To that, Solomon had no answer. The truth was, after four hundred years of memory, there were many things about Da that had faded in Solomon's mind. The things he kept close, he knew, were even still bits and pieces, but they were all he had to remember. The vision in the Dreaming that Malicant had contrived had been the clearest vision Solomon had had in centuries.

For a little while they sat like that, Solomon staring toward the wall, but it was only so long before he came aware of the fact that the Hotel commons were not exactly fresh. That, and his face was itching, and when he brought a hand to his cheek he felt bristles under his fingers.

Well, that was just ... uncouth. Da had worn a beard, but it had always been neatly clipped. Solomon didn't care for it much himself, particularly not one of the length this one appeared to be. He glanced sidelong toward the other Foreigners. If they went upstairs there ought to be a free shower. Twenty-three rooms, and public facilities downstairs--plenty for the handful of Foreigners who remained.

"I realise this comes close to insulting a lady's decorum," he said with something more approaching is usual dryness, "but I rather think a shower is in order."