The stranger tugged at his stiff red beard for a moment. "I'm Dryle van Alen. Does that enlighten you?"
"Not at all. Where are you from?"
"The Dukedom of Antarctica," van Alen said.
For the second time in half an hour, Kesley did a double take. The words sank in slowly, burrowed into his mind—and then exploded into pinwheeling brilliance.
"Antarctica!"
"Why the surprise?" van Alen asked mildly. "There are people in Antarctica too, you know. You'd think I had said Mars, or some other impossible place."
"If this is a joke, van Alen, I'm going to feed you to the hogs with tomorrow's swill."
"It's no joke. I'm attached to the court of the Duke of Antarctica."
"So they've got a Duke, too," Kesley said. He smiled. "I never thought that they'd have one just like us. And I suspect the Twelve Dukes don't even know that. But this is crazy! If you're from Antarctica, what do you want with me?"