"There is a ring of protection around your camp," Nema explained. "It is
set to make entry impossible to one who does not have the words or who
is unfriendly. The carpet could not go through that, anyway. The ring
negates all other magic trying to pass it. And of course we have
basilisks mounted on posts around the grounds. They're trained to hood
their eyes, except when they sense anyone trying to enter who should
not. You can't be turned to stone looking at one, you know--only by
having one look at you."
"You're cheering me up no end," he assured her.
She smiled pleasantly and began setting the carpet down. Below, he
could see a camp that looked much like the camps he had seen in the same
movies from which all his clothes had been copied. There were well
laid-out rows of sheds, beautiful lines of construction equipment and
everything in order, as it could never be in a real camp. As he began
walking with the girl toward a huge tent that should have belonged to a
circus, he could see other discrepancies. The tractors were designed for
work in mud flats and the haulers had the narrow wheels used on rocky
ground. Nothing seemed quite as it should be. He spotted a big generator
working busily--and then saw a gang of about fifty men, or mandrakes,
turning a big capstan that kept it going. Here and there were neat racks
of miscellaneous tools.
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