This creatures name seemed to be Jey, or possibly Gee. That was seven, all armed with what looked like automatic pistols in dockers clutches. Scowthers swung carelessly out from beneath his white coat each time he bent down. Susannah had already marked that one as hers. There were also three pallid, watchful humanoid things standing beyond Mia. These, buried in dark blue auras, were vampires, Susannah was quite sure. Probably of the sort Callahan had called Type Threes. (The Pere had once referred to them as pilot sharks.) That made ten. Two of the vampires carried bahs, the third some sort of electrical sword now turned down to no more than a guttering core of light. If she managed to get Scowthers gun (when you get it, sweetie, she amended shed read The Power of Positive Thinking and still believed every word the Rev. Peale had written), she would turn it on the man with the electric sword first. God might know how much damage such a weapon could inflict, but Susannah Dean didnt want to find out. Also present was a nurse with the head of a great brown rat. The pulsing red eye in the center of her forehead made Susannah believe that most of the other low folken were wearing humanizing masks, probably so they wouldnt scare the game while out and about on the sidewalks of New York. They might not all look like rats underneath, but she was pretty sure that none of them looked like Robert Goulet. The rathead nurse was the only one present who wore no weapon that Susannah could see. Eleven in all. Eleven in this vast and mostly deserted infirmary that wasnt, she felt quite sure, under the borough of Manhattan. And if she was going to settle their hash, it would have to be while they were occupied with Mias babyher precious chap. Its coming, doctor! the nurse cried in nervous ecstasy. It was. Susannahs counting stopped as the worst pain yet rolled over her. Over both of them. Burying them. They screamed in tandem. Scowther was commanding Mia to push, to push NOW! Susannah closed her eyes and also bore down, for it was her baby, too  or had been. As she felt the pain flow out of her like water whirlpooling its way down a dark drain, she experienced the deepest sorrow she had ever known. For it was Mia the baby was flowing into; the last few lines of the living message Susannahs body had somehow been made to transmit. It was ending. Whatever happened next, this part was ending, and Susannah Dean let out a cry of mingled relief and regret; a cry that was itself like a song. And then, before the horror begansomething so terrible she would remember each detail as if in the glare of a brilliant light until the day of her entry into the clearingshe felt a small hot hand grip her wrist. Susannah turned her head, rolling the unpleasant weight of the helmet with it. She could hear herself gasping. Her eyes met Mias. Mia opened her lips and spoke a single word. Susannah couldnt hear it over Scowthers roaring (he was bending now, peering between Mias legs and holding the forceps up and against his brow). Yet she did hear it, and understood that Mia was trying to fulfill her promise. Id free you, if chance allows, her kidnapper had said, and the word Susannah now heard in her mind and saw on the laboring womans lips was chassit. Susannah, do you hear me? I hear you very well, Susannah said. And you understand our compact? Aye. Ill help you get away from these with your chap, if I can. And  Kill us if you cant! the voice finished fiercely. It had never been so loud. That was partly the work of the connecting cable, Susannah felt sure. Say it, Susannah, daughter of Dan! Ill kill you both if you She stopped there. Mia seemed satisfied, however, and that was well, because Susannah couldnt have gone on if both their lives had depended on it. Her eye had happened on the ceiling of this enormous room, over the aisles of beds halfway down. And there she saw Eddie and Roland. They were hazy, floating in and out of the ceiling, looking down at her like phantom fish. Another pain, but this one not as severe. She could feel her thighs hardening, pushing, but that seemed far away. Not important. What mattered was whether or not she was really seeing what she thought she was seeing. Could it be that her overstressed mind, wishing for rescue, had created this hallucination to comfort her? She could almost believe it. Would have, very likely, had they not both been naked, and surrounded by an odd collection of floating junk a matchbook, a peanut, ashes, a penny. And a floormat, by God! A car floormat with FORD printed on it. Doctor, I can see the hea A breathless squawk as Dr. Scowther, no gentleman he, elbowed Nurse Ratty unceremoniously aside and bent even closer to the juncture of Mias thighs. As if he meant to pull her chap out with his teeth, perhaps. The hawkthing, Jey or Gee, was speaking to the one called Haber in an excited, buzzing dialect. Theyre really there, Susannah thought. The floormat proves it. She wasnt sure how the floormat proved it, only that it did. And she mouthed the word Mia had given her chassit. It was a password. It would open at least one door and perhaps many. To wonder if Mia had told the truth never even crossed Susannahs mind. They were tied together, not just by the cable and the helmets, but by the more primitive (and far more powerful) act of childbirth. No, Mia hadnt lied. Push, you godsdamned lazy bitch! Scowther almost howled, and Roland and Eddie suddenly disappeared through the ceiling for good, as if blown away by the force of the mans breath. For all Susannah knew, they had been. She turned on her side, feeling her hair stuck to her head in clumps, aware that her body was pouring out sweat in what could have been gallons. She pulled herself a little closer to Mia; a little closer to Scowther; a little closer to the crosshatched butt of Scowthers dangling automatic. Be still, sissa, hear me I beg, said one of the low men, and touched Susannahs arm. The hand was cold and flabby, covered with fat rings. The caress made her skin crawl. This will be over in a minute and then all the worlds change. When this one joins the Breakers in Thunderclap Shut up, Straw! Haber snapped, and pushed Susannahs wouldbe comforter backward. Then he turned eagerly to the delivery again. Mia arched her back, groaning. The rathead nurse put her hands on Mias hips and pushed them gently back down to the bed. Nawthee, nawthee, push ith thy belly. Eat shit, you bitch! Mia screamed, and while Susannah felt a faint tug of her pain, that was all. The connection between them was fading. Summoning her own concentration, Susannah cried into the well of her own mind. Hey! Hey Positronics lady! You still there? The link  is down, said the pleasant female voice. As before, it spoke in the middle of Susannahs head, but unlike before, it seemed dim, no more dangerous than a voice on the radio that comes from far away due to some atmospheric flaw. Repeat the link  is down. We hope youll remember North Central Positronics for all your mental enhancement needs. And Sombra Corporation! A leader in mindtomind communication since the ten thousands! There was a toothrattling BEEEEEEP far down in Susannahs mind, and then the link was gone. It wasnt just the absence of the horridly pleasant female voice; it was everything. She felt as if shed been let out of some painful bodycompressing trap. Mia screamed again, and Susannah let out a cry of her own. Part of this was not wanting Sayre and his mates to know the link between her and Mia had been broken; part was genuine sorrow. She had lost a woman who had become, in a way, her true sister. Susannah! Suze, are you there? She started up on her elbows at this new voice, for a moment almost forgetting the woman beside her. That had been Jake? Is it you, honey? It is, isnt it? Can you hear me? YES! he cried. Finally! God, whove you been talking to? Keep yelling so I can home in on y The voice broke off, but not before she heard a ghostly rattle of distant gunfire. Jake shooting at someone? She thought not. She thought someone was shooting at him. TWO Now! Scowther shouted. Now, Mia! Push! For your life! Give it all you have! PUSH! Susannah tried to roll closer to the other womanOh, Im concerned and wanting comfort, see how concerned I am, concern and wanting comfort is all it isbut the one called Straw pulled her back. The segmented steel cable swung and stretched out between them. Keep your distance, bitch, Straw said, and for the first time Susannah faced the possibility that they werent going to let her get hold of Scowthers gun. Or any gun. Mia screamed again, crying out to a strange god in a strange language. When she tried to raise her midsection from the table, the nurseAlia, Susannah thought the nurses name was Aliaforced her down again, and Scowther gave a short, curt cry of what sounded like satisfaction. He tossed aside the forceps hed been holding. Why dye do that? Sayre demanded. The sheets beneath Mias spread legs were now damp with blood, and the boss sounded flustered. Wont need them! Scowther returned breezily. She was built for babies, could have a dozen in the ricepatch and never miss a rows worth of picking. Here it comes, neat as you please! Scowther made as if to grab the largish basin sitting on the next bed, decided he didnt have quite enough time, and slipped his pink, gloveless hands up the inside of Mias thighs, instead. This time when Susannah made an effort to move closer to Mia, Straw didnt stop her. All of them, low men and vampires alike, were watching the last stage of the birth with complete fascination, most of them clustered at the end of the two beds which had been pushed together to make one. Only Straw was still close to Susannah. The vampire with the firesword had just been demoted; she decided that Straw would be the first to go. Once more! Scowther cried. For your baby! Like the low men and the vampires, Mia had forgotten Susannah. Her wounded, painfilled eyes fixed on Sayre. May I have him, sir? Please say I may have him, if only for a little while! Sayre took her hand. The mask which covered his real face smiled. Yes, my darling, he said. The chap is yours for years and years. Only push this one last time. Mia, dont believe his lies! Susannah cried, but the cry went nowhere. Likely that was just as well. Best she be entirely forgotten for the time being. Susannah turned her thoughts in a new direction. Jake! Jake, where are you? No answer. Not good. Please God he was still alive. Maybe hes only busy. Running  hiding  fighting. Silence doesnt necessarily mean hes Mia howled what sounded like a string of obscenities, pushing as she did so. The lips of her already distended vagina spread further. A freshet of blood poured out, widening the muddy deltashape on the sheet beneath her. And then, through the welter of crimson, Susannah saw a crown of white and black. The white was skin. The black was hair. The mottle of white and black began to retreat into the crimson and Susannah thought the baby would settle back, still not quite ready to come into the world, but Mia was done waiting. She pushed with all her considerable might, her hands held up before her eyes in clenched and trembling fists, her eyes slitted, her teeth bared. A vein pulsed alarmingly in the center of her forehead; another stood out on the column of her throat. HEEEYAHHHH! she cried. COMMALA, YOU PRETTY BASTARD! COMMALACOMECOME! Dantete, murmured Jey, the hawkthing, and the others picked it up in a kind of reverent whisper Dantete  dantete  commala dantete. The coming of the little god. This time the babys head did not just crown but rushed forward. Susannah saw his hands held against his bloodspattered chest in tiny fists that trembled with life. She saw blue eyes, wide open and startling in both their awareness and their similarity to Rolands. She saw sooty black lashes. Tiny beads of blood jeweled them, barbaric natal finery. Susannah sawand would never forgethow the babys lower lip momentarily caught on the inner lip of his mothers vulva. The babys mouth was pulled briefly open, revealing a perfect row of little teeth in the lower jaw. They were teethnot fangs but perfect little teeth yet still, to see them in the mouth of a newborn gave Susannah a chill. So did the sight of the chaps penis, disproportionately large and fully erect. Susannah guessed it was longer than her little finger. Howling in pain and triumph, Mia surged up on her elbows, her eyes bulging and streaming tears. She reached out and seized Sayres hand in a grip of iron as Scowther deftly caught the baby. Sayre yelped and tried to pull away, but he might as well have tried to  well, to pull away from a Deputy Sheriff in Oxford, Mississippi. The little chant had died and there was a moment of shocked silence. In it, Susannahs overstrained ears clearly heard the sound of bones grinding in Sayres wrist. DOES HE LIVE? Mia shrieked into Sayres startled face. Spittle flew from her lips. TELL ME, YOU POXY WHORESON, IF MY CHAP LIVES! Scowther lifted the chap so that he and the child were face to face. The doctors brown eyes met the babys blue ones. And as the chap hung there in Scowthers grip with its penis jutting defiantly upward, Susannah clearly saw the crimson mark on the babes left heel. It was as if that foot had been dipped in blood just before the baby left Mias womb. Rather than spanking the babys buttocks, Scowther drew in a breath and blew it in puffs directly into the chaps eyes. Mias chap blinked in comical (and undeniably human) surprise. It drew in a breath of its own, held it for a moment, then let it out. King of Kings he might be, or the destroyer of worlds, but he embarked upon life as had so many before him, squalling with outrage. Mia burst into glad tears at the sound of that cry. The devilish creatures gathered around the new mother were bondservants of the Crimson King, but that didnt make them immune to what they had just witnessed. They broke into applause and laughter. Susannah was not a little disgusted to find herself joining them. The baby looked around at the sound, his expression one of clear amazement. Weeping, with tears running down her cheeks and clear snot dripping from her nose, Mia held out her arms. Give him to me! wept she; so wept Mia, daughter of none and mother of one. Let me hold him, I beg, let me hold my son! Let me hold my chap! Let me hold my precious! And the baby turned its head to the sound of his mothers voice. Susannah would have said such a thing was impossible, but of course she would have said a baby born wide awake, with a mouthful of teeth and a boner, was impossible, as well. Yet in every other way the babe seemed completely normal to her chubby and wellformed, human and thus dear. There was the red mark on his heel, yes, but how many children, normal in every other regard, were born with some sort of birthmark? Hadnt her own father been born redhanded, according to family legend? This mark wouldnt even show, unless the kid was at the beach. Still holding the newborn up to his face, Scowther looked at Sayre. There was a momentary pause during which Susannah could easily have seized Scowthers automatic. She didnt even think of doing it. Shed forgotten Jakes telepathic cry; had likewise forgotten her weird visit from Roland and her husband. She was as enrapt as Jey and Straw and Haber and all the rest, enrapt at this moment of a childs arrival in a wornout world. Sayre nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Scowther lowered baby Mordred, still wailing (and still looking over his shoulder, apparently for his mother), into Mias waiting arms. Mia turned him around at once so she could look at him, and Susannahs heart froze with dismay and horror. For Mia had run mad. It was brilliant in her eyes; it was in the way her mouth managed to sneer and smile at the same time while drool, pinked and thickened with blood from her bitten tongue, trickled down the sides of her chin; most of all it was in her triumphant laughter. She might come back to sanity in the days ahead, but Bitch aint nevah comin back, Detta said, not without sympathy. Gittin this far n den gittin shed of it done broke her. She busted, n you know it as wells Ah do! O, such beauty! Mia crooned. O, see thy blue eyes, thy skin as white as the sky before Wide Earths first snow! See thy nipples, such perfect berries they are, see thy prick and thy balls as smooth as new peaches! She looked around, first at Susannahher eyes skating over Susannahs face with absolutely no recognitionand then at the others. See my chap, ye unfortunates, ye gonicks, my precious, my baby, my boy! She shouted to them, demanded of them, laughing with her mad eyes and crying with her crooked mouth. See what I gave up eternity for! See my Mordred, see him very well, for never will you see another his like! Panting harshly, she covered the babys bloody, staring face with kisses, smearing her mouth until she looked like a drunk who has tried to put on lipstick. She laughed and kissed the chubby flap of his infants double chin, his nipples, his navel, the jutting tip of his penis, andholding him up higher and higher in her trembling arms, the child she meant to call Mordred goggling down at her with that comic look of astonishmentshe kissed his knees and then each tiny foot. Susannah heard that rooms first suckle not the baby at his mothers breast but Mias mouth on each perfectly shaped toe. THREE Yon childs my dinhs doom, Susannah thought coldly. If I do nothing else, I could seize Scowthers gun and shoot it. Twould be the work of two seconds. With her speedher uncanny gunslingers speedthis was likely true. But she found herself unable to move. She had foreseen many outcomes to this act of the play, but not Mias madness, never that, and it had caught her entirely by surprise. It crossed Susannahs mind that she was lucky indeed that the Positronics link had gone down when it had. If it hadnt, she might be as mad as Mia. And that link could kick back in, sisterdont you think you better make your move while you still can? But she couldnt, that was the thing. She was frozen in wonder, held in thrall. Stop that! Sayre snapped at her. Your job isnt to slurp at him but to feed him! If youd keep him, hurry up! Give him suck! Or should I summon a wetnurse? There are many whod give their eyes for the opportunity! Never in your  LIFE! Mia cried, laughing, but she lowered the child to her chest and impatiently brushed aside the bodice of the plain white gown she wore, baring her right breast. Susannah could see why men would be taken by her; even now that breast was a perfect, coraltipped globe that seemed more fit for a mans hand and a mans lust than a babys nourishment. Mia lowered the chap to it. For a moment he rooted as comically as hed goggled at her, his face striking the nipple and then seeming to bounce off. When it came down again, however, the pink rose of his mouth closed on the erect pink bud of her breast and began to suck. Mia stroked the chaps tangled and bloodsoaked black curls, still laughing. To Susannah, her laughter sounded like screams. There was a clumping on the floor as a robot approached. It looked quite a bit like Andy the Messenger Robotsame skinny seven or eightfoot height, same electricblue eyes, same manyjointed, gleaming body. In its arms it bore a large glass box filled with green light. Whats that fucking thing for? Sayre snapped. He sounded both pissed off and incredulous. An incubator, Scowther said. I felt it would be better to be safe than sorry. When he turned to look, his shoulderholstered gun swung toward Susannah. It was an even better chance, the best shed ever have, and she knew it, but before she could take it, Mias chap changed. FOUR Susannah saw red light run down the childs smooth skin, from the crown of its head to the stained heel of its right foot. It was not a flush but a flash, lighting the child from without Susannah would have sworn it. And then, as it lay upon Mias deflated stomach with its lips clamped around her nipple, the red flash was followed by a blackness that rose up and spread, turning the child into a lightless gnome, a negative of the rosy baby that had escaped Mias womb. At the same time its body began to shrivel, its legs pulling up and melting into its belly, its head sliding downand pulling Mias breast with itinto its neck, which puffed up like the throat of a toad. Its blue eyes turned to tar, then back to blue again. Susannah tried to scream and could not. Tumors swelled along the black things sides, then burst and extruded legs. The red mark which had ridden the heel was still visible, but now had become a blob like the crimson brand on a black widow spiders belly. For that was what this thing was a spider. Yet the baby was not entirely gone. A white excrescence rose from the spiders back. In it Susannah could see a tiny, deformed face and blue sparks that were eyes. What? Mia asked, and started up on her elbows once again. Blood had begun to pour from her breast. The baby drank it like milk, losing not a drop. Beside Mia, Sayre was standing as still as a graven image, his mouth open and his eyes bulging from their sockets. Whatever hed expected from this birthwhatever hed been told to expectit wasnt this. The Detta part of Susannah took a childs vicious pleasure in the mans shocked expression he looked like the comedian Jack Benny milking a laugh. For a moment only Mia seemed to realize what had happened, for her face began to lengthen with a kind of informed horrorand, perhaps, pain. Then her smile returned, that angelic madonnas smile. She reached out and stroked the stillchanging freak at her breast, the black spider with the tiny human head and the red mark on its bristly gut. Is he not beautiful? she cried. Is my son not beautiful, as fair as the summer sun? These were her last words. FIVE Her face didnt freeze, exactly, but stilled. Her cheeks and brow and throat, flushed dark with the exertions of childbirth only a moment before, faded to the waxy whiteness of orchid petals. Her shining eyes grew still and fixed in their sockets. And suddenly it was as if Susannah were looking not at a woman lying on a bed but the drawing of a woman. An extraordinarily good one, but still something that had been created on paper with strokes of charcoal and a few pale colors. Susannah remembered how she had returned to the PlazaPark Hyatt Hotel after her first visit to the allure of Castle Discordia, and how shed come here to Fedic after her last palaver with Mia, in the shelter of the merlon. How the sky and the castle and the very stone of the merlon had torn open. And then, as if her thought had caused it, Mias face was ripped apart from hairline to chin. Her fixed and dulling eyes fell crookedly away to either side. Her lips split into a crazy double twingrin. And it wasnt blood that poured out of that widening fissure in her face but a stalesmelling white powder. Susannah had a fragmented memory of T. S. Eliot (hollow men stuffed men headpiece filled with straw ) and Lewis Carroll (why youre nothing but a pack of cards ) before Mias dantete raised its unspeakable head from its first meal. Its bloodsmeared mouth opened and it hoisted itself, lower legs scrabbling for purchase on its mothers deflating belly, upper ones almost seeming to shadowbox at Susannah. It squealed with triumph, and if it had at that moment chosen to attack the other woman who had given it nurture, Susannah Dean would surely have died next to Mia. Instead, it returned to the deflated sac of breast from which it had taken its first suck, and tore it off. The sound of its chewing was wet and loose. A moment later it burrowed into the hole it had made, the white human face disappearing while Mias was obliterated by the dust boiling out of her deflating head. There was a harsh, almost industrial sucking sound and Susannah thought, Its taking all the moisture out of her, all the moisture thats left. And look at it! Look at it swell! Like a leech on a horses neck! Just then a ridiculously English voiceit was the plummy intonation of the lifelong gentlemans gentlemansaid Pardon me, sirs, but will you be wanting this incubator after all? For the situation seems to have altered somewhat, if you dont mind my saying. It broke Susannahs paralysis. She pushed herself upward with one hand and seized Scowthers automatic pistol with the other. She yanked, but the gun was strapped across the butt and wouldnt come free. Her questing index finger found the little sliding knob that was the safety and pushed it. She turned the gun, holster and all, toward Scowthers ribcage. What the dev he began, and then she pulled the trigger with her middle finger, at the same time yanking back on the shoulderrig with all her force. The straps binding the holster to Scowthers body held, but the thinner one holding the automatic in place snapped, and as Scowther fell sideways, trying to look down at the smoking black hole in his white labcoat, Susannah took full possession of his gun. She shot Straw and the vampire beside him, the one with the electric sword. For a moment the vampire was there, still staring at the spidergod that had looked so much like a baby to begin with, and then its aura whiffed out. The things flesh went with it. For a moment there was nothing where it had been but an empty shirt tucked into an empty pair of bluejeans. Then the clothes collapsed. Kill her! Sayre screamed, reaching for his own gun. Kill that bitch! Susannah rolled away from the spider crouched on the body of its rapidly deflating mother, raking at the helmet she was wearing even as she tumbled off the side of the bed. There was a moment of excruciating pain when she thought it wasnt going to come away and then she hit the floor, free of it. It hung over the side of the bed, fringed with her hair. The spiderthing, momentarily pulled off its roost when its mothers body jerked, chittered angrily. Susannah rolled beneath the bed as a series of gunshots went off above her. She heard a loud SPROINK as one of the slugs hit a spring. She saw the rathead nurses feet and hairy lower legs and put a bullet into one of her knees. The nurse gave a scream, turned, and began to limp away, squalling. Sayre leaned forward, pointing the gun at the makeshift double bed just beyond Mias deflating body. There were already three smoking, smoldering holes in the groundsheet. Before he could add a fourth, one of the spiders legs caressed his cheek, tearing open the mask he wore and revealing the hairy cheek beneath. Sayre recoiled, crying out. The spider turned to him and made a mewling noise. The white thing high on its back a node with a human faceglared, as if to warn Sayre away from its meal. Then it turned back to the woman, who was really not recognizable as a woman any longer; she looked like the ruins of some incredibly ancient mummy which had now turned to rags and powder. I say, this is a bit confusing, the robot with the incubator remarked. Shall I retire? Perhaps I might return when matters have clarified somewhat. Susannah reversed direction, rolling out from beneath the bed. She saw that two of the low men had taken to their heels. Jey, the hawkman, didnt seem to be able to make up his mind. Stay or go? Susannah made it up for him, putting a single shot into the sleek brown head. Blood and feathers flew. Susannah got up as well as she could, gripping the side of the bed for balance, holding Scowthers gun out in front of her. She had gotten four. The rathead nurse and one other had run. Sayre had dropped his gun and was trying to hide behind the robot with the incubator. Susannah shot the two remaining vampires and the low man with the bulldog face. That oneHaberhadnt forgotten Susannah; hed been holding his ground and waiting for a clear shot. She got hers first and watched him fall backward with deep satisfaction. Haber, she thought, had been the most dangerous. Madam, I wonder if you could tell me began the robot, and Susannah put two quick shots into its steel face, darkening the blue electric eyes. This trick she had learned from Eddie. A gigantic siren immediately went off. Susannah felt that if she listened to it long, she would be deafened. I HAVE BEEN BLINDED BY GUNFIRE! the robot bellowed, still in its absurd wouldyoulikeanothercupofteamadam accent. VISION ZERO, I NEED HELP, CODE 7, I SAY, HELP! Sayre stepped away from it, hands held high. Susannah couldnt hear him over the siren and the robots blatting, but she could read the words as they came off the bastards lips I surrender, will you accept my parole? She smiled at this amusing idea, unaware that she smiled. It was without humor and without mercy and meant only one thing she wished she could get him to lick her stumps, as he had forced Mia to lick his boots. But there wasnt time enough. He saw his doom in her grin and turned to run and Susannah shot him twice in the back of the headonce for Mia, once for Pere Callahan. Sayres skull shattered in a fury of blood and brains. He grabbed the wall, scrabbled at a shelf loaded with equipment and supplies, and then went down dead. Susannah now took aim at the spidergod. The tiny white human head on its black and bristly back turned to look at her. The blue eyes, so uncannily like Rolands, blazed. No, you cannot! You must not! For I am the Kings only son! I cant? she sent back, leveling the automatic. Oh, sugar, you are just so WRONG! But before she could pull the trigger, there was a gunshot from behind her. A slug burned across the side of her neck. Susannah reacted instantly, turning and throwing herself sideways into the aisle. One of the low men whod run had had a change of heart and come back. Susannah put two bullets into his chest and made him mortally sorry. She turned, eager for moreyes, this was what she wanted, what she had been made for, and shed always revere Roland for showing herbut the others were either dead or fled. The spider raced down the side of its birthbed on its many legs, leaving the papiermch corpse of its mother behind. It turned its white infants head briefly toward her. Youd do well to let me pass, Blackie, or She fired at it, but stumbled over the hawkmans outstretched hand as she did. The bullet that would have killed the abomination went a little awry, clipping off one of its eight hairy legs instead. A yellowishred fluid, more like pus than blood, poured from the place where the leg had joined the body. The thing screamed at her in pain and surprise. The audible portion of that scream was hard to hear over the endless cycling blat of the robots siren, but she heard it in her head loud and clear. Ill pay you back for that! My father and I, well pay you back! Make you cry for death, so we will! You aint gonna have a chance, sugar, Susannah sent back, trying to project all the confidence she possibly could, not wanting the thing to know what she believed that Scowthers automatic might have been shot dry. She aimed with a deliberation that was unnecessary, and the spider scuttled rapidly away from her, darting first behind the endlessly sirening robot and then through a dark doorway. All right. Not great, not the best solution by any means, but she was still alive, and that much was grand. And the fact that all of sai Sayres crew were dead or run off? That wasnt bad, either. Susannah tossed Scowthers gun aside and selected another, this one a Walther PPK. She took it from the dockers clutch Straw had been wearing, then rummaged in his pockets, where she found half a dozen extra clips. She briefly considered adding the vampires electric sword to her armory and decided to leave it where it was. Better the tools you knew than those you didnt. She tried to get in touch with Jake, couldnt hear herself think, and turned to the robot.


Hey, big boy! Shut off that damn sireen, what do you say? She had no idea if it would work, but it did. The silence was immediate and wonderful, with the sensuous texture of moir silk. Silence might be useful. If there was a counterattack, shed hear them coming. And the dirty truth? She hoped for a counterattack, wanted them to come, and never mind whether that made sense or not. She had a gun and her blood was up. That was all that mattered. (Jake! Jake, do you hear me, kiddo? If you hear, answer your big sis! ) Nothing. Not even that rattle of distant gunfire. He was out of t Then, a single wordwas it a word? (wimeweh ) More important, was it Jake? She didnt know for sure, but she thought yes. And the word seemed familiar to her, somehow. Susannah gathered her concentration, meaning to call louder this time, and then a queer idea came to her, one too strong to be called intuition. Jake was trying to be quiet. He was  hiding? Maybe getting ready to spring an ambush? The idea sounded crazy, but maybe his blood was up, too. She didnt know, but thought hed either sent her that one odd word (wimeweh ) on purpose, or it had slipped out. Either way, it might be better to let him roll his own oats for awhile. I say, I have been blinded by gunfire! the robot insisted. Its voice was still loud, but had dropped to a range at least approaching normal. I cant see a bloody thing and I have this incubator Drop it, Susannah said. But Drop it, Chumley. I beg pawdon, madam, but my name is Nigel the Butler and I really cant Susannah had been hauling herself closer during this little exchangeyou didnt forget the old means of locomotion just because youd been granted a brief vacation with legs, she was discoveringand read both the name and the serial number stamped on the robots chromesteel midsection. Nigel DNK 45932, drop that fucking glass box, say thankya! The robot (DOMESTIC was stamped just below its serial number) dropped the incubator and then whimpered when it shattered at its steel feet. Susannah worked her way over to Nigel, and found she had to conquer a moments fear before reaching up and taking one threefingered steel hand. She needed to remind herself that this wasnt Andy from Calla Bryn Sturgis, nor could Nigel know about Andy. The butlerrobot might or might not be sophisticated enough to crave revengecertainly Andy had beenbut you couldnt crave what you didnt know about. She hoped. Nigel, pick me up. There was a whine of servomotors as the robot bent. No, hon, you have to come forward a little bit. Theres broken glass where you are. Pawdon, madam, but Im blind. I believe it was you who shot my eyes out. Oh. That. Well, she said, hoping her tone of irritation would disguise the fear beneath, I cant very well get you new ones if you dont pick me up, can I? Now get a wiggle on, may it do ya. Times wasting. Nigel stepped forward, crushing broken glass beneath its feet, and came to the sound of her voice. Susannah controlled the urge to cringe back, but once the Domestic Robot had set its grip on her, its touch was quite gentle. It lifted her into its arms. Now take me to the door. Madam, beg pawdon but there are many doors in Sixteen. More still beneath the castle. Susannah couldnt help being curious. How many? A brief pause. I should say five hundred and ninetyfive are currently operational. She immediately noticed that fiveninetyfive added up to nineteen. Added up to chassit. Do you mind giving me a carry to the one I came through before the shooting started? Susannah pointed toward the far end of the room. No, madam, I dont mind at all, but Im sorry to tell you that it will do you no good, Nigel said in his plummy voice. That door, NEW YORK 7FEDIC, is oneway. A pause. Relays clicking in the steel dome of its head. Also, it burned out after its last use. It has, as you might say, gone to the clearing at the end of the path. Oh, thats just wonderful ! Susannah cried, but realized she wasnt exactly surprised by Nigels news. She remembered the ragged humming sound shed heard it making just before Sayre had pushed her rudely through it, remembered thinking, even in her distress, that it was a dying thing. And yes, it had died. Just wonderful! I sense you are distressed, madam. Youre goddamned right Im distressed! Bad enough the damned thing only opened oneway! Now its shut down completely! Except for the default, Nigel agreed. Default? What do you mean, default? That would be NEW YORK 9FEDIC, Nigel told her. At one time there were over thirty oneway New YorktoFedic ports, but I believe 9 is the only one that remains. All commands pertaining to NEW YORK 7FEDIC will now have defaulted to 9. Chassit , she thought  almost prayed. Hes talking about chassit, I think. Oh God, I hope he is. Do you mean passwords and such, Nigel? Why, yes, madam. Take me to Door 9. As you wish. Nigel began to move rapidly up the aisle between the hundreds of empty beds, their taut white sheets gleaming under the brilliant overhead lamps. Susannahs imagination momentarily populated this room with screaming, frightened children, freshly arrived from Calla Bryn Sturgis, maybe from the neighboring Callas, as well. She saw not just a single rathead nurse but battalions of them, eager to clamp the helmets over the heads of the kidnapped children and start the process that  that did what? Ruined them in some way. Sucked the intelligence out of their heads and knocked their growthhormones out of whack and ruined them forever. Susannah supposed that at first they would be cheered up to hear such a pleasant voice in their heads, a voice welcoming them to the wonderful world of North Central Positronics and the Sombra Group. Their crying would stop, their eyes fill with hope. Perhaps, they would think the nurses in their white uniforms were good in spite of their hairy, scary faces and yellow fangs. As good as the voice of the nice lady. Then the hum would begin, quickly building in volume as it moved toward the middle of their heads, and this room would again fill with their frightened screams Madam? Are you all right? Yes. Why do you ask, Nigel? I believe you shivered. Never mind. Just get me to the door to New York, the one that still works. SIX Once they left the infirmary, Nigel bore her rapidly down first one corridor and then another. They came to escalators that looked as if they had been frozen in place for centuries. Halfway down one of them, a steel ball on legs flashed its amber eyes at Nigel and cried, Howp! Howp! Nigel responded Howp, howp! in return and then said to Susannah (in the confidential tone certain gossipy people adopt when discussing Those Who Are Unfortunate), Hes a Mech Foreman and has been stuck there for over eight hundred yearsfried boards, I imagine. Poor soul! But he still tries to do his best. Twice Nigel asked her if she believed his eyes could be replaced. The first time Susannah told him she didnt know. The second timefeeling a little sorry for him (definitely him now, not it)she asked what he thought. I think my days of service are nearly over, he said, and then added something that made her arms tingle with gooseflesh O Discordia! The Diem Brothers are dead, she thought, rememberinghad it been a dream? a vision? a glimpse of her Tower?  something from her time with Mia. Or had it been her time in Oxford, Mississippi? Or both? Papa Doc Duvalier is dead. Christa McAuliffe is dead. Stephen King is dead, popular writer killed while taking afternoon walk, O Discordia, O lost! But who was Stephen King? Who was Christa McAuliffe, for that matter? Once they passed a low man who had been present at the birth of Mias monster. He lay curled on a dusty corridor floor like a human shrimp with his gun in one hand and a hole in his head. Susannah thought hed committed suicide. In a way, she supposed that made sense. Because things had gone wrong, hadnt they? And unless Mias baby found its way to where it belonged on its own, Big Red Daddy was going to be mad. Might be mad even if Mordred somehow found his way home. His other father. For this was a world of twins and mirror images, and Susannah now understood more about what shed seen than she really wanted to. Mordred too was a twin, a JekyllandHyde creature with two selves, and heor ithad the faces of two fathers to remember. They came upon a number of other corpses; all looked like suicides to Susannah. She asked Nigel if he could tellby their smells, or somethingbut he claimed he could not. How many are still here, do you think? she asked. Her blood had had time to cool a little, and now she felt nervous. Not many, madam. I believe that most have moved on. Very likely to the Derva. Whats the Derva? Nigel said he was dreadfully sorry, but that information was restricted and could be accessed only with the proper password. Susannah tried chassit, but it was no good. Neither was nineteen or, her final try, ninetynine. She supposed shed have to be content with just knowing most of them were gone. Nigel turned left, into a new corridor with doors on both sides. She got him to stop long enough to try one of them, but there was nothing of particular note inside. It was an office, and longabandoned, judging by the thick fall of dust. She was interested to see a poster of madly jitterbugging teenagers on one wall. Beneath it, in large blue letters, was this SAY, YOU COOL CATS AND BOPPIN KITTIES! I ROCKED AT THE HOP WITH ALAN FREED! CLEVELAND, OHIO, OCTOBER 1954 Susannah was pretty sure that the performer on stage was Richard Penniman. Clubcrawling folkies such as herself affected disdain for anyone who rocked harder than Phil Ochs, but Suze had always had a soft spot in her heart for Little Richard; good golly, Miss Molly, you sure like to ball. She guessed it was a Detta thing. Did these people once upon a time use their doors to vacation in various wheres and whens of their choice? Did they use the power of the Beams to turn certain levels of the Tower into tourist attractions? She asked Nigel, who told her he was sure he did not know. Nigel still sounded sad about the loss of his eyes. Finally they came into an echoing rotunda with doors marching all around its mighty circumference. The marble tiles on the floor were laid in a blackandwhite checkerboard pattern Susannah remembered from certain troubled dreams in which Mia had fed her chap. Above, high and high, constellations of electric stars winked in a blue firmament that was now showing plenty of cracks. This place reminded her of the Cradle of Lud, and even more strongly of Grand Central Station. Somewhere in the walls, airconditioners or exchangers ran rustily. The smell in the air was weirdly familiar, and after a short struggle, Susannah identified it Comet Cleanser. They sponsored The Price Is Right, which she sometimes watched on TV if she happened to be home in the morning. Im Don Pardo, now please welcome your host, Mr. Bill Cullen! Susannah felt a moment of vertigo and closed her eyes. Bill Cullen is dead. Don Pardo is dead. Martin Luther King is dead, shot down in Memphis. Rule Discordia! O Christ, those voices, would they never stop? She opened her eyes and saw doors marked SHANGHAIFEDIC and BOMBAYFEDIC and one marked DALLAS (NOVEMBER 1963)FEDIC. Others were written in runes that meant nothing to her. At last Nigel stopped in front of one she recognized. NORTH CENTRAL POSITRONICS, LTD. New YorkFedic Maximum Security All of this Susannah recognized from the other side, but below VERBAL ENTRY CODE REQUIRED was this message, flashing ominous red 9 FINAL DEFAULT SEVEN What would you like to do next, madam? Nigel asked. Set me down, sugarpie. She had time to wonder what her response would be if Nigel declined to do so, but he didnt even hesitate. She walkhoppedscuttled to the door in her old way and put her hands on it. Beneath them she felt a texture that was neither wood nor metal. She thought she could hear a very faint hum. She considered trying chassither version of Ali Babas Open, sesame and didnt bother. There wasnt even a doorknob. Oneway meant oneway, she reckoned; no kidding around. (JAKE! ) She sent it with all her might. No answer. Not even that faint (wimeweh ) nonsense word. She waited a moment longer, then turned around and sat with her back propped against the door. She dropped the extra ammo clips between her spread knees and then held the Walther PPK up in her right hand. A good weapon to have with your back to a locked door, she reckoned; she liked the weight of it. Once upon a time, she and others had been trained in a protest technique called passive resistance. Lie down on the lunchroom floor, cover your soft middle and softer privates. Do not respond to those who strike you and revile you and curse your parents. Sing in your chains like the sea. What would her old friends make of what she had become? Susannah said You know what? I dont give shit one. Passive resistance is also dead. Madam? Nothing, Nigel. Madam, may I ask What Im doing? Exactly, madam. Waiting on a friend, Chumley. Just waiting on a friend. She thought that DNK 45932 would remind her that his name was Nigel, but he didnt. Instead, he asked how long she would wait for her friend. Susannah told him until hell froze over. This elicited a long silence. Finally Nigel asked May I go, then, madam? How will you see? I have switched to infrared. It is less satisfying than threeX macrovision, but it will suffice to get me to the repair bays. Is there anyone in the repair bays who can fix you? Susannah asked with mild curiosity. She pushed the button that dropped the clip out of the Walthers butt, then rammed it back in, taking a certain elemental pleasure in the oily, metallic SNACK! sound it made. Im sure I cant say, madam, Nigel replied, although the probability of such a thing is very low, certainly less than one per cent. If no one comes, then I, like you, will wait. She nodded, suddenly tired and very sure that this was where the grand quest endedhere, leaning against this door. But you didnt give up, did you? Giving up was for cowards, not gunslingers. May ya do fine, Nigelthanks for the piggyback. Long days and pleasant nights. Hope you get your eyes back. Sorry I shot em out, but I was in a bit of a tight and didnt know whose side you were on. And good wishes to you, madam. Susannah nodded. Nigel clumped off and then she was alone, leaning against the door to New York. Waiting for Jake. Listening for Jake. All she heard was the rusty, dying wheeze of the machinery in the walls. CHAPTER V IN THE JUNGLE, THE MIGHTY JUNGLE  ONE The threat that the low men and the vampires might kill Oy was the only thing that kept Jake from dying with the Pere. There was no agonizing over the decision; Jake yelled (OY, TO ME! ) with all the mental force he could muster, and Oy ran swiftly at his heel. Jake passed low men who stood mesmerized by the turtle and straightarmed a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. From the dim orangered glow of the restaurant he and Oy entered a zone of brilliant white light and charred, pungent cookery. Steam billowed against his face, hot and wet, (the jungle ) perhaps setting the stage for what followed, (the mighty jungle ) perhaps not. His vision cleared as his pupils shrank and he saw he was in the Dixie Pigs kitchen. Not for the first time, either. Once, not too long before the coming of the Wolves to Calla Bryn Sturgis, Jake had followed Susannah (only then shed have been Mia) into a dream where shed been searching some vast and deserted kitchen for food. This kitchen, only now the place was bustling with life. A huge pig sizzled on an iron spit over an open fire, the flames leaping up through a foodcaked iron grate at every drop of grease. To either side were gigantic copperhooded stoves upon which pots nearly as tall as Jake himself fumed. Stirring one of these was a grayskinned creature so hideous that Jakes eyes hardly knew how to look at it. Tusks rose from either side of its gray, heavylipped mouth. Dewlapped cheeks hung in great warty swags of flesh. The fact that the creature was wearing foodstained cooks whites and a puffy popcorn chefs toque somehow finished the nightmare, sealed it beneath a coat of varnish. Beyond this apparition, nearly lost in the steam, two other creatures dressed in whites were washing dishes side by side at a double sink. Both wore neckerchiefs. One was human, a boy of perhaps seventeen. The other appeared to be some sort of monster housecat on legs. Vai, vai, los mostros pubes, tre cannits en founs! the tusked chef screeched at the washerboys. It hadnt noticed Jake. One of themthe catdid. It laid back its ears and hissed. Without thinking, Jake threw the Oriza hed been holding in his right hand. It sang across the steamy air and sliced through the catthings neck as smoothly as a knife through a cake of lard. The head toppled into the sink with a sudsy splash, the green eyes still blazing. San fai, can dit los! cried the chef. He seemed either unaware of what had happened or was unable to grasp it. He turned to Jake. The eyes beneath his sloping, crenellated forehead were a bleary bluegray, the eyes of a sentient being. Seen headon, Jake realized what it was some kind of freakish, intelligent warthog. Which meant it was cooking its own kind. That seemed perfectly fitting in the Dixie Pig. Can foh pube aintet can fah! Sheso pan! Vai! This was addressed to Jake. And then, just to make the lunacy complete And eef you wond scrub, dond even stard! The other washboy, the human one, was screaming some sort of warning, but the chef paid no attention. The chef seemed to believe that Jake, having killed one of his helpers, was now duty and honorbound to take the dead cats place. Jake flung the other plate and it sheared through the warthogs neck, putting an end to its blabber. Perhaps a gallon of blood flew onto the stovetop to the things right, sizzling and sending up a horrible charred smell. The warthogs head slewed to the left on its neck and then tilted backward, but didnt come off. The beingit was easily seven feet talltook two staggersteps to its left and embraced the sizzling pig turning on its spit. The head tore loose a little further, now lying on Chef Warthogs right shoulder, one eye glaring up at the steamwreathed fluorescent lights. The heat sealed the cooks hands to the roast and they began to melt. Then the thing fell forward into the open flames and its tunic caught fire. Jake whirled from this in time to see the other potboy advancing on him with a butcher knife in one hand and a cleaver in the other. Jake grabbed another Riza from the bag but held his throw in spite of the voice in his head that was yammering for him to go on, go on and do it, give the bastard what hed once heard Margaret Eisenhart refer to as a deep haircut. This term had made the other Sisters of the Plate laugh hard. Yet as much as he wanted to throw, he held his hand. What he saw was a young man whose skin was a pallid yellowishgray under the brilliant kitchen lights. He looked both terrified and malnourished. Jake raised the plate in warning and the young man stopped. It wasnt the Riza he was looking at, however, but Oy, who stood between Jakes feet. The bumblers fur was bushed out around his body, seeming to double his size, and his teeth were bared. Do you Jake began, and then the door to the restaurant burst open. One of the low men rushed in. Jake threw the plate without hesitation. It moaned through the steamy, brilliant air and took off the intruders head with gory precision just above the Adams apple. The headless body bucked first to the left and then to the right, like a stage comic accepting a round of applause with a whimsical move, and then collapsed. Jake had another plate in each hand almost immediately, his arms once more crossed over his chest in the position sai Eisenhart called the load. He looked at the washerboy, who was still holding the knife and the cleaver. Without much threat, however, Jake thought. He tried again and this time got the whole question out. Do you speak English? Yar, the boy said. He dropped the cleaver so he could hold one waterreddened thumb and its matching forefinger about a quarter of an inch apart. Bout just a liddle. I learn since I come over here. He opened his other hand and the knife joined the cleaver on the kitchen floor. Do you come from MidWorld? Jake asked. You do, dont you? He didnt think the washerboy was terribly bright (No quizkid, Elmer Chambers would no doubt have sneered), but he was at least smart enough to be homesick; in spite of his terror, Jake saw an unmistakable flash of that look in the boys eyes. Yar, he said. Come from Ludweg, me. Near the city of Lud? North of there, if you do like it or if you dont, said the washerboy. Willee kill me, lad? I dont want to die, sad as I am. I wont be the one to kill you if you tell me the truth. Did a woman come through here? The washerboy hesitated, then said Aye. Sayre and his closies had er. She us out on her feet, that un, head all lollin  He demonstrated, rolling his head on his neck and looking more like the village idiot than ever. Jake thought of Sheemie in Rolands tale of his Mejis days. But not dead. Nar. I hurt her breevin, me. Jake looked toward the door, but no one came through. Yet. He should go, but Whats your name, cully? Jochabim, that be I, son of Hossa. Well, listen, Jochabim, theres a world outside this kitchen called New York City, and pubes like you are free. I suggest you get out while you have an opportunity. Theyd just bring me back and stripe me. No, you dont understand how big it is. Like Lud when Lud was He looked at Jochabims dulleyed face and thought, No, Im the one who doesnt understand. And if I hang around here trying to convince him to desert, Ill no doubt get just what I The door leading to the restaurant popped open again. This time two low men tried to come through at once and momentarily jammed together, shoulder to shoulder. Jake threw both of his plates and watched them crisscross in the steamy air, beheading both newcomers just as they burst through. They fell backward and once more the door swung shut. At Piper School Jake had learned about the Battle of Thermopylae, where the Greeks had held off a Persian army that had outnumbered them ten to one. The Greeks had drawn the Persians into a narrow mountain pass; he had this kitchen door. As long as they kept coming through by ones and twosas they must unless they could flank him somehowhe could pick them off. At least until he ran out of Orizas. Guns? he asked Jochabim. Are there guns here? Jochabim shook his head, but given the young mans irritating look of density, it was hard to tell if this meant No guns in the kitchen or I dont ken you. All right, Im going, he said. And if you dont go yourself while youve got a chance, Jochabim, youre an even bigger fool than you look. Which would be saying a lot. There are video games out there, kidthink about it. Jochabim continued giving Jake the duh look, however, and Jake gave up. He was about to speak to Oy when someone spoke to him through the door. Hey, kid. Rough. Confidential. Knowing. The voice of a man who could hit you for five or sleep with your girlfriend any time he liked, Jake thought. Your friend the faddahs dead. In fact, the faddahs dinnah. You come out now, with no more nonsense, maybe you can avoid being dessert. Turn it sideways and stick it up your ass, Jake called. This got through even Jochabims wall of stupidity; he looked shocked. Last chance, said the rough and knowing voice. Come on out. Come on in! Jake countered. Ive got plenty of plates! Indeed, he felt a lunatic urge to rush forward, bang through the door, and take the battle to the low men and women in the restaurant dining room on the other side. Nor was the idea all that crazy, as Roland himself would have known; it was the last thing theyd expect, and there was at least an even chance that he could panic them with half a dozen quickly thrown plates and start a rout. The problem was the monsters that had been feeding behind the tapestry. The vampires. Theyd not panic, and Jake knew it. He had an idea that if the Grandfathers had been able to come into the kitchen (or perhaps it was just lack of interest that kept them in the dining roomthat and the last scraps of the Peres corpse), he would be dead already. Jochabim as well, quite likely. He dropped to one knee, murmured Oy, find Susannah! and reinforced the command with a quick mental picture. The bumbler gave Jochabim a final distrustful look, then began to nose about on the floor. The tiles were damp from a recent mopping, and Jake was afraid the bumbler wouldnt be able to find the scent. Then Oy gave a single sharp crymore dogs bark than humans wordand began to hurry down the center of the kitchen between the stoves and the steam tables, nose low to the ground, only going out of his way long enough to skirt Chef Warthogs smoldering body. Listen, to me, you little bastard! cried the low man outside the door. Im losing patience with you! Good! Jake cried. Come on in! Lets see if you go back out again! He put his finger to his lips in a shushing gesture while looking at Jochabim. He was about to turn and runhe had no idea how long it would be before the washerboy yelled through the door that the kid and his billybumbler were no longer holding Thermopylae Passwhen Jochabim spoke to him in a low voice that was little more than a whisper. What? Jake asked, looking at him uncertainly. It sounded as if the kid had said mind the mindtrap, but that made no sense. Did it? Mind the mindtrap, Jochabim said, this time much more clearly, and turned away to his pots and sudsy water. What mindtrap? Jake asked, but Jochabim affected not to hear and Jake couldnt stay long enough to crossexamine him. He ran to catch up with Oy, throwing glances back over his shoulder. If a couple more of the low men burst into the kitchen, Jake wanted to be the first to know. But none did, at least not before he had followed Oy through another door and into the restaurants pantry, a dim room stacked high with boxes and smelling of coffee and spices. It was like the storeroom behind the East Stoneham General Store, only cleaner. TWO There was a closed door in the corner of the Dixie Pigs pantry. Beyond it was a tiled stairway leading down God only knew how far. It was lit by lowwattage bulbs behind bleary, flyspotted glass shades. Oy started down without hesitation, descending with a kind of bobbing, frontendbackend regularity that was pretty comical. He kept his nose pressed to the stairs, and Jake knew he was onto Susannah; he could pick it up from his little friends mind. Jake tried counting the stairs, made it as far as a hundred and twenty, then lost his grip on the numbers. He wondered if they were still in New York (or under it). Once he thought he heard a faint, familiar rumbling and decided that if that was a subway train, they were. Finally they reached the bottom of the stairs. Here was a wide, vaulted area that looked like a gigantic hotel lobby, only without the hotel. Oy made his way across it, snout still low to the ground, his squiggle of a tail wagging back and forth. Jake had to jog in order to keep up. Now that they no longer filled the bag, the Rizas jangled back and forth. There was a kiosk on the far side of the lobbyvault, with a sign in one dusty window reading LAST CHANCE FOR NEW YORK SOUVENIRS and another reading VISIT SEPTEMBER 11, 2001! TIX STILL AVAILABLE FOR THIS WONDERFUL EVENT! ASTHMATICS PROHIBITED WO DRS CERTIFICATE! Jake wondered what was so fabulous about September 11th of 2001 and then decided that maybe he didnt want to know. Suddenly, as loud in his head as a voice spoken directly into his ear Hey! Hey Positronics lady! You still there? Jake had no idea who the Positronics lady might be, but he recognized the voice asking the question. Susannah! he shouted, coming to a stop near the tourist kiosk. A surprised, joyful grin creased his strained face and made it a kids again. Suze, are you there? And heard her cry out in happy surprise. Oy, realizing that Jake was no longer following close behind, turned and gave an impatient AkeAke! cry. For the moment at least, Jake disregarded him. I hear you! he shouted. Finally! God, whove you been talking to? Keep yelling so I can home in on y From behind himperhaps at the top of the long staircase, perhaps already on itsomeone yelled, Thats him! There were gunshots, but Jake barely heard them. To his intense horror, something had crawled inside his head. Something like a mental hand. He thought it was probably the low man who had spoken to him through the door. The low mans hand had found dials in some kind of Jake Chambers Dogan, and was fiddling with them. Trying (to freeze me freeze me in place freeze my feet right to the floor ) to stop him. And that voice had gotten in because while he was sending and receiving, he was open Jake! Jake, where are you? There was no time to answer her. Once, while trying to open the unfound door in the Cave of Voices, Jake had summoned a vision of a million doors opening wide. Now he summoned one of them slamming shut, creating a sound like Gods own sonic boom. Just in time, too. For a moment longer his feet remained stuck to the dusty floor, and then something screamed in agony and pulled back from him. Let him go. Jake got moving, jerkily at first, then picking up steam. God, that had been close! Very faintly, he heard Susannah call his name again but didnt dare throw himself open enough to reply. Hed just have to hope that Oy would hold onto her scent, and that she would keep sending. THREE He decided later that he must have started singing the song from Mrs. Shaws radio shortly after Susannahs final faint cry, but there was no way of telling for sure. One might as well try to pinpoint the genesis of a headache or the exact moment one consciously realizes he is coming down with a cold. What Jake was sure of was that there were more gunshots, and once the buzzing whine of a ricochet, but all that was a good distance behind, and finally he didnt bother ducking anymore (or even looking back). Besides, Oy was moving fast now, really shucking those furry little buns of his. Buried machinery thumped and wheezed. Steel rails surfaced in the passageway floor, leading Jake to assume that once a tram or some other kind of shuttle had run here. At regular intervals, official communiqus (PATRICIA AHEAD; FEDIC; DO YOU HAVE YOUR BLUE PASS?) were printed on the walls. In some places the tiles had fallen off, in others the tramrails were gone, and in several spots puddles of ancient, verminous water filled what looked for all the world like potholes. Jake and Oy passed two or three stalled vehicles that resembled a cross between golfcarts and flatcars. They also passed a turnipheaded robot that flashed the dim red bulbs of its eyes and made a single croaking sound that might have been halt. Jake raised one of the Orizas, having no idea if it could do any good against such a thing if it came after him, but the robot never moved. That single dim flash seemed to have drained the last few ergs in its batteries, or energy cells, or atomic slug, or whatever it ran on. Here and there he saw graffiti. Two were familiar. The first was ALL HAIL THE CRIMSON KING, with the red eye above each of the Is in the message. The other read BANGO SKANK, 84. Man, Jake thought distractedly, that guy Bango gets around. And then heard himself clearly for the first time, singing under his breath. Not words, exactly, but just an old, barely remembered refrain from one of the songs on Mrs. Shaws kitchen radio Awimeweh, awimeweh, aweeeummmimmmoweh  He quit it, creeped out by the muttery, talismanic quality of the chant, and called for Oy to stop. Need to take a leak, boy. Oy! Cocked ears and bright eyes providing the rest of the message Dont take too long.


Jake sprayed urine onto one of the tile walls. Greenish dreck was seeping between the squares. He also listened for the sound of pursuit and was not disappointed. How many back there? What sort of posse? Roland probably would have known, but Jake had no idea. The echoes made it sound like a regiment. As he was shaking off, it came to Jake Chambers that the Pere would never do this again, or grin at him and point his finger, or cross himself before eating. They had killed him. Taken his life. Stopped his breath and pulse. Save perhaps for dreams, the Pere was now gone from the story. Jake began to cry. Like his smile, the tears made him once again look like a child. Oy had turned around, eager to be off on the scent, but now looked back over one shoulder with an expression of unmistakable concern. Sall right, Jake said, buttoning his fly and then wiping his cheeks with the heel of his hand. Only it wasnt all right. He was more than sad, more than angry, more than scared about the low men running relentlessly up his backtrail. Now that the adrenaline in his system had receded, he realized he was hungry as well as sad. Tired, too. Tired? Verging on exhaustion. He couldnt remember when hed last slept. Being sucked through the door into New York, he could remember that, and Oy almost being hit by a taxi, and the Godbomb minister with the name that reminded him of Jimmy Cagney playing George M. Cohan in that old blackandwhite movie hed watched on the TV in his room when he was small. Because, he realized now, there had been a song in that movie about a guy named Harrigan HAdouble RI; Harrigan, thats me. He could remember those things, but not when hed last eaten a square Ake! Oy barked, relentless as fate. If bumblers had a breaking point, Jake thought wearily, Oy was still a long way from his. AkeAke! Yeahyeah, he agreed, pushing away from the wall. AkeAke will now runrun. Go on. Find Susannah. He wanted to plod, but plodding would quite likely not be good enough. Mere walking, either. He flogged his legs into a jog and once more began to sing under his breath, this time the words to the song In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight  In the jungle, the quiet jungle, the lion sleeps tonight  ohhh  And then he was off again, wimeweh, wimeweh, wimeweh, nonsense words from the kitchen radio that was always tuned to the oldies on WCBS  only werent memories of some movie wound around and into his memory of this particular song? Not a song from Yankee Doodle Dandy but from some other movie? One with scary monsters? Something hed seen when he was just a little kid, maybe not even out of his (clouts ) diapers? Near the village, the quiet village, the lion sleeps tonight Near the village, the peaceful village, the lion sleeps tonight  HUHoh, awimeweh, awimeweh  He stopped, breathing hard, rubbing his side. He had a stitch there but it wasnt bad, at least not yet, hadnt sunk deep enough to stop him. But that goo  that greenish goo dribbling between the tiles  it was oozing through the ancient grout and busted ceramic because this was (the jungle ) deep below the city, deep like catacombs (wimeweh ) or like Oy, he said, speaking through chapped lips. Christ, he was so thirsty! Oy, this isnt goo, this is grass. Or weeds or Oy barked his friends name, but Jake hardly noticed. The echoing sound of the pursuers continued (had drawn a bit closer, in fact), but for the time being he ignored them, as well. Grass, growing out of the tiled wall. Overwhelming the wall. He looked down and saw more grass, a brilliant green that was almost purple beneath the fluorescent lights, growing up out of the floor. And bits of broken tile crumbling into shards and fragments like remains of the old people, the ancestors who had lived and built before the Beams began to break and the world began to move on. He bent down. Reached into the grass. Brought up sharp shards of tile, yes, but also earth, the earth of (the jungle ) some deep catacomb or tomb or perhaps There was a beetle crawling through the dirt hed scooped up, a beetle with a red mark on its back like a bloody smile, and Jake cast it away with a cry of disgust. Mark of the King! Say true! He came back to himself and realized that he was down on one knee, practicing at archaeology like the hero in some old movie while the hounds drew closer on his trail. And Oy was looking at him, eyes shining with anxiety. Ake! AkeAke! Yeah, he said, heaving himself to his feet. Im coming. But Oy  what is this place? Oy had no idea why he heard anxiety in his kadinhs voice; what he saw was the same as before and what he smelled was the same as before her smell, the scent the boy had asked him to find and follow. And it was fresher now. He ran on along its bright brand. FOUR Jake stopped again five minutes later, shouting, Oy! Wait up a minute! The stitch in his side was back, and it was deeper, but it still wasnt the stitch that had stopped him. Everything had changed. Or was changing. And God help him, he thought he knew what it was changing into. Above him the fluorescent lights still shone down, but the tile walls were shaggy with greenery. The air had become damp and humid, soaking his shirt and sticking it against his body. A beautiful orange butterfly of startling size flew past his wide eyes. Jake snatched at it but the butterfly eluded him easily. Almost merrily, he thought. The tiled corridor had become a jungle path. Ahead of them, it sloped up to a ragged hole in the overgrowth, probably some sort of forest clearing. Beyond it Jake could see great old trees growing in a mist, their trunks thick with moss, their branches looped with vines. He could see giant spreading ferns, and through the green lace of the leaves, a burning jungle sky. He knew he was under New York, must be under New York, but What sounded like a monkey chittered, so close by that Jake flinched and looked up, sure he would see it directly overhead, grinning down from behind a bank of lights. And then, freezing his blood, came the heavy roar of a lion. One that was most definitely not asleep. He was on the verge of retreating, and at full speed, when he realized he could not ; the low men (probably led by the one whod told him the faddah was dinnah ) were back that way. And Oy was looking at him with brighteyed impatience, clearly wanting to go on. Oy was no dummy, but he showed no signs of alarm, at least not concerning what was ahead. For his own part, Oy still couldnt understand the boys problem. He knew the boy was tiredhe could smell that but he also knew Ake was afraid. Why? There were unpleasant smells in this place, the smell of many men chief among them, but they did not strike Oy as immediately dangerous. And besides, her smell was here. Very fresh now. Almost new. Ake! he yapped again. Jake had his breath now. All right, he said, looking around. Okay. But slow. Lo, Oy said, but even Jake could detect the stunning lack of approval in the bumblers response. Jake moved only because he had no other options. He walked up the slope of the overgrown trail (in Oys perception the way was perfectly straight, and had been ever since leaving the stairs) toward the vine and fernfringed opening, toward the lunatic chitter of the monkey and the testiclefreezing roar of the hunting lion. The song circled through his mind again and again (in the village  in the jungle  hush my darling, dont stir my darling  ) and now he knew the name of it, even the name of the group (thats the Tokens with The Lion Sleeps Tonight, gone from the charts but not from our hearts ) that had sung it, but what was the movie? What was the name of the goddam mo Jake reached the top of the slope and the edge of the clearing. He looked through an interlacing of broad green leaves and brilliant purple flowers (a tiny green worm was journeying into the heart of one), and as he looked, the name of the movie came to him and his skin broke out in gooseflesh from the nape of his neck all the way down to his feet. A moment later the first dinosaur came out of the jungle (the mighty jungle), and walked into the clearing. FIVE Once upon a time long ago (far and wee) when he was just a little lad; (theres some for you and some for me) once upon a time when mother went to Montreal with her art club and father went to Vegas for the annual unveiling of the fall shows; (blackberry jam and blackberry tea) once upon a time when Bama was four SIX Bamas what the only good one (Mrs. Shaw Mrs. Greta Shaw) calls him. She cuts the crusts off his sandwiches, she puts his nursieschool drawings on the fridge with magnets that look like little plastic fruits, she calls him Bama and thats a special name to him (to them ) because his father taught him one drunk Saturday afternoon to chant Go wide, go wide, roll you Tide, we dont run and we dont hide, were the Bama Crimson Tide! and so she calls him Bama, its a secret name and how they know what it means and no one else does is like having a house you can go into, a safe house in the scary woods where outside the shadows all look like monsters and ogres and tigers. (Tyger, tyger, burning bright, his mother sings to him, for this is her idea of a lullabye, along with I heard a fly buzz  when I died, which gives Bama Chambers a terrible case of the creeps, although he never tells her; he lies in bed sometimes at night and sometimes during afternoon naptime thinking I will hear a fly and it will be my deathfly, my heart will stop and my tongue will fall down my throat like a stone down a well and these are the memories he denies ) It is good to have a secret name and when he finds out mother is going to Montreal for the sake of art and father is going to Vegas to help present the Networks new shows at the Upfronts he begs his mother to ask Mrs. Greta Shaw to stay with him and finally his mother gives in. Little Jakie knows Mrs. Shaw is not mother and on more than one occasion Mrs. Greta Shaw herself has told him she is not mother (I hope you know Im not your mother, Bama, she says, giving him a plate and on the plate is a peanut butter, bacon, and banana sandwich with the crusts cut off as only Greta Shaw knows how to cut them off, because that is not in my job description (And Jakieonly hes Bama here, hes Bama between them doesnt know exactly how to tell her he knows that, knows that, knows that, but hell make do with her until the real thing comes along or until he grows old enough to get over his fear of the Deathfly) And Jakie says Dont worry, Im okay, but he is still glad Mrs. Shaw agrees to stay instead of the latest au pair who wears short skirts and is always playing with her hair and her lipstick and doesnt care jackshit about him and doesnt know that in his secret heart he is Bama, and boy that little Daisy Mae ( which is what his father calls all the au pairs ) is stupid stupid stupid. Mrs. Shaw isnt stupid. Mrs. Shaw gives him a snack she sometimes calls Afternoon Tea or even High Tea, and no matter what it iscottage cheese and fruit, a sandwich with the crusts cut off, custard and cake, leftover canaps from a cocktail party the night beforeshe sings the same little song when she lays it out A little snack thats far and wee, theres some for you and some for me, blackberry jam and blackberry tea. There is a TV is his room, and every day while his folks are gone he takes his afterschool snack in there and watches watches watches and he hears her radio in the kitchen, always the oldies, always WCBS, and sometimes he hears her, hears Mrs. Greta Shaw singing along with the Four Seasons Wanda Jackson Lee YahYah Dorsey, and sometimes he pretends his folks die in a plane crash and she somehow does become his mother and she calls him poor little lad and poor little lost tyke and then by virtue of some magical transformation she loves him instead of just taking care of him, loves him loves him loves him the way he loves her, shes his mother (or maybe his wife, he is unclear about the difference between the two), but she calls him Bama instead of sugarlove (his real mother ) or hotshot (his father ) and although he knows the idea is stupid, thinking about it in bed is fun, thinking about it beats the penispiss out of thinking about the Deathfly that would come and buzz over his corpse when he died with his tongue down his throat like a stone down a well. In the afternoon when he gets home from nursieschool (by the time hes old enough to know its actually nursery school he will be out of it) he watches Million Dollar Movie in his room. On Million Dollar Movie they show exactly the same movie at exactly the same timefour oclockevery day for a week. The week before his parents went away and Mrs. Greta Shaw stayed the night instead of going home (O what bliss, for Mrs. Greta Shaw negates Discordia, can you say amen) there was music from two directions every day, there were the oldies in the kitchen (WCBS can you say Godbomb) and on the TV James Cagney is strutting in a derby and singing about HarriganHAdouble RI, Harrigan, thats me! Also the one about being a real live nephew of my Uncle Sam. Then its a new week, the week his folks are gone, and a new movie, and the first time he sees it it scares the living breathing shit out of him. This movie is called The Lost Continent, and it stars Mr. Cesar Romero, and when Jake sees it again (at the advanced age of ten) he will wonder how he could ever have been afraid of such a stupid movie as that one. Because its about explorers who get lost in the jungle, see, and there are dinosaurs in the jungle, and at four years of age he didnt realize the dinosaurs were nothing but fucking CARTOONS, no different from Tweety and Sylvester and Popeye the Sailor Man, uckuckuck, can ya say Wimpy, can you give me Olive Oyl. The first dinosaur he sees is a triceratops that comes blundering out of the jungle, and the girl explorer (Bodacious tatas, his father would undoubtedly have said, its what his father always says about what Jakes mother calls A Certain Type Of Girl ) screams her lungs out, and Jake would scream too if he could but his chest is locked down with terror, o here is Discordia incarnate! In the monsters eyes he sees the utter nothing that means the end of everything, for pleading wont work with such a monster and screaming wont work with such a monster, its too dumb, all screaming does is attract the monsters attention, and does, it turns toward the Daisy Mae with the bodacious tatas and then it charges the Daisy Mae with the bodacious tatas, and in the kitchen (the mighty kitchen) he hears the Tokens, gone from the charts but not from our hearts, they are singing about the jungle, the peaceful jungle, and here in front of the little boys huge horrified eyes is a jungle which is anything but peaceful, and its not a lion but a lumbering thing that looks sort of like a rhinoceros only bigger, and it has a kind of bone collar around its neck, and later Jake will find out you call this kind of monster a triceratops, but for now it is nameless, which makes it even worse, nameless is worse. Wimeweh, sing the Tokens, Weeeummmaweh, and of course Cesar Romero shoots the monster just before it can tear the girl with the bodacious tatas limb from limb, which is good at the time, but that night the monster comes back, the triceratops comes back, its in his closet, because even at four he understands that sometimes his closet isnt his closet, that its door can open on different places where there are worse things waiting. He begins to scream, at night he can scream, and Mrs. Greta Shaw comes into the room. She sits on the edge of his bed, her face ghostly with bluegray beautymud, and she asks him whats wrong Bama and he is actually able to tell her. He could never have told his father or mother, had one of them been there to begin with, which they of course arent, but he can tell Mrs. Shaw because while she isnt a lot different from the other helpthe au pairs babysitters child minders schoolwalkers she is a little different, enough to put his drawings on the fridge with the little magnets, enough to make all the difference, to hold up the tower of a silly little boys sanity, say hallelujah, say found not lost, say amen. She listens to everything he has to say, nodding, and makes him say triCERaTOPS until finally he gets it right. Getting it right is better. And then she says, Those things were real once, but they died out a hundred million years ago, Bama. Maybe even more. Now dont bother me any more because I need my sleep. Jake watches The Lost Continent on Million Dollar Movie every day that week. Every time he watches it, it scares him a little less. Once, Mrs. Greta Shaw comes in and watches part of it with him. She brings him his snack, a big bowl of Hawaiian Fluff (also one for herself) and sings him her wonderful little song A little snack thats far and wee, theres some for you and some for me, blackberry jam and blackberry tea. There are no blackberries in Hawaiian Fluff, of course, and they have the last of the Welchs Grape Juice to go with it instead of tea, but Mrs. Greta Shaw says it is the thought that counts. She has taught him to say Rootytootysalutie before they drink, and to clink glasses. Jake thinks thats the absolute coolest, the cats ass. Pretty soon the dinosaurs come. Bama and Mrs. Greta Shaw sit side by side, eating Hawaiian Fluff and watching as a big one (Mrs. Greta Shaw says you call that kind a Tyrannasorbet Wrecks) eats the bad explorer. Cartoon dinosaurs, Mrs. Greta Shaw sniffs. Wouldnt you think they could do better than that. As far as Jake is concerned, this is the most brilliant piece of film criticism he has ever heard in his life. Brilliant and useful. Eventually his parents come back. Top Hat enjoys a weeks run on Million Dollar Movie and little Jakies night terrors are never mentioned. Eventually he forgets his fear of the triceratops and the Tyrannasorbet. SEVEN Now, lying in the high green grass and peering into the misty clearing from between the leaves of a fern, Jake discovered that some things you never forgot. Mind the mindtrap, Jochabim had said, and looking down at the lumbering dinosaura cartoon triceratops in a real jungle like an imaginary toad in a real gardenJake realized that this was it. This was the mindtrap. The triceratops wasnt real no matter how fearsomely it might roar, no matter that Jake could actually smell itthe rank vegetation rotting in the soft folds where its stubby legs met its stomach, the shit caked to its vast armorplated rear end, the endless cud drooling between its tuskedged jawsand hear its panting breath. It couldnt be real, it was a cartoon, for Gods sake! And yet he knew it was real enough to kill him. If he went down there, the cartoon triceratops would tear him apart just as it would have torn apart the Daisy Mae with the bodacious tatas if Cesar Romero hadnt appeared in time to put a bullet into the things One Vulnerable Spot with his biggame hunters rifle. Jake had gotten rid of the hand that had tried to monkey with his motor controlshad slammed all those doors so hard hed chopped off the hands intruding fingers, for all he knewbut this was different. He could not close his eyes and just walk by; that was a real monster his traitor mind had created, and it could really tear him apart. There was no Cesar Romero here to keep it from happening. No Roland, either. There were only the low men, running his backtrail and getting closer all the time. As if to emphasize this point, Oy looked back the way theyd come and barked once, piercingly loud. The triceratops heard and roared in response. Jake expected Oy to shrink against him at that mighty sound, but Oy continued to look back over Jakes shoulder. It was the low men Oy was worried about, not the triceratops below them or the Tyrannasorbet Wrecks that might come next, or Because Oy doesnt see it, he thought. He monkeyed with this idea and couldnt pull it apart. Oy hadnt smelled it or heard it, either. The conclusion was inescapable to Oy the terrible triceratops in the mighty jungle below did not exist. Which doesnt change the fact that it does to me. Its a trap that was set for me, or for anyone else equipped with an imagination who might happen along. Some gadget of the old people, no doubt. Too bad its not broken like most of their other stuff, but its not. I see what I see and theres nothing I can do about i No, wait. Wait just a second. Jake had no idea how good his mental connection to Oy actually was, but thought he would soon find out. Oy! The calling voices of the low men were now horribly close. Soon they would see the boy and the bumbler stopped here and break into a charge. Oy could smell them coming but looked at Jake calmly enough anyway. At his beloved Jake, for whom he would die if called upon to do so. Oy, can you change places with me? It turned out that he could. EIGHT Oy tottered erect with Ake in his arms, swaying back and forth, horrified to discover how narrow the boys range of balance was. The idea of walking even a short distance on but two legs was terribly daunting, yet it would have to be done, and done at once. Ake said so. For his part, Jake knew he would have to shut the borrowed eyes he was looking through. He was in Oys head but he could still see the triceratops; now he could also see a pterodactyl cruising the hot air above the clearing, its leathery wings stretched to catch the thermals blowing from the airexchangers. Oy! You have to do it on your own. And if were going to stay ahead of them you have to do it now. Ake! Oy responded, and took a tentative step forward. The boys body wavered from side to side, out to the very edge of balance and then beyond. Akes stupid twolegs body tumbled sideways. Oy tried to save it and only made the tumble worse, going down on the boys right side and bumping Akes furry head. Oy tried to bark his frustration. What came out of Akes mouth was a stupid thing that was more word than sound Bark! Ark! Shit bark! I hear him! someone shouted. Run! Come on, doubletime, you useless cunts! Before the little bastard gets to the door! Akes ears werent keen, but with the way the tile walls magnified sounds, that was no problem. Oy could hear their running footfalls. You have to get up and go! Jake tried to yell, and what came out was a garbled, barking sentence AkeAke, affa! Up n go! Under other circumstances it might have been funny, but not under these. Oy got up by putting Akes back against the wall and pushing with Akes legs. At last he was getting the hang of the motor controls; they were in a place Ake called Dogan and were fairly simple. Off to the left, however, an arched corridor led into a huge room filled with mirrorbright machinery. Oy knew that if he went into that placethe chamber where Ake kept all his marvelous thoughts and his store of wordshe would be lost forever. Luckily, he didnt need to. Everything he needed was in the Dogan. Left foot  forward. (And pause. ) Right foot forward. (And pause. ) Hold the thing that looks like a billybumbler but is really your friend and use the other arm for balance. Resist the urge to drop to all fours and crawl. The pursuers will catch up if he does that; he can no longer smell them (not with Akes amazingly stupid little bulb of a snout), but he is sure of it, all the same. For his part, Jake could smell them clearly, at least a dozen and maybe as many as sixteen. Their bodies were perfect engines of stink, and they pushed the aroma ahead of them in a dirty cloud. He could smell the asparagus one had had for dinner; could smell the meaty, wrong aroma of the cancer which was growing in another, probably in his head but perhaps in his throat. Then he heard the triceratops roar again. It was answered by the birdthing riding the air overhead. Jake closed hiswell, Oyseyes. In the dark, the bumblers sidetoside motion was even worse. Jake was concerned that if he had to put up with much of it (especially with his eyes shut), he would ralph his guts out. Just call him Bama the Seasick Sailor. Go, Oy, he thought. Fast as you can. Dont fall down again, but  fast as you can! NINE Had Eddie been there, he might have been reminded of Mrs. Mislaburski from up the block Mrs. Mislaburski in February, after a sleet storm, when the sidewalk was glazed with ice and not yet salted down. But, ice or no ice, she would not be kept from her daily chop or bit of fish at the Castle Avenue Market (or from mass on Sunday, for Mrs. Mislaburski was perhaps the most devout Catholic in CoOp City). So here she came, thick legs spread, candypink in their support hose, one arm clutching her purse to her immense bosom, the other held out for balance, head down, eyes searching for the islands of ashes where some responsible building super had already been out (Jesus and Mother Mary bless those good men), also for the treacherous patches that would defeat her, that would send her whoopsy with her large pink knees flying apart, and down shed come on her situpon, or maybe on her back, a woman could break her spine, a woman could be paralyzed like poor Mrs. Bernsteins daughter that was in the car accident in Mamaroneck, such things happened. And so she ignored the catcalls of the children (Henry Dean and his little brother Eddie often among them) and went on her way, head down, arm outstretched for balance, sturdy black old ladys purse curled to her midsection, determined that if she did go whoopsymydaisy she would protect her purse and its contents at all costs, would fall on it like Joe Namath falling on the football after a sack. So did Oy of MidWorld walk the body of Jake along a stretch of underground corridor that looked (to him, at least) pretty much like all the rest. The only difference he could see was the three holes on either side, with big glass eyes looking out of them, eyes that made a low and constant humming sound. In his arms was something that looked like a bumbler with its eyes squeezed tightly shut. Had they been open, Jake might have recognized these things as projecting devices. More likely he would not have seen them at all. Walking slowly (Oy knew they were gaining, but he also knew that walking slowly was better than falling down), legs spread wide and shuffling along, holding Ake curled to his chest just as Mrs. Mislaburski had held her purse on those icy days, he made his way past the glass eyes. The hum faded. Was it far enough? He hoped so. Walking like a human was simply too hard, too nervewracking. So was being close to all of Akes thinking machinery. He felt an urge to turn and look at itall those bright mirror surfaces!but didnt. To look might well bring on hypnosis. Or something worse. He stopped. Jake! Look! See! Jake tried to reply Okay and barked, instead. Pretty funny. He cautiously opened his eyes and saw tiled wall on both sides. There was grass and tiny sprays of fern still growing out of it, true enough, but it was tile. It was corridor. He looked behind him and saw the clearing. The triceratops had forgotten them. It was locked in a battle to the death with the Tyrannasorbet, a scene he recalled with complete clarity from The Lost Continent. The girl with the bodacious tatas had watched the battle from the safety of Cesar Romeros arms, and when the cartoon Tyrannasorbet had clamped its huge mouth over the triceratopss face in a deathbite, the girl had buried her own face against Cesar Romeros manly chest. Oy! Jake barked, but barking was lame and he switched to thinking, instead. Change back with me! Oy was eager to complynever had he wanted anything so muchbut before they could effect the swap, the pursuers caught sight of them. Theah! shouted the one with the Boston accenthe who had proclaimed that the Faddah was dinnah. Theah they aah! Get em! Shoot em! And, as Jake and Oy switched their minds back into their proper bodies, the first bullets began to flick the air around them like snapping fingers. TEN The fellow leading the pursuers was a man named Flaherty. Of the seventeen of them, he was the only hume. The rest save one were low men and vampires. The last was a taheen with the head of an intelligent stoat and a pair of huge hairy legs protruding from Bermuda shorts. Below the legs were narrow feet that ended in brutally sharp thorns. A single kick from one of Lamlas feet could cut a fullgrown man in half. Flahertyraised in Boston, for the last twenty years one of the Kings men in a score of latetwentiethcentury New Yorkshad put together his posse as fast as he could, in a nerveroasting agony of fear and fury. Nothing gets into the Pig. That was what Sayre had told Meiman. And anything that did get in was not, under any circumstances, to be allowed out. That went double for the gunslinger or any of his katet. Their meddling had long since passed the merely annoying stage, and you didnt have to be one of the elite to know it. But now Meiman, who had been called the Canary by his few friends, was dead and the kid had somehow gotten past them. A kid, for Gods love! A fucking kid! But how were they to know that the two of them would have such a powerful totem as that turtle? If the damn thing hadnt happened to bounce beneath one of the tables, it might be holding them in place still. Flaherty knew it was true, but also knew that Sayre would never accept it as a valid argument. Would not even give him, Flaherty, a chance to put it forward. No, he would be dead long before that, and the others, as well. Sprawled on the floor with the doctorbugs gorging on their blood. It was easy to say that the kid would be stopped at the door, that he wouldntcouldntknow any of the authorization phrases that opened it, but Flaherty no longer trusted such ideas, tempting as they might be. All bets were off, and Flaherty felt a soaring sense of relief when he saw the kid and his furry little pal stopped up ahead. Several of the posse fired, but missed. Flaherty wasnt surprised. There was some sort of green area between them and the kid, a fucking swatch of jungle under the city was what it looked like, and a mist was rising, making it hard to aim. Plus some kind of ridiculous cartoon dinosaurs! One of them raised its bloodsmeared head and roared at them, holding its tiny forepaws against its scaly chest. Looks like a dragon, Flaherty thought, and before his eyes the cartoon dinosaur became a dragon. It roared and spewed a jet of fire that set several dangling vines and a mat of hanging moss to burning. The kid, meanwhile, was on the move again. Lamla, the stoatheaded taheen, pushed his way to the forefront and raised one furred fist to his forehead. Flaherty returned the salute impatiently. Whats down theah, Lam? Do you know? Flaherty himself had never been below the Pig. When he traveled on business, it was always between New Yorks, which meant using either the door on Fortyseventh Street between First and Second, the one in the eternally empty warehouse on Bleecker Street (only in some worlds that one was an eternally halfcompleted building), or the one way uptown on Ninetyfourth Street. (The last was now on the blink much of the time, and of course nobody knew how to fix it.) There were other doors in the cityNew York was lousy with portals to other wheres and whensbut those were the only ones that still worked. And the one to Fedic, of course. The one up ahead. Tis a miragemaker, the stoatthing said. Its voice was wet and rumbling and very far from human. Yon machine trolls for what ye fear and makes it real. Sayre wouldve turned it on when he and his tet passed with the blackskin jilly. To keep is backtrail safe, ye do ken. Flaherty nodded. A mindtrap. Very clever. Yet how good was it, really? Somehow the cursed shitting boy had passed, hadnt he? Whatever the boy saw will turn into what we fear, the taheen said. It works on imagination. Imagination. Flaherty seized on the word. Fine.