There were five of them, he saw, running in a parallel series—five bright metal strips moving at different speeds. He was on the slowest of the five; it glided forward effortlessly, seemingly without friction. Carefully, he stepped to the adjoining strip, which was a little more crowded, and picked up speed. He became intrigued by the moving roadway and rapidly passed to the fastest of the slidewalks.
By that time, though, eight blocks had slipped past, and he hastily edged back to the slow walk. At the eleventh block, he cut off deftly onto the eastbound walk that intercepted the one he had been on.
Now he could see the Duke's Palace: a square, blocky edifice of lacy foamglass that was dwarfed by the towering buildings to either side. Remembering the awesome majesty of Winslow's and Miguel's palaces in comparison to the rest of Chicago and Buenos Aires, he thought it odd—and then not so odd—that Antarctica's Duke should affect a small, relatively unimpressive home.
The slidewalk brought him rapidly to the shining door that fronted the Ducal palace. Kesley formulated his plan, set forth his demands in his mind.
It was a bold, rash idea. If it failed, he had lost nothing. And if it succeeded—
He stepped off the slidewalk. The Duke's Palace seemed to beckon.
Inside, a robot attendant came humming up to him. Kesley confronted the featureless face calmly.
"I'd like to see the Duke."
"Certainly. Have you an appointment?"