"All in good time," van Alen said calmly. "First: the Twelve Dukes are very much aware of the existence of their Antarctic confrere. He is, like them, an immortal. Unlike them, he is not interested in striving for power."
"Why does Antarctica cut itself off from the rest of the world?"
"A matter of choice," van Alen said. "Our Duke doesn't care for the company of his twelve colleagues, nor for that of their subjects. But you're leading me astray with your questions. You're not letting me explain why I came here to you."
"Go ahead, then." Kesley sat back, trying to conceal his tenseness.
It made no sense at all. The Twelve Dukes had ruled the world four hundred years, and in that time no contact between men of the Twelve Empires and the people of the continent of Antarctica had ever taken place. A barrier had always surrounded that continent. Antarctica was as unapproachable as frozen Pluto, or one of the stars.
And now the barrier had lowered long enough to let this Dryle van Alen out into the world of the Twelve Dukes. Van Alen had made his way to America, to Duke Winslow's land—merely to see Dale Kesley? It was impossible.
Van Alen peered at Kesley. "You have lived in Iowa Province for four years—is that right?"
Kesley nodded.
"And before that, where?"
"Kansas Province. I was a farmer there, too."