn not far away, and clustered about her, sketching furiously, was a group of painters. Beneath a live-oak tree behind her, a fat, balding man squatted on the ground, playing a wooden flute. Elsewhere, other members of the colony seemed to be busying themselves at their various interests.
Kesley tethered his horse at a hitching-post just inside the main wall, and looked around for someone who might be in authority.
After a moment, a girl in a brief halter and shorts approached him. "Hello, friend. My name is Lisa. Where from?"
Her voice was clear and firm. Somewhat hesitantly, Kesley said, "Chicago, mostly."
"Oh? What do you do?"